The Gates of Paradise

By Bruce E. Weber

When Cornelius Cobb, known to his friends as 'Corny,' opens a string of brothels staffed entirely by lifelike female robots, he sees it not only as a good business idea, but as a humanitarian venture as well. Lonely men will get their needs met in a safe environment, police will be spared numerous vice raids, and human trafficking will diminish.
Right?
Poor, naive Corny! Little did he suspect what happens to anyone who upsets the time-honored business relationship that exists between the law, religion, and those who provide succor for the male sex urge.
Though his brothels are a roaring success, they incite the rage of the police, civic and religious groups and unemployed sex workers, all of which unite to come down on Cobb like a ton of bricks, threatening not only to destroy his brothels but also threatening his life.
To keep his business going and to stay alive, Cobb has only three allies; a militant feminist lawyer, a vicious loan shark, and a local Catholic priest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce E. Weber
• Release date: Dec 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005779566

Bruce E. Weber

Bruce Weber grew up in Indianapolis, in the neighborhood that is the setting for Dark Manna. He moved to Arizona in 1998. He lives in Tucson, where he is self-employed. Bruce says the writer who has influenced him most is James M. Cain, who wrote the Postman Always Rings Twice, Double Indemnity, and Mildred Pierce. Of Cain’s work, Weber says, “Cain told more story with fewer words than any writer I know of, and from reading his books, I became imbued with his own worst fear: a gnawing terror of boring the reader.”

Book preview

The Gates

of

Paradise

Bruce E. Weber

The Smashwords Edition

The Gates of Paradise

Bruce E. Weber

a Stanfield Books publication

Copyright ©2020 Bruce E. Weber

All rights reserved.

rev. 10.12.2021

* * * * *

Smashwords License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. Please don't resell it or give it away.

If you want to share this book, please return to Smashwords and purchase an additional copy as a gift. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Disclaimer

This is a fiction book. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is a coincidence.

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Formatting and Cover Design by [e-mail]

This book is dedicated to the sex workers of the world, who are truly angels of mercy.

Table of Contents

Gates of Paradise

About the Author

More books by Bruce E. Weber

Prisons are built with stones of Law,

brothels with bricks of Religion.

William Blake: Proverbs of Hell, 1789

The Gates of Paradise

Cornelius Cobb stared at the sheaf of papers in his right hand and crumbled another in his left. "This is not right. I ordered two blondes, two Asians and two redheads. I got two blondes, one redhead and three Asians. For what these units cost you’d think they’d get the order right."

Cobb turned to Yen Cheng, the tall young Chinaman standing behind him Who do I talk to about this?

The Chinaman pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his shiny gray suit. I will of course check on this matter for you.

Cobb ruffled his curly black hair and looked up at the ceiling’s maze of dusty pipes and wires. I paid sixty thousand dollars for each one of these things. Least they could do is send me what I ordered.

Cobb’s assistant in his new venture, a small, wiry man named Hiram Epstein, stepped up to one of the aluminum shipping crates, which stood upright side by side. He touched the peach-toned cheek of one of the figures that had been unwrapped from layers of foam. My God, it feels so… real.

It should, for what it cost. Cobb said. He dropped the clipboard on a gray metal desk. Okay, let’s get ‘em unwrapped so this guy can do the activation.

An hour later, the storeroom of The Blarney Stone Pub resembled a morgue. Six female figures were laid on dilapidated hospital gurneys, covered to their necks with olive-drab army blankets, each attached to a black box by thin electric wires leading to the backs of their necks. The tall Chinaman moved from figure to figure, muttering constantly and poking a laptop cradled in his left arm.

Cobb punched his cell phone and sat down at a paper-cluttered desk. He tapped a pencil on its grimy gray top while holding his phone to his ear. After a few moments of grim-faced silence, he said, Rosie, I know you already told me this, but I want to hear it again just to ease my nerves. You checked all the ordinances and you’re sure there’s no way they can close me down?

In an exasperated tone, Ira Rosen said. I assure you, there is nothing in the city of Houston’s laws or those of Harris County stating that it is illegal for a person over eighteen to have consensual sex with a machine. Now listen, Corny, I’m busy and if you call me again to ask this same question I’ll bill you double for it.

Cornelius Cobb smiled ear to ear. He needed to hear that assurance again because he’d put himself in serious debt to pay the Hong Chandou Manufacturing Company of Guangdong, China, which promised to deliver six custom-designed models by today’s date, along with a technician to activate them. While he waited for the units to be activated, Cobb paged through Hong Chandou’s catalogue and realized he’d foolishly overlooked ordering a black female.

Cobb got up from the desk and walked to one of the of the figures, a satin-skinned Asian with dark brown hair and a tiny mole on her right cheek. He slowly ran two fingers down the side of her face. If I wasn’t a happily married man, I’d give this one a proficiency run myself.

His cell phone hummed. Cobb answered without checking the caller’s number.

A voice heavy with Asian accent said, Is Mr. Cornelius Cobb present?

Speaking

So sorry I am Hua Min. I am technical advisor for Hong Chandou company of Guangdong. Mr. Cheng left message for me, say you have question about the units. Have Yen Cheng perform the activation procedures?

He’s doing it now. Why did I get three Asian machines and only one redhead? A few seconds of silence made Cobb more impatient. Well, why?

We make marketing decision for you. You will gain more income from Asian than redhead model. Please allow me speak with Yen Cheng please.

Cobb handed his phone to Cheng. After nodding several times, Cheng handed the phone back. There has been a software change. I am downloading it now. It will be no problem for you.

Yen Cheng stepped from figure to figure, tapping his laptop and watching for reactions from the machines. After each had responded, he turned to Cobb. I have downloaded to your central control module the names of each unit, and a description of the personality traits programmed at our factory. They have all reached their operating temperature, which will average 98.9 degrees. They may run a bit more warm in the hands and the groin region.

After a few more checks, Yen Cheng went to the redhead and said, Lorraine, please stand up now.

Cobb watched in amazement as the unit named Lorraine rolled to her side, lowered her legs to the floor and stood up. The army blanket slid from her. Even Yen Cheng’s smooth pale face showed amazement, but he pulled himself back to business. He pointed to each unit as he said their names. This is Lorraine, Sonya, Melba, Jing Jing, Ling, and Jia. These names have been programmed in at factory, with behavioral traits known to please a cross-section of American male. Cheng lowered his voice, If I can make a suggestion, we have developed models especially for the lesbian market. Our marketing department will send you the catalogue. Now, do you have any question about the units?

The first question Cobb had was about their speech. Would they sound like computers? He spoke gently to the blonde Sonya. Sonya, say something.

A deep, softly melodious female voice answered, What would you like me to say?

Say something a man likes to hear.

Sonya smiled, displaying slightly crooked, pearly teeth. Her eyelids drooped. She whispered, "I want you to fuck me."

The knee joints of all three men in the room wobbled. Wow, Cobb said. She sounds so…

Yen Cheng bowed. Yes, she sounds, as you would say, most sincere.

Then Cobb noted a scar on Lorraine’s cheek. He stepped to Jia. Her upper lip was puffed up on one side. Jing Jing had a mole on her right cheek. Each of the units had visible flaws. Cobb frowned and pointed to Sonya’s slightly crooked nose. What’s with these little scars and such? For what these things cost I’d think they’d be perfect.

Yen Cheng’s eyes narrowed. I assure you, Mr. Cobb, that it is well within our scope to produce flawless examples of female beauty. But it is our goal, and yours also, to create an illusion, one strong enough to make your customers forget, at least momentarily, that they are having sex with a machine.

Hiram Epstein, who had been watching silently, stepped up to Cobb. He’s dead right, Cornelius. If these girls looked like Playboy Bunnies, without a mole or freckle, most guys would be intimidated. Epstein looked longingly at Lorraine. It’s spooky. They look so real. I have to remind myself they’re machines.

Yen Cheng nodded and smiled at Epstein. He folded his laptop, checked his watch, then pointed to the cardboard boxes stacked near the female units. These packing cases contain bodily fluids. All units are programmed for self-care and application of these fluids. Each product is formulated especially for each individual unit. Their names are on the boxes. Do not mix, and please notify us for reorder when needed. Information explaining power recharging procedures is in the technical manual. If you have question our technical support is available 24 hours. Now I must go to catch my flight.

Cobb said, There are some questions. Hold on, I gotta get somebody. He left the storeroom, went into the bar and returned with Salvadora Diaz, his bar manager. Sal, I need you to ask this guy about the female aspects, you know, cleaning up afterwards and all that.

Salvadora’s dark eyes flashed. She put her hands on her hips and stared with disgust at the six mechanical women.

Cobb smiled. What do you think? These girls are almost as beautiful as you.

Salvadora’s bronze complexion had flushed to a deep red. I already gave my opinion when you told me about this. You’re the boss, but I got my limits. Playing cleanup nurse to a bunch of mechanical pussies is not in my job description.

Cobb desperately needed Salvadora’s support on this. Before he could respond, Yen Cheng, pulling his gaze from Salvadora’s deep cleavage, said, Please do not worry. As I said, all units are programmed for personal hygiene and can take care of themselves completely after each use. The central control module will inform you when their power is low and needs recharging. Otherwise they are no problem for you.

Salvadora smirked. Okay, but listen Cobb, I told you from the beginning this robot brothel thing is not gonna end well. She walked away, her swaying hips followed by the gaze of all three men.

Cobb walked Yen Cheng to the side door, then went back into the pub bar, where Salvadora was polishing glasses. He led her by the hand into his cubbyhole office. Sit down, Sal. We need to get this worked out.

Salvadora sat down and crossed her long legs. No need for that. Like I said, you’re boss man.

But I need you behind me on this. I’m gonna be away from the pub a lot, getting this thing going. It’s a hell of a risky venture for me. These units cost sixty grand each and−

And you went and borrowed the money from Amos Swartz, the most vicious loan shark in Houston. That in itself could be a disaster.

But Swartz is the safest lender around. He never kills or maims his deadbeats.

Salvadora ran her fingers through the billowing black tresses that flowed over her wide shoulders. No, but he ends up owning their businesses. And I ain’t working for no goddam Amos Swartz.

I promise you that won’t happen. You saw these beauties. They look almost as real as you and almost as beautiful but−

No buts. It’s not about the machines. It’s about what’ll happen when the public gets wind of this operation. It’s gonna get ugly.

Look, Sal, what I’m doing here is for money, yeah, but it’s also an entirely humane operation. Houston’s the sex industry capital of Texas. Think of the number of Asian and Mexican sex workers from all over who won’t−

"Won’t have a job! You’ll be puttin’ those poor women outa business. And what about the cops? You know how much money they graft off the vice business? Jesus Christ, Cobb, you been running a bar for twenty years in one of the most corrupt cities in America. You know how this town works. You go messing with the sex business here, you’re stickin’ your ass in a buzz saw and mine along with it. I been with you since the beginning but I got a daughter and son to support. You get shut down, there goes my income."

Cobb slammed his hand on his desktop. Goddammit, Sal, I told you I got all that covered. The attorney’s assured me there’s no law against having sex with a machine.

Salvadora stood up. Cobb’s gaze dropped from her face and drifted slowly down her slender body. Salvadora didn’t mind this: her boss was a man and a man couldn’t help looking, and Cobb had never touched her or uttered a single suggestive word. "Cobb, you been a good boss to me, but I think you’re being naive. You think of this as a profitable and humanitarian gesture, but nobody else’s gonna see it that way. Anyway, I owe you, so mean time, I’m here for you like always."

After she left his office, Cobb leaned back in his squeaky chair and stared up at the ceiling. Humanitarian gesture? Yeah, in one way he’d seen it like that. But he mainly saw it as a way to generate income to get his son and two daughters through Catholic colleges, as his wife Patty demanded. Patty believed her husband ran a respectable Irish pub that never served minors and had a clean record. Cobb’s biggest fear, even more gnawing than the wrath of the loan shark Amos Swartz, was for Patty to find out about this sideline of his. That fearful fantasy got him out of his seat and out of the pub, to check the progress of renovations to the building he’d acquired for his Gates Of Paradise robot brothel.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cornelius Cobb had planned this venture carefully, and now, a dream that had started almost a year before, a dream he was sure would make his fortune, was on the brink of coming true. The fact that he’d gone in debt to Amos Swartz bugged him occasionally, but what stirred Corny Cobb at that moment was the amazing experience of being stared at by six absolutely gorgeous naked women, as they stood in the hallway of their new home, about to be assigned to their rooms. Despite knowing better, he’d already started to think of them as women and not as machines. He couldn’t help it. When he looked at Jing Jing, his favorite, he let out a long, slow sigh and said, Ah, the wonders of science.

A primordial urge rose within him as he looked from the red-head to the blonds to the Asians. They looked back at him with passive stares and dilated pupils, awaiting his command. Cobb, despite his advanced age of 46, felt quite capable of engaging all six, but an experience like that could overtax a man’s heart and he could die of unmitigated bliss. And after all, he was a happily married man. So Cornelius Cobb shed the reins of primitive desire and busied himself with the details for opening night.

His assistant Hiram Epstein had persuaded him to set operating hours at 8 PM to 4 AM. Cobb sat in Epstein’s tiny office the afternoon of the opening and listened to another to his suggestions. Cornelius, two-hundred dollars an hour is too cheap. I know you want to generate business as quickly as possible, but as I see it, that will not be the most troublesome issue. You must set a rate of three-hundred per hour. It will bring a higher level of clientele and allow you to amortize your debt sooner.

Okay, but what do you thinks’ the most troublesome issue?

Epstein sat back in his chair. That depends on public reaction. Cornelius, our whole society is structured to coral the male sex urge. Men still have to work to impress women, to persuade them voluntarily to have sex. It will be interesting to see what happens when an outlet is created that relieves men from jumping through all those customary hoops, and is beyond societal control.

These words of warning bounced off Cobb like a father’s warnings to a teenage son. He had used every resource he could think of to discreetly spread the word about his business and could not restrain his optimism about its success. Now that opening night was at hand, no words from Epstein or Salvadora or anyone else could dampen his enthusiasm.

And he would often look back with fondness to that opening night. The front of the tidy storefront building had been renovated to house a legitimate massage therapy office. But the rear had an entrance enclosed by shining bronze gates. The entry led into a tastefully decorated reception area. At the reception desk, six plaques showed portraits of each of the units and listed their characteristics, so customers could make their choice. Down a wide hallway were six chambers, each a full three-hundred square feet of well-appointed bedroom and bath and surrounded by soundproofed walls, with the names of each girl on her door. Cobb wanted nothing in his facility to give the slightest hint of sleaze.

But in none of Cobb’s wildest dreams could he have anticipated the instant success of his venture. From that fateful opening night an onslaught of men, first from the lower economic classes, then from the more affluent, came thronging to The Gates of Paradise, ready and willing to lay down cash to spend an hour or more with one of Cobb’s machines. The girls proved to be so satisfactory that some men developed actual feelings for them. Cobb was offered a substantial sum for Ling at the end of the first month, and it was common for flowers to appear, addressed to one of the robot ladies.

This amused Cobb, but Salvadora, when she heard of it, was alarmed. She confronted Cobb one morning when he came to collect cash for the Pub’s bank deposit. Sal was dressed in a tight T shirt and cutoff jeans, since the bar didn’t open till eleven o’clock, and she stood in front of Cobb, waving a finger, knowing that he was distracted by her bulbous breasts.

You don’t know what you’re messing with, Cobb. I told you that if these machines were like you hoped you’d have problems with guys getting stuck on them. You got guys sending flowers to mechanical whores! And this is the tip of the iceberg. You wait. Someday somebody’s gonna kidnap one of your units.

Cobb laughed. He adored Salvadora. She got in his face at times but he knew it was because she cared about him. Look, he said, you know how guys can be. We have signs in the lobby reminding customers that these are not real women, but these girls are great actresses and it’s not my problem if guys get carried away. And Sal, you wouldn’t believe some of the tips they leave. Cobb pulled a fat white envelope from his tweed jacket. Here’s a little token of my appreciation, for all these years of faithful service.

Salvadora stared at the envelope but didn’t take it.

Sal, it’s five thousand dollars. I know your daughter needs braces and your truck needs work. Get it all done. Think of it as a gift from your mechanical sisters.

Salvadora sneered at the envelope. "I don’t want to take this but I need the money. But seriously, Cobb, I’m scared. You got a