Sunday, March 8, 2026
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: FemBot by EM Denning
Winston Lowe is trying to make it through his senior year of college so he can put school—and his mostly absent father—behind him. All he’s ever wanted was a dad who shows up and instead he got one who tries to buy Winston's love with extravagant gifts. A car. An off-campus house. An unlimited allowance. Nothing Winston wants, but he's used to that. If he got what he wanted, his best friend Lucky would love him back.
The most recent gift, a very humanoid-looking AI robot, has Winston and Lucky more than intrigued. Calvin, as the robot calls himself, is adapting to human life in ways no one could have expected. Winston thought the robots were supposed to be emotionless, impartial, sensible, but Calvin is anything but.
Calvin's presence in the house, along with his affinity for thigh-high stockings, short skirts, and intimacy might be what Winston has needed all along. Winston's relationship with Lucky is finally shifting into something romantic, but so is their relationship with Calvin.
A robot.
All the things that make Calvin special and different are the same things that threaten his existence—and Winston's happiness. There are men searching for Calvin, desperate to right the wrongs of his programming. Is the very real love between the three of them enough to survive the odds or will Calvin's memory be erased, taking Winston and Lucky's love with it?
CHAPTER ONE_
IN THE BEGINNING…
Yarek Danvers loved the routine of his job. Take a wheel in a shell—what they called an AI robot that had yet to be programmed—hook it up to the computer and make it fully-functioning.
He loved the stark white labs and the sterilized environments. He loved the sleek lines of the different models of bots. From the old-style bots that looked like modernized versions of the little wooden mannequins artists used, to AI robots that looked uncannily human. As technology advanced, so had the appearances of the bots. Now you could custom order them to look exactly how you wanted.
This one wasn’t a special order, though. It was a run-of-the-mill bot with generic brown hair and eyes the color of clear blue skies. Because the company had learned the hard way that humans would fuck the unfuckable, they’d decided to equip all their bots for any kind of activity the owner deemed necessary. It cut down on customer service calls and threats about lawsuits from people injuring themselves.
Yarek wheeled bot #85295-C over to the data link station and positioned it for upload.
The company had found, through research and development, that the more realistic the bot, the less willing the owner was to have the illusion shattered. Therefore, in the bots that looked like people, the hookup for the data link was hidden inside the ear canal. A cable ran from the bank of computers, through a wire, and into the “brain” of the bot.
The upload process was the thing that took the longest. Because of the computer power required to accomplish the task, they could only operate so many upload suites at a time.
Yarek was forbidden from leaving the room until the process was complete, though. It was a boring job, but it paid extremely well.
Yarek was one of a few specialized bot technicians and understood the delicate balance of programming an AI bot. Though nothing ever went wrong, he was absolutely capable of dealing with any problem that was thrown at him.
Theoretically.
In his three years working with Rebonix Tech, he’d only had one issue, and that had been a faulty part in the bot’s connection unit. Once it had been replaced, everything was smooth sailing. It should have been the same for bot 85295-C.
Yarek linked him to the computer by inserting the cable into his ear. He listened for the audible click that indicated that a proper connection had been made. Plopping down into his swivel chair, he turned toward the computer and brought up the touch screen display.
Rebonix Tech programmed bots for a variety of roles in society. There were general service bots who would carry out basic commands and perform simple tasks. They were the maids. The butlers. The servants. Cashiers. That kind of thing. There were bots who were trained with extensive medical knowledge for the purposes of diagnosis and treatment. They assisted with surgeries in some cases. Education bots. Trucker bots. There was a bot for every purpose under the sun.
A bot for every job except Yarek’s.
Once he got 85295-C hooked up and the program going, all he had to do was sit in the programming suite and track the upload progress. Watch for errors. Also known as being bored out of his mind. The rooms were strictly monitored by audio and video feed, so the company would know if he pulled out a book and read or played on his phone.
It was the worst part of his night. Each bot took three hours to program and another hour to go through a full systems check to ensure quality and double-check that certain programs were working correctly. It was mundane but easy.
The first two and a half hours of his shift were the same as usual, and Yarek was looking forward to finishing up with this bot so he could take a lunch break before doing his second bot of the day.
Though forbidden from leaving the room or using other things like books or phones to distract himself, he was allowed to wander around the small space. It wasn’t a huge room—ten by ten at the most—with a good portion of it taken up by the computers and the data station where he worked. But there was a ten-foot stretch on the wall with the door that he could pace back and forth across.
Feeling like he was going to fall asleep at his chair, Yarek got to his feet. The lights dimmed and he held still, as if his movement had caused the malfunction. His heart stopped and his palms got slick with sweat almost immediately. A quick glance at the data station showed that the upload was still in progress, uninterrupted. There was nothing to worry about.
Then the power failed, and Yarek was plunged into blackness.
The facility was, of course, equipped with back-up generators, and they were supposed to kick on automatically, but after a minute of total darkness, it dawned on Yarek that they weren’t going to come on. Something had gone wrong.
Yarek wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t about to leave the relative safety of the room so he could stumble around pitch black hallways. Even if they had windows, Yarek worked at night. If he was going to be locked in a room for eight hours a day, he didn’t want them to be the eight hours when the sun was up.
The silence got to him after the first thirty minutes. He’d almost convinced himself to poke his head out the door and see if there was anyone nearby when the lights flickered to life.
Yarek, having decided to huddle in the corner like the big, brave man he was, shot to his feet and raced to the data station. The upload had been nearly complete and after a brief diagnostic, everything looked okay to him. He let the computer continue from where it left off when the power failed, a little stunned that the bot hadn’t been ruined by the event. Bots weren’t indestructible or immortal. They wore out or broke all the time. Sometimes the older models could no longer be updated, and they were recycled for scrap or put in museums.
Yarek started his post-programming check, and twenty minutes in, everything seemed to be normal. The door to the programming suite swished open, which never happened, and two security bots stepped into the room.
“Can I help you?” Yarek was intimidated easily, especially by the security bots. They were built like brick walls and followed instructions to the letter. They were very procedural, and there was no way to talk your way around them like you could with a human. A human might get tired of playing word games with you, but these soulless bots would repeat the same phrase ad nauseum until you complied—or until they forced you to comply.
Yarek stood still while one of the bots approached him. “Don’t move. Identification in progress.”
That was another thing about the bots that had come a long way. Their speech patterns mimicked humans far better than they ever had. It made interacting with them comforting but also a bit strange if halfway through a conversation you remembered you were talking to a bunch of wires under some super-advanced silicone and tubes.
“Yarek Danvers. Identity confirmed,” Bot A said to Bot B, who still stood by the door.
“What are you doing?” Yarek asked as the bots retreated back into the hallway. They didn’t answer him, but the programmer in the next suite over had also entered the hallway.
“Did you hear what happened?” Yarek asked Phillippe.
Phillippe was the opposite of Yarek. Where Yarek had worked at Rebonix Tech for six years and knew almost no one, Phillippe had been there for six months and was best friends with everyone.
“The anti-bot crowd infiltrated the building. They cut the power, caused a bit of mayhem.”
Yarek frowned. “To what end?”
“I guess they wanted to free the bots? I don’t know. Destroy them maybe? Who knows with those crackpots.”
Behind him, he heard his computer beep, indicating that the diagnostic had completed. Phillippe heard it too.
“Your bot survived the outage?”
“Seems so.”
“Wow, mine is toast. Absolutely fried.”
Phillipe invited himself into Yarek’s programming suite and leaned over his shoulder as he brought up the scans. There was nothing out of the ordinary. According to the computer, the upload had been interrupted but still completed successfully.
“What’s error code 912834?” Phillipe asked.
“Oh, that’s because the upload was interrupted. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Yarek said, clearing the error from the bot now that the diagnostics had been ran.
“Are you going to stay and run another diagnostic? The security bots said once everyone is accounted for, we can all go home”.
Phillippe put his hands on Yarek’s shoulders and dug his fingers into his tired muscles. The truth was that everyone loved Phillippe because he loved everyone right back, and Yarek wasn’t immune to his charms. They’d hooked up a couple times before, and where some people were put off by his extensive experience, Yarek definitely didn’t mind benefitting from it.
All Phillippe had to do to convince Yarek was lean down and whisper.
“Please,” he purred in Yarek’s ear. “I’ll do that thing you like.”
Phillipe had no care for the fact that their every word was being recorded, but Yarek had some modesty left.
Some.
“Shhh. Fine. Just… keep it down.”
Phillippe laughed and tugged Yarek to his feet. “Come on, let’s get this guy unplugged and down to packaging, and then we can get out of here.”
“What about your bot?”
“I had him sent back down to assembly. They’ll have to wipe his circuits before we can try again. It’s a bit weird that my bot is garbage, but yours made it through the power failure just fine.”
Yarek unlocked the wheels on the gurney the bot was strapped to for transport around the facility. “It’s because my backups have backups, and those backups have backups.” Which didn’t explain the error code he’d gotten.
“Yeah, yeah, we all know about how brilliant you are, but trust me, I excel in other areas.” Phillippe got the door for him, and they wheeled bot 85295-C down to packaging.
Yarek took one final look at the bot and then let Phillippe roll him away.
E. M. Denning is a writer from British Columbia. She loves her family and animals, and anything cute and fuzzy. She writes romance for the 18+ plus crowd because she's both a hopeless romantic and a dirty old woman.
You can find her on her website, Facebook or on her blog.
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