Cara sprinted to the door the second she heard the knock, but she paused with her hand on the doorknob to try to compose herself before opening it. Her skin was flushed, her long black hair was limp and heavy with sweat, and she couldn't stop herself from composing her facial expression into a look so studiously innocent that anyone seeing her would immediately say, 'Oh, yes. There's that woman who just ordered a life-size sex doll and just masturbated thinking of humping her brains out on its fake cock over the next three days. The pervert, right?' Just asking for the day off had made her feel like some sort of kinky sex maniac.
But when she opened the door, the delivery person seemed completely disinterested. And no wonder, really-the package was just a large white box with the Revolution Technologies logo stamped on it, no different than their televisions or their computers or their home appliances. The man who handed her the electronic clipboard and stylus and said, "Sign here, ma'am," probably had no idea what the package contained, and they probably cared even less. If he noticed that she looked flushed and sweaty, he probably just looked at her yoga pants and crop top and put two and two together to make wrong. He had no idea that Cara had been spending weeks diddling herself to fantasies of this exact moment.
Today was the day her Boy(tm) arrived.
After she signed, the delivery person took the clipboard back and balanced the dolly containing the box on its wheels. "Where do you want this, ma'am?" he asked, his voice still perfunctory and professional. It didn't stop Cara from feeling self-conscious. She wished that Revolution could just discreetly pop the Boy right into her bedroom when she wasn't home, like the way it worked with the Girls(tm), but then again the thought of someone going into her bedroom with a life-sized sex doll when she wasn't there didn't exactly sound great either.
That was why she went with a Boy in the first place, she reminded herself as she led the delivery person wordlessly into the living room and pointed at a spot on the floor in front of the couch. Sure, everyone who got a Girl raved about the experience, but Cara always felt weird about getting a sex toy from a mystery company that didn't make anything else and didn't have any stores. Even as her friends succumbed, one by one, to the allure of their own personal robot lover, Cara knew she was waiting for something else to come along.
That was when she saw the billboard. It was one of those rotating digital displays, so the image only lasted for about ten seconds, but it practically seared itself into Cara's retinas. It had a banner with the words, 'The Boys(tm) of Summer Are Here!' displayed over a fake beach filled with robots sculpted in the image of perfectly-built men in a variety of colors. They stared out at her with deliciously confident smiles, each one slightly different but somehow all of them reflecting an image of smoldering sensuality. And while they all wore swimsuits, the bulges left no doubt as to what they were packing underneath. And at the bottom of the ad, Cara saw the perpetually-spinning flywheel that was the Revolution logo.
Cara wasn't a brand junkie or anything, but just knowing that there was a customer support line and a return policy and a company she could sue if something went wrong and her brand new sexbot decided to run around smashing all the dishes in her house because she forgot to boot it up in Safe Mode...it went a long way toward allaying her lingering reservations about getting her very own fuck machine.
Plus...she had to admit, even if the Girls did have vibrators they could pop out on demand, there was just something about seeing a hunky guy with a nice package. Call her old-fashioned, but she wanted to be fucked by a man, even if he was made of plastic.
And she knew she wasn't alone. When she logged into the Revolution website and went to their new 'Personal Devices' page, the counter for the Boys was already up to 672,000. That was less than a day after launch, too. It was no wonder that they had a six-week waiting period for the first batch off the assembly line-Cara heard some people saying that it was up to six months, now. Whoever made the Girls was definitely in for a run for their money. (Which was about as much as Cara wanted to think about how much her robot lover had cost. She'd be brown-bagging it for another month.)
All those thoughts flew through her head in a matter of moments as she escorted the delivery person out, locked and chained the door, and darted back to the living room so fast she smacked her knee on the edge of the kitchen counter. She didn't exactly picture that part in her fantasies, but she figured her Boy could kiss it and make it better. Cara sat down on the couch and massaged the sore spot with one hand while she pulled open the box with the other.
Cara had to take out a few of those foam dividers, but it only took a few moments' work before she finally saw him. He was curled up nude in the box like Arnold Schwarzenegger at the beginning of 'Terminator', his midnight-blue plastic muscles contrasting beautifully with the white cardboard. She looked around next to him, but didn't see a manual or a charger or anything. There wasn't even a sheet of paper labeled 'Quick Start Guide'. How did she even turn him on? Do a striptease and grab his crotch?
Thankfully, she didn't need to worry about it for long. After a few seconds, the Boy stood up in a single smooth motion, straightened his body like he was taking a deep breath for the first time, and opened his eyes to reveal an electric blue glow that flickered like two tiny strobe lights. He smiled, the same confident grin Cara remembered from the billboard, and said, "I know what you need."
Cara shivered at the sound of his voice. It had a rich, harmonic baritone quality to it, smoky like a mellow bourbon, and every word seemed to stroke her body like a velvet glove. "Mmm?" she muttered, already very aware of how much her pussy was doing the thinking for her. She'd been daydreaming about this moment, daydreaming and night-dreaming and wet-dreaming and now that it was here she could barely even speak. If her Boy knew what she needed, she was more than happy to let him take the lead.
