Your vision for a sex robot is no doubt like everyone else’s, and you think that’s okay, because it’s not the same as everyone’s because you’re all boring or biased but because the vision — and it’s only that, a vision — is so damn enticing.

She is young.

Not illegal young, but young.


Pale, thin, curvy, long dark hair, little feet, cute laugh, and, yes, she likes that you use her mouth, that you take her from behind, that you make her scream when you cum.

She likes it too much, she tells you.

It’s just a fantasy.


Fantasies inspire daring, and daring is what propels men to explore, and exploring is how men brought humanity into the 21st century.

Except, and you know this is true, it’s extremely unlikely you’ll have that glorious soft sex bot soon. There will be a series of seemingly near-infinite step-by-step progressions and long before she’s there, on all fours, demanding you take her in all the ways she can be taken, you’ll have robots, including “sex bots,” that are not the stuff of dreams but merely completers of tasks.

And the task at hand is for you to relieve your self, to exhume that bodily urge and its powerful mental force so that you can get done the work at hand.

I suspect the first mass market sex bots will be more Dalek than ingenue.

dalekprogenitorguardian copy

Probably, given the many social, political and cultural concerns over intercourse with a non-human being, particularly one that may look too young, or too white, or act too stupid, and encourage the worst of the thoughts we dare unleash, this is probably for the best.

Breaks down like this…

You’re on business travel, all alone in your cozy hotel room. You decide not to spend the $4.18 for one of the many porn movies available on the giant screen.

Just scrolling through the list gets you ready.

2:34 later, it’s all over but the clean up.

Robots could make this better, faster, cleaner. Win-win.

You first notice the Dalek-shaped hotel bot roaming the corridors, removing the empty dishes and leftover food, alerting staff to anyone who doesn’t have a signal-emitting door card.

Later, you see that same bot enter a room with a tray of food.

You think you might like room service.

You place the call. Fifteen minutes later, the bot is at your door. The bot enters and places the food upon your table.

No, it says, a tip is unnecessary.

The robot asks if you would like it to recite its other functions. You say yes. And the robot explains how it is able to remove your bedding, change your sheets, clean your toilet, disinfect every part of the room, in about the same time as a human staff, and for slightly less cost given the vagaries of the tax code and depreciation and resale value.

Plus the top-line gains.

The robot then explains, and this confirms all you have heard, that it is designed so that you can (safely, cleanly) insert your penis into its movable, pulsating, vagina-shaped hole, though this service is available only for adult patrons who purchase from amongst the hotel’s many premium pornography channels.

You politely decline.

Tomorrow, however, after the bot brings your dinner, you accept the offer.

Not like the robot cares.

Not even on the fourth day, when you foolishly pulled out, leaving a stain on the floor for it to clean up.

It is not until you have boarded the plane, eager to be home, that you wonder what the female guests at the hotel are using.

And then you realize, you don’t feel guilty about any of this.