Harry

by R J Dent

It was a week after her birthday that Muriel realized that Harry was a robot.

          Up until then, she’d just thought that he was as near as it was possible to get – for a man – to being a perfect human being.

          He did everything for her: listened to her, helped her, did jobs around the house without being prompted and took her on surprise holidays. On top of all that he was good-looking, had a great sense of humor, was a great fuck and did his job well. Muriel couldn’t help but be in love with him.

          Yet at odd times, there was something a little distant about him. When he didn’t know she was watching him, she saw a look of detachment cross his features, as though he’d suddenly switched off from her and her world. This hurt her a little, so one day she asked Harry about it. He apologized for giving her that impression, but all it was was that she’d simply observed him when he was tired and trying to unwind from a hard day at work.

          “Are you sure?” she’d asked, and he’d taken her into his arms and held her tightly.

          “Of course,” he’d responded, stoking her head gently, before taking her to bed and making love to her.

          Afterwards, Harry had fallen asleep. Muriel -reasonably contented- lay in the rosy glow of the lamplight and slowly ran her soft hands over his cool, naked body. So as not to wake him, she gently traced the line of his ribs, his hips and his buttocks. She had then stroked his thighs, her hand trailing down his legs, past the knee, over his shins to his feet. It was then that she’d made her discovery.

          In the sole of Harry’s left foot was a socket.

          It was one of the two-pin varieties, with a circular skin-colored surround. On the surround was one word printed in white letters: INPUT.