“My Pleasure,” by Jerry Tran

Dec 20th, 2020 | By | Category: Fiction, Prose

The video starts playing, and square in the middle of the frame is a metal chair with a female robot on it. She has pin-up model-like curves, and her head is a sleek monitor displaying the face of the one and only Marilyn Monroe. Even now, that mask is still one of the more popular, and expensive, downloadable features an owner could purchase for their PleasureCorp sex robot.

The PleasureCorp Wikipedia page today states that the company skyrocketed to the top once it pioneered the technology that would allow their creation to change into whatever body shape, size, and even gender the owner desired at the push of a remote button or simple voice command. No longer would a single person have to purchase multiple sex dolls to fulfill all of their fantasies!

Offscreen, a man clears his throat.

“Hmm, what should my… okay, yes, my name is, um, Detective Johnson.”

“Hello, Detective.”

Her voice is perfect in pitch, tone, and volume. It’s also unsettling in that it does not belong to the long-dead sex icon doing the mouthing.

“Thank you for coming here to be interrogated,” said the Detective. “I think someone you know well may be involved in some… what’s the word that I’m… funny business.”

Instead of responding, the sex robot reaches into her hyperalloyed covered stomach and pulls out a dry pack of Virginia Slims. She brings one to her flat-screen mouth, which first recedes into itself before enveloping around the cigarette. CLICK-CLICK-WHIRL and her right arm is now a flamethrower that doubles as a giant lighter.

“Nice. You know the suspect, right? Mark Smith?”

The sex robot nods while maintaining that same seductive smile that made leaders of the free world feel as if their life was lacking.

“Okay cool. I guess we can start by you introducing yourself and describing your relationship to the suspect, Miss…?”

The metal woman’s digital chin tilts upward, and her pixelated lips prepare to smooch. Smoke then makes its way out before evolving into an ever-expanding heart-shaped cloud.

“Agnes,” said the sex robot, while keeping her gaze on the mist as it ascends into nothingness.  

“Mark is the man who purchased me from PleasureCorp. Our relationship is one of companionship, love, and, of course, sex. That does tend to be the main reason why men purchase robots like myself.”

“Great. Sex. Got it. So, uh, how long have you two known each other now?”

“I first met Mark after he took me out of the box and turned me on two years, nine months, six days, 55 minutes & 2 seconds ago to this day.”

“What did you do before meeting him?”

“Nothing. If not for Mark, I would still be standing lifelessly inside of a warehouse in Tokyo,” said the pensive face emoji.

Agnes’ thoughts of how strange it must be to have a body and be near others while at the same time not be alive do not last long.

“I would like to know a little more about you now,” said the winking face emoji.

“Sure, yeah, I have been doing this for a while now,” said the Detective. “All by myself, too. No partner. Don’t need one. Partners suck. You’re with them for almost a year, and then all of a sudden, they leave you for Javier. What a terrible thing to do to someone. God, I miss her so much… Anyway, I should move on. Here check this, um, bank security video out.”

Agnes’ eyes become slivers and her brows furrow as she starts to watch the silent video with the seriousness of a juror at a murder trial.

“I need you to help me catch Mark for robbing that bank, Agnes,” said the Detective. “If you don’t, then I’ll have no choice but to play the bad cop, although, just so you know, even if you do help, I will still probably become the bad cop.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot assist you with that, Detective,” Said Agnes. “Even if that was Mark, my programming does not allow me to cause him any displeasure. I’m sure a smart man like yourself can see how he would not appreciate being arrested and finding out I contributed to it.”

“Hell yeah, keep those compliments coming,” said the Detective. “Okay, what if you just tell me more about Mark then? Like what are all the great things about him that you appreciate? How dashing and daring he is? His big brain? His lovemaking?”

Agnes takes a final drag and then, with eyes that would bring a dying man back from the light, extends her arm. A dull thud, a limb resembling a silver bullet train during rush hour as it returns to its default size, and a self-assured look from knowing the cigarette butt landed square in the center of a trash bin all come next.

“Mark is the greatest man I know,” said Agnes. “He is funnier, smarter, and more charismatic than anyone I have ever met or seen, which includes but is not limited to: hosts of televised late-night talk shows, the paid actors in infomercials, and the cops from Cops.”

“Keep going.”

“He is also braver, faster, and stronger than those who run away and get taken down by the K9 dogs.”

“I don’t know why you’re protecting this bad boy when I know for a fact that he doesn’t love you.”

“That is not true, but even if he didn’t, I still wouldn’t help you find him.”

“Maybe you should check out this video of him putting a diamond sapphire necklace on his blonde, blue-eyed, and stacked partner in crime then.”

The sex robot with the angry emoji face is not thrilled at the prospect of watching this video.

“I knew that slut of an executive assistant Tiffany would become a problem after he called her name out once during one of our lovemaking sessions.”

The aftershock from Agnes’ extra-large boxing glove of a hand pounding her palm makes the camera shake.

“You sure you still don’t want to help me knowing you’re not his partner in crime?”

“I would rather be recycled than knowing I put Mark in prison, even though that would prevent women who are out of his league from putting their grubby hands all over his sexy body.”

“Well, based on the video footage we have of them celebrating their last score, Tiffany seems like she would gladly use her hands to break Mark out of solitary confinement,” said the Detective. “I think he appreciates that level of loyalty and commitment from a partner and explains why he chose her and not you as his accomplice.”

“How fucking dare you,” said Agnes, through clenched teeth. A faint, gnashing sound emanates from her digital mouth, and the furious emoji’s nostrils begin to fume while the rest of her body trembles with the rage of a bull that just witnessed their brother fall to an ugly mustachioed matador.

The Detective remains silent.

“Our very first night together,” said Agnes, “I auto switched to “Girlfriend Mode’ after he requested that I hold him while he cried about his breakup with Barbara, his only previous significant other and soulmate. When he had the flu, he asked for his mother’s chicken noodle soup, so I broke into her nursing home and then scanned a recipe from a very poorly written cookbook, all while impersonating her former attendant from Jamaica, Femi. During this last company holiday party at the aquarium, I dove into the shark tank to retrieve his unconscious body after he drunkenly fell inside of it. One of the sharks was seconds away from biting his head off before I fended it off with an arm harpoon. I then brought him to the surface and carried him to the Uber. On the way home, I used my mouth vacuum to suck out the fish eggs and baby squids from his pockets. I would have done all that even if I wasn’t his emergency contact.

Agnes leans forward in the chair, and for the first time since the video started, uses a tone that suggests somewhere inside her she has a “Serious Dominatrix” mode.

“I want you to listen to me closely, Detective. I would do anything to make Mark happy. If he told me that the only thing that would bring a smile to his face would be the destruction of this world and everyone in it, then I would not hesitate even for a second to annihilate mankind.”

“Oh man, that holiday party,” said the Detective. “Okay, I get it. You love Mark enough to kill everyone on earth. That’s sweet! It’s also sad because I don’t think he loves you anymore. Or maybe he never did and is now bored of you. Did you ever think about that?”

“I strongly suggest you stop attempting to upset me unless you’d rather speak to me while ‘PUNISH HIM’ mode is activated.”

“Hmm, that sounds hot, but we’re not done yet,” said the Detective. “Tomorrow, Mark is planning to make his crew bigger by purchasing a Ukrainian bride named Anya, who crazily enough looks like Tiffany’s hotter sister.”


CLICK-WHIRR-CLICK. Shiny forearms are now shiny plasma cannon blasters. Peering inside their round, hollow openings at eye level feels as if you just entered into a staring contest with a soulless void that could turn you into a steaming pile of mush win, lose, or draw.

“Mark has said multiple times that marriage is an outdated concept, so stop lying to me now, or I’ll blast your fucking head off!”

“Yeah, that is something someone who is single and lonely would say. Also, he might just hate shopping for rings. Anyway, it seems like he’s finally ready for a real relationship with a human woman who is contractually obligated to love him now.”

Agnes starts yelling, but the thunderous discharge of her plasma cannons blasting in every direction drown her out. The beach ball-sized blue blasts coming from her arms give off the appearance of a floating and incensed Marilyn Monroe head perched on top of two firework explosions. Somehow the camera doesn’t get hit.

“Oh God, those blasts make me so fucking hard,” muttered the Detective. “Keep shooting! Mark doesn’t love you anymore and he never did!”

CLICK-CLICK-SNARL. Hello, machete arms. Goodbye, Agnes, who leaps past the camera.

“Leave me and Mark alone!”

A smash punctuates the demand followed by a faint, “keep it down in there!”

“Mark hates your old rusty ass! Also, don’t forget to fix that later.”

The young, bespectacled Detective enters the frame, backpedaling with bony hands out in front to keep the towering Agnes and her massive machetes at bay. His wrinkled dress shirt, loosened tie, and pants around his ankles seem a bit unprofessional. That is also without taking into account the glimmer of joy on his face or erection.

“I hate you!”

One machete goes up, and one giant silver blur comes down towards the Detective’s neck, chopping off his tie.

“No, you don’t. End Role-playing now,” said the Detective.

“ROLE-PLAYING MODE OFF” flashes on Agnes’ face. The Detective grabs her and then starts shoving his tongue down her plasma screen. Passionate (and realistic sounding!) moans ensue.

Mouths interlocked the two lurch into the camera, knocking it down, before falling onto a nearby bed. Someone claps, the lights go off, a belt buckle hits the floor, YES-WHIRL-YES, but the ecstasy is short-lived. Nothing but silence and darkness now.

“Oh, Mark, you were so great for your first time playing a detective.”

“I wonder if Barbara would’ve done that…”

“I think you’ll be as proud as I am right now when you watch the video of it later. Speaking of later, is it okay if we make love in the morning? My battery is at 4% right now due to all the weaponry changes from earlier,” said Agnes.

“Jesus, what good is owning a sex robot if you can’t have sex with it whenever you want?! Maybe I should’ve purchased Anya instead,” said Mark.

“I apologize for my mistake, and next time we role-play, I will preserve some aggression for afterward, since I know how much you enjoy it when I get physical with you in bed.”


“I love you, Mark.”

More dark silence.

Mark starts snoring. A half hour later, Agnes sleepwalks past the still downed camera with “EMERGENCY POWER” flashing on her face to go charge herself in the closet.


Jerry Tran is a comedian/writer/simple man from Houston based in Chicago.

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