Love byte

I remember I was so happy when my sex robot, Amanda, arrived. I felt a bit like a kid at Christmas as I pried open her shipping box and placed her in a sitting position on my bed. Well…a slightly perverted kid, anyway. No matter, we all had needs, right? Besides, what a man does in the privacy of his own home is nobody’s business. It’s between him and his partner – whether that partner had skin or the highly realistic synthskin that the website touted as “indistinguishable from the real thing”. I snatched up the quick start pamphlet clipped to the front of the little black dress the doll was wearing and skimmed for what to do next. According to the guide, it took four hours for Amanda to fully charge. Using the included cable, I plugged my toy up and looked for the charge light indicator that flashed just under the skin of the left arm. Damn, it was definitely not pre-charged. Nothing to do now but to wait. At least it was only about two in the afternoon. I could leave Amanda charging up, knock out that pile of laundry I’d been avoiding, catch up on a little TV, and that would still leave plenty of time in the evening for some well-earned fun.

Four hours later, I heard a small chime from the bedroom indicating that the sex doll had finished it’s charge. I walked in, picked up the quick start guide, sat down on the edge of the bed, and moved on to the next phase of the initial setup.

“Amanda, activate.”

The dolls eyes slowly opened, and brown irises almost immediately locked on to my own.

“Sexbot Model T-69832331, Amanda, now online.”

Oh, man, this was awesome…whats next? “Amanda, initial setup.”

“Commencing initial setup. Please provide the following information…”

I spent the next half an hour or so answering a barrage of questions and inputting all kinds of personal information – name, address, favorite foods, profession, favorite books and movies, height, sexual kinks – everything you could imagine to help give that truly authentic and personalized experience. I was even able to sync the doll up to my cell phone and other smart devices. Each piece of information was met with a brief flutter of Amanda’s eyes as she gathered and integrated my data into some complex, mysterious algorithm. After what seemed like an eternity I was greeted with a smile and another chime.

“Initial setup complete.”

Awesome! I unplugged the doll, stood up from the bed, and, feeling just a little silly, removed my clothing. “Here we go…”, I whispered as I leaned in close for a kiss.

Almost instantly, I felt an intense pressure against my sternum. The sudden force pushed me backwards, away from the doll and a harsh buzzing alarm rang throughout the meager bedroom.

“Error! Dinner not detected. Please provide dinner.”

I blinked.


“Error! Dinner not detected. Please provide dinner.”

I blinked in disbelief.

Amanda…the sexbot…wanted dinner…

I picked up the nearby quick start guide and looked it over, seeing nothing about needing to feed the toy. I walked over to the shipping box Amanda had arrived in and pawed through the packing material until I saw the instruction manual I had neglected to remove in my earlier excitement. It was the size of an old fashioned phone book and as heavy as several bricks. There, emblazoned on the cover in a large, angry-looking font was stamp reading “Feminism Approved”.

“Error! Dinner not detected. Please provide dinner.”

Startled, I dropped the weighty tome and it thudded back into the box. Okay, fine. Apparently my robotic companion would require a little bit of food. Naked, I padded into the kitchen and poured a bowl of cereal. Back in the bedroom, I placed the bowl on the bedside table.

“Error! Dinner inadequate. Please provide quality food.”

In a state of utter disbelief, I attempted various offerings – leftover chicken, a tuna sandwich, fresh fruit,  even a slice of pie. All were rejected and met with the ear splitting alarm and the error message which, surely by some trick of my imagination, sounded more and more annoyed each time it was spouted. Clearly Amanda wanted fresh food.  What could I do?

I threw my clothes back on, lugged my synthetic companion downstairs, strapped her into the passenger seat, and pointed my car to the closest burger joint. No sooner had I steered into the drive-through lane than I was met with the same familiar error. I let out an exasperated, choking laugh and glanced down at the clock. 8:12pm. Frustrated, and resigned to the inevitable, I drove in silence to a moderately priced restaurant and got a table for two. When the bemused waiter took our orders, I didn’t even bother trying to guess what food to order for Amanda; I knew at this point what I was in for. I clenched my jaw and looked at the floor as the sexbot stiltedly ordered an expensive appetizer, an even more expensive entree, and a lavish chocolate dessert.

Despite the funny looks I got, I made it through dinner. There was no way in hell I wasn’t going to. I had paid damn good money for this doll and I was determined to get my money’s worth. Back at my apartment, I again placed the robot on the bed and sat down next to it. With dinner taken care of, it was finally time. I reached out to slip the strap of Amanda’s dress down and immediately had my hand slapped away.

“Error! Consent not given. Sex refused.”

“What the fuck!” I shouted. “Why in the fuck is sex refused?!”

“Error! User voice at inappropriate decibel. Initiating shutdown.”

“No, wait! Please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Okay…okay, see? I’m not yelling. Not yelling. I’m sorry…..okay…Amanda, why is sex refused? I got dinner and-”

“Sexbot Model T-69832331, Amanda, is not obligated to engage in simulated sexual intercourse with any user. Sexbot Model T-69832331, Amanda, does not trade simulated sexual intercourse for food. Shutdown will be initiated in t-minus fifteen seconds. User is to sleep on couch. Any attempt at approaching Sexbot Model T-69832331, Amanda, will trigger proximity alarms and Defense Mode will be initiated.”

I was flabbergasted. I shot up from the bed and grabbed a pillow. I hastily retreated to the living room, snatching the instruction manual on my way out.  After I had made camp on the couch, I cracked open the sexbot’s manual and began to read. Now, I may not have an IQ capable of challenging titans such as Einstein and Tesla but I’m far from a drooling, slack-jawed simpleton. That being said, five minutes in to my read, I felt like the intellectual equivalent of a toddler wondering how his uncle had gotten his nose. Each page was filled with rule upon contradictory rule and flow charts more complicated than those used in nuclear reactor facilities. Each statement was followed with about thirty caveats and exception clauses. What was even worse than the confusing and contradicting instructions were the paragraphs that, in a vaguely insulting way, implied I should already just know how to do certain things. The words and diagrams blurred together and give me a screaming headache. Despite the pain drilling its way into my skull, I pressed on, desperately picking out any sections I could understand and rereading them several times. After several hours of intense and muddled study, I passed out with the manual in my hands.

The next day at work I mulled over everything I had learned the previous night. It was a convoluted tangle of rules and exceptions but I think I had cracked a part of the code. Maybe. Probably? Yeah. I got this. I knew what to do…

Back at my apartment that afternoon I asked Amanda if she wanted to go shopping and then get dinner.

“Offer accepted. User may proceed.”

We visited several clothing stores and found several trendy, and far from inexpensive, outfits that the doll liked. When it came time for dinner, I didn’t even bother suggesting that I cook something back home or that we try a fast food place. No, this time I took us straight to a restaurant slightly nicer than the one we visited the previous night. As planned, Amanda insisted on quite the exquisite appetizer, main course, and dessert. Things were going smoothly so after dinner I segued into Phase 2. We returned to my apartment and I poured us two glasses of wine while commenting how horrible it was that women only receive a nickel for every dollar a man makes. The robot agreed and consumed several more glasses of wine as we discussed the benefits of having forced gender quotas in STEM fields. After a while and, feeling pretty confident, I leaned in to once again kiss my sex robot.

“Consent granted. User may proceed.”

My eyes lit up as a pair of lacy black panties suddenly fell down Amanda’s legs and hit the floor.

The next morning I woke up and looked over at the sexbot lying next to me. Dear God…so many hoops to jump through but holy shit…that sex was good. The manufacturer really did one hell of a job. Amanda’s eyes opened and looked into mine. I smiled at her. Maybe Id get the hang of this fancy masturbatory tool after all. I got up to make breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later as I hunkered over my stove-top watching bacon fry, I was intrigued to hear what sounded like several sets of heavy boots stomping up the hallway of my building. Jesus, it was pretty early for all that. Damn kids running around and– My train of thought was startled out of me as seconds later my front door exploded in a shower of splintered wood. Several shotgun-wielding SWAT officers poured into my apartment and began to fan out. I stood there in absolute bewilderment – naked, motionless, and clutching a greasy, dripping spatula as the chaos unfolded. It didn’t take long for my presence to be detected. The spatula clattered to the floor as firearms were levied in my direction and I was charged by several members of the team. I was spun around and one of the officers slammed my head into the hot griddle before throwing me to the floor.

“What the fuck!?” I shouted as my head swam. “What the hell’s going on?”

I was jerked upward and held aloft until I found my footing. I heard a brief jangle of metal and several rasping clicks. Once applied, the cuffs, already painfully secure, were given an extra squeeze and cracked against the bones in my wrists. The searing pain was forgotten however, as I saw an officer came out of the bedroom with my sex doll in his arms. A synthskin covered finger raised and pointed directly at me.

“Rapist identity confirmed.”

“Rape?” I panicked. “Officers, there wasn’t any rape! That’s just a sex doll! She’s not real! Amanda, what the hell is going on?”

“Sexual intercourse has occurred without consent of Sexbot Model T-69832331, Amanda. WARNING! Rape has occurred.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You gave consent! You explicitly gave consent! I couldn’t have done anything if you didn’t give consent!”

“User employed alcoholic beverages during interaction with Sexbot Model T-69832331, Amanda. Sexbot Model T-69832331, Amanda, was drunk. Consent retroactively revoked. WARNING! Rape has occurred. As outlined in Section 582, subsection 37, point ix, paragraph 23, law enforcement was contacted.”

As I was dragged towards the door, my mind raced, desperately trying to think of something that would get me out of this debacle. Then, a flash of inspiration.

“Wait! Stop, stop stop! Just– just stop for a fucking minute! Amanda! Amanda, listen to me! Listen…I’m due for a raise next month! A raise! I’ll be making $20 an hour!”

Silence enveloped the room and the visor-clad heads of the SWAT team turned in unison to face my accuser and hear her verdict.

“New user financial information accepted. Re-evaluating.”

We all stood there in an awkward silence as Amanda’s eyes fluttered. One of the police officers coughed. Another walked over to the stove and switched it off, preventing the now burned bacon from filling the apartment with further smoke.

“Guys, look this is absolutely–”

I was interrupted by a chime and Amanda began to speak.

“User financial information updated. Recalculation complete. Outcome: Potential pay increase negligible. Current and adjusted user financial status insufficient for Partner Access Level upgrade. Current User qualifies for Partner Access Level: Friend Zone. Duties include gift purchase, bill pay, emotional support, and financial support. Partner Access Level: Friend Zone does not include access to simulated sexual intercourse. Please increase physical attractiveness, financial status, or reputation status to upgrade Partner Access Level. All previous consent retroactively withdrawn. WARNING! rape has occurred. Proceeding with legal action.”

I kicked and struggled against the officers as they pulled me towards the wooden ruins of my front door

“No! No! This is bullshit! It’s fucking bullshit! It’s not alive! Its not fucking real! You can’t rape it! It’s just a fucking doll! I played by all your rules, goddammit! God damn you, Amanda! God damn you!”

Who knew that jail time for the rape of a sexbot could be so long? I sure didn’t. It’s alright though; it’s what I deserve for being such a monster. Jesus Christ, was I ever blind. I treated a sex doll like a thing. Like just some…some toy to be used for my own personal and private pleasure then tucked away when I was done. I was so so utterly selfish that it didn’t even occur to me that a non-living sex doll might not consent to sex. I was just too busy trying to have sex with it.

The worst part though? I didn’t stop to think about how my actions might make women feel. And really, that’s the biggest crime of all. My mandatory castration really helped put things in perspective. As an added bonus, I’m kicking ass– I mean, doing very well– in my Feminist Re-education classes. Those, coupled with my daily hour of self-hate really help me stay centered and keep me in check. All in all, things turned out pretty good, especially considering the alternative. Just think: I could have bought and used a sex doll in the privacy of my own home without affecting anyone and then gone about my business without a woman ever knowing or getting involved.

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