Are Robot Girlfriends Legal In The United States?

They’re big, they’re blue, and they’re taking earthling females as mates.Alien Mate 1: Diana is ironing her underwear when the hottest blue babe in the galaxy appears in her living room—naked. Abducted, decontaminated and dressed like a harem girl, she’s been chosen to become the alien’s mate.Alien Mate 2: Maya's been raised to believe in extra-terrestrials and when she saves a sexy blue one from drowning, she can't resist taking him home-and into her bed.Alien Mate 3: Abducted by a hunky blue alien, researcher and admitted geek Penny is eager to study his mating habits—in the flesh. She’d like to blame her illogical affection for him on hormones, but the erotic remedy just heightens her chemical imbalance.From the sands of white Mexico, to the Xamian home planet, and the vast galaxy in between, three different tales of alien love with a large dose of humor and pleasurable probing.Alien Mate is created by Eve Langlais, aneGlobal Creative Publishing Signed Author.

Harry Payne, a sexy and enigmatic CEO. Harry comes from one of the most important and richest families in the entire UK. He is responsible and organised, he is a businessman without time for nonsense or romance. His last girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend because of his unavailability. Now he is facing a big problem. His cousin's wedding is in three days and he needs to find a suitable girlfriend to attend with him. Harry pays a lot of money to stay out of the headlines, so his family has no idea what he has been up to. As he doesn’t have time for relationships he decides to hire a girlfriend for two weeks. Will he be able to keep it professional or will he lose his calm with the beautiful escort Alice?

Raymond, an average mechanic, would go any length to satisfy and make his girlfriend happy. He became devoted to granting her an unrealistic wish of a grand wedding. Everything was fine until his girlfriend was zombified alongside in an elite school. To prevent the whole city of Newland from being infected, the mayor authorized an airstrike on the school. Raymond had to find a way to save his zombie girlfriend before the the wipe out

After my husband's death, I long for him so much that it becomes a mental condition. To put me out of my misery, my in-laws order a custom-made robot to be my companion. But I'm only more sorrowed when I see the robot's face—it's exactly like my late husband's. Everything changes when I accidentally unlock the robot's hidden functions. Late at night, 008 kneels before my bed and asks, "Do you need my third form of service, my mistress?"

In the third year after my death, the one who remained faithfully by my wife's side was still the bionic robot I had painstakingly designed. It looked exactly like me and carried within it every detail of my mannerisms, speech, and habits. The only difference was that it never lost its temper with her. Because of that, my wife never sensed anything amiss. Yet each night, she brought home a different man, deliberately testing "me," desperate to see the wild jealousy and rage I once wore so vividly. Then, one day, her childhood sweetheart and first love, shoved "me" off the balcony. It was only then, in her horror, that my wife realized… "I" didn't bleed.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.