It was just another night in front of my computer. I was surfing my favorite ASFR web sites, reading the newest stories and dreaming of having my own life transformed. That was when I came across the story, “Finally,” in which Jack Harkins told the story of his conversion to Jennifer, the sexy robot he always knew he was destined to be.

 Jack had stumbled upon a job application for Fantasy Island resort, and filled it out on a lark. He had been abducted from his apartment a few days later and taken to Manubot in Northern California, where Dr. Mekin guided him through his transition.

 It excited me like no other story I had come across; something told me in my heart of hearts that this one was real. Over the next few days I searched the net in vain, though, for any reference to Fantasy Island. All my efforts turned up were references to an old television series. But I knew I had to persevere; and one lonely Saturday, my patience was rewarded.

 There was the message on the screen:

 “For a limited time only, Fantasy Island resort is again accepting applications for employment. Yes, we CAN transform you into the man or woman of your dreams with a perfect body. Spend every hour of every day satisfying your wildest fantasies. Experience the most intense pleasure imaginable, whether you are engaged in sex acts, or temporarily frozen in a mannequin-like pose. If this is your fondest wish, act now...who knows how long it will be before this opportunity comes along again?”

 I took that opportunity to put my affairs in order, such as they were. I was an only child and my parents were dead, so I had no immediate family. I only had a couple of friends, and I let them know they shouldn’t be alarmed if something happened to me. I told them I would be going to a better place. Otherwise, I spent the time looking over my collection of Marilyn Monroe memorabilia.

 Books, scrapbooks, videotapes -- I had collected everything Marilyn my modest budget would allow. Like countless other men, I had worshipped her beauty and sweetness. I think most men,  longed to rescue her from the prison of her despair. My fantasy was a bit different; for years, I had dreamed of becoming her. But not the poor, fragile, confused creature who eventually self-destructed; I would somehow be transformed into a more perfect, more eternal version of her.

 It was when I discovered the ASFR world, I knew I had found my answer. Now all I needed was someone to transform it into reality.

 Perhaps the fact that I had had the dream for so long was what made the waiting so hard. I left the door of my apartment unlocked, ready for the arrival of those who would whisk me off to a new life.

 It was only two days later -- though it might as well have been two years -- when there was a knock at the door. When I opened it to find two men dressed as ambulance attendants bearing a stretcher, I smiled and said, “Well, it’s about time. I thought you’d never get here.”

 They looked slightly surprised; I quickly added, “Don’t worry, I know why you’re here. Fantasy Island, right? Come on in, you can give me the shot if you have to; I suppose it’s best for appearances’ sake.” I offered to climb onto the stretcher first, so they wouldn’t have to lift me. I did, and soon, the blackness settled over me.

 When I came to, I was in a strange room, in bed, and naked. I knew that I had to be at Manubot in Northern California, where the candidates for Fantasy Island were robotically enhanced.  Soon after I came around, a self-assured woman came striding into the room. “Hello, Will,” she said.

 “Hi,” I responded. “You must be Dr. Mekin.”

 “That’s right. You must have read Jack’s story about his transformation.”

 “Sure. That’s how I knew this wasn’t a joke or a fantasy...that’s why I spent every spare moment searching the ‘net for the next time you posted a job opening.”

 “I assume you’re eager for the same thing.”

 “You could say that,” I answered in my best deadpan manner.

 Dr. Mekin smiled; or was it a bit of a smirk? “Then I assume we can dispense with the demonstration?”

 “No,” I said. “I don’t want to miss any aspect of the experience. And besides, seeing is believing. Is Brindy still here?”

 “Yes, I’ll have her sent in.” Dr. Mekin took a small phone out of her pocket, made a brief call, and just moments later, one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen walked into the room.

 “Hi, Will,” she purred. She was just as stunning as Jack had said; a perfect body; great breasts that were large without being too large; big brown eyes; silky dark hair. She was wearing stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, a short black leather skirt, and a matching bustier with shiny studs. She turned down the covers and looked at my rock-hard penis. She smiled, exposing her perfect white teeth. Quickly, she bent over and took my sex into her mouth. She quickly brought me to one orgasm, and then when I had barely had time to recover, she started in on my again.

 At that point, Dr. Mekin pointed the remote control and froze her. It was an amazing thing to see; what appeared to be a normal living woman, unable to speak, or to move any muscle.

 “Ohh, this is fabulous torture!” I groaned. My manhood was getting a great farewell workout; but I knew that even more fabulous pleasures lay ahead. I turned toward Dr. Mekin. “And she can still hear and see us, still feel everything?”

 “Yes, and yes.” Dr. Mekin smiled her sly grin, and pushed the buttons to reactivate Brindy. A few joyous minutes later, I exploded with another bucketful of seed.

Brindy stood up, brushed the hair away from her face and smiled. “Enjoy yourself.”

 “Tremendously,” I said, then paused. “I assume you’ve never regretted being robotically enhanced?”

 “Not for one second!” she said, still smiling.

 I looked toward Dr. Mekin. “Can we get started?”

 “Soon, Will, very soon, we just have a few details to settle first.” She signaled for me to follow her to her office. To my surprise, I wasn’t self conscious walking down the hall naked; I guess I was too entranced by the sight of robotic people frozen in all kinds of sex acts.

 Dr. Mekin sat behind her desk, and handed me some consent forms to sign. Then she held up the catalog that I knew contained pictures of body forms. “I think you know what this is, and I don’t think you’re going to need it.”

 She was right, but I was surprised that she did. “Oh? And why not?”

 “Come now, Will, don’t you think we know all about you? We investigate every aspect of an applicant’s life before bringing them here. I know that besides wanting to become a female sex robot, your other secret fantasy has been to become Marilyn Monroe. I’m sure you were about to suggest that we transform you into a robot version of Marilyn.”

 “You know me too well, Doctor.”

 “Well, I think it’s a fabulous idea. I’m sure you will be very popular on Fantasy Island. We can do you one better, if you like....we’ve programmed every fact about Marilyn’s life into our mainframe; we can program you with her life history, if you will, as well as giving you her body. Essentially, you’ll have her memories as well as your own.”

 “Sounds great to me.” She led me into the adjoining room filled with equipment; the first step was the full-body MRI. Next, she gave me the glass of processor-laced fluid that I knew would begin the process of converting my organic functions to robotic ones. “Good-bye Will, and hello Marilyn,” she said.

 I eagerly downed the fluid, ready for the process to begin. Then would come the latex, plastic and hot metal that would provide the raw materials for my new form. I would only be able to imagine this, for the next step was the injection that put me into a deep sleep.

 While I was out I had some strangely vivid dreams. Can a robot dream? I guess the answer has to be yes. The most vivid one involved me awakening to discover my new body -- and being greeted by the original Marilyn! “Hi there,” she cooed. “I just wanted you to know that I think what you’re doing is sweet and wonderful.”

 By the time consciousness began to return, I knew that some considerable time must have passed. I could see, but I couldn’t move or speak. As I opened my eyes, I saw Dr. Mekin. “Hello, Marilyn,” she said. “I know you’re eager to examine your new body, but let me take just a moment to prepare you. Don’t worry, you came out just beautifully.”

 I found my head filled with a confusing jumble of thoughts. Dr. Mekin explained, “It may take a while for your memories to sort themselves out. You have Marilyn’s, as well as your own. As I told you, this is something we haven’t tried before.” She paused. “Now I want you to go slowly; you need a little time to adjust to your new body.”

 She pointed the remote at me, pressed a button, and suddenly, I could move! “Ohhh!” I squealed. “This feels so wonderful!”

 I took my first, tentative steps. Looking down at my new body, I recognized the curves that men world-wide had been fantasizing over for more than 50 years. As I glanced at some of the other newly-transformed robotic women who were waiting to be activated, then back at my own form, I was suddenly struck by the -- well, the voluptuousness of my new body! I was clad in a white bikini top, white panties, a garter belt, sheer white stockings, and three-inch heels. I felt sensational -- a bit top-heavy, maybe, but absolutely sensational! I started to move toward the full length mirror on one side of the room, but Dr. Mekin pointed the remote at me and stopped me in mid-stride. “Sorry, dear, but we need to make sure everything works.”

 Being frozen was an incredibly erotic experience by itself, but when my pleasure program kicked in, the excitement became absolutely unbelievable! It felt like I was about to lose consciousness when Dr. Mekin reactivated me, before the climax arrived.

 “Ohhh, that was fabulous!” I cooed. “But I can’t wait to see myself!” I couldn’t believe the sweet, breathy little-girl voice that the world knew as Marilyn’s was now coming from me. Then, I caught my first glance of myself in the mirror: The face that was staring back at me was hers--or now, mine. The face that had inspired a thousand photographers, a thousand artists, a million dreams. I tried out some of her most familiar poses -- sultry, playful, the wide-eyed innocent. It was amazing -- it was like looking at a movie instead of a mirror.

 This was wonderful -- and, I realized with joy, an improvement on the original. This was no temporary shell of flesh and bone that would deteriorate with age; this was latex, plastic, metal and electronics molded into a vessel that should last forever!

 Dr. Mekin let me enjoy myself for several minutes. When she did speak, it was as if she could read my thoughts -- and maybe she could. “You know Marilyn, I remember reading a story about the original. It seems that one of her housekeepers heard her crying out in pain, and went to her bedroom. She found her bleaching her public hair blonde. This is just one aspect where you’re an improvement on the origina l-- you’re a natural blonde.  Oh, and the beauty mark is permanent, too”

 As soon as I had my bearings, Dr. Mekin directed me to a room where I would meet the other men and women who had been transformed, prior to our transport to Fantasy Island. All I can say is that I had never known such pleasure before; I seemed equally popular with men and women. I knew it was our programming to a large extent, but the intensity of it was still amazing.

 All too soon, we were dressed in our body suits, switched “off” and crated up for transport. Next thing I knew, a distinguished looking man in a white suit was smiling at me. He pressed my remote, and I could move again. “I am Mr. Roarke,” he said. “Welcome! Welcome to Fantasy Island.”

 So this was the famous Roarke. He assured me that I was entering a new life of endless pleasure; that whether I was in a frozen display, entertaining a client, or having fun with some of the other help, there wouldn’t be a moment I wouldn’t enjoy.

 In the weeks and months ahead I found myself quite busy. It seemed like all kinds of visitors to the island had a Marilyn fantasy they wanted fulfilled. There were men -- and a few women -- of all ages, including lots who hadn’t even been born when the original Marilyn died. Thanks to my robotic programming and inexhaustible energy, I was able to satisfy them all.

 There was one scary moment when one poor old guy, who was too excited and overwhelmed by it all, had a heart attack right in the middle of his climax! Fortunately, the island hospital is absolutely state-of-the-art, and they were able to save him.

 Some favorites kept repeating over and over. There were the Kennedy fantasies -- usually I had to be sewn into a copy of that clingy, filmy gown that the first Marilyn made famous at JFK’s birthday, and sing my best rendition of “Happy birthday, Mr. President.” I put on the pink gown several times to sing “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” There were several mousy guys who wanted to do the Tom Ewell bit in “Seven Year Itch,” only this time around, of course, we ended up together.

 I was surprised and amused by the number of cross-dressers who wanted to recreate “Some Like it Hot.” Besides some great sex, I would do my best to give them advice on clothing and makeup.

 Of course, I wasn’t always in action. Sometimes, I was on display, frozen, often in the lobby of the island’s main hotel. We had a recreation of the street grate scene in “Seven Year Itch.” I stood on top of the grate, wearing that same billowing skirt, where the blast of air came every few moments, sending me into wave after wave of orgasm. I would spend days at a time in that pose; and when the time came to reactivate me, I’d often joke, “You really don’t have to do that.”

 I had been at the island almost a year when Mr. Roarke asked my into his office one fateful day. He was sitting behind his big oak desk. I noticed how the flawless wood gleamed; how his suit fit him perfectly, how every hair on his head was arranged flawlessly.

 “Sit down, Marilyn,” he said. “I want to talk with you about an upcoming visitor.” He looked unusually serious.

 “O-K,” I said, feeling a bit nervous. I didn’t know if a robot could have feminine intuition, but something was telling me that this wasn’t a normal situation.

 “It’s another Joe DiMaggio fantasy,” he said. “But this one is different.”

 “Different how?”

 “Well, you know the usual routine. It involves playing around with history a bit. Of course, in reality, Joe and Marilyn didn’t meet and marry until after his baseball career was over. Most of our would-be-Joes want to hit a home run in the afternoon, and score with you at night.” He smiled; it was a wry grin. “No, this gentleman has heroics of a different sort in mind.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Well, as you know, Joe and Marilyn were talking about remarriage at the time her death. He wants to find you at the brink of death, rescue you, and remarry you--rewriting history with a happy ending, so to speak.”

 “Sounds OK to me...kind of sweet.”

 “There’s more. He wants it to be real challenge. He says what’s the point if there’s no real danger to you involved? So what we would do is re-create Marilyn’s deathbed, put you in it at a point when your battery charge is about to run out, and also remove your backup battery.”

 I paused. “W--What happens if he doesn’t get to me in time?”

 “I’ve talked to Dr. Mekin about that. We’ve never let it happen before, so this is guesswork to a degree. We believe that we would be able to power you up again, but the essence of your former human self would probably be lost. You would truly be just a robot, then.”

 “Oh, my.”

 “I told the gentleman we would not do this without your willing consent, and I want to give you a chance to consider it. Will you let me know tomorrow?”

 “Yes, Mr. Roarke.”

 I had a battery charge scheduled for that night. It was just as well that I would have some quiet time. Why should I risk my life to give a customer a thrill? But there was something about the request that seemed to resonate with me. As the hours passed, my mind drifted, as it did sometimes, into something close to a dreaming state. I closed my eyes for a while, and when I opened them, I saw the original Marilyn standing before me.

 “This has got to be a dream,” I thought. “But can robots didn’t dream?” I still hadn’t gotten an answer to that one.

 “Hi Marilyn,” she said. “Yes, it’s me. don’t ask how I got here...just believe it’s me. I won’t be here long, so let me get to my point...I hope you’ll tell Mr. Roarke ‘yes’ tomorrow. It’s your life, but I can’t tell you how much it would mean to me.”

 I blinked and shook my head. When I opened my eyes she was gone.

 The next day, I told Mr. Roarke that I would go ahead.

 The customer was to arrive the following Friday. I was led into a replica of Marilyn’s last bedroom. I sprawled out on the sheets nude, just as she had been that night in August of 1962. I placed my hand atop the princess phone, just as hers had been.

 I closed my eyes and said to myself as I felt consciousness begin to fade, “Come on Joe, come on...make it in time this time!”

 Next thing I knew, I was coming to in a bedroom of one of the cottages. I looked around and saw every surface filled with overflowing floral bouquets. Sitting in a chair next to the bed was my Joe -- my savior and my hero.

 I smiled at him. “Thanks for saving me, Mr. DiMaggio.”

 As he reached forward to embrace me, I heard the first Marilyn’s voice in my head one last time. “Thanks Marilyn,” she said, sounding choked up. “You’ve given me peace at last.” I smiled, and winked.

I hope she knew how glad I was to help her find true rest.