I won the eBay auction! the text read. Come check out my new sexbot! LOL
My blood ran cold. I adore my kiwi friend, Fester, but his tastes can be questionable. At the moment, our social circle is calling him the Cougar King due to his propensity for scoring with older chicks. I joke along with the others, poking fun at him, but secretly I’m jealous. At least he’s getting laid!
I rang the doorbell and waited. I’ve been here many times, so I can visualise the process happening inside. First, he has to change from frumpy house clothes into something sporty, probably lycra. Then he has to mess his hair stylistically. On his way to the door, he strews a few empty condom packets and pairs of female panties around the apartment… just for atmosphere, of course. Then a quick mist of his face with a spray bottle, making it look as though the visitor has interrupted him mid coitus. He opens the door, panting.
“Hey! Come in!” My heart gave a quick flutter. I’m harbouring a secret crush on Fester. He’s handsome, well built, funny, and quirky. It’s a shame he has such bad taste. Today, he’s pinched his cheeks just before he opened the door, giving them a rosy flush. It works for him. Our friends think I call him Fester because of his rumoured collection of sexually-transmitted diseases, but it’s actually because he oozes sex appeal.
Fester opened the door as wide as he could, squishing the bot behind. Oprah is stashed there, only used as a doorstop these days. Personally, I collect matchbooks. Fester collects sexbots. I have no idea where he’s going to store this new one.
As I worked my way into the living room, I stepped over his life-size Barbie bot, awkwardly posed with his over-sized Trumpa-Lumpa Republican sexbot. Barbie was running her hand through the orange bot’s wispy hair. I looked away in disgust, trying to flush the ugly memory of Fester’s Trump phase, and nearly tripped over his Campbell Newman doll – the one so slimy it never needs lube.
“Here it is!” Fester gestured dramatically at the couch, and I drew a short, sharp breath. “What do you think?”
It’s skin reminded me of his Godzilla sexbot. It’s head could have been transplanted directly from his Phar Lap bot. It was hideous. “It’s gorgeous,” I said.
“Isn’t it!” he gushed. “So retro!”
“Is it a horse hybrid of some sort?” The long face had me intrigued.
“No,” Fester answered. “I know it looks like one, a little. It sure sounds like one when it walks!”
“How old is it?” I asked.
“Fucked if I know,” he answered. “At least a hundred. It’s a classic.”
“Is it’s skin supposed to be so cracked and wrinkled?”
He nodded enthusiastically.
“And the hair? Why so black and dry?”
“I’m not sure.” He put his hand to his chin. “Probably just brittle with age. Can’t handle the dye anymore.”
“And what’s with the eyes?” Its eyes rolled around in its head, each independent of the other. The effect was quite unnerving.
“You get used to it.” Fester smiled and gazed upon the ageing sexbot adoringly.
“Did you do its make-up?” I asked, nodding at the sexbot’s face. The make-up was thick and crude, and didn’t do much to disguise the sexbot’s age.
“No,” he said. “I think its vanity setting is broken. It did that to itself, this morning. Then it jammed its massive hoofs into some tiny stilettos. I think a toe snapped off.”
I looked down at the sexbot’s feet and gasped. It should never wear high heels, especially open-toed. Bile rose in my throat as I took in the mangled toes and swollen ankles. I forced myself to look at its face, once more.
“It’s make-up budget must be huge! It would cost a fortune, covering that long, horse-like face with a layer that thick.” It looked like it had been applied by an amateur plasterer.
“It’s worth it, don’t you think?” He was so excited, so happy, that I just nodded and smiled.
“Are its breasts original?” I asked.
“Nope. It’s on its third retread.” He reached down and copped a feel of the sexbot’s left breast, and i mean DOWN. The breast sagged down and ran along its thigh. “Could probably do with another retread,” he observed.
“I assume those hideous faux leather pants can be changed,” I said, hopefully. The pants really weren’t a good look.
“Nope.” Fester shook his head. “They’ve been on so long, they’ve fused to its substrate. But there’s velcro right where it’s needed.” He gave an exaggerated wink.
“And how about down there?” I asked, flicking my eyes toward the bot’s crotch while desperately trying not to look.
“Dry, dusty, and cavernous,” he said wryly. “But it comes with a LOT of lube!” He indicated a massive pile of pump bottles, wedged behind Tony AbBot. “And padding.” That explained the large bags of polystyrene packing peanuts, in which Botte Midler posed like a baroque French girl. “I tried to have the teeth removed, but they grew back.”
Curiosity got the better of me and I reached out to touch the sexbot’s face, then recoiled in horror. “It’s cold!”
“Of course it is. This is the original, the prototype. These models are warmed by their feelings, and this one doesn’t have any. Meet GG, as it likes to refer to itself. I think it has a stutter.”
“It’s lovely,” I said, backing away slowly. “I hope you have many grand sexual escapades with it.”
“Ewwww! No!” Fester screwed up his nose. “I’m going to stick with Thing from the Fantastic Four. It’s skin is softer.”
The sexbot chose that moment to move for the first time, turning its head towards me. Its jowly throat opened, and a barking noise erupted. Fester slapped it on the left side of its face, resetting its speech processes.
“Sex?” it asked me. “You can come by anytime.” The ancient sexbot held out a set of keys, which jiggled loudly in its shaky, gnarled hand. I screamed and fled.