Baxter found himself standing in front of his father’s study and pondered the closed door, trying to remember if he’d ever been inside.
It was most likely a nondescript room with a big desk and bookshelves filled with files and ledgers and Excel manuals, but he was bored, so he tried the knob. It was, as expected, locked. He turned and started to amble back down the hall, thinking he’d get stoned and watch some porn before lying by the pool, when he thought he heard something behind him. Something like footsteps, light but unmistakable. He spun around.
The locked doorknob was rattling. Baxter drew in a sharp breath and took a step back. He watched with mounting dread as the doorknob jerked left and right. He took another step back. The doorknob stopped rattling. There came a harsh click as the door unlocked, and swung open.
A girl stood in the doorway. She looked to be about Baxter’s age, maybe a year or two younger. Her hair was long and auburn. She wore an expression of blank, dazed stupidity. Her vibrant blue eyes were quizzical, as was the way she held her head tilted to the side.
Baxter started to speak, to ask who she was and what she was doing here, but the words caught in his throat and died there as he continued to look at her.
There was something off about the way she looked. Something peculiar about how she was proportioned. She was tall, perhaps only an inch or two shorter than he was, with the long, slender neck of a supermodel. The swell of her breasts strained against the tight tank top that came halfway down her torso; they were, Baxter decided, the perfect size. Her stomach was hard, toned, and flat. Her hips tapered into an unnaturally narrow waist, and her cutoff jean shorts bared long, muscular legs. Her skin was a sun-kissed bronze, her lips full and luscious. Her dark eyelashes were thick and long but didn’t look artificial.
She did not look like a Real Girl.
She looked better, in fact, than any Porn Girl Baxter had ever seen across his phone’s screen.
The girl stepped forward. The curiosity in her face intensified. “Do you want me to suck your big, fat cock?” she asked. Her voice was high and airy. Slathered in saccharinity.
Baxter blinked. “Um,” he said. “Um...what?”
The girl cocked her head to the other side. Her lips parted into a smile that made his heart skip. “Do you want to stick your cock inside me and fuck me like the dirty little slut I am?” She paused, and then added, “Daddy?”
Baxter coughed into his fist. “What...this...I don’t...”
The girl ran her hands down her sides, gyrating her hips. “Oh, Daddy, I want you to fuck me. I need it. I need your cock. I need to taste your cum in my mouth.”
“Who are you?” Baxter breathed.
The girl smiled, tossed her hair. “I’m MechaHooker 6000, Daddy, but you can call me whatever you want. I’m your slut. I’m your whore, baby. I’m your bitch.”
Running a hand through his hair, Baxter said, “You’re, like...a robot?”
The girl blinked her huge eyes at him several times. Her smile faltered a little. Like she was trying to process his question. After a moment, she tossed her hair again and repeated, “I’m MechaHooker 6000, Daddy, but you can call me whatever you want. I’m your slut. I’m your whore, baby. I’m your bitch.”
Baxter thought he might have seen something online a while ago about mechanical sex dolls, but they were not on the market yet. He wondered how and when his father had gotten one, and then was presented with the unpleasant image of his father fucking this girl, this thing.
He shook the thought away and then approached. She didn’t move. She only kept smiling and blinking at him. He supposed it should have unnerved him, but it didn’t.
When he was close enough to touch her, he reached out with a trembling hand. He ran his fingertips along the surface of her arm. It felt like skin, perhaps not completely, but it was so close the difference hardly registered.
“Oh, yes, baby. Touch me. Touch me all over.”
“Jesus,” Baxter muttered. He investigated the girl’s face. She had no wrinkles, no pores, no blemishes whatsoever. “Jesus,” he said again. “How much do you cost?”
Again, she appeared to be processing his question, running through complex algorithms far beyond his comprehension. The response selected by whatever computer whirred away inside her was, “I want you to come all over my tits, Daddy.”
Baxter swallowed. He looked around the girl, this MechaHooker, and into his father’s study. “Do me a favor and, uh, stay right here,” Baxter said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“I crave the taste of your load.”
Baxter moved past her and into the study, where he began riffling through drawers. He found it easily enough—an instruction booklet, printed on glossy white paper with the manufacturer name (Shifuku—something even Baxter found a bit heavy-handed) and logo (a flower bearing absurd resemblance to female genitalia) emblazoned on the cover beneath “MECHAHOOKER 6000 – PROTOTYPE 3.1.” He flipped through its contents, his palms sweating.
Designed for pleasure, the booklet said.
294 fully functioning erogenous zones.
Penetrable mouth, vagina, and anus.
Hassle-free self-cleaning system.
The illustrations left little to the imagination.
Baxter closed the booklet and set it on the desk, wiping his perspiring hands on his shorts.
The MechaHooker was standing where he’d left her, not moving. Something occurred to him, and he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Dimitri, a tech geek with whom he and Arden had gone to high school and who now lived out in Yucca Valley, doing something in cyber security for the government. Baxter sometimes bought angel dust from him on occasions when his listless boredom became intolerable.
“Yes, yes, for certain, I’ve heard of these MechaHookers,” Dimitri said after Baxter explained the scenario. “Shifuku is up-and-comer in tech game. Stocks trending upward every week. Has all of Silicon Valley sweating bullets. But MechaHooker is not on market yet. Many regulatory hoops left to jump through, last I hear. How did your father get one?”
“I don’t know, he’s always getting free shit from the Asian companies he works with. Stuff nobody else has even heard of.” His eyes landed on the instruction booklet. “The manual says it’s a prototype.” He paused. “Look, the reason I’m calling you is—like, do you think it’s, you know...safe? Like, to use?”
A pause on the other end of the phone. “Man. Your father has presumably been sticking his cock inside this, and you are going to fuck it?” Brief laughter, more like a snort. “Shameless, man. Fucking shameless.”
“The manual says it’s self-cleaning.”
“Whatever, man. But sure, yes, probably it is safe. All of red tape nonsense is usually bullshit, anyway. If company gave him one, I am sure is fine. Let me know what is like.” Another snort of laughter. “Anyway. Little birdy tells me Arden is back. Do me favor, ask him if he wants to buy party supplies. Have him give me call.”
Baxter told him he would, hung up, and returned to the hallway where he’d left the MechaHooker. She blinked at him. Smiled. Baxter smiled back. Sheepish, childlike. Tentatively, he took the MechaHooker’s hand—it felt so close to human—and led her upstairs to his bedroom.
She moved her limbs to accommodate Baxter’s clumsy removal of her clothes. He did not kiss her. As she stood naked before him, Baxter’s eyes crawled over her body, hunting for imperfections. There were none. Not even the digitally modified Porn Girls looked as good as this.
There was brief disappointment when he first entered her—she wasn’t as tight as he’d expected—but then her vaginal canal constricted, molding itself around his penis. The slick moisture within her increased, as well, as did the balmy heat, and she broke into loud moans, gasping, “Yeah, Daddy, your cock feels so huge inside my tight little pussy,” and “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re the best, you’re a sex god, you’re my king.”
It was over in under fifteen seconds.
Collapsing off her, Baxter felt the customary wave of shame before he realized...she’s a robot. She expected nothing. There was no standard to live up to. He was free.
He spent the rest of the afternoon and all night in bed with her. When he wasn’t fucking her, he was touching her, prodding her, licking her. As soon as he became sufficiently aroused, he was back inside her. They fucked in every position Baxter could think of, doing things he’d never dared ask a Real Girl to do. He smacked her around a bit, came wherever he pleased—inside her, in her mouth, on her face, her tits, her back, her stomach, her leg. He shrieked with the pleasure of it all. At some point, late into the night, he broke down in tears, sobbing with gratitude.
“I love you,” he kept telling her. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
She always replied with something like, “Fuck me like the nasty little slut I am,” and that was okay with Baxter.
All of it was okay with Baxter.