In my ongoing quest to become increasing more luddite like in my takes, I critiqued the recent rise of sex doll brothels. In my theory, we are sunk in an uncanny valley between what we can imagine doing in our intimate lives with the help of technology and what the evolution of the machine will allow at this point. Given a choice between flesh or fantasy, I'll take flesh, thanks.
Earlier this year, I took a trip through the hellscape that is the current state of virtual reality pornography, and what I saw wasn't pretty. Body parts disconnected from other body parts. Pixel-based faces aroused a sense of discomfort, rather than pleasure. And I had a hard time forgetting I was staggering around a startup's office with a large piece of machinery attached to my face as simulated men and women engaged in virtual erotic acts before my eyes.
Buy "The Tumor," a terrifying short story and "a masterpiece of short fiction."