She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
Twenty-seven-years-old, about five-foot-seven, sparkling brown eyes with a hint of green that seemed to light up the room, straight and soft brunette hair falling just above her rib cage area and just below her breasts, which, beneath her tank top seemed a perfectly ample and rounded plush size, a firmly curved ass within a pair of jeans and an overall slim body frame that perfectly put her on the chart as not too thin but a good amount of flesh to grab hold of.
And she was really standing there, in the living room of my house, right in front of me to see and reach out and touch.
But among all those movie star quality attributes, there was just one particularly unique thing about her, though.
She wasn't real.
Not a real human, anyway.
She didn't have organs inside. She had electronics, and plastic, and liquids, and other gizmos and gadgets I couldn't even begin to comprehend or list out.
All I knew was that she was mine, and mine alone. I had paid for her. Four months' worth of pay, too! But since I did well for myself at my job and had excellent credit and a nice payment plan, I wasn't too concerned. She was top of the line; the latest model. I knew instantly I had gotten my money's worth on first impression alone.
My very first, and hopefully last (because they were built to last) love bot. Of course, that was the professional and discreet name for her, but I doubt "fuck bot" would have gone well over parents perusing the aisles of their local mega stores.
To set one thing straight right off the bat, I didn't have an unlucky dating life. But work kept me busy, and it had been a while since I was in a meaningful relationship, so after much thought and debate, I decided to venture into this decision for myself.
I was in my mid-twenties and still had tons of time to settle down with a real live breathing woman. I could get rid of her at any time (used models beyond the manufacturer's return window still fetch a very good price on the second-hand market, after a thorough cleaning and debugging reset, obviously).
But yeah. She was a fuck bot to me, not a love bot. Plain and simple, I bought her to fuck her, not love her. Just a pure, normal human desire to let loose my sexual repression. The guys out there actually falling in love with these damn things were the ones with the real problems.
That wasn't going to be me. I considered myself very headstrong and morally sound, and even if I developed the least bit of attachment to her, when and if I ever came to the point of meeting a real woman I wanted to get into a healthy relationship with, I could see myself easily parting with her company. Hell, then again, maybe my new significant other would be into keeping her for some extra fun company.
Or there was always plenty to do around the house cleaning-wise.
No, I knew right then and there I had gotten my money's worth and I intended to prove that to myself with an out-of-this-world experience like I had never had before. Looking at her standing before me, I almost wanted to laugh at the thought of the primitive ways guys went about lavishing in similar recreational methods over a hundred years ago, when these fake women were made of more dense, uncomfortable rubber or cushioned material.
Even the inflatable blow-up ones before that were downright hilarious, but my grandfather said those were mostly meant as dumb jokes for bachelor parties and such.
No thanks. I had no desire to fuck a pool float. I wanted something with more substance and realism, and these were fascinating times I was living in, so "when in Rome", as they say.
And I wasn't one of those paranoid crackpots bouncing around on a city street corner picketing with signs that blared messages about A.I. (artificial intelligence, for the layman) being unholy and how it would cause the downfall of humanity when these things went against their parameters and rose up to mutiny against us humans like all those flashy sci-fi movies had tried preaching to us over a century ago.
These things were perfectly safe and with a zero-percent uprising rate. Sure, they malfunctioned like any other machine, but fatality numbers were near zero when it came related to A.I. robots, and those cases were simply accidents that could just as well have happened with or without A.I. intervention or presence.
Besides, in the minimally unlikely event that these things were to turn against us, it would probably take beyond my lifetime to evolve to that point. I almost laughed to myself thinking of me as an old man dressed in rags huddled around a barrel fire of an annihilated skyscraper in a post-apocalyptic A.I. dominated environment explaining to my grandchildren how before I met their grandmother I used to stick my dick into those things.
"Would you care for me to undress now?" she asked. It was the first spontaneous thing she had said beyond our initial short basic conversation after activating her an hour ago.
She had a sweet voice, polite and selfless in her tone but with a subtle flatness that reminded me she was still a robot under all that beauty.
"Of course," I simply replied.
She pulled her tank top over her head, then bent forward to unbutton and shimmy her jeans down her luscious legs, leaving her now decked out in a pair of nice white cotton panties with an accompanying bra. Maybe I could have drawn out the foreplay with a bit more inventive removal of her clothes, but there would be plenty of other opportunities for that later. I was anxious to check out my pricey merchandise.
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, letting it fall forward to the floor as her glorious breasts glowed (figuratively, that is, though customizations have seen these chicks lit up from within like badly colorful twentieth century college party ravers).
Fuck! They were awesome! I was definitely a tit man, but some of my cohorts with similar tastes just went too damn far with size. How is a breast as big as a damn head attractive? These were definitely Goldilocks tits. Not too small, not too big, but just right.
She hooked her thumbs under her panties at the hip line and pulled them down, lifting a foot to let it elegantly slide off.
She returned to a neutral stance, arms hanging straight at her sides as she stared at me. I was speechless.
"Would you care to touch me?" she offered.
I slowly bobbed my head, swallowing the lump in my throat as I carefully stepped forward and reached out. I feathered my fingertips under the curved rim of her right breasts, thumbing and gently plucking at the nipples.
The softness was incredible! I glided my hand over the top and dipped into her cleavage, then rotated my wrist so I could cup a breast in my hand. The weight was perfect. I gave it a light jiggle. It was so damn natural! I was in awe. "It all feels so real," I mumbled.
