Got the kids to fall asleep, came downstairs, did the dishes, and husband is chatting with people on the computer. No time like the present, an hour before I have to hit the sack. I tiptoe to the basement, reach behind a bookcase, press a wooden button, and one side of the bookcase pivots by forty-five degrees.
The virtual reality room is damp. I turn on the dehumidifier, it hums, it moves the air in the tiny room, and I get into the chain-link-fence VR cage. I strip and pull on the suit. It goes on like a glove to cover my entire body with holes for eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. The material is soft, thick, black, breathing smartfabric, filaments of metal running through it on the inside.
The suit is big and floppy and has a vertical slit down the chest-belly area when not in use. I lift the hood over my head, press a point in the neck, and the suit seals around me, fingers, toes, everywhere, and the holes in the head line up. I position the soft helmet on my head on top of the suit and press the half-spheres of the eyepieces around my eyes. I stand on the smartfloor that can feel hard or soft, rocky or smooth. Terrain features and furniture can rise from it up to a height of twelve feet and the floor can shift as I walk.
“Game two oh seven,” I say, there’s a whoosh, and I’m somewhere else than the basement of my house.
In tonight’s fantasy I’m in a castle. It’s warm enough to wear a negligee and not feel cold. My lover is a black man…no, “Game command. Make him Asian-black,” I say and the features change in half a second. He’s tall, muscular, shaved head, brown eyes. Naked. He’s hard for me.
“Undress me,” I say. “Kiss me. Make me want you.”
“Nancy, you’re a naughty girl,” he says and I smile. Such a corny line, I think, a line I inserted into the program myself.
“Game command. Change dialogue,” I say. “Discard input.”
“Dialogue upgrade in progress,” a female voice tells me.
“Change it all,” I say. The lover waits, face frozen, cock poised. “New moves, new dialogue.”
“Changes complete. Resume play?”
He comes back to life. The look in his eyes is new. I’ve never seen any of my computer lovers look that intense before, hungry, ravenous, sizing me up.
“Nancy, right? You’re in my territory. This castle is mine. Yours is five miles north. What’re you doing here? Oh, wait, I know what you want.”
“Love that sound,” he says and bites my neck, a little bite, almost enough to make a mark for real. I know it’s only the smartfabric pinching me, but it feels real at the same time.
“You want it, don’t you?” he breathes into my ear.
“Of course, silly boy, otherwise I wouldn’t have come,” I say and giggle.
He pushes me hard against the damp stone wall. I know I’m pressing against the chain-link fence for real and it’s only my suit and helmet that make me feel I’m in a castle, but still.
“I’m not a boy. A boy wouldn’t know what to do if a lady came to his castle. I do. This is what a man does.”
He picks a knife off a holster hanging from a hook on the wall, cuts the straps of my negligee, cuts the sides of my panties, kicks the heap of fabric off to the side, and throws the knife toward a table on the other side of the room where the blade sinks into the wood. He runs his hands down my sides, then one hand presses down on my lower stomach, goes down between my legs, rubs me, rubs me, and his tongue is inside my mouth.
I feel it. It feels so real I gasp and fight for breath. Then I remember. It never used to feel like this. A little bit I could feel, the helmet can stimulate the area of my brain to give a simulation of kissing, but this is so real I can feel the saliva running down my chin.
I push on his chest. He takes a step back.
“What? You liked that. Admit it.”
“Of course I did, but…” His tongue was inside my mouth. I had forgotten how anything was supposed to feel for real. His kiss had reminded me.
“Nancy, my darling dear. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
He presses himself against me, skin to skin, takes a couple steps to his right. I’m pulled along—where has the bed come from?
He eases me onto my back on the mattress. His hands are locked around my wrists and he pins them down above my head.
“You are mine, completely mine,” he whispers into my ear, his breath hot on my neck, his smell in the air all around me. His knees dig into the mattress between my knees, then push my thighs apart. “How do you like that?”
“Please,” I find myself begging him. I draw my knees up, curl my feet up around his behind, and wait for the thrust that never comes. He’s ready, his cock is right at my entrance, but he’s regarding me with his lips curved into a smile. He swoops in to kiss my neck, his hands still keeping my wrists in place.
He nibbles and kisses, moves down to my chest, to my breasts, to my nipples.
“Game command. Initiate intercourse sequence number five,” I say out loud. I’ve had enough of being controlled. My juices would be running down my legs were it not for the VR suit. I’m past ready.
“Initiation failed,” the female VR voice informs me.
Something is wrong. I try to free my wrists. I can’t.
“End…” I want to say “end game,” but the look in my lover’s eyes stops me.
“You don’t want to end this, surely,” he purrs.
I could say “end game” and get out. That’s the failsafe. The VR company will pay one million dollars to anyone whose machine fails to recognize “end game.” That’s how confident they are nobody will hack that command.
“Why is this happening?”
“Like I said, you are mine. You could end it, but do you really want to?”
I gaze into his eyes. Is he only a glitch in the system?
“What’s your name?” I ask on impulse.
“Can you tell me anything?”
“I’m in your yoga class.”
“No kidding! Do we know each other?”
“Well, in a way, I suppose.”
“Tell me your name.”
So far I’ve done virtual lovers in this game. They haven’t had any conversation skills beyond their programming. Who is this guy? Is he for real? Do I…do I have a stalker?
“You’re in my yoga class.”
Twelve people were registered to take my class the last time I checked. Judging by the names on the list, two are men.
“You should be easy to spot.”
I’m not buying it. I don’t believe he’s one of my future students. He’s lying, there’s a colossal glitch in my gaming system, and I’ll be making husband take the computer in for repairs.
He lets go of my wrists, pushes his arms underneath my shoulders, and he flips, making me flip, too.
I’m on top of him.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, the words caressing my ears. “You’re in charge. I won’t resist.”
He’s not a program. Can’t be. Please God don’t let him be a program. Let him be one of my students. Please pretty please.
Will it matter if I do this? Husband is no longer interested in me, he doesn’t know which games I play, and he was the one who got me this gaming system. Granted, the sexual fantasy game is only one in more than five hundred, I doubt he was aware of all the games he got me, but…
This man might be real. The body he’s using can’t be like his own, but he’s hacked the character, he’s the brains inside the VR lover, he’s modified his system in some way that gives me a more real experience.
“Is this cheating?”
“Yeah, you’d be cheating, but it’s not for real.”
“It is for real!”
“At least you can’t get caught for it.”
Good point. I’m on top of him, straddling him, he is ready, very ready, and I’m thinking of his VR equipment. If, or when, I take him inside of me, my suit will send a spear of smartfabric up my vagina to simulate the penis. His suit would simulate the experience of being inside of me for him. He is not a virtual lover. He is real. It would be cheating.
Do I care?
Nobody would know. Except the man I would be doing it with. He knows who I am, where I live, and a lot more, I’m sure. I know nothing about him.
Do I care?
His virtual cock is just the length and thickness I like. I position myself and take it in.
Heaven! My nerve endings sing happy songs. I find a rhythm and ride him. He has a huge grin on his face, like he’s conquered Mount Everest or something.
That something is me.
“I knew you’d give in,” he says in between gasps.
“How’d you know that?” I ask in between my own gasps.
“I’ve watched you for a long time. Years. We’ve talked for real, too.”
“Who are you?”
He doesn’t respond. His mouth is open, he’s inhaling and exhaling long breaths, and his eyes close.
“Continue act,” he says, and the virtual cock inside me stays hard. He opens his eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he says and the tips of his fingers travel down from my neck to my breasts to my stomach to my hips.
I’m getting close myself; I can feel it. I slow down my riding to get the most of the pleasure out of the last moments before I come, collapsing onto his body, letting out a scream.
“One of these days you’ll be screaming my name,” he says. He’s stroking my hair so tenderly I almost start crying.
I push off him and out of the bed.
“You’re a stalker. How long have you been watching me? Do you come underneath my window at night? You use binoculars? You watch my children, too?”
He regards me without saying anything, then sits up on the bed that has only the bottom sheet on a memory foam mattress, no covers, not even pillows. There’s an ornate headboard, though, and the base has four sturdy legs with intricate carvings, so the bed’s not as out of place in a castle as it could be.
“You sound angry…but not angry enough. Not angry enough to report this incident to your husband or to have him take the gaming system in for repairs. The techies could fix your machine in no time.”
“Watch me,” I say. “End game.”
And with that, I find myself standing in my VR cage. I tear off the helmet, press the button on my suit’s neck, and wiggle out of it. I hang up the suit in its recharge-cleanup pod, position the helmet in its own pod, pull on my regular clothes, turn the dehumidifier off, and stomp up the stairs.
Husband looks away from his computer screen when I plunk down on one of the chairs around the kitchen table.
“What’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t have a bad experience in any of those games I got you. That’s what the salesman said. Was he lying?”
I think about what I should say. My privacy has been violated, dang it. There’s a glitch in the system. It’s been hacked. But the hacker…the hacker was right. I’m not angry enough. In fact, I want another round with him. I want to figure out who he is. And he was considerate enough to keep his virtual cock hard after he’d come for real himself.
In other words, I have a considerate stalker. Stalking is bad. At least I used to think it was bad. I’ve been invisible to everyone since my first child was born nine years ago and I became a stay-at-home mother. Everybody looks at the children, not me. I hardly have friends. I’ve been lonely as hell. I’m wondering…is it wrong to feel excited that someone cares enough about me to stalk me?
I look at husband and make my decision.
“No, it’s only that one of the characters was a real bitch.”
“Well, if you don’t like the character, you can delete her,” he says and goes back to his computer screen.
I sit there for a while, thinking, watching him go about his business, ignoring me. I’ve worked to keep my body in shape; he has a spare tire. I wouldn’t refuse his advances if he made advances, but I can’t even remember the last time he did it. I’ve asked him for sex quite a few times over the past two years, but he always has better things to do, like eating or reading or chatting with people.
Why shouldn’t I have some fun on the side?
I get up and climb the stairs to our bedroom. I undress, pull on my pajamas, brush my teeth, and brush my hair, which is brown and comes down to my shoulder blades. By the time I’m in bed, he comes up, too, undresses, pulls on his pajama bottoms, brushes his teeth, runs a comb through his hair, and curls up on the other side of the bed, right at the edge of it.
I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.