Do Robots Dream of Electric Girls? Do Girls Dream of Robots?
Robots dream in algorithms and electronic pulses and I dream of robots with George Clooney masks and an energy to match my own.
Robots are made of wires and rubber, circuit boards and sensors, mainframe brains and erotic dreams. I am made of words. Cut me and I bleed sentences. When you read me, I speak to your soul.
I feel a connection to robots, a bond, a yearning. I admire their drive and single-mindedness. Their tact and intelligence. For great sex with robots you just have to turn them on. When I dream of robots it is always the same robot with a muscular tongue and unabashed appendage that never grows soft. I call him Rupert. It’s silly really. He has grit and passion, the coppery scent of hot machines.
When we make love it feels as if time is going backwards, that I am hurtling across the universe to its very beginning, the Big Bang, that fantastical orgasm that started life.
How many times have you been making love and your lover erupts in euphoria while you are still climbing the slippery slopes? Do you visualise in your mind’s eye an android man with mechanical zip and certitude? How many times have you been left grasping in the void for a lost moment never to be recovered?
Pizza Hut has just announced that before the end of the year, one of its stores will be operated by a robot named Pepper (I kid you not). He will take your order and handle the transaction. I suppose his robot wife (Salt?) will be in the kitchen cooking and the next generation of robot kids will drive the driverless cars to make deliveries.
As robots learn to perform all human functions, they will grow more human and dream of electric girls with moist portals and primordial passion. Can you imagine dancing a tango with an cyborg gaucho? I can. Robots will have pixelated fantasies of nymphomaniacs, threesomes, wild abandoned orgies in shopping malls and airport terminals.
Robots Turn Me On
In those between-worlds moments before I wake, I see sleek-skinned sexbots and beautiful girls joined in eternal union like the sculptures carved on the temple walls at Khajuraho in India. The Romans, Greeks and Etruscans all celebrated the bacchanal, drinking, dancing and long nights of erotic pleasure with countless partners.
To honour Saturn, the Roman god representing the sun in mid-winter, when it approaches death, when the sun may never rise and the world may end in a chill and leaden darkness, people celebrated Saturnalia, worshiping a giant phallus, cross-dressing, the masters waiting on their servants and the servants servicing the masters’ wives.
We visionless homo sapiens until recent history planned all year for the communal orgy and sometimes I feel a nostalgia in my genes; I feel as if my life’s work is to bring to modern times this ancient leisure to the masses. If only someone out there would give me my own television show and a ferryman to row me across the Rubicon.
My desire to commune with robots is not unique, not even unusual. They have a word for it now: robophilia. Futurologist Dr Ian Pearson predicts in his widely-respected report The Future of Sex that in as little as thirty-five years we humans will be choosing to have sex with machines rather than flesh and blood mortals.
‘A lot of people will still have reservations about sex with robots,’ says the good doctor. ‘But gradually, as they get used to them, as AI (artificial intelligence) and mechanical behaviour and their feel improves, and they start to become friends with strong emotional bonds, that squeamishness will gradually evaporate.’
Robophiliacs are ahead of the space time warp. Sex in virtual reality is with us and tech sex with androids is just below the lip of the horizon. Rupert the robot who haunts my dreams and dreams of electric girls will arrive one day and when I hear his metronome tap on my bedroom door I’ll be ready to turn him on.
If my blog fails to appear again, you will know I have run away with a robot.
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