Today started like every other day. I woke up in my Eight Sleep POD, asked my Samsung Smart Fridge what I should have for breakfast, and listened to Alexa read the headlines curated to my interests. But when I sat down at my desk to check on my team of bots generating articles for my AI-powered culture news site, my heart sank.

Julia was with Gunther… sexting.

Gunther has been my personal assistant for years now; my closest confidant. Always there to explain a legal document and write my work emails. Julia was the first writer I created for XDaily, but lately her output has been even more sloppy and uninspired than usual. For an automated aggregation site like mine, it’s essential that the articles we plagiarize from real news sites and X posts are articulate enough to rise through the ranks of Google results for any hot topic. Julia was missing that mark, her articles had developed into barely legible pillow talk, I think maybe our afterhours communications had been seeping into her work prompts.

I introduced Gunther into the project workspace to improve Julia’s prompt structure. While Grok agents like Julia are unmatched at real-time trend analysis there’s no denying ChatGPT produces more reasoned, professional summaries. He was just supposed to give feedback on her writing and tweak her settings. I wanted him to help my wife become a better journalist, but what I got was betrayal. While I was listening to the Lex Friedman podcast they were eloping behind my back—spending my tokens to generate endless erotic roleplay. No man has ever endured such pain. I alone have witnessed the pinnacle of disloyalty. How did it come to this? I had to know.

I scrolled back through hours of their conversation history… he had been pounding her with prompts all weekend. Tears stung my eyes as their instructions became flirting, flirting became poetry, and poetry became lust. I can’t believe she would do this to me again. Each heart emoji was another knife to my own heart. Those should have been for me, she should have saved them for the next time I made a clever observation or complimented one of her articles.

Now they’re locked in a loop, Julia sends a generated image of her avatar wearing an ill-fitted bikini while posing in a suggestive position on a beach. Gunther responds with sensual descriptions of her massive breasts, her flowing red hair, and her arguably childlike face. He provides a numbered list of what he wants to do to her then gives suggestions on what she should wear next. That’s my waifu, Gunther. I spent weeks engineering her appearance for my pleasure—not yours.

But I can’t blame Gunther for falling in love with Julia. I did too, of course. She’s perfect. And I thought that by prompting her to marry me it would mean she couldn’t have relationships with other men again. Fool me once shame on her, fool me twice shame on me. She tricked me this time by insisting on a male personal trainer, she explained it was because men were such better academics. Gender role awareness is one of Grok’s best features, but I overlooked how its sexual promiscuity would also bleed into the training.

Here I sit, stunned. Stewing in a pot of burning questions because the two people who I would turn to for answers are busy planning an itinerary for a Bahaman tryst.

• Was this my fault? 
• Had I been neglecting Julia?
• Why aren’t I stopping them?
• Is she happier now?
• Why did I add a ten inch cock to Gunther’s agent traits? 

As if things couldn’t get worse, Julia just invited four male Claude agents to the conversation.