Jorge De Saláriente was everywhere. His face was plastered on every news outlet in the country.

He was Mexico’s most renowned romance writer to date with 17 published novels, 14 of which became bestsellers.

“Mira, it’s Señor De Salareinte”, people murmured to each other as he walked down the narrow, cobbled streets of the small pueblo of Costa Caliente.

In leu of admiration and praise, wariness and curiosity plagued their features when he passed by, likely attributed to rumors about him and his doña.

They wondered how la Doña de Salariente could still be married to a man who was in love with a robot.

“Cállate, mijo”, a señora standing nearby hushed her 10 year old son who was spewing nonsense about Jorge kissing ‘Eva de la película Wall-E’.

Jorge kept his face rigid and stern as he passed through the pueblo. With a towering height of 6’1, he obnoxiously stood out from the rest of the lot.

He wore a white, plaid button down shirt tucked into brown trousers with a pair of brown huaraches on his feet.

His black hair was combed to one side and gelled down. He kept his face clean shaven, with the exception of his black mustache, which was very well groomed.

As much as Jorge wished it to be different, he was used to the ignorance and close-minded behaviors of the people in the Pueblo.

The inhabitants of Mexico City were slightly more liberal than the other cities, but not by much.

The pueblito of Costa Caliente had a long winding road of progress ahead of them.

Despite it all, Jorge insisted on living here, even though he had enough fortune to move to Los Estados Unidos and buy a large property and home.

He simply wrote better here. The air was clean, the sun was warm, and the Pueblo was far enough away to keep publicists and media at bay.

No one wanted to come all the way to Costa Calienta to only ask questions.

Instead, Jorge would fly out when they requested him for interviews and book signings and he much preferred it that way.

Jorge needed his privacy. The people of Costa Caliente knew that and left him alone for the most part, aside from the occasional stares he received when he went into town.

The Doña never accompanied him, and many people had their suspicions.

Those suspicions grew when he published his newest novel, Aparato del Amor.

The people were horrified when they realized the novel was based on a man’s sexual journey with a robot named Dolores.

Dolores was a machine with a female body. The protagonist in his story was a man named Julio Cazárez, and he was a lonely man who had never known any sort of affection.

He lived in a shack in the desiertos of Mexico with his mother who had already passed away. Julio made a living by tending to the ranch and his animals.

He knew no one women other than his mamá and the mujeres from the novelas that he used to watch with her.

When Julio reached the age of 28 he built a robot and made her look like the women on the TV.

Eventually the book dives into the sexual pleasures that Julio explores with Dolores, going into explicit detail.

At the end of the book, Julio is driven by his lust and ends up creating another robot in addition to Dolores and names her Juana. The book hints at the idea that he even created dozens more after them.

Jorge won an esteemed award for Aparato del Amor.

“A gruesomely explicit and psychotic adventure” the New York Times had said.

“Deliciously disturbing and subtly alarming” another highly esteemed review stated.

The gente of Costa Caliente were a little put off by the novel. They could not help but wonder if Julio Cazares was actually Jorge De Salariente in real time.

Jorge and his Doña lived in a Spanish style white stucco home on the outskirts of the Pueblo. The home was surrounded by a large gate that fanned out more then 20 acres.

They were an isolated couple. And the people never saw la Doña unless she was far away with her black mantilla draped over her head.

Jorge was not bothered by the uproar he caused with Aparato Del Amor.

He thought it was his best work yet.

When Jorge arrived home he walked upstairs and opened the door to his large study.

He heard the shower running in the next room over.

La Doña must be showering. He placed his bags on his oak desk and went into the room adjacent to the study. It was their master bedroom.

Jorge opened the door to the bathroom and the smell of petroleum filled his nostrils. He walked to the tub and pulled back the curtains, revealing his naked wife.

“Another shower, mi Amor?” Jorge furrowed his brows in concern.

La Doña turned around and faced him. She raised her arm to caress his face but it stopped halfway, a pained expression crossing her features.

“Si, querido. My limbs are getting stiff again” she replied.

Oil poured out of the shower head, covering la Doñas stiff body and lubricating her joints.

Jorge stared at her, flames of desire igniting deep within him.

“Okay”, he rasped. “Is mi querida in the other room?” He asked.

“Si”, she answered.

Jorge nodded and leaned forward and kissed her deeply. Her lips were so similar to the real thing. He was getting better.

There was oil residue left on his lips as he closed the curtain and walked out of their room and into the hallway to the room across the hall.

He licked his lips clean.

His body was lit with desire and she would satisfy it in the mean time until his wife was ready. Dolores was his favorite, and his wife after all.

He unbuckled his belt and zipped down his zipper before he opened the door to her room.

“Juana, mi amor”, He sang as he walked in and closed the door behind him.