How to Do It is Slate's sex advice column. Send it to Jessica and Rich here. I recently started casually online dating after leaving an abusive marriage, and it's been going great! There have been lots of nice guys, and we have had some sexy fun. That said, I've run into a weird situation that I'm almost certainly overthinking but am baffled by.

How to Do It is Slate's sex advice column. Send it to Stoya and Rich here. Like most sexually healthy couples, my boyfriend and I consume pornography. But I'm worried about the sorts of stuff my boyfriend likes. He prefers pornographic games to videos or pictures; he says they're "more interactive."

Push past the beaded entryway of room six at the No-Tell Motel in Cyberpunk 2077, and there she is: a statuesque, blondish woman perched on the edge of an animal-print-covered bed. "Bet you didn't expect to see me here," she says. After the blockbuster video game's main character, V, has sex with her, the reward lays on the bed. It's the same dildo from before, only now transformed into a melee weapon. The dildo "may not be lethal," according to its profile in the weapons inventory, but "it's perfect for when someone is just asking to get fucked."

I'm driving down the San Diego freeway, searching for my exit, feeling jumpy and a little bit lost. I'm hoping a few wrong turns early in my drive won't make me late. I still need time to stop off at a strip mall with a Starbucks and a big parking lot -- someplace I can put on deodorant and maybe a little makeup after my cross-country flight. I prefer to think this is because I want to appear professional to the human man I'm on my way to see: Matt McMullen, the founder of Abyss Creations and its offshoot robotics company, Realbotix. But once I find a place to park and start brushing my hair, I realize that some deranged sliver of myself feels as if I'm primping for romance. This is a complicated realization. In addition to McMullen, I'm about to meet Henry, the first available male sex robot. Henry is six feet tall, with six-pack abs and the customer's choice of penis. He's just a prototype at the moment -- you can't buy him -- but the two female models Realbotix developed alongside Henry will ship this summer. So far, there have been 50 preorders at $12,000 apiece. Henry, Harmony, and Solana have sturdy silicone bodies, and once they're synced up to a corresponding app, they can give compliments, recite poetry, tell jokes, and seduce.

Both outside, in the 90 F air that's settled into North Hollywood, and inside, where liquid elastomer and PVC are being heated to 300 F in large ovens, then hand-poured into copper molds of dildos. You think your bedroom is where the magic happens? Try this 215,000-square-foot behemoth of an operation where, every day, 15,000 toys roll down the production line, ready to supply millions of orgasms. I see no smirks or giggles from the nearly 300 employees working the line as they inspect freshly made nine-inch Ballsy Super C--s or smooth the ends of fake-vagina sleeves. Because producing pleasure is no laughing matter: This is a 15 billion dollar industry that's expected to reach 52 billion by 2020 -- a growth that's due, in part, to more normalizing toy talk in media (think Broad City's episode about pegging).