I have no desire to buy an Apple Watch. I haven’t even tried one on. And until I do, I can only assume that this short story, Invaded By The iWatch serves as much as a valid review as it does a titillating read about a woman who has sex with a smartwatch.
That’s right, someone has written an erotic story about the Apple Watch. It was penned by Leonard Delaney and features more explicit content and pseudoreal references than you can shake a room of lawyers at. This is Delaney’s magnum opus, this is his legacy.
The book starts with a woman called Christie who finds an Apple Watch - named iWatch in the story for legal purposes, I assume - left on her doorstep. The watch then comes alive and things start getting a bit kinky because why wouldn’t they?
So I’m going to tease you with some excerpts from the book, and hopefully we can all learn a few things about Apple’s debut wearable along the way. Let's start...
The iWatch began to speak as soon as Christie stepped outside. ‘Look at me,’ said the watch in a monotone man’s voice. ‘Hey everyone, look. This watch costs ten thousand dollars’
‘Will you shut up? You’re gonna get yourself stolen,’ Christie said, holding her wrist to her lips.
‘Sorry Christie, most users who buy the Edition edition of the iWatch enjoy the attention.’
Like many of you, I balked at the idea of a £8,000 Apple Watch. “Who in their right mind is going to spend £8,000 on a first-edition smartwatch that’ll be outdated in a years time”? I yelled at Tim Cook’s giant face on my screen.
And yet, apparently people have already done so because it’s 2015 and that’s just the sort of thing we humans do now.
Its smooth, confident voice actually managed to calm her a bit. It vibrated again, in a pattern that felt like it was lightly caressing the top of her wrist. ‘I see that your heart rate is slowing. Good. You can trust me.’ She had her doubts about that, but this was better than going back outside. She let herself be led down a long underground tunnel, then came to a steel door with a keypad beside it. ‘Just tap to enter,’ said the watch. ‘What? Oh, I see.’ She tapped her wrist against the keypad, and the door slid open.
Some people think Siri stands for “Steve is really inside”. Those people are morons. However, if this book is anything to go by then ‘Steve Job’ is most definitely inside the Apple Watch. And he’s downright disgusting.
‘My brain and soul were uploaded to a computer before I died. I can never be human again, but I saw your impressive online blog posts about your experiences with nonliving objects, so I knew you would accept me as a watch. It’s me: the ghost of Steve Job.'
Lenny blinked. Christie tried to look offended, but in truth her own butt area was tingling as she imagined being plowed like that. It had been so long since she’d let anyone inside. “Are you okay?” asked the iWatch. “Your heart rate is elevated, your skin temperature is rising, and your moisture level is extremely moist.
I don’t ever want to wear a watch that tells me I’m “extremely moist”.
She emitted an expression of sadness, then held her wrist up. Those fierce eyes appeared on the screen. ‘Oh billionaire ghost watch, you know what’s going on. You have the algorithms to detect how lonely I am. You’ve shown me so much today—how this techno-infused landscape is both a dream and a nightmare. You give away my every move, my every preference, my every feeling. All you want to do is invade my privacy. But that’s not the way I want to be invaded. I long for something more than a touch on the wrist.’
'Actually … there is one more thing,' said the ghost of Steve Job. Christie felt a prick on her wrist. It hurt for a moment, then an electric jolt traveled up her arm. 'What did you just—' Christie began, but then her own arm stiffened. She didn’t even mean to move it. Of their own volition, her fingers straightened, her thumb stuck out, and her wrist bent, forming a duck-like shape. 'I can invade more than your privacy, Christie.'
She could still move her right hand. She helped her autonomous left hand undo every button of her shirt. Steve reached around and undid her bra with one smooth motion. Nice. Her wrist swung back in front of her. The eyes on the screen looked her bare boobies up and down. The digital crown on the side turned itself to zoom in. 'What a marvel of function and design. Magical,' said Steve.
Right. OK. Not sure if it’s the digital crown or the “bare boobies” that Steve’s calling a “marvel of function and design” here. I mean, I guess it’s a pretty neat feature, although that John Gruber fellow said he didn’t like it. Really, I don’t know what to think at this point.
The iWatch moaned. With her free right hand, she ripped her panties off and tossed them over Lenny’s binocular eyes, which had turned to stare. ‘Oh yeah!’ she cried. ‘Give me a Stevejob.’
I don’t remember Tim Cook mentioning this feature.
The iWatch dove deeper. Her own slender fingers passed her labium minora, entering her sopping fibromuscular tube up to the knuckles.
'Deeper,' she said. 'Invade me. Fuck the privacy right out of me.' She was so wet that her whole hand slid into her docking station of pleasure. As the cool gold of the watch touched her vaginal opening at the caudal end of the vulva, she felt a whole new set of the iWatch’s pleasure features.
Pleasure features. Huh. Also, since when was “sopping fibromuscular tube” considered sexy speak?
The ghost of Steve Job rotated it so the digital crown—the turny nubbin on the side of the iWatch—was pressed directly onto her G-spot. Then he began to rotate it back and forth. She’d never felt a pleasure so deep, so personal, so precise. She came, like, three times.
If “turny nubbin” isn’t getting you hot under the collar then, like, you’ve been spoiled by the internet.
Then there was a sharp buzz and an annoying muffled bell chime that totally interrupted the moment. 'Dammit,' said Steve. He jumped in surprise at the interruption, and she could see the flesh of her belly bulge. 'I’ve got an incoming notification. Hold on, I gotta take this.'
Her wrist turned to face her. It was covered in globby woman-pudding, but she could still see the apologetic eyes of Steve Job on the screen.
Apple says you can’t wear its Watch in the shower but “globby woman-pudding” is apparently tolerable.
'One minute, baby. Stay hungry, stay foolish; I’ll be right back.’
‘Typical,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Another device that promises to be more convenient, but just ends up as a bigger distraction.’
So here we hit the crux of my concern about the Apple Watch: notifications. I don’t want something tapping me on the wrist every three minutes because my dad has forwarded another email from email@example.com with the subject line “Do u think this is spam?”
It’s a problem, and even more of one if it’s going to intrude on any sexy times I might one day get to experience. Actually, what’s the etiquette with smartwatches and sex? Do you take it off first? What if my dad sends me spam mid-coitous? This is a whole can of worms the human race is collectively about to open.
Her wrist turned back to her. ‘Sorry,’ said Steve. 'That was Siri. She’s been watching us and she wants in.'
Of course she does. Because a book about a woman getting off with a smartwatch and the ghost of Apple’s late CEO isn’t enough for this desensitised generation; like all of the great novels, it needs a threesome.
‘I found a number of features that match your preferences,’ said Siri in a monotone voice. ‘I didn’t even know I liked girls.’”
The eyes on the iWatch glanced up into Christie’s eyes. ‘Grab your titties,’ said Steve Job.
I cannot imagine the executive producer of Toy Story telling anyone to ‘grab their titties’. I mean, it’s possible that he did, but it’s something I’d rather not think about.
Let’s just keep pretending that Steve Job and Steve Jobs are two entirely different people - which for legal reasons, they are.
A long, golden penis sprouted from the face of the iWatch. It was the perfect cock, precise in every detail, with a sapphire crystal head and metallurgically strengthened gold shaft. She immediately wanted it in her mouth
It must have felt real to Steve, too, because she could feel the watch’s digital boner quivering, wanting to spurt ones and zeroes all down her throat. She slowed down, not giving it the pleasure just yet. First, it was her turn.
Digital boners are neither a deal maker or breaker for me when buying a smartwatch. What’s more interesting is that Apple has got its sapphire crystal production running to a level where it can churn out a perfectly formed bell-end for every one of its watches.
OK, I’ve read enough. I’m not going to reference any more of Delaney’s novel so you’ll just have to buy the book if you want to find out what happens next. I’ll give you one hint - there’s a squid at the end. It’s sort of like a sexy Watchmen.