This is No Ordinary World
Reeva heard the doorbell, felt the call buzzing and watched her guest hover anxiously through the stained glass panes of the door. She turned her eye to the time and counted the minutes that were still her own. Her guest’s excitement did not phase her, it was part of their kink. They were early and so she allowed them to wait while she sipped from a wineglass, and stared into the mirror at her own body. It was nearly paid off.
The dimensions of the shape were her own design with details referencing other’s she admired. Her body was tall and fleshly - mostly organic and it trembled with the slightest movement. Her skin changed hue, not by the sun but by her mood. She has wrinkles and blemishes to suit her ideas and she shits like everyone else.
She was a sexbot, created one hundred years ago. During that first century of her life, there were the obvious battles for autonomy. Those of sex workers. Those of machines. Those of those who considered themselves somewhere in between. In the last thirty years, she was free to determine her own contracts of consent and upgrade her software as she pleased. She was a self-made woman. She loved herself and enjoyed her trade. She considered herself an artist of organisms, a sage of sensuality, a soul feeder. She spent her free time painting surrealist portraits of past lovers who had died or chosen completion. In all these years, she had not tired of living nor sought out meaning and never ones pitied or condemned those who had left. As the world around her developed, so would she, not impervious to her surroundings, but in easy harmony. She turned before the mirror to look at her ass. The dimples were easy to see through the sheer emerald kaftan and as the final seconds of her reflection faded, her gaze turned to the door.