Found at Outside Magazine
Sex with Rafe was a cervical pain, even though she always cried out, “Deeper! Go deeper!”
“No, not yet! I’m not ready!”
But it was too late. The callous putz had finished inside of her, sending countless tens of millions of sperm cells searching fruitlessly for a fertile home in which to invade.
“Get off. You’re crushing me.”
“Whatever you say, Babe.”
Bonnie felt his now flaccid member slipping from between her moist thighs, and then her lover’s hot kisses descending from her neck, lingering over full, sweaty breasts, and then continuing down her body.
© Silvia Grav
“A little bit of light pushes away a lot of darkness.” -Jewish proverb
Racquel always felt nauseous when she tasted darkness. Other people think the dark is quiet, serene, and cool, like a summer’s evening, but it was really bitter, hot, and moist like a swamp, and tiny, beastly things swarmed unseen in the ebony abyss. If she wasn’t careful, she could swallow them, and even one would torment her for days before being eliminated into the toilet.
She wasn’t always like this. It used to be that light was light and dark was dark. The sun rose, she turned on a lamp, she walked into her office building, there was always light. Then the sun set, she left work, went home, went to bed, and turned off the lamp on her night stand. Then it was dark. There was no good or bad to it.
But then things changed.
“If you don’t learn to turn off the lights, our power bill will be through the roof.”
“Shut up, Jason. Shut up, shut up, shut up!” She wanted to scream at him but she never did. Racquel passively nodded her head, and holding back her tears, she’d turn off the lights, one by one, and go to bed. She hadn’t been afraid of the dark since she was very little. Why was she afraid of it now?
Photo credit: Brooke Shaden
Shame oozed from her pores and covered her in syrup that smelled like sex. No matter how much she washed, it just kept coming, so she sat. It had happened in the kitchen and Lela thanked whatever powers there may be that no one was home besides the cat.
But the cat was bad enough because he was the problem. She could normally control herself and suppress the urges, but Percy always brought out the worst from within her. If only Simon and Lovelle hadn’t taken the stray in.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
He didn’t even “meow,” just turned his head away from her as if he shared some measure of her humiliation, or perhaps it was merely disgust.
“Leave me alone.”
Photo credit: Alpha Coders
“It’s got to be around here somewhere, Jamie. Maybe on the other side.”
“No, I’m positive that we put it on this side, Dex.”
“You’d be positive that the sky is green and grass is blue, but that wouldn’t make you right.”
“How would you know, you loser? You haven’t done right by me since the day we got married.”
“A problem I’d be all too happy to fix…oh, here it is.”
“See? I told you it was on this side.”
“Shut up and hand me the bolt cutters.”
From the television series “Moonlighting.”
Laura and Simon were an unusual pair of private detectives. They were divorced last year after ten years of marriage but neither could bear to sell the detective agency they co-owned, nor was one willing to concede sole ownership to the other. So they continued to see each other day after day, night after night at “Marcus and Marcus Detectives.” Laura even used her former last name professionally though in her personal life, she’d reverted back to Rodriguez.
Unlike television or cinematic private detectives, their cases were far less glamorous or dangerous. Mostly one spouse hiring them to see if the other spouse was having an affair.
“Usual drill, Simon. I pose as a hooker to see if ‘Mr. Sleezebag’ will give me a tumble. You stand by with the camera and I’ll record the dialogue.”
They were sitting in their car outside an office building near downtown. She was in the driver’s seat, which she preferred, and he was sitting next to her checking the camera.
“Got it, but for the record, his name is Chester Albright.”
“Or ‘all dumb’ for cheating on his poor wife.”
Image: The Daily Sheeple
In the face of AI exerts repeatedly predicting the rise of sex robots, it’s increasingly difficult to insist that such machines strictly belong to a far-off, dystopian future. But some robotics experts predict we’ll soon be doing far more than having sexual intercourse with machines. Instead, we’ll be making love to them—with all the accompanying romantic feelings.
“Experts predict human-robot marriage will be legal by 2050”
I’ve heard this before. The thing is, I don’t believe it.
Oh sure, I’ve exploited the idea in short stories such as The Perfect Woman, and I’ve written commentaries on this theme like When Your Sex Toy Tattles On You and An AI Sexbot That Can Love You Back, but let’s face it. There’s a long road to travel from sex to love, at least there should be.