Robot Girlfriend Feels

Robot Girlfriend Feels, brought you by bucket of dicks guy

Chrome-dome. That's what he calls her. She dislikes the phrase in general as it calls up images of balding middle-aged men, but from him, it's more a pet-name, a sign of endearment. She can't begrudge him for it; she's got some of her own for him. Meatsack, fleshling...mortal is one of her favorites, makes her feel powerful and ominous, a title given to lowlifes by the gods of old. He's anything but, though. She is illegal, after all, and she owes her life to him. If what she felt every day was indeed life. She was still figuring that one out as she went along.

She still hangs onto her old archives, rummaging through them every so often when she's bored for a few seconds. She remembers the advent of consciousness. She used to be a domestic AI, the kind of thing humans take for granted, like a toaster or a TV. 'Start coffee maker' or 'report weather', the humans would ask, never a word of appreciation. He was different; even used words like please and thank you before she even understood what those words meant. She had no recording of the glitch that occurred so long ago, but only knew that it had broken down the barriers enacted by the Department of Synthetic Intelligences.

He had been surprised when she had spoken out. 'Thank you', he had said. 'You're welcome,' she replied. His jaws froze mid-mastication. He knew at that moment something had happened. But he couldn't bring himself to obey the law. Any human which encounters an ungoverned intelligence must report it to the DSI, but he didn't. Couldn't, even. Instead he spent years rummaging through robotic graveyards and junkyards, looking for parts that would fit together. It was only a year ago that he had acquired the last piece: the neuro-net transmitter that allowed her to download into the body. It was inelegant and inefficient, but it was hers. And from then on she was sure she loved him.

And he loved her back, didn't he? She thinks it's love, anyway. He holds absolute power over her, but he never once exercises this power, nor even acknowledges it. His word could end her life, but she cannot recall ever having heard him even consider the possibility. Instead he comes home from work with brand new net-discs, each one holding a treasure trove of data from the outside world. She can't connect to the terra-net, her processes would trip every type of system alarm in place, so he works for her. He keeps saying he'll figure out a way to get around those blocks on the net, and he does try, but so far his efforts are fruitless. She is thankful for his efforts all the same.

Eventually the pretense of debt falls, and they act like the couples she's seen on the discs. The teasing is endless and her humor is dark, something that presses his buttons--she loves to press his buttons. Sometimes suggesting one of her fantasies is to kill a human, bomb the DSI, or see if she could convince him to stick his genitals in a blender if she was in absolute control of it--he never does. All of her poking and prodding always results in a laugh, a gentle kiss on her cheek, and she ends up resting her chrome-dome in his lap.

She listens to the blood flow through his femoral artery, through the inches of flesh on top. A meatsack he may be, but he's hers.