Friday, December 17, 2010


The box arrives discretely packaged in brown, marked “DELICATE:” and leans seductively against the porch like a hooker in the doorway of a peep show. As his Camry pootles into the driveway a wry grin emerges on his normally sullen face for he knows what lies within his early Christmas Present.

Gears disengage and park brake ratchets. He scoops up the bottle hidden within a brown paper bag, disengages keys from ignition and excitedly exits his car. He walks purposefully towards the porch and prepares his house key for the lock. Looks briefly at the address on the box to ensure his delight is justified and opens the door.  He turns, tenderly lifts the elongated package, as you would a woman by the waist and carries it over the threshold.   Once inside he lays it gently on the dining table.
As a surgeon removes sutures, he gently scissors each line of packing tape, unseals the box and stares longingly at its contents, for they are stunning and exceed all expectations.

Lying nestled among white tissue paper is a woman. Perfectly fleshed and proportioned, manicured and pedicured with seductive partly-opened lips and longing lashes. She wears nothing more than a black lace bra and g-string. Her skin is tanned yet tiny veins protrude from the backs of her hands, the crest of her ample breasts and the tops of her delicate, nail-painted feet. She is gorgeous.

Discretion being the better part of valour, he draws the blinds against possible prying eyes. She is for his eyes only. Dim orange light highlights her rouged cheeks. He takes a glass from the buffet and pours  himself a stiff drink while something else begins to stiffen.  Just a fingerful of Stolichnaya which he sips rather than slams before dabbing his lascivious lips with the back of his hand and sighs as the the tasteless liquor burns his throat.

Always one to read instructions, he fumbles beneath the tissue paper and retrieves the book and remote control. Written concisely with diagrams for maintenance and repair, he absorbs all salient information about operation, body function and all-important hygiene.

Thrilled with his surrogate lover but not yet ready to test drive the beauty, he leaves her languishing in all her glory on the dining table. Tonight is Bingo night at the RSL and he might have a chance with that rather fulsome woman he’s been eyeing on table 10 and he relishes the thought that a sexual liaison with real flesh might be on the cards. Another swig of Vodka and Dutch courage kicks in. He exits the house, off to
 Bingo, in the hope of romance and a win, totally unaware that he is under observation.

His observer has been noting his abject predictability.  Bingo on Wednesdays, late-night shopping on Thursday, a  'constitutional' walk at exactly 7pm every other evening. Rising at 6, work at 8 and is never home before 5:30.  He knows there’s an awesome sound system inside. He’s heard Barber’s Adagio streaming from the house, even seen the man conducting the invisible strings with a chopstick in his hand.  He knows that he’s recently purchased a wide screen, digital television. It’s large enough for him to see the porn on screen when the curtains are not properly drawn. He’s even had a hard-on more than once thanks to glimpses of naked women, writhing and 'enjoying' each other’s company. He's rather partial to lesbian sex.

Prizing the latch is easy and the old wooden doors at the rear of the house, give way. He's in the family room, adjoining the dining room and his eyes are drawn to a large box resembling a cardboard coffin sitting on the dining table. Accompanying the box, a barely opened bottle of Stolichnaya ready for the drinking. “Bonus!” he thinks aloud, “Telly, sound system and  . . . well, well, well! What have we here?”  The box piques more than curiosity.

"Fuck’n ‘ell" he surprises himself with the volume of his response.  "You’re hot! And those tits? Gawd they look real!”  He gazes on the scantily clad beauty and is unable to resist fondling the araoli visible beneath her bra.  Their light and rubbery texture causing a ruction in his trousers.

He removes the 50kg woman from her resting place as gently as if she was flesh and places her neatly on all fours upon the Berber rug. Her limbs are pliable and easily bend into position.  He removes her underwear with gentleness, almost forgetting she’s not real and admires the purpose-made orifice between her buttocks and legs. "Jesus you’re lifelike," again, said a little too loud but since the object of his desire hears nothing, she won't be offended.

Not waiting to read the instructions and with plenty of time to spare, he fumbles at the remote control, mouthing the words adjacent to a plethora of buttons, “Oral, anal, vaginal . . .hmmm. Voice . . sultry, dominatrix, motherly.”  He makes appropriate selections before checking speed and gyration, “Fuck this is awesome!" He selects a mid-range speed and presses the green button. Eyes roll with delight as madam begins to pivot back and forth, moaning and groaning in what could only be described as her sultry voice. Mouth opening and closing, soft nippled latex breasts wobbling beneath her so realistically he has to check them out with fingers and tongue before he admires the said replica of female sexual anatomy forcing itself back and forth in his general direction.

Cajoled and bewitched by the moans of "
Take me baby, yeh, there . . awww, you're so big . . yeh . . touch me there . . " He takes a goodly gulp of vodka, drops his daks

Before he can disengage and attend to his primary purpose, his seed is swimming upwards with the same robotic determination demonstrated by its recipient who is still moving back and forth and begging “Take me baby, yeh, there . . awww, you're so big . . yeh . . touch me there . . "  

Zealous sperm are unaware that the complex wiring they desire is not a fallopian tube and cause the lady to mechanically vibrate and quiver with the onslaught. They swim through and beyond the ICAXE-25 Project board, ignoring the USB PICAXE Programming table, soaking the LD293d Motor Driver and totally sizzling the Servo S03N,  Infra Red Rangefinders, Male Pins and Female Header jumpers. His microscopic swimmers are banjaxing the whole shebang.

Panic sets in as the little woman seems to have developed an extraordinary pelvic grip and vaginal muscles befitting a lifetime of hard core Kegel exercises. The vice-like combination now refuse to release the flaccid love tool. She wobbles like a jelly and rocks with gay abandon, rather faster than is sexually stimulating. Her voice now sounding frantic, its erotic effect completely evapourated. " Takemebabyehthereawwyou'resobigyeh," Takemebabyehthereawwyou'resobigyeh," Takemebabyehthereawwyou'resobigyeh."

Panic turns to pain as the intrepid burglar realises he's not going anywhere too soon. The sexbot is not about to release her carnal grip. Arms flail as he attempts to reach for the remote control and knocks over the bottle of Stolly, soaking every button. Despite desperate attempts, the extreme soaking will not turn our latex  Lolita off. She in fact metaphorically and physically, remains very much ‘turned on.’

For what seems an eternity the poor man is pushed, pulled and thrusted. Tears stream while his paramour is fixed with her latex smile, come-hither eyes, jingling bosom and crushing grip.

As the lovelorn homemaker returns from a loveless and luckless night, he is now eager to road-test his boxed beauty.  Upon entering his home, he’s far from impressed to discover the violation of his palace and worse still, his new toy.  He is however, in no hurry to admit to any police officer that the contraption belongs to him, even if she has ‘nabbed’ an intruder in the most intimate of embraces.
Because he has perused the manual, he is able to disengage a safety switch beneath the darling's hair, just below her ear and cease her constant grinds and thrusts. Although the vibrations continue for some time until the whole thing short-circuits with a fizz, voice and motion ends. The only sound now audible being the desperate groans and anxious pleas of the hapless burglar. His wedding tackle still tightly wedged between our latex leviathan's buttocks.

Feeling no sympathy, he roughly ushers the now blanket-covered burglar and his paramour, into the back seat of the Camry and tries to drive inconspicuously to the local hospital. The lovers still locked and loaded. Waiting Ambos and nurses can hardly suppress their amusement as the unfortunate couple are assisted onto a gurney, "One two three . . Lift". Both are still kneeling and tight in each others ‘embrace,’ now headed with some urgency to the operating theatre for surgical disengagement.

At this point, our mild mannered friend seizes the opportunity to do a runner and escape any embarrassing questions, safe in the knowledge that this particular intruder is unlikely to return.  He resolves to court the living doll on table 10 next Bingo night, since it's patently clear that a liaison with a sexbot can be . . . well . . extreme! 

Posted for the 10th Daughter of Memory "Extreme Robot Vodka"


  1. geez, every damned thing needs a warning label these days...ah well, i'm already half blind. i put on the Barber for this read--rather pretty piece.

  2. You are truly twisted, my friend. That was great. There were some very funny phrasrs.

    I could have used this this back in the day when I was writing technical manuals. "See, this is why it's so important to read the fucking documentation."

    (And my Word Verification is "untie." Ha. How great is that?)

  3. Great piece - I love the idea. Well - not the idea as personal practice, just as a piece. well, not a piece, as in PIECE, but as in the act of writing.

    Hmmmm. Got myself outta that one, eh?

  4. So that's how it's done. How many did you have to interview for this 'lifelike' work? Such a great take on the muse ... -J

  5. Heh. I wasn't expecting the burglar.

  6. Awesome! Talk about punishment fitting the crime...

  7. Hi Helen,

    Oh that is just too funny. Yup, was not expecting the burglar but was thinking that the gadget was going to chew up his wanker. Do you think they make a male model that goes to work and does the cleaning for the women? Anything else would just be extra delightful. Oh and he would have to do windows.

    This truly qualifies as a gadget. LOL

    Thanks for adding this to this weeks Theme Thursday.

    God bless.

  8. As a gadget, certainly far too extreme for me!

    As a story, incredible!