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I went for a quick walk around the grounds after dinner, a chance to feel the salt air blowing off the reeds. Entering my darkened room, I saw a strange light coming from what I wondered was the wall, but was in fact the mirror, and which was in fact no mirror at all. Through the glass, I could see into Madison’s room. And in it, Madison. She placed her earrings on the bedside table. She unpinned her hair and shook it loose. She reached up the front slit of her gown to pull down her panty hose.
I turned away, took off my clothes, and climbed in bed, determined to tell her about the mirror in the morning.
Just as I closed my eyes, there was another knock on my door. I opened it to see Madison in the light blue tank top and frilly cherry panties.
“I dont plan to make a habit of this, but this house is enormous, and…” she said. “Do you mind if I stay with you just tonight, Charlie?”
I said of course and let her in, forgetting the light still shining through the mirror. She crossed her arms, examining the glass.
“You can see into my room?” Madison asked.
“I planned to tell you in the morning,” I said. “I didn’t look”
“That’s not from watching me undress?” She asked, pointing toward the bulge in my boxer briefs.
“That’s from watching you walk in here,” I insisted.
She went back to studying the mirror.
“Maybe this used to be his room,” I said. “And yours is where he always put the young coeds.”
“He’s not that creepy,” she said, slapping my shoulder.
“Such stately standards, Miss Lounds,” I said in my poshest accent. “He just calls me Charlie, you know.”
We fooled around a little that night. Made out in bed, groped at each other beneath the sheets, but Madison stopped short of anything serious. She fell asleep that night, intentionally or not, with her ass pressed into my lap.
In the morning I met with the professor in his study to go over our first day’s work. It wasn’t glamorous, but the lab would need a thorough cleaning before we could start the more delicate science. This meant sterilizing the sample collectors, beakers, and petri dishes. It meant deep scrubbing the heavy equipment and hibernation baths. But it also meant simple tidying, the cavernous basement lab scattered with folders of loose paper, anatomy books, and broken glass. The floor-to-ceiling cathode tubes were draped in cobwebs, and everything, every square inch of the room, was coated in a pebble-thick layer of dust.
It was an exhausting, all-day job, and once we were done, Madison went for a dip in the sound. She removed her short t-shirt at the end of the pier, a yellow-checkered bikini underneath, and eased herself into the water. I watched her from my window and assumed the professor was watching, as well.
That night I waited to see if she would come to me again, but, true to her word, she did not. I fell asleep between glances toward my darkened mirror.
“You’ll need these base level elements for the core unit,” the professor said, passing a handwritten list across his desk. “You’ll find them in the walk-in freezer. Amounts, instructions for mixing, give this to Madison.” He passed me another note.
“Much more important, for you…” he began scribbling on a third sheet of paper. “Components for the cranial transistor. Blend the organics, obviously, and electrical parts will be in the lab locker. May require some light soldering.”
I’d studied the transistor, was familiar with its role in the professor’s research. The key to connecting a cloned brain to its host. But I’d certainly never created one. Few had.
“You’re sure you trust me with this, sir?” I asked.
“I trust you with my very, very detailed instructions,” he said, handing me a fourth, fifth, and sixth sheet of paper.
Madison’s legs were covered in goosebumps when she returned from the walk-in carrying tray-fulls of storage containers.
“Let me borrow your sweatshirt,” she said. She grabbed it from the back of my chair. She pulled it over her head, her nipples erect through her t-shirt, and tried to stretch it as far below the hem of her shorts as she could.
“There’s a Turkish bath somewhere on this floor,” I said, pouring over the professor’s notes.
“Know what you’re doing?” She asked.
“You build the body, I build the computer,” I said
“His body, you think? The professor?”
“More than likely.”
We briefed him on our progress at the end of the day. He seemed pleased. As we stood to leave, he looked toward the statue of his wife and began to recite a quote.
“What refreshes the pleasure of the pleasure seeker?“ he began. “Coffee freshly made by young hands.” He smiled apologetically toward Madison. “Would you mind terribly? It takes me so long to reach the kitchen.”
Madison hesitated, but then said yes, of course. She rolled her eyes toward me as she stood to leave; the woman sent for coffee, never the man.
The professor and I spoke for a few more minutes, then he shuffled off toward his adjoining bedroom and I left. The last thing I saw that night was Madison bringing a tray of coffee down the hallway, still trying to pull my sweater over as much thigh as efficient.

NSFW: yes

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