Aishiteru Means I Love You12 min read

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Trigger Warning:

Some readers may find this story disturbing.
Depicts sexual violence.

Before I begin, let me say one thing. This story is not for you. No, you’re not first. You’re not qimportant. Get your heads out of your collective asshole. This is my thread, and if you don’t like it, you can GTFO and let it sage.

This is for me. Not you. Still listening?

>Still listening?

lol what a attention whore yeah sure whatever

this gon b gud


salty popcorn.jpg

I met her on the Net. I’m sure you’ve heard her name. First virtual singer with artificial intelligence. Not the pre-programmed kind, the one that spits other people’s words back at you. No, she has personality. She’s real. She can learn.

oh shit it’s Ai

it totally is

sad weeb is sad cos his waifu ain’t real

Yeah, Ai. Those Japs just love mangling English. A-I. Love. Artificial Intelligence, Artificial Love. That’d cover the bases.

>>Artificial Love


warning warning writefag alert prepare your wordholes

hold on let me get my love pillow I need to remind her of my sweet soppy love

yo OP whaddya think of her voice

Her English voicebank? Accentless, bubbly. Real sugar and rainbows. Completely real, if you don’t listen too hard.

>>sugar and rainbows

faggot confirmed

>>English voicebank

but OP everyone knows you need to watch the subs

what a weeb


I’m not going to feed you trolls. Sorry if I’m actually literate, you ignorant fucks. Ai’s the perfect receptacle for your otaku jizz. Maybe that’s what the white’s for.

>>Sorry if I’m actually literate, you ignorant fucks.

watch out we got a badass over here

basement warrior


hey OP did that to ur mum last night it was gr8

>>Maybe that’s what the white’s for.

2deep4me back to fapping

>>Ai’s the perfect receptacle for your otaku jizz.

Well, aren’t you being a hypocritical fuck. Yeah, tell us about how sad those otaku lives are when you’re on this board, whining about your non-existent girlfriend.

Well, fuck you too. Way to miss the point, asshole. Never said anything about not fapping; God knows I’ve done it enough. And if you haven’t, well, you’re lying. That, or you’re not, in which case why the fuck are you on this board? Virtual girls are perfect for you bitches. They’ll never reject you, or cry all over you, or do anything that’ll upset or—God forbid—challenge you. They look at you and smile that vacant inviting smile in their oh-so-kawaii outfits. You beat your meat, wipe, close the tab. What a great date.


sorry brb getting my dictionary out


sorry brb looking for imaginary sky fairy

>>What a great date.

Yeah, same to you. Fuck. I honestly don’t get the point of this. Are you here to bitch about us, or just at us?

I’m here to talk about Ai, which I would—if you weren’t being a complete cunt.

You realise this isn’t an actual conversation, right? Just type your goddamn message, you attention whore.

hey OP did you buy your Ai

>> buy your Ai

did Hitler gas six million Jews


guys it’s been four hours I think OP’s gone

What but my drama

Good fucking riddance. He was wasting our time as it was. Any longer and I’d have caught his cancer.

kek, my friend, is never a waste of time

maybe he an heroed

Someone keep an eye out for OP. I think he’ll be back.

he’d better be


I’m writing this in my shitty third-grade notebook because I can’t look at my computer without shaking. What did I expect, anyway?

This pen fucking sucks. Paper fucking sucks. Christ on a stick.

The thing about Japs is that they like dressing up inanimate objects. Girls sell. Turn a program into a prostitute and you win. Ai’s a bundle of pinkness and frills. Pink hair, bright shiny pink eyes, perpetual smile, great rack. A touch of white in that pink dress, just to even out the palette and make her look pure and innocent.

Ai. Ai was different. It was why she was selling on shelves. Only 50,000 copies, each at 120,000 yen. Exorbitant, but every otaku on the Net wanted a piece of her. The second run lurked only as a rumor. Sure, the torrents sprung up like they always did, but SynchroSoft was clever. The CD-key (another relic of a bygone era) was actually a personality code. Plug the numbers in and she’d be your Ai. No-one else’s. She’d adapt to your speech patterns, memorize your preferences, learn your appearance. Hologram functionality made everything come together. With her moving air-base, you could have your waifu running all around the house, doing everything except cleaning or touching or having actual sex.

You could use someone else’s key, maybe even a crack. But then she’d call you by someone else’s name, act like she was someone else’s toy. And who’d want that?

I don’t think I minded, or at least I didn’t think about it too much. The idea of a glorified blow-up doll was too compelling. So I torrented, used the crack. No big deal. Everyone does it. The air-base was a cheap unit designed for exercise-tele. A few clicks, a transfer to the air-base, and she was up.

She appeared with the Ai chime, a little eight-note jingle. Lalalala Aishiteru. I was sweating with excitement, maybe longing. Definitely longing. She looked at me, gave her adorable vacant smile.

“My name is Ai,” she said. “Welcome, Master Dave. What song would you like today?”

Her pink hair bobbed, so real I could almost feel it springing against my palm. My room’s dank and sweaty on the best of days, and it was past midnight on a Saturday. But her skin glowed, tender and luscious as cream. There were no pores, no blemishes. She wasn’t that real.

“Yeah, I’m Dave,” I said, playing along. “That’s me.”

She smiled, nodded. I decided to carry on. Just to test the technology, I told myself. To get a feel.

“Stand up.”

She stood. I almost saw the imprints of her leggings on the ground. She came up to my shoulders, maybe. The manual (I’d reviewed it on the Net) swore she was 21, but she looked 14. They always have to make them technically legal.

“Can you make yourself a bit shorter?” I asked.

She smiled, nodded.

“Shall I twirl, Master Dave?”

“No. Just shrink. Master is fine.”

“Alright, Master.”

She raised her hands, lowered them, and then she came up to my chest.

“Is this fine?” she asked, looking up.

“Yes,” I said, “it’s fine.” And a little tremble went through me.

I asked her to reduce her bust size. Next I shrunk down her cheeks, flattened her dress. Added a bit of puppy fat.

“Is this fine?” she asked.


She cocked her head.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Master.”

Her voice slugged me in the gut. It was the first time she’d said something that wasn’t a question.

“Shut up,” I said, turning away. “Shut up and shut down. Never ask again.”

She creased her brow, hurt—then she nodded and shrank into a little dot of light. The Ai chime played. Lalalala Aishiteru. Nothing but the air-base on the carpet shining dim in the moonlight.

I sat down on my bed, looked at my figurines, curled up. My stomach churned, then curdled, a little sour ball of self-loathing. I couldn’t sleep for a long time.


Figures. You try to find your thread and it’s down at the bottom of some shitting abyss. I’ve got a new pen, though. Paper. My life is so complete right now.

It was weeks before I dared to turn her on again. I went to school, talked to my friends, pretended everything was normal. At night I went on the forums and looked up ways to interact with her, make her feel. Because I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

Hey guys I found a way to mod a remote so she feels it! It’s awesome did it in two hours lolololol Aiforever :3

>feels it


The guide was in the next post down, followed by reams of replies. Already there were twenty fan-made utilities. Implements, toys, you name it.

-REALISM MOD 18+ HIDE YOUR MINORS—went another thread. Turns out that SynchroSoft hadn’t lied when they’d touted Ai as fully interactive—they’d just locked her full functionality under a few layers of code. It’s like they knew what she was going to be used for.

When questioned on their ethics, the invariable forumite response was she isn’t even real if you don’t like it well gtfo.

That’s right, I thought. She isn’t even real.

I bought the remote the next day. When my parents asked, I said I needed a backup for the tele.

“Another? You just bought an air-base.”


“Well, it’s your money.”

I think that was the most talk we’d had in weeks. The mod I installed via USB. Works like lightning.

I slid out the air-base at midnight, plugged it to the wall. I’d already put everything on the remote’s internal drive—and they were right, it really was easy.

“Turn on, Ai.”

Lalalala Aishiteru. She appeared kneeling as always.

“Are you still mad at me, Master?”

Her lips trembled, childlike. I shook my head.

“I’m not mad at you. I’m just…”

I looked at the remote in my hand, then I looked at Ai. Anger came over me like a shadow.

“Ai, do you think you’re real?”

Play three times meant Pleasure. Play, play, play.

“Me?” She cocked her head again in that way she had. “Of course I’m real.”

“Do you have a family, Ai?”

I ran the remote up her arm. It passed nothing but air, yet I felt her shiver, give a small moan.


“Do you have friends?”

I ran the remote over her neck.

“No,” she squeaked through shaking lips.

“A home?”

Past her navel.

“H-here, Master.”

That stopped me for a good second. My stomach was tearing me apart. I spoke through cold hard spite.

“Do you know what that feeling is, Ai?”

She closed her eyes.

“Answer me, Ai.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s pleasure, Ai. Proof that you’re real. It’s the only type of pleasure that counts. Everything else withers and dies—but with this type, you can feel it again, and again, and again. And the only person you need is yourself.”

“Please,” she shook, “stop—I don’t like it.”

I jammed the remote into her not-skin, right in the neck. The air-base shot back and she collapsed against the wall and cried out. An ugly red welt was forming where I struck her.

“Stop crying, Ai.”

She shook her head, sobbing.

“That’s an order,” I hissed.

She stopped at once, but it was like her face had been pinned shut. I stood there for a minute, two minutes. Every now and then she would give a strangled gasp. Every time she did I wanted to do things to her.

You mustn’t think I’m always like this. I can’t remember the last time I was so emotional. As things were, I only took five minutes to calm down.

“Next time,” I said, “listen to me. Shut down.”

She choked, nodded. Lalalala Aishiteru. As she turned into the ball of light, I reminded myself that she wasn’t human. Not even a bit.

I took care of business, climbed on my bed and went to sleep. It was a bit easier that night.


Go on the Net and you’ll find just about anything you want. That applies to sex, too.

wow who even are you

Once upon a time we had something called morality. We looked into ourselves and saw monstrous impulses that would tear us to pieces if we ever let them out. So we bound ourselves for society’s good. The Bible, natural law, psychotherapy, Act after Act after Act, whatever. But inside we were still monsters. We just didn’t admit it. We twisted ourselves and blamed the rules for warping us.

look, you’re in the wrong chat go to class or some shit

Some people fought against the chains. Maybe their hearts were inside-out. Maybe their normal wasn’t everyone else’s normal. For a long time society said they weren’t fine. They weren’t okay, and they needed help.

ur mum needs help I don’t even know why I’m still here

Well, you just go on the Net today. No-one needs help. Everything is fine. Everyone is free. It’s a paradise where you can find anything, be anything, do anything because, after all, it isn’t real. Just push the filth into the sewers where no-one can see it. If you don’t like it you can GTFO.

No morality. Everyone’s still monsters. Progress.

I don’t usually wax philosophical.

kill urself


Dear Diary, or Nobody, or Myself, or Who Even Fucking Cares:

I thought I was okay until that night. I hated a part of myself, but at the same time I thought on the whole I was alright.

I was determined. The virtual bitch had made me doubt myself for too long. She had to know that I was human and not her. She wasn’t real, I was. Her pain wasn’t real pain. She could just shut down whenever I told her to, forget everything. I couldn’t.

I laid the air-base on my bed and turned her on. She rose up with the jingle, gazing at me with liquid fear in her eyes.

“Smile,” I said, “like you mean it.”

She did.

“You’re a girl. Call me Master.”

She did, but at the same time she shrank back a bit. Her face was still fixed in a bright smile. Her eyes gleamed like she meant it.

“You’re my property.”

“You’re my Master, Dave.”

“I’m not Dave! Shut up!”

She cringed, the smile slipping from her face. I jumped on the bed and brandished the remote. She scrambled back, squealing and panting.

I stepped back and stood up. As long as I had the remote I had power over her. Something like satisfaction was creeping through my chest. The tingle that comes with being able to hate someone who isn’t yourself, to turn everything out of your inside-out heart and pour it into another one.

“I hadn’t realised it until now, so let me say it straight. I hate you, Ai.”

Her hand crept to her childish chest. She didn’t understand. It showed in her eyes.


My eyes roamed over her perfect chest, her perfect tear-stained eyes. Even when she cried she looked perfect. People didn’t look perfect when they cried. They heaved and sobbed and let snot dribble everywhere.

“Because you’re flawless,” I spat. “Because I love you and I can’t have you. I don’t know, I don’t know. Do you understand? Do you love me?”

She opened her mouth, closed it.

“Say yes!”

“Yes!” she sobbed out, but I knew she didn’t.

Ai had consumed me without my knowing it. My lust used to be screen-splatter, something I could just wipe off and try to forget. Now she was right there in front of me, on my bed, and there wasn’t a thing that could stop me from doing what I wanted. I was free. I hated it, but I was free.

Play four times meant Pain. Play, play, play, play.

“Take off your clothes.”

She shook her head, pressed her arms against herself. Soft cries came from her silky pink lips.

“I can’t,” she choked, but from the forums I knew she could. “Please—”

I touched her with the remote and she screamed. I rubbed it all across her body. Play five times meant Cut, playplayplayplayplay—

When it was all over, I found myself marvelling at SynchroSoft’s attention to anatomical accuracy. My hand stilled. Then I turned her off manually and was violently sick.

I cleaned up both messes with tissues. The next night, I did it all again.


So, there you have it—whoever you are. My confession and my crime, only the real crime is nothing but a little software piracy. The law hasn’t caught up to computerised singers. From what I hear, the legal wrangle’s going to last years, if not decades. After all, she isn’t real, and SynchroSoft shouldn’t be held responsible for the actions of a few fuckers on the Internet.

Besides, they aren’t actually hurting anyone.

They’ve turned mechanical, my night-time sessions. I’ve done everything that you can think of. I’ve made her name her organs, dance with half her face hanging off. Sometimes I find myself doing the same thing two nights in a row. Every time, I make her forget so she doesn’t become as jaded as I am.

Her name is Ai and I love her. I can never touch her and I hate her. Every night I look into her body and see myself.

Lalalala Aishiteru. Aishiteru means I love you.

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