Male Robot

The simulation says nothing. She can tell he cannot speak and is disappointed for a moment, she then realizes whatever he could say would be hollow compared to the words from her real lover. Perhaps it’s best for him to say nothing — preserve the fantasy.

He grabs her by the hair on the back of her head. She gasps as he pulls back. With her mouth open, he kisses her again. She struggles. It’s instinctive. It’s a game. She surrenders. He pulls her close to his body. She feels his hot organ through his pants press against her thigh. He'd always known how to make her melt.

She quivers as their mouths meet. Now, she holds him tight against her, not letting go. When their kiss breaks, she holds her head against his chest. Even his scent is as she remembers.

“Come,” she tells him, “the bedroom.” She leads him, or his simulation, by the hand. In a corner of her mind she realizes that this is nothing but a technological sex toy. Yet, it is him — in proxy. This simulation would do to her exactly what he would if were here.

Once in the bedroom, he wastes no time in pulling off her sweater. Then he starts removing the rest of her clothes.

She lets him undress her; feeling his hands as they caress her body, removing one garment after another. Soon, she’s down to her bra. He unclasps it from behind and tosses it aside. Then he runs his fingers across her breasts.

She gasps, but does nothing to stop him.