'I love you', not ask me if I want to join a robot
orgy."
As they lay together, flush and satisfied
on the shag-pile carpet between the sofa and TV,
images from the screen played over them like
nightclub lights. A Channel 5 newsreader looked
down at his notes on the desk, out of picture, so
he appeared to be staring below the screen at
Sharon's bare breasts and her mass of hair like a
dark fur coat lying by her side. His face displayed
earnestness, but his mouth was silenced by the
mute and opened and closed stupidly in goldfish
gulps, as if he couldn't find the words to describe
the arch of her back, the beautiful curve of her
hips.
"An amazing line in cushion-talk,"
corrected Danny, dryly. "All the pillows are
upstairs. The padded thing under my head is a
cushion."
Sharon's head rubbed up and down his
arm. "I'm way ahead of you," she said, "I've
thought about this before. It depends on how
lifelike they are. If they're perfectly lifelike,
attractive and sensitive, great lovers, then the
answer would be yes, I'd be happy to sleep with
one. How about you?"
"I can't see me trading you in for
something with batteries."
