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This is unusual for me, that is, to be relating any of this. It isn't exactly a topic for everyday conversation. Do you discuss your darkest, deepest secrets with the person next to you at brunch? And here I am, about to rip open the full detail of one of mine. Why? Perhaps to ease the pressure of its secrecy before it eats me alive, and maybe to find someone who feels the same.

I think it began around when I was twelve. I remember the first house servant I ever encountered, it was at a friend's home. I was staying over, and robotics were just beginning to become popular. And... and I remember seeing this house servant, all dressed properly,and the metal gleam peeking through on its wrists, between the glove and shirt, and above the collar. The hard metallic sheen imprinted into my head, the sleek angular lines... I could feel the purpose run through my bones, and elsewhere as well.

I went to sleep that night, feeling uncomfortable, I could not get that feeling out of my mind or body, it made me so warm, thinking about it. I wanted to know what it would feel like against my bare hands. It would not be until much later before I would be granted the chance.

As I entered high school, that earlier memory took more root than I had even believed. I chose various elective mechanics classes, such as welding, plastics, electronics... anything to be around robotization. And even in this time, it was unusual for a female to take such a large interest in the industry field. I subscribed to android magazines, belonged to usenet groups and mail lists on the wired, and even begun tooling with small kits at home. My family showed some initial concern, encouraging me to socialize more, even date, which I did try, thinking perhaps they were right, I needed to get out more, dwelling on my "hobby" too much could be unhealthy. But it didn't proveide me with the same thrill, the same heated rush of my blood pumping like the world of robotization did. I would always feel flushed, my mouth salivating, just to construct something that would move on its own, at my command. This sort of thing eventually rose to more naughty levels. I cannot believe that I am still writing this, to be honest, but I even began to desire these machines, to fulfill me.

My "pasttime" proved to be an advantage for me after the university, affording me a job at a nearby factory. To be surrounded by the one thing that I felt could give me the most pleasure, to complete me, was euphoric in itself. Knowing in my reach was pure, refined machines, strong, durable. I had to restrain myself from storming the factory floor on the first day. Up to this point, I had kept my extra enthusiasm in check around other people, much less even admitting to this... carnal desire, in fear of what would become of me. What would they think?! I could be encarcerated, possibly put on horrible medication, and riduculed to no end. My entire life a hopeless misery. Much worse when compared to my frustrating misery. But as long as no one discovers my true passions, I could ease my misery until I can take more secure measures to hide this aching inside me.