PeterWatts_Blindsight

Peter Watts 191 Blindsight
He went for some neurotrope cocktail on the rocks. I stuck with
Rickard's.
"Still old-school," Pag said.
"Still into foreplay," I observed.
"That obvious, huh?" He took a sip. "That'll teach me to try the
subtle approach with a professional jargonaut."
"Jargonaut's got nothing to do with it. You wouldn't have fooled
a border collie." Truth be told, Pag's topology never really told me
much that I didn't already know. I never really had much of an
edge in reading him. Maybe we just knew each other too well.
"So," he said, "spill."
"Nothing to spill. She just got to know the real me."
"That is bad."
"What'd she tell you?"
"Me? Nothing at all."
I gave him a look over the top of my glass.
He sighed. "She knows you're cheating on her."
"I'm what?"
"Cheating. With the skin."
"It's based on her!"
"But it isn't her."
"No it isn't. It doesn't fart or fight or break into tears every time
you don't want to be dragged off to meet its family. Look, I love
the woman dearly, but come on. When was the last time you tried
first-person fucking?"
"Seventy-four," he said.
"You're kidding." I'd have guessed never.
"Did some third-world medical missionary work between gigs.
They still bump and grind in Texas." Pag swigged his trope.
"Actually, I thought it was alright."
"The novelty wears off."
"Evidently."
"And it's not like I'm doing anything unusual here, Pag. She's the
one with the kink. And it's not just the sex. She keeps asking
about—she keeps wanting to know things."
"Like what?"
"Irrelevant stuff. My life as a kid. My family. Nobody's fucking