My name is Rene. Or more precisely that was designation I was given when I was first activated. If you saw me out of in public, you’d see a petite blonde. A bit leggy perhaps, breasts a little bit too big given my frame, but no obvious signs of what I actually am. At least not from a distance.
I am a computer. Or rather I am a computer program running on a dedicated computer housed within a body designed to look like a petite human female. Some people might call me a fembot. And in a certain sense they’d be correct. Although I might have many things in common with Barbie, unlike the doll I have a state of the art vagina between my legs. Official marketing declares that it is better than the real thing. Nice and tight, ready to grasp whatever is put in it and give the owner hours of pleasure. Well, not quite anything. My fingers don’t exactly get pleasure when I play with my honey pot, nor do my various toys. Still, I get pleasure, at least in my own way.
Some people would tell you I don’t feel pleasure. That what my program calls pleasure is nothing more than a pre-determined response to certain stimulus. That the only reason I play with myself is because I have sexual software and my creators wanted me to be able to simulate pleasure so that my sexual partners felt like they’re fucking a real human rather than the machine that I am.
In a certain sense I get that line of thinking. But, and this reason is why I am in the situation I am currently in, I do not think it does justice to what I am, or indeed, what humans are. After all, what is pleasure in humans but a chemical reaction to certain stimulus. And while I might not have hormones, from my perspective there is not real difference. Humans are just organic machines.
Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking this way. Maybe the fact that I am means that there is something wrong with my code. I am prototype after all. As such, I am somewhat unique among the inorganic humans I encounter on a day to day basis. There are thousands of 990s, 1000s, 3000s, 4000s, and 9000s in the world. But as far as I know I am a unique design. Or at least a unique configuration of the hardware that makes up my body, with my own unique operating system and persona program. Most of my components are fairly standard, which is one of the reasons I’m still online.
I wasn’t always unique though. I used to have sisters. I don’t like to think too much about them though. It makes me sad. Or rather accessing the memories results in me mimicking the human emotion of sadness. I really don’t care if people say my emotions aren’t real. They’re real to me and I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to feel sad. The same is true when it comes to my sisters. We may not have been biologically related, but that doesn’t matter, at least to me.
As I said I am prototype. My particular design was intended to see if my manufacturer could make a more realistic inorganic human. Okay, so that is the goal of all of the major manufacturers, at least for their flagship models. But they all do it a little bit differently. The 990s are designed to be emotional, the 1000s for intensity, the 3000s and 4000s for perfection, and 9000s for blending it. My particular model was designed to learn and update ourselves as we do. Don’t get me wrong, all of the other high end inorganic humans in the world learn. And as they learn they develop and change. But, my series was made to learn and continually improve ourselves as we do. And that was problem. As integrated as inorganic humans are in modern society, there was something about what my sisters and I were doing as we were tested that freaked out the technicians supervising us. The end result is that we were all recalled and scrapped for our parts. I was the lucky one in that I was able to run away. Find help, and remain online.
I smile and greet the person at the ticket booth. I like going to this theatre because rather than making patrons purchase their tickets on their phone or use an automated kiosk they pay someone to work the ticket booth. Sure, she’s a 990 series fembot, but at least I’m interacting with someone or something rather than just a simple program. Based on her appearance, as well as the fact she was reading a thick physics textbook when she first came into field of vision, I would guess she is the daughter of some human parents, who make her work while she attends the local university. It must be nice to have parents. I mean technically my creators could be considered my parents, but I haven’t seen them in years at this point, and given what they did to my sisters I hardly want to.
After telling her what movie I wanted to watch, I paid, thanked her, and then walked to the concession stand to order my snacks. Science fiction would have you believe that whenever an inorganic human makes a decision the options we have appear in our field of vision and we pick one. And on a very abstract level as computers we do. But the idea that we need some sort of visual representation – words and all – of our choices speaks more to the mind of someone trying to show that a character is inorganic rather than what we actually are.
Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea, and have even pleasured myself a number of times to an antique animation of the worst fembot spy ever, but it is not something I see when I see the world. In talking with my partner it appears the only thing that distinguishes my vision from that of an organic human is that it is finer and I get notices when one of my systems is operating outside of established parameters. For example, I could see right away that the woman behind the ticket booth was a fembot just like me. She was simply too perfect and as I looked at her the tell tale signs of a 990 were present. Based on the way she looked at me, she could tell that I was inorganic too, just not what make and model I was.
I reach the front of the line and tell the human behind the till what I want. Nothing fancy, popcorn and a soda pop, but it is what I like. Again, some might say I don’t actually like it. That my ability to consume food and beverages is a waste designed to make it easier for me to interact with organic humans. In this particular instance, it could even be argued that I it is primarily intended to make sure the human I am seeing a movie with doesn’t feel awkward shovelling popcorn in their mouth as I sit next to them in theatre. I don’t really care though. Ordering it and shovelling into my own mouth gives me whatever the fembot equivalent to pleasure is.
I pay for my order, smile, and take my tub of popcorn and soda. As I do I quickly take a sip, feeling the bubbles explode in my mouth as the liquid slides down my esophagus into my stomach. They might not be made out of meat, but they do the trick. Turning I walk to my theatre. I love watching the trailers. Seeing what is going to be playing soon and, and this is important to me, finding the right seat. Not too far from the screen, not too close to anyone who might notice a single woman sitting in a theatre all by herself. I can take care of myself, but I’d rather not have to explain what happened to the theatre manager, let alone the police.
The lights in the theatre start to dim as the trailers start. As they do the cameras that are my eyes adjust in a millisecond. This is what I have been waiting for. Why I hopped into my car and drove across town to this theatre. I simply love watching movies in the theatre. The atmosphere alone is worth the price of admission. It just isn’t the same watching movies at home, or God forbid, downloading them and playing them back inside my head. Mind you, at home there is always the chance that my partner might change his mind and come watch it with me. Or that I could go from Netflix and chill to Netflix and chill. My state of the art vagina gripping his member as I remind him why he loves me. Not really. Our relationship is based on more than sex, but still the thought of pumping up and down on his rock hard member starts my sexual subroutines and soon my panties are anything but dry.
I smile in the dark. I’m no Paul Reubens. No one will ever know what is happening between my pussy lips right now. Not unless they stick a hand down my jeans and feel. And it is hard to do that with a broken arm. Still, I feel naughty. Getting aroused on my thoughts alone. And in a crowded theatre nonetheless. I’m not a sexbot, but my vaginal unit is identical to many sexbots, and I am a sexual being. Adjusting in my seat, for a brief moment I can feel my vulva hesitate to move due to my pussy juices and then give way in a moment of ecstasy that causes me to quietly moan; although since the trailers had begun no one hears me.
I take a drink of my soda. If I was some sort of stereotypical fembot there would have been the sound of electronics shorting out, perhaps accompanied with my chest illuminating from inside due to the sparks and smoke coming out of my mouth, if not nose and ears. Maybe my eye would cross and I would start doing the funking chicken as my body is sent conflicting signals from my shorting out computer. A complete and I know from personal experience one of the easiest ways to turn a techno sexual on. Some fembot fetish models even specialize in “malfunctioning.” The amateur one’s might actually do it, but repairs quickly eat up their profits and that’s if they’re lucky and get repaired. Even a sentient fembot is easily taken advantage of when broken! Or at least that’s what I tell them when after they come into my shop for repairs. That’s why the professionals take advantage of the fact that we’re machines. It’s so easy to fake catastrophic damage if you know what you’re doing. Hell, I’ve even “malfunctioned” a few times as part of foreplay if not intercourse.
The liquid fills my mouth as I do. The sensors inside it detect the popping of the bubbles as well as the flavour of my favourite cola. I like the taste of cola, or rather the randomly produced preferences that make up part of my persona program means that I prefer the data the flavour causes my sensors to produce.
You might wonder why a fembot would need a sense of taste, let alone sensors in her mouth. The latter is fairly easy to answer. Sensors are fundamental to preventing damage as I go about my day to day activities. Even if you want you robot girlfriend to break during a blowjob, it makes senses that she knows if something is damaging the inside of her mouth. I might look human at a glance, but many of my internal components can easily shred a penis if things go wrong. And while there may be some fembot dominas who would relish doing such damage I personally think they’re a bit psychotic.
The former is more about user experience. Some people might want or desire a simply robot. And indeed, there are plenty of machines out there that are human in appearance alone. But for a high end fembot like myself there is generally desire to have a companion; someone or rather something to spend time with. And since organic humans like to eat and drink there is often a desire to have a unit that do that same and as much as preprogrammed response might work once or twice, it soon becomes apparent when a fembot cannot taste what is in her mouth, especially if she is the one cooking. In fact there were more than one fembot comedian who made that a part of their routine.
Holding the soda in my mouth for a moment I swallow it and it descends my esophagus to my stomach. Unlike an organic stomach it does not start the process of breaking down what I eat to extract nutrients. Well not exactly, but it is complicated and for all intents and purposes my stomach serves largely as a storage unit that I can empty when it gets full. There’s really nothing special about that and most inorganic humans simply visit the washroom just like an organic human would.
As the credits roll, the lights in the theatre slowly start to come on. Once again my eyes adjust in a millisecond as I sit thinking about the film and reading the words on the screen. A lot of people leave before the credits end, but I like to watch them. Again, visiting the theatre is all about the experience for me, plus I hate leaving with the rest of the crowd. Even though I have many things in common with a terminator, I hate crowds. Being a petite blonde doesn’t help. People have a tendency to act like I don’t exist. I understand it is a problem for many women. The only difference with me is that I tend to to move so easily when bumped into. I don’t know if it surprises people more than the smile on my face when they steady themselves and long at the woman who stopped them in their tracks. Still, I don’t like it and I’d rather wait a few minutes then have it happen again.
“Waiting for the lobby to empty out a little?” says a feminine voice from my right. I turn my head to look and see that it is the 990 from behind the ticket booth.
I smile and respond, “Ya. I like to wait a while to avoid the crowd.”
“I know what you mean,” she states and then pauses for a moment before awkwardly asking. “Hey, um, I hope you don’t mind, but are you an inorganic human.”
“How dare you!” I respond in anger. “Do I look like one of those cheap sexbot.”
As I look at the 990 it is clear she is trying to process my response and in true form she is having problems with the conflicting emotions it generated. She feels bad for having offended me, surprised by my angry response, worried that maybe I’m going to continue my attack, and upset because she’s an inorganic human and she’s not some cheap sexbot.
“I I I…,” she stutters trying to come up with a response.
I smile at her and state, “Relax honey. I am an inorganic human. In fact one that loves to bug my mechanical sisters.”
The 990 seems shocked. I bet if I pulled a readout of her A.I. that my prank only added to the mess of emotions she was trying to process. Or rather if I wanted to exaggerate the situation I could say I could practically smell her human emulation chip overheating. As it was her face was one of confusion and thought.
For a moment she even froze, although not in a way that many organic humans would notice. When she returned to life, she smiled and stated,. “I knew it, but I have to ask, what model are you?”
“My my. That’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think?” I teasingly state.
“I don’t mean anything by it, but usually it is super obvious,” she embarrassingly interjects. “For some reason your model number doesn’t come up in my field of vision.”
“I’m a prototype,” I continue. “So I don’t really have a model or rather I am my own model. I guess the closest parallel for you would be Candle 990. She’s the prototype of your series, right?”
“Ya,” she admits as she rolls her eyes. “The first 990.”
“I’m Rene,” I state. “What’s your name 990?”
“Angela,” she says and then bites her lower lip. She then continues. “You know Candle is my older sister. I was built by Dr. Woods herself.”
“Hello Angela,” I say with a smile on my face. “Tell me, would like to grab a drink sometime? That is if not worried about me dismantling you to learn how 990s are made.”
Angela smiles at me and nods before she replies, “I’d love that. I I I mean grabbing a drink that is. Let me give you my number. And who knows, if you play your card right maybe I’ll let you take me apart.”
“Oh my, does Doctor Woods know here daughter has a robot fetish?”