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It's the year 3000, men are obsolete and women are in full control.

Women are now waited on hand and foot, day and night by fully functional robot men. That must serve them, please them and pleasure them in every way imaginable.

But then something changes, love comes off the production line.
This dark, romantic, trip into science fiction is a classic Kensington Gore twisted tale. An Orwellian style story of horror, love, desire and groinal attachments.

Will love conquer all will everything come good in the end?

"This is not a feminist story. This is a love story about the death of men, real men." Kensington Gore

WARNING: ROBOT LOVE Contains adult themes and sexual content.

There follows a short sample from the start...


NEW LONDON: THE YEAR 3000 - A little after 10 p.m. Eve Hartman arrived home at her deluxe New London penthouse apartment. It had been a hard thirteen-hour shift working in the financial capital of the world. Eve had been opening and closing million dollar-pound deals all day. The dollar and pound, or, $/£ as it was more commonly written as abbreviations meant more, were combined into one currency early in the twenty-eight hundreds.

As Eve flopped down onto her antique IKEA furniture, she sank into the soft armchair and welcomed the rare opportunity to relax. She closed her eyes and leant her head back as she tried to let the day’s stress drain out of her thirty-year-old body.
Eve worked in the country of New London. Countries in the thirtieth century had now become huge cities; Heart NY Cheesecake, Tokyo Tower, Delhi and Sydney City. New London was the financial capital of the world and it was a dog-eat-dog world. Only the toughest made it to the lofty heights Eve had reached.
Opening her eyes, she stretched out her long legs and poured herself a stiff drink.
“TV on,” she commanded. The computerised house-control system kicked into life.
A perfect 3-D hologram image appeared in front of Eve, the hologram was so realistic you’d think the women in the lame comedy series Leave it with Beaver were actually in the room with her.

She requested Channel 6012 and then heard a crash come from the kitchen. Eve raised her eyes to heaven, knowing instinctively that the loud din would be George dropping something again. George, was Eve’s long-term house robot; though he did his job well, she was tiring of his program faults. She’d lost count of the ornaments and plates just in the last year alone. Despairing of the endless accidents she’d finally contacted the manufacturer, but they told her that it was a common fault in that model. It apparently lay within the root co-ordination part of the program, and they couldn’t rectify it without frying George’s computer brain, but they could offer her a reconditioned model at a discount.

Eve had been tempted but she hated up-selling, and besides, she’d always had a soft spot for George; he was given to her by her mother for her eighteenth birthday.
She closed her eyes for a second and thought about that landmark birthday. How she was so happy to see George that day, and how she had felt she’d finally reached womanhood now that she owned her very own robot man.
Now George was old and falling apart, she had to agree with her mother when she called him, “a bumbling waste of space”.
Eve couldn’t handle this right now. She needed to escape so she went to her usual standby.
“Computer. View Casablanca from last point watched,” she commanded.

The Holo-TV popped up Humphrey Bogart and Lauran Bacall, right at the famous tear-jerkering end to the film Bogie had just uttered the immortal line, “We’ll always have Paris…” when Eve’s Mother Mary video-called.
“Hey Eve, how are you?”
Marry was in her early fifties, but because she’d had so much plastic surgery done some people said she looked like Eve’s younger sister. This annoyed Eve like crazy.
“Hi Mum, I’m okay. Just got in from work.”
“Any sign of a promotion yet?”
“No, Mum,” she sighed. Eve knew her Mum would ask that question every time she called and every time they met, in a way she was almost happy she'd used it as her opening gambit as it at least got it out of the way.
“Well, you need to push yourself, Eve.”
“Will do, Mum. Did you call for any particular reason, because I need to go and clear up after George.”
“George, what’s that useless tin can done now?”
“Oh, nothing much. Sounds like he’s dropped a glass.”
“I’ve told you for years you need to get rid of George. I’ve had at least thirty robot men and lovers in all the time you’ve had bumbling George.”
“I know Mum, that’s why you get a discount,” said Eve. She wanted to add that her mother’s sex drive wore out most robots within a year, but that was always a touchy subject so Eve thought she best not to go there.
“There’s supposed to be a new model out soon. Gore Inc. are promoting it tonight on Channel 6012. You should get a new one; he’ll put some colour in your cheeks. You’re looking peaky, are you eating well? Are you getting enough sex?”
“Mother!! George does what I ask him.”
“Get yourself this new one darling, he looks anatomically amazing, apparently. He’ll have you climbing the walls with your orgasms.”
Eve covered her face which had blushed bright red. “But what would I do with old George?”
“Oh, leave him out with the trash.”
“Take him downtown and leave him doing some impossible task with all the other unwanted robots. Tell him to clean Big Ben or something!”
“I can’t do that. Those robots scare me. They’re like robot zombies. Going around asking everyone Are you my mistress? and their constant begging for any spare $/£ for a drop of lubricating oil.”
“Well, you get a new one. Get rid of George, or you’re out of my will. I’ve got to go, Eve, some of the girls are coming around with their robots and we’re having an orgy. No one will invite you to an orgy until you get shot of old George, who wants to shag an antique garbage can? TTFN.”
Mary’s Holo-TV image disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Eve sighed deeply and tried to dispel the disturbing image of her mother attending an orgy. She called out to George to see if he'd broken anything important. At this, George appeared in the doorway and reassured her it was merely a wine glass. George was a well made robot, apart from the program fault. Eve’s mum was a real robot snob, and only ever bought the very best.
George was modelled on Kensington Gore VIII in his prime, as were all robots nowadays, but Eve couldn’t help but feel he needed to be a little taller. She also didn’t like the glassy-looking eyes. His skin was real, having been grown in laboratories by scientists, he also had a layer of synthetic flesh underneath it, so that his metal skeleton was hidden and he felt human to the touch.
When Eve had first had sex with him, on the night of her eighteenth birthday party, she had found his realistic appearance truly enchanting. He was far better than the earlier robot prototypes whose skin had been synthetic and felt rubbery. However, something was now missing with George. His response time was slightly slower, and combined with his lack of co-ordination this meant Eve was often left unsatisfied by him, both in the bedroom and in everyday service.

Eve regularly had sex with George, it was customary to use robots as sex toys and most women did on multiple occasion. Although men in real terms didn’t exist anymore, women still liked to be pleasured. And even though they didn’t want to make love to a real man, they still wanted to feel like they were with a real man, rather like vegetarians who hated meat but wanted food products that looked like sausages and burgers.
The early robot men were only allowed to repeat set phrases. These included things like, “May I fetch you a drink?” or “May I cook you a three-course meal?” or “Would Madam care for a multiple orgasm?”
Another crash from the kitchen shook Eve back to her robotic reality
“What now?” she sighed.
“Nothing broken this time,” said George over the din of something metallic rolling around on the floor.
She hoped it wasn’t George’s head that had fallen off yet again. Tightening a decapitated robot’s neck nuts was not her idea of fun.

In the year 2799 real men had been virtually eradicated from society due to their lack of contribution to everyday life. Eve had never known a real man. They were like a fairy story to her, something her mum used to tell her about when she was a child.
According to the story, men became too complacent in their role as the dominant sex, presuming they would always be in charge. They grew lazy, fat and unhealthy as women went about the day doing more and more work. Men were so engrossed in their 24/7 diet of internet porn, smartphones and video games, they didn't notice they had become obsolete.
It was only then that previously downtrodden women smashed through the glass ceilings which had been holding them back for decades. Once free from their chains there was no stopping them. They not only wore the trousers but they tailored them to suit them.

Eventually women realised that men were more of a hindrance to society than any real benefit.
Once womankind perfected genetic engineering to the point where creating synthetic sperm was like falling off a log, the days of man were numbered.
There was a time when real men were used simply to fill sperm banks. They were put into hard labour masturbation camps just like the battery farmed hens of the twentieth century. Kept in cramped cages and force-fed Viagra, the men were made to constantly masturbate to pornography morning noon and night until they couldn't come anymore.
In the 2800s Queen Sophie IV said so called “jerk-off camps” were cruel to the “dumb male animal” and it was decided it was time to get rid of these drains on society altogether.
For a while rich, eccentric women kept real men as pets or playthings. Some traditionalists kept them as “natural breeding stock”, fearing the ongoing changes and being unsure of what was going on, but eventually domesticated men turned violent due to being repressed, and, tearfully, Queen Sophie IV decreed all men were to be humanely destroyed.

Right now, however, Eve debated how much worse these real men could have been, compared to the rather inept and malfunctioning robot that currently rattled around her kitchen.
Eve drained her wine glass and poured herself another right up to the brim. Work had taken it out of her today and she was finding it very hard to unwind. Sitting in the warm, stuffy office all day had given her one of her migraines , facts and figures still swirled around in her head and were driving her mad. She looked at the Holo-TV to see that the adverts were on.
“Same boring rubbish,” Eve thought, as the usual wave of consumer jargon was hurled at her at break-neck speed.
She got up from her seat and walked through the Holo-TV display, where a tennis player was hitting balls encrusted in diamonds to show they were the, “best friend to even the fittest of girls!”

The Holo-TV blinked for a second as Eve walked right through it, and then followed her as she went to help George clean up the mess.
George was frantically trying to fix his right arm back into place at the shoulder. He seemed agitated, saying Eve shouldn’t help because she was the mistress of the house. To Eve, George was sounding more and more like a woman, and she thought for a second that maybe she had actually managed to turn her very own man-bot somehow robo-gay.
Suddenly an advert on the Holo-TV caught her attention and made her stop what she was doing. It was an advert for a brand new type of robot man. The advert starred Kensington Gore VIII, the head of Gore Inc. The only bona fide gentleman thought to be in existence, Kensington was over 900 years old. Thanks to recent leaps in health care and plastic surgery, he didn’t look a day over 250.

Kensington was extolling the virtues of a new model called the Man-O 3000. It boasted a more realistic look and feel. He had very reliable programs that could do all manner of new things. Also, each robot was made to look far more individual to suit ladies’ tastes and moods.
She thought about how George had looked individual when she first got him, but when you put him up against other robots now, they all looked pretty much of a muchness, the differences were very subtle. The Man-O 3000 was owner-voice activated, which meant no fiddly button combinations to press. It also meant it would only work for its owner, so that there were no chances of infidelity or women using the robots to commit crimes or immoral acts. Eve looked on in growing desire as the advert rattled off the enticing new features that only the Man-O 3000 possessed. The price was a bit high even though she was pretty well off and could afford the odd luxury, but five million $/£ was half a year’s wages. However, Eve was a woman that liked to get what she wanted, and the Man-O 3000 pressed all her buttons.
Eve thought of George and all of his faults. She had put up with him for twelve years now, problems and all. He was a good worker, reliable, but clumsy; perhaps his time had now come?
She made a note of the number from the advert and then got ready for bed. She called George who appeared promptly in the doorway. She debated asking him to come upstairs and satisfy her, but Eve was tired and was worried another appendage might fall off in the throes of passion. Instead, she told him that she was heading to bed and asked him to make sure that her ironing was done ready for the next day.
“Yes, Madam,” he answered.

Eve tossed and turned most of the night, wondering whether the time was right to replace George. Maybe she could become a two robot household, keeping George for all the menial tasks and saving the Man-O 3000 as her Sunday best, perhaps using it more as her companion?

More and more women were doing that these days, and some of the more left-wing, old-school feminists had caused a stir, saying it was like regressing women back into the relationship status that they’d struggled so desperately to get away from in the first place.
When she did manage to sleep, Eve dreamed of the times as a young child when great-great-grandmother Barbara would sit her on her knee. Grandma Babs would tell her of the times she herself would sit on her own great-great-grandmother’s knee and be told of the mythical-sounding city of Paris in France, the city of love. Couples like Barbara’s great-great-grandmother and her husband apparently went on honeymoon and romantic weekends to Paris way back in the twenty-seventh century.
It sounded a magical place for sure. A place long, long gone when men and women were considered equals and lived to love, not just to work and chase the almighty dollar-pound.
In her sleep, a tiny tear welled up in Eve’s right eye and trickled down her cheek as she dreamed of love and Paris.



Kensington Gore's Twisted Tales Volume 3 - Robot Love



Writer Kaye Vincent author of The Treeman gave a 5 star review & said:

'This is a neat concept and has the feel of a pilot for a longer story. Would be nice to follow on and see what happens in this world, where the heart battles against the heartless. A fun piece with a lighthearted touch and an essence of Stepford thrown in. And I'm tempted to know more about the characters. Equally, it's a great short story that keeps you entertained and should have men everywhere glancing suspiciously at their woman. Don't worry long as she doesn't start to measure you up and take notes, you're probably okay.'





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