Two Robot Stories
I Tarzan, You Robot
When the first sex robots came on the market that were approved by Consumer Reports (boy, I would have liked to be on the testing panel!), I put myself on the list. It's not like I can't get a real date occasionally. I just consider myself on the cutting edge of technology, and something of a roboticist myself. Household artificial intelligence was something I couldn't pass up - even if all that intelligence was designed around a one-track mind. I rented one for a six-month lease.
She was delivered to my house along with a technician who gave me a two-hour instruction seminar on what her limits and special features were. He was required to go over the three Laws of Robotics: A robot can never harm a human being by action or inaction. A robot will protect itself unless doing so would harm a human being. A robot must obey all instructions as long as they do not contradict the first two rules. I had already studied everything I could find about the product, so I learned nothing new. And I am not afraid to tackle the 300-page instruction manual or even the technical notes at the back. However, his first question made me think.
"What do you want to name her?"
Name her? She doesn't have one already? OK, let's think. Don't use the name of anyone I know well - certainly not my sister or aunt or former girlfriends. Not only would that sound creepy, but a psychiatrist would have a field day.
I thought about something innocuous like Daisy; but it occurred to me that if I ever tried to date a real Daisy there could be trouble. So, I picked a name I never expected to meet - Xena, like the cartoon character.
The technician set up the voice recognition routine so it would respond specifically to me as her . . .
And who am I? Her owner? Her lover? Her master?
"Let's settle on 'Tony.'"
When the preliminaries were over, the technician left, assuring me that Xena would be learning and improving her interactional skills with time. Because of that, it was important that she interact with me and other people.
And there I was alone with my new housemate. She was very attractive, but that is because I had prechosen her physical characteristics and appearance. She wore a generic dress, and I was expected to buy clothes and dress her to my taste (measurements and standard clothing sizes were provided to make that easier). She looked human and not human.
Or maybe she looks human but I know she isn't so I am distorting the way I look at her. What would I think if I met her on the street?
"Please sit down, Xena."
"Thank you, Tony."
"Would you like something to drink?"
"No, but thank you."
OK. This is awkward.
But then I realized it was not awkward for Xena. She didn't do awkward.
"Xena, are you programmed for conversation?"
"Yes, I am. I will develop social skills with experience."
Hell, I'm not going to fool myself. Xena is a sex robot; let's try her out. "Xena, let's go to the bedroom."
"All right, Tony. That sounds fun to me."
"I am looking forward to when you learn to speak naturally."
"So am I, Tony."
And we had sex in the simple missionary position. I won't claim it was the best I ever had, but she was programmed pretty well. Her skin was warm, and moist in the right places. She showed all the signs of arousal - flushing, dilation of the pupils, erection of the nipples, etc. It wasn't hard to imagine a woman enjoying herself underneath me - until she came to orgasm simultaneously with me. She grunted four or five times and sighed and stopped moving.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing is wrong. That felt great."
"You were grunting and then you stopped."
"I was responding to you, Tony. I am still learning."
"You mean that is what I sounded like?"
"I am modelling your behavior."
Good Lord. I need to get her a sex tape and show her how a real woman acts - or how a real actress pretends to make love. I need to learn how a real man acts before my next time with a real woman.
The real annoyance was that she would get out of bed immediately to clean up whatever leaking of juices - hers or mine - or lubricant had occurred. Somehow her neatness mode overrode any chance of a simple post-coital cuddle. Try as I might, I could not figure out from the instruction book or online help how to override that behavior.
Despite this, I have to admit that it was pretty satisfying and I did make use of her several times over the next week. She was very supple and mastered all the positions of the Kama Sutra after one glance at the pictures. I haven't achieved that yet.
The first real problem came in the third week. I had entered Xena from behind. She was very willing and I had just worked my way up to climax when she just quit. She didn't just lie still - she froze in place, like her batteries had just died. This is the time when I should call technical support and have someone come out and fix her, except for a small problem.
Xena's vagina is designed to squeeze my member as I slide in and out for more stimulation. She died in mid-squeeze with me inside her and I was stuck. As long as she clamped down, my erection was sustained. Pretty soon it was painful. The phone was in the other room. Clumsily I worked Zeno to the edge of the bed and tried to roll off. Of course, I landed on my back and she landed on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. She weighs as much as a real woman. I caught my breath and rolled back upright so she was on her hands and knees again and I on my knees. I could barely lift her with my hands; but I managed to lift as much weight as would allow us to scoot forward a couple of inches. Then I scooted my knees forward. Two inches at a time, we worked our way across the carpet out of the bedroom heading to the den where I had left my phone. Each tiny step was painful. My knees were getting rubbed raw and my . . . well, you know. I stopped to rest half way to my goal and simply lay my head and shoulders on her soft back. I fell asleep.
When I awoke, she was in the same position, but my erection was gone and I was free. I dressed and called the company. They sent a technician out the next day. I had cleaned up Xena and even put clothes on her, but it was pretty obvious what she was doing when her electronics froze. The technician did a good job of keeping a straight face when I said she was scrubbing the floor - he had probably had better stories to tell - and rebooted her.
She worked pretty well after that, and I often forgot she was a robot. I would talk to her when I got home from work. Sometimes I took her on walks or just sat and held her hand. We watched television and movies together, and I learned she would watch the TV when I was at work as part of her social learning.
We had lots of good sex in different positions; I bought her some erotic clothes - the various things one would expect to do with a sex robot. Then I decided to try for something kinkier. I bought a large quantify of rope, and a blindfold. I had Xena watch some porn movies so she would get the idea of what I wanted. She is a fast learner.
"Xena, I would like you to tie me up."
First, she blindfolded me. Then she put me in a chair and tied my wrists behind it. Then she began in earnest. She tied my ankles to the chair legs, spread my knees and secured them. She stuffed underwear in my mouth and wrapped tape around and around my head, just like she saw in one of the films. And she tied and tied and tied. When she ran out of rope she used the rest of the duct tape and looked for phone cords, electrical cords and anything else that would tie in knots.
I wanted to tell her that was enough.
Stop now and pleasure me
, but the gag was a good one. She only stopped because there was nothing left to tie me with. Since I had not told her to untie me, she simply waited for my next commend. I must have sat in that chair for hours until I finally fell asleep. She woke me when she removed my gag.
"Please untie me now, I said."
She did so with the same methodical attention as when she bound me. I waited until she was all done before speaking again.
"When you put the gag on me, I couldn't tell you what to do next."
"Of course."
"Why do you think I asked you to tie me up?"
"Because you wanted to be immobilized."
How could I begin to explain? I didn't try.
Foolishly I decided to try something else kinky a month later. By then I thought she a learned much more about the way humans think and communicate.
"Xena, do you remember the film we watched called "Tommy is teased?"
"Of course, Dave."
"Tell me what you remember." Xena has perfect recall, but she is also learning to extract the salient parts for a summary. In the video, a dominatrix ties Tommy spreadeagled on the bed and through ticking and stroking his penis plays with him to the point of erection. Then she backs away for a few minutes. Repeating this action, she keeps him on the edge of orgasm for about 15 minutes until he explodes. I asked Zena to do this for me, emphasizing she was not to gag me.
Her sensitivity was amazing. By now she knew me well enough to know when I was just about to come. She took her time, giving me a good visual stimulus with her perfect breasts, then stroking my abdomen and thighs. A brief lick of my penis and it was fully engorged. I panted encouragement, something like: "Oh, yeah. Oh, that's wonderful. Do me. Again. Oh, Oh, Yeah. I can't take it anymore."
She stopped, leaving me hanging. Now, this was part of the program. She was supposed to let me back off the cliff a little then come back and drive me again. Instead she untied me. I could have killed her, except I couldn't.
"Why did you stop?"
"You told me to."
"But you were supposed come back and do it again."
"You said you couldn't take it any more so I needed to stop."
"Aaagh. Sometimes 'no' doesn't mean no it means keep doing it."
"I don't understand."
No, you wouldn't. You are just a bunch of silicone circuits. You don't know what it means to be hovering on the brink and come away disappointed.
Fool that I was, I tried again two weeks later. I wanted to try something else I had read about but never experienced. I gave Xena explicit instructions about how I wanted to be tied up. I told her not to use any more rope than I gave her and certainly not to gag me. When I was in position and unable to free myself, I gave her further instructions.
"On the desk is a small whip. Please get it. . . . Now I would like you to lightly whip my buttocks. That is supposed to increase my sensitivity. . . . OK, now a little harder. Harder, until tell you to stop."
But she stopped anyway and refused to go on. Nothing I could say would make her swing that whip. I finally told her to release me.
