Justin Isis - Ranzuki is the Greatest Magazine in the World

Robot A was at Robot B's birthday party when Robot B's sister took his hand. Robot B had just turned eight but his sister was in high school or college - Robot A didn't know, he had only turned eight himself two months before.

The party was drawing to a close, but Robot A was going to stay the night. Robot A and Robot B were watching television. Then Robot A went to the kitchen to get some juice, where he saw Robot B's sister standing by the sink.

The tray of plastic cups was right next to her. Robot A walked over and reached up, but the tray was too far. His arms weren't long enough to reach it.

Robot B's sister noticed him and pulled the tray over. Robot A took one of the cups and sipped the juice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Robot B's sister said.

He looked up at her. She was wearing a grey skirt and some kind of white top - he didn't know anything about girls' clothes.

"What was your name?"

"Robot A."

She ran a hand through his hair. He felt the points of her nails brush against his scalp.

"Did you have a good time?" she asked.

Robot A shrugged. The party had been all right.

She reached down and grabbed his hand. Her palm was cold, wet - she'd been doing the dishes.

"Can you help me, Robot A?" she said, smiling. Her voice wavered a little, as if she were singing.

"How?" Robot A asked.

Robot B's sister smiled and led him out of the kitchen. She kept rubbing his head. Her nails felt cold and hard against his skin.

"This way."

Robot A saw Robot B in front of the television. He was gaming. Robot A hoped whatever Robot B's sister wanted would not take long.

She led him into her room. The walls were covered with posters of people he didn't recognize. She closed the door, locked it, then went to her computer and put on some music.

"Do you like this song?" she asked.

Robot A shrugged.

"Do you listen to music a lot?" she asked, and sat on her bed. She motioned Robot A over, and he sat beside her.

"Not really."

Robot B's sister was wearing lipgloss, so that whenever she spoke, her mouth glistened. Her cheeks were slack, her eyes large and empty, like a frog's. Only her nose seemed perfectly formed. It was so small that Robot A imagined it was drawing into itself, trying to escape the rest of her face. He reached out and gently pressed it.

"Honk, honk," she said.

Robot A felt like he was wasting time. He was supposed to be gaming with Robot B. If he was not there, Robot B would become conceited. He didn't know why Robot B's sister was bothering him.

She took his hand and moved it down to her skirt. He could feel the warmth of her legs beneath.

"You said you'd help me, Robot A," she said. Her voice made the same strange waver he had heard before. She was still rubbing the back of his neck. He shivered as her nails brushed against his skin.

She used his hand to pull back her skirt. Underneath, her legs were full and pale. She dragged his hand along their length.

Robot A saw a mosquito land on her leg. She brought her hand away from his neck and swatted it. A bead of dark blood stood out on the white of her thigh.

"Ow!" she said, drawing the syllable out in a low whine. She moved his hand between her legs.

"I hate insects." she said. "Can you keep doing this, Robot A?"

Now she was making his hand rub the space between her legs.

Robot A was not used to this much contact with anyone. All he could relate it to was his parents' infrequent embraces, which still had the barrier of clothes. He had seen his father in the shower once, and remembered the fine coat of hair that covered his body, thickening across his forearms. It was entirely different from the warm smoothness of Robot B's sister's skin.

Robot A heard a strange whistle. He looked up. Robot B's sister was breathing through her teeth, her eyes half-closed. He felt a damp spot on her underwear.

"Just keep doing that," she said. Soon she hooked her thumbs into her underwear and pulled it off. Her skirt momentarily obscured her legs, but then she drew it back.

Robot A looked between her legs and saw a mat of dark black hair. Robot A's father had had that too, but that was where the similarity ended. Below the mat there was nothing, just a triangle of flesh. But then Robot B's sister arched her back and he saw that there was something under the mat - the top of a raw pink slash, the color of the skin under a scab. He could feel horror draining the warmth from him. What had happened to Robot B's sister's penis?

"Are you...okay?" he asked her.

"Huh," she said. "Don't stop."

She took his hand and pressed it to the wound. It was still wet, but not with blood. A whitish grease slickened the flesh and matted hair.

"What happened?" he said, staring down at it.

She seemed finally to have noticed him.

"That's my pussy." she said.

"How did it happen?"

"How did it happen?" she repeated, a high waver in her voice. "Every girl robot has one."

It occurred to him that this was what she needed help with. But Robot B was not a doctor - how was he supposed to help her?

She showed him how to move his fingers. He felt through skin, bone and muscle. Why wasn't she crying out in pain? Even now, as his fingers moved into her, why wasn't she screaming? Her eyes closed, her breaths sharpened; but she only pushed against him harder. Robot A moved his hand away from her.

"I said not to stop."

Robot A ran to the door.

"Robot A!" Robot B's sister called after him. Then she started to laugh a little.

"Please, please come back," she said.

She lay back on the bed, legs spread. He could see her pussy more clearly now. He unlocked the door and ran out into the hall.

He went to the bathroom and washed his hands for fifteen minutes. The room's sterile tiles reassured him, but he found it difficult to leave. What if Robot B's sister was waiting for him outside? And Robot B had to be wondering where he was.

He looked at his hands. They were rubbed raw, but he could not forget how her pussy had felt against his skin. It had been like dipping his hand in a jar of slugs.