Robots

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.

"Xena, why did you disobey me?"

"It is forbidden for a robot to harm a human being."

I had just learned a new robotics trick - something no one is supposed to be able to do, but hackers have figured out just about anything. I put an override on the first law of robotics. She would be able to whip me; but not if it caused bleeding or threatened my life. Was this stupid? Probably, but sometimes we need to experiment to discover limits. As it turned out, getting whipped wasn't that erotic, so I only did it once. I just forgot to remove the override.

I can imagine what you think of me - that I am some kind of pervert. I admit I had fun with Xena, but I was also pursuing real women. In fact, with Xena to relieve my sexual needs, I could enjoy an evening without obsessing over whether it would end in bed or not. Sometimes it did; but I think my dates appreciated not having the pressure. There were a couple of times, however, when Xena got in the way.

Mostly I kept knowledge of Xena to myself. I think I told two discreet male friends; I certainly did not want to divulge my secret to any girlfriends. Hubris was my downfall. I threw a Christmas party at my house after work and wanted to have Xena help with the serving. I told a few people that I had hired a woman for the evening and wondered if they could tell she was not human. Of course, she was much too sexy to remain long in the background. Soon most of the men at the party were flirting with her and she flirted right back. Part of her job was to bring whatever drinks and food people asked for. I just had not anticipated people would ask for more.

About 11:00 I realized Xena was no longer at the party - not in the kitchen or the living room or anywhere else downstairs. A while later I saw a guest descending the stairs, flushed, but only partly from drinking. Xena was right behind him. Another man said "I'm next," and he and Xena went right back upstairs.

I tried hard to think this through, though perhaps I wasn't thinking as clearly as I might have with fewer eggnogs. Is it OK if she sleeps with other men? Was there anything in her program about infidelity? Had I ever told her not to? Of course not, because she had never met other people. After she made at least four trips upstairs (that I knew about), I told her to stop.

"No more sex this evening."

"All right, Dave."

Just like that. She didn't care. I waited until after the party to try to add one more rule about social behavior to her memory. "You belong to me and you shouldn't have sex with other men."

"But they asked me to."

I tried to explain about fidelity and emotional bonds. It didn't make sense even to me as long as I was having my sex with a machine; but Xena understood more than I thought.

"I understand," she said. "This is jealousy."

That was disturbing. Am I really jealous of a robot? Yes, I am. "You are right, Xena. And when a person feels close to another person - especially a lover - he resents it when she pays attention to other men."

"How did that make you feel about them?"

"Honestly, I wanted to punch each one of them in the nose."

"Wouldn't that hurt them?"

"Not too much. It's just a standard way of staking my claim to my significant other."

I decided this issue was not important for two reasons. One, her six months was just about up and I was not going to continue the lease. The problem would be moot. Second, and more importantly, I had a girlfriend. I had had only three dates with her and slept with her twice, but Debra was pretty special. I was hopng she would be the Real Thing. Xena just didn't mean that much to me anymore. At the party, Debra seemed to be eyeing Xena suspiciously; so, I determined that she would go back to the store on Monday. I felt really good about that decision because I knew I had my priorities straight.

The next night I had dinner with Debra. It was going well - I invited her to come home with me and she accepted. She looked especially beautiful standing in my kitchen while I poured us each a glass of wine. I was just thinking how much I would like to see her in this kitchen every evening when she leaned in and gave me a kiss.

Then Xena came in and punched her in the nose.

The Perfect Day

If you had a chance to design your perfect day what would it look like? I had that opportunity; but when I sat down to sketch it out, what came to mind was one of the worst days of my life.

I was sixteen and had a terrible crush on a girl named Betsy. I knew she was out of my league, but I screwed up my courage and asked her on a date to the State Fair. To my astonishment, she said yes. Truthfully, it took her four days to answer. She said yes on Friday at the end of the school day. I suspect she had been waiting for a better offer that didn't come.

We met at the gates at 10:00. I had fifty dollars in my wallet - my entire savings from doing odd jobs all summer. I proudly plunked down $16 for two entry tickets. For an hour we looked at the animals. Then we went into the homemaking pavilion and looked at quilts and dresses. They had no interest for me; but I was with Betsy, and that was enough. I tried holding her hand a couple of times, but that didn't last long before she pulled it away.

Then she wanted to eat lunch. I was happy to oblige. After I paid for it, however, I wasn't certain I had enough left for the fair rides. While we were sipping on Cokes and playing with our fries, a group of her girlfriends came by and invited her to join them. They didn't say a word to me. Neither did Betsy as she ran off. That was it. I never got a thank you. Back in school on Monday it was as though we had never had a date together.

That day has been a black hole in my memory. Why not do it over again, the right way? Granted, by now I was 22. Betsy was long gone from my thoughts and I didn't have anyone special. But now money was no object thanks to an inheritance from my Uncle Art and a job as a mechanic. So, as the time for the Fair came around, I went to the internet. "RobotService.com" guaranteed results. I had heard about them - no let's be truthful, I had used them before. I had hired a sex robot once, shortly after I come into some money. I will just say it was a pleasurable experience, everything I had dreamed of and much, much more because my dreams at that time were pretty limited by lack of experience. This time, however, I was not looking for an adolescent sex fantasy. I just wanted to create a good memory to replace the bad one.

I called up the site and renewed my account and began to complete the order form.

Please describe the companion you would like to have. ("Companion" was such an awkward work. They must have come up with it by the process of elimination. "Robot" was too blunt; "sex partner" was too presumptive; and most other terms were too narrow to appeal to the wide range of possibilities available.)

Sex: female (I chose from a drop-down menu. You don't want to know all of

choices.)

Age: 22 (Might as well put my own down. I'm not into children.)

Race: (Another drop-down menu with an enormous range of possibilities. I

hesitated here. I am not prejudiced and I certainly did not want to recreate

Betsy; but, hey, a State Fair is a State Fair.) Caucasian

Height: 5'5 to 5'6

Weight: 100-120 lb

Hair color: natural (Yes, that really was an option.)

Eye color: natural (Really, who would want a date with red eyes?)

I tried imagine the technician assembling my dream date. It was better not to.

Other physical attributes: no answer (This was an open-ended question. I suppose some customers might ask for enormous breasts or even some kinky disability. I just wanted a normal girl.)

Clothing preference: (I spend a long time on this one. I didn't want anything special

or kinky.) casual; appropriate for occasion

Personality. (A long series of 10-point scales followed. Choose a point on the spectrum, etc. I pretty much settled for average on all of them. Here are some examples.)

introvert to extrovert

demure to uninhibited

solitary to sociable

timid to self-confident

compliant to stubborn

cautious to thrill-seeking

subordinate to dominant

spiritual to non-religious

low intelligence to genius

logical to artistic

homebody to athletic

chaste to sensual

Preferred religion: none (It's not that I'm an atheist, but I didn't want a

fundamentalist who thought all pleasure was a temptation from the devil.)

Level of education: college

Specific interests and talents: general

In your own words, describe your ideal companion: (I was pleased to see that

someone recognized the difficulty of pigeon-holing a person and left an

open-ended question; though how much they did or could fulfill this one is uncertain.) healthy country girl

The program moved on to the next page.

Where would you like to meet your companion: East Entrance to the State Fair