by Doug Welch
Startled, the figure turned, and walked rapidly in the other direction.
“Wait! Don't leave! I meant no harm.” His words had an unintended effect, as the figure began to move faster. He slumped against the wall of the building, as he watched his futile hope of human contact diminish in the distance.
He felt crushed. His eyes stung, tears formed in them. The hope had raised his expectations nearly to the breaking point. He trudged heavily to his building.
He ascended the elevator to his cube, unlocked the door, and entered his three cramped cubicles. Compared to others, his place seemed spacious, but humanity had lived for nearly a decade in the shoebox of limited environments. Who needed space when the illusion could be found on the net? The less space the human race occupied, the more available for agriculture and food production.
Some people wanted the wide-open, natural world, and the cramped confines of the cities didn't resonate with them. The majority wanted the fantasy without the disagreeable labor, smells and dirt of reality.
At least his rooms were clean, he saw to it every day. The walls were featureless, the only article of furniture, his expensive, massive ** Sen-U-Chair **, occupied the center. To his right, the door connected to the food preparation cubical. To the left, he could shower and eliminate wastes.
He had no need to venture out from his cube to buy food, ** World Fed Ex ** used automated trucks to deliver it direct via lift from the ground floor. It came from the automated farms and food distribution factories. His food choices were instantly communicated through the net, directly from his brain. What will happen to the inhabitants of the cities when the food production network starts to fail? Surely the government had planned for that. Or had they? To envision the chaos disruption of the food supply would cause sicken him, but it remained a frightening possibility. Millions would starve. He studied the ** Sen-U-Chair **. It constituted his world, his bed, and his rare opportunities for sex. The net offered abundant sex, one could always find a willing partner, but the release offered by a **Joy/Comfort ** doll occupied a notch just above masturbation. No matter how much the doll tried to mimic reality, it still left him feeling unfulfilled. He ached for human contact.
A soft, well-modulated, female voice finally intruded upon his mood. “Shall I activate the ambiance, Jake?” His cube AI, Alice, obedient to his commands, waited for a reply.
His morose voice echoed in the empty cubical. “May as well Alice, I've nothing better to do, but I need you to reprogram my neuromechs first, they're letting net-trash through, and then give me the street scene.”
After a few minutes, the whole room disappeared, replaced by a swarming mass of people and a seeming mile of nightclubs along a busy boulevard. Since the ambiance streamed directly to his visual cortex, via the neuromechs, the image mimicked reality to an exact degree. He stood on a sidewalk, as laughing and chattering people flowed by him on either side. The seductive sight satisfied him, and his depression started to lift. Alice stood by his side in the net illusion, blond hair, shapely body, her perfect beauty. She acted as his servant both in and out of the net and willing bed partner if he needed her, but she constituted only electromagnetic data in the real world. She quietly clutched his arm, and waited for any command. He turned to her. Mustn't think this is real.
The virtual world beckoned, seduced, and delivered. It promised, “be what you want, and experience anything,” it whispered, “abandon reality, come here, and live without consequence.”
Many submitted themselves to life experience in the virtual world and never emerged. They lived and interacted in their allotted space, oblivious to the physical world that surrounded them. Jake was not one of those people, but it became harder to differentiate the net from reality when most of your waking hours were spent connected.
“Any mime connects today, Alice?”
“Yes Jake, you have three, shall I summon the first?”
“Who is it?”
“Samantha.”
He hesitated. Sam was a decent net-friend, and an on again, off again, sex partner on the occasions he decided to indulge. He didn't have any idea if she used her real name and so far as he knew, could be the mirror image of the woman he'd viewed in the company mime-mail who had complained about the chair. But, on the net, Sam’s face would seem fantasy-perfect, with a body designed to excite even the most jaded male. She’ll be a cookie cutter female, everything perfect, eager to join in whatever world or entertainment I desire. If he called up the jungle ambiance, she would appear with a few scraps of leopard skin hugging her breasts and loins, even though leopards were extinct. Here, on the street it might be a brief micro-skirt revealing tantalizing glimpses of her thighs, and a skin-tight halter top which did little to hide her breasts. She could change any aspect of her physical appearance at whim. She liked to party. A night with her could be just the thing he needed.
“Connect to her, Alice.” She didn't arrive immediately, so he waited on the simulated sidewalk watching the mass of people passing by. A decent amount of time passed, and just as he decided to turn his attention to the next mime-connect on Alice's list, she emerged from the crowd. “Jake!” She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his virtego. He knew that if he sat with the Sen-U-Chair surrounding him, he would feel the press of her skin and the soft, moist feel of her lips on his, her tongue probing his mouth.
She drew away and pouted. “You’re not sens-connected. No fun.”
“I haven't eaten yet, Sam. I just connected to see what you wanted.”
“I wanna party. I feel a need for you.” Her eyes sparkled and she smiled with a seductive look.
He knew the look, she wanted sex. He didn't know if he could conjure up the mood. “Have you eaten? We could find a swanky restaurant.”
“Yes I've eaten, but I can wait while you do.” She grabbed his arm and started guiding him down the sidewalk.
“Wait a moment, Sam. I've got to warm up some real food, and settle in my chair.”
She gave him an exasperated look, but waited impatiently. “OK, but hurry up, lover, I want to get an early start.”
He commanded Alice to open up the food cubical, and he pulled out a random package. The food preparation factory irradiated the meal before distributing it. It would keep at room temperature indefinitely without spoiling. He knew from experience that if he just ate the meal without sitting in his chair, it would taste bland and unappetizing, containing food value and nothing else. However, if he consumed it in the chair, he could transform it into any form imaginable. Sensation originated in the brain, and the brain could add any taste he desired. The neuromechs nestled in the neurons of his brain, received the data from the net and stimulated the necessary brain centers to provide taste and texture.
He sat in his chair and tore open the package. Alice activated the sensor field and arranged the table, tucked at its side. He set the food containers on the table. “OK, Alice, reconnect.” His environment changed, and he returned to join Sam. They continued to walk along the sidewalk. Now, he felt the warm press of her body as she clung to his arm. Her perfume filled his nostrils, stimulating, but a little overpowering. “Where do you want to go?”
“I've heard of a new nightclub. Rumor is that the band is on sensor overload. I thought we might dance and hang. Maybe meet some people, do a few stims – you know, and then fuck ourselves into oblivion.”
He did know. A sense of sameness dampened his mood, but he blocked it out. Maybe if he partied hard enough, he could forget. “Let's stop in a restaurant so I can eat.”
They found a bistro with a cozy atmosphere and he ordered from the menu. He knew the meal wasn't real, but it would taste real and it would be tailored to mesh with the food he had on the chair table. The virtual table held spotless silverware, sparkling glasses, and shining plates on a snow-white tablecloth. The waiter who took his order originated in the net. No one occupied menial jobs like restaurant workers anymore. Samantha ordered wine. Her chair would substit
ute water, but her neuromechs would stimulate the proper nerve centers to provide taste and a pleasant buzz that simulated intoxication. Through the night, she could become a stinking drunk if she wanted, without any morning after effects. The meal arrived. Every portion enticed his vision with culinary perfection. The tastes were exquisite. They chatted about inconsequential things as he ate, neither of them touching on reality. Samantha's infectious enthusiasm lifted his spirits. Maybe this evening won't turn out so bad after all.
He finished his meal, and they left the restaurant arm in arm. “Do you want to walk, Sam, or should we just morph to this club you're talking about?”
“We've got lots of time, let's just walk. I've missed you. You haven't been connected for a while.”
“I've had a few things on my mind.”
“I think I know what's wrong with you. My mind-doc says it's wishing for shit in the real world that you can't have. You need to accept that the real world doesn’t exist anymore, and live in the net world. It's the only way to keep sane.”
Her words jarred him. Could it be that simple? Live out the remainder of your life in a simulated environment, never coming out to face reality? Abandon all hope of real human contact?
Something inside him rebelled at the thought. Maybe he resented the flawlessness of the net world, and longed for the world that existed before the plague. Maybe he wanted to lie with a human woman with her emotional warts and human imperfections. Race, sex, and beauty had no meaning in this world; anyone could take any form they desired. He looked at the women and men who passed them on the sidewalk.
Each female possessed a figure that would incite lust. Each had classic features and luscious lips that would stimulate passion. When the women willingly revealed their virtual bodies, they would all be firm and soft in the right places. Glossy, thick, colorful hair crowned their heads. Hair that a man longed to bury his face in.
Did he want mousy-brown hair like straw, and breasts that weren't perfect, thighs that were flabby, and the smells of real sex?
The thought of the fat woman in the mime-mail made him shudder. What was wrong with him? Jake knew that if Sam touched his virtual body, she would feel rock-hard abs, a muscular chest and large shoulders. She would be fulfilled by a massive penis that would satisfy her with orgasmic perfection. Although in reality, he wasn't out of shape and reasonably attractive, he didn't own any of those attributes, he had an average body of average height, so what's wrong with a fantasy? The fact that each of them would be having sex with a doll didn't change anything – or did it? When your brain experienced the sensations directly, how did that differ from reality? In terms of the mind, both experiences were the same.
“What are you thinking about Jake? You've tuned me out.”
“Sorry, Sam. I was just thinking about what you said. I'll stop. Let's just enjoy ourselves.” They continued on for a distance and then she led him to a club where the sounds of pulsing music issued from the door. Unlike the past concept of a night club, there were no bouncers guarding the place and no cover charge. The club could morph to any space required. Anyone who caused a disturbance would be ejected from the net. They'd be scheduled for a psychiatric evaluation by a mind-doc, and their net privileges suspended for a set time. They'd be isolated in their rooms, a perfect and effective jail sentence. Repeat offenders were few. The music grew louder the nearer they approached.
Sam started moving her body to the rhythm. “Wow! Intense! Let's get a drink, Jake.”
They shouldered their way to the bar. As they waited for their drinks, he looked around at the tables and the dance floor, at the crowed mass of people who were swaying to the sounds. The band was composed of real people who wanted to showcase their creativity and musical talents. Their virtegos performed here in the club.
Drinks in hand, they wove through the crowd to find an empty table. They sat close to each other and Jake put his arm around her waist, drawing her to his side. His hand slipped down to her hip. The volume of the music rose just loud enough to allow them to converse if they huddled close together.
The lead singer, a female, possessed perfect pitch and her emotional voice sent chills though Jake's body. He leaned toward Sam. “This group is really good!”
“I told you. Want to dance?”
He vigorously nodded in the affirmative, and they called their AIs to hold their places at the table.
They wound their way to the dance floor and immediately began to move to the music. Jake laid his hand on Samantha's hip. The rhythm of the music pounded through his ears, and the scent of Samantha's perfume triggered his neuromechs to stimulate the erotic portions of his brain. He drew her closer and slid his hand down to lay it on the flesh of her soft thigh under the micro-skirt she wore. His feelings of arousal increased. The club possessed a non-explicit sex rating and graphic sexual acts were forbidden, but that didn't stop him from rubbing his body along the front of hers, and pressing his groin against the apex of her thighs. They danced to the sensuous beat of the music and moved suggestively against each other for a while, strengthening Jake's erection. The band eventually completed the set and paused for a rest.
In anticipation of a night's pleasure, Jake decided to have Alice activate his Joy/comfort doll. He hesitated about using it, but sex with Samantha involved total immersion and would not be complete without the simulacrum.
Versions of the realistic, anatomically-correct sex-dolls had been around for nearly a century. Some companies had experimented with robotic versions, but the power of the machine could injure the user during vigorous sex. Killing a customer with an orgasm wasn't a good business plan.
The doll's synthetic skin, warmed internally, felt incredibly life-like. Its genitals, heated to a temperature a few degrees higher than body temperature, created erotic sensations no normal human's could mimic. Female users described the sensation as like a red-hot, educated vibrator. Jake's company manufactured them, and he had helped to design them.
Thinking about this doesn’t help my libido. I need to start feeling and stop analyzing.
Samantha finally spoke. “You know what I wish, Jake?”
He stroked the flesh along her back and replied, “What?”
She arched her back and closed her eyes with his strokes. “I wish this was real. I wish you were really here and I could cuddle with you and sleep with you.”
“I know what you mean Sam, I want the same thing.”
“I mean, I don't really know you. Maybe if I met you I wouldn't even like you. For all I know, you could be a woman in a man's virtego. You're not are you? – I mean a woman?”
“No Sam, I'm all male.”
“I feel good when we're like this, connected. But I know when I drop out of the net, I'll see that damn sightless doll laying beside me and I'll realize I just fucked a dildo, rather than a real man. I think I need to use the mind-doc again.”
He remembered the first time he had made love, back when the world teemed with people. She'd been his best friend, and finally, as they reached maturity, his first love. Maybe the first time always felt sweeter, more intense. They'd made love the night before he left for college, both of them virgins. He recalled how he had gasped with wonder when he first penetrated her. She'd died, along with too many other bodies to count, while he hid in quarantine far away from home.
He hadn't had time to grieve. But her memory terrified him, even as he felt the old pain. Because, despite the deep feelings he recalled, at this moment, he couldn't remember her name. He had to regain his humanity before the net consumed him and he stopped living.” If it's any consolation Sam, I feel the same way, and I'm sure if I ever met you in reality, I'd like you.”
She sat up in the chair, drawing slightly away from him. “I think I'd like you too. Do you think we'll ever be normal again?”
He removed his hand from her back. “I have hope, Sam, and as long as I hope, I'll never give up trying.”
“I think I'm out of the mood to party, Jake. Do you mind if I
disconnect?”
He felt a little disappointed and sexually frustrated, but at the same time relieved. “It's OK Sam, maybe next time.” Her virtego vanished, and he sat alone at the table. Without a partner, his arousal had subsided, and he signaled Alice to disconnect him.
Abruptly, he felt a wrenching sensation. His virtego seemed to stretch and elongate like a piece of taffy and he found himself sliding at an incredible rate through the net. All sensation ceased. He swam through a gray void, and then a crashing, jarring feeling signaled the abrupt end of the journey.
He stood at the edge of a glade lit by a radiant full moon.
Surrounding the clearing, trees crowned by scintillating leaves, reached for the sky, and crowded each other for space. A gentle breeze carried the perfume of millions of blossoms that glowed in the moonlight, creating a luminous carpet on the ground. His feet were bare and he could feel soft grass under them.
At the center of the meadow-like area, on a slight rise, a strange woman posed like a ballerina, staring at the bright orb. She wore a diaphanous gown that glowed from the illumination, and revealed the silhouette of her obviously nude body. The light streamed through a halo of silvery hair that surrounded her darkened face. She raised her arms above her head and arched her back; thrusting small delicate breasts with nipples prominent, toward the sky. Simultaneously, she extended one leg, balancing on the other. The posture accentuated the curve of her buttocks.
