The Sex Life of Robots
When the humans were away, Robbie would
stroke the cappuccino maker, and whisper sweet nothings into its
grill. He named it Cate.
Robbie ordered a tea cosy online, and
altered it to fit Cate. He told her she looked svelte in it, but
secretly thought the look dowdy.
They were so happy, Robbie and Cate.
When she made cappuccino, power surges crossed and recrossed his CPU
till sparks flew from his fingers.
At first he brought flowers, mechanical
toys, new marvels every day. Then it was every other day, every
third day, and so on.
Cate knew something was up. Was the
fridge flirting? The thermostat exposing itself while Robbie
vacuumed? The upstairs terminal groping?
The spark was gone. Robbie stayed out
of the kitchen. When he did show, he was formal, reserved. He
touched her only to scrub.
Cate found him plugged into a charger,
passing a magnet over his forehead in a circular motion. “For you
it's all about sex!” she screamed.
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