We sit facing each other, so close that our knees touch. Fen stares into my eyes. It's all I can do not to look away.

The wooden chair beneath me only adds to my discomfort. It's so different from my lounger, which holds me like an embrace.

But it's not a real embrace, is it, Reverie? And that's why you're here.

The corner of Fen's mouth ticks upward; I can tell he's suppressing a smile as he watches me squirm.

I break eye contact. It's my fourth attempt at this exercise. 

"I know it's not easy," Fen says. 

My face feels hot. I hate the way my armpits have grown damp. At home, my body temperature is monitored at all times, and the indoor climate fluctuates to suit my needs. I rarely feel flushed while immersing myself in a world of my own creation. With a mere thought, I can be transported to the summit of Mount Everest. I can stroll through a reconstructed Library of Alexandria. And I never break a sweat.

I can also kiss, touch, and fuck any man or woman I desire. While reclining in my lounger, I don't need to lift a finger. My neural implant does all the work until I'm unable to tell what's real and what occurs only in the virtual realm. The orgasms are minutes long; they surge through my entire body. 

Actual sex could never compare.

Or so I've been told.

I've become addicted to the endorphin rush. Though the implant faithfully reproduces any fantasy I can conjure up, it's no longer enough. I seek out a more powerful climax only to learn there's a ceiling to bliss. At least in the artificial world.

That's why I disabled the implant. Against the advice of friends, family, and psychiatric professionals, I chose to leave the gated compound, the only home I'd ever known. So-called tour guides lingered just beyond the security barrier, and I traded medical supplies in exchange for safe passage to a commune fifty miles north.

I'm not supposed to know about this place. It didn't exist within the parameters of the universe I was permitted to experience. But boredom drove me to probe at the seams. I found vulnerabilities in the system, which I peeled back like a layer of skin.

I discovered a strange and terrifying world. A concrete, physical reality beyond the simulation.

And I learned of Fen, whom the oligarchs deride as an instigator, a troublemaker. While they mock his attempts to resurrect a back-to-the-earth movement, they keep him and his cohorts under constant surveillance. 

As I sit before Fen now, I'm sure the compound's security forces know of my exact whereabouts. I doubt I'll be allowed to return home, for I'm too much of a risk. With knowledge comes the ability to sow discord.

I try to push the fear from my mind. Without the implant, I have difficulty regulating my emotions. I figure my adrenaline and cortisol levels are off the charts.

"Reverie," Fen says, "I want you to look at me."

I scowl at a sculpture in the corner. The piece is so abstract that I can't even guess what it might represent.

"I don't like this," I say.

"You don't like looking at me?"

I snap my attention back to him. "That's not it."

But it is, partly. Fen is middle-aged, at least fifteen years older than me. There are wiry gray strands in his hair, even in his eyebrows. He's so near that I can see the pores on his face. 

I can smell him.

It's not a bad smell. I'm just not used to another human's personal scent. Most of my interactions are virtual. In my fantasies, my lovers are flawless. No wrinkled flesh or slightly yellowed teeth. They have no odor at all.

I fold my arms over my chest. "I understand this is supposed to be an exercise to develop intimacy or whatever, but it feels... forced. Unnatural."

His expression remains placid. "You feel it's unnatural to sit quietly with me?"

"Well, yeah! Back home, we don't... do this." I gesture between us, indicating the narrow space.

Fen leans forward. I startle when he places a hand on my thigh. "That's why you left, isn't it? Because you don't do things like this back home." 

His fingers inch a little higher. It's surprising, the way I physically respond to that touch. I feel it in my belly first, a somersault of arousal. The heat drops lower to settle between my thighs.

"You don't have to look at me." Fen pushes his chair back, giving me room to stand. "Sit on my lap."

I open my mouth to protest. I want to tell him I'm not ready for this. But I know his patience has limits. He's human, after all.

After climbing to my feet, I quickly turn around. I don't want him to see how anxious I am. Without fanfare, I sink down, using his body for a seat. His pants fibers are coarse against the backs of my legs.

When his arms encircle me, I'm reminded of my lounger's soothing warmth, yet I shiver to feel his fingers slide along mine. 

"You're not at ease in your own skin, Reverie." He takes my hand, and together we explore the length of my inner thigh. 

When I first arrived, I was stripped of my second-skin outer garment. I felt horribly vulnerable without it; even now, I miss the way it hugs my frame. My current outfit, a dress one of the commune members sewed, chafes and clings in places it shouldn't.

I watch as Fen's hand and mine push the dress hem higher. I'm embarrassed by my fast breathing. And I worry Fen can smell me, too.

I let him ease me back until I'm resting against his sturdy chest. My legs spread farther apart. 

He makes a sound of approval, and I smile, realizing I've pleased him. His movements are tentative, as if he fears I'll jump from his lap and bolt.

But I make no move to escape when he presses my hand against the crotch of my underwear. I welcome the way he guides my touch.

Through the damp fabric, I feel the contours of my sex. It's been years since I've done this for pleasure.

"Do you..." I clear my throat and try again. "Do you enjoy this?"

He shifts in the chair, just enough to let me feel his erection. "Very much."

I actually giggle. Though I've fucked countless virtual partners in every imaginable position, I've never experienced another human's arousal.

My laughter dips into a moan as Fen slips our hands inside my panties. Before, he was careful not to touch me directly. Now, his fingers work with mine. He soon learns that I respond more to clitoral massage than digital penetration.

I begin to squirm for an entirely different reason. Part of me wants to retreat from the sensation. Instead, I scoot down a little farther. I rock my hips in an erratic rhythm. I can hear how wet I am.

And there's no mistaking the smell. I know it will linger on me and Fen until we wash ourselves clean.

As if sensing my mortification, he releases my hand, then lifts his own to my face.

"Taste," he urges.

I part my lips and allow his fingers into my mouth. My tongue prickles at the tartness, yet I suck and lick. My own fingers keep moving between my legs. I'm astonished by the swollen size of my clitoris.

I shudder and strain toward my orgasm. It's hard work, scrabbling for that peak.

"Look at me," Fen says.

I turn my face to him. When our eyes meet, I hold his stare.

Just before I come, he gives me a fierce kiss. His tongue is eager for the tang still lining my mouth. His lips muffle my squeal while I writhe in his lap.

Though my orgasm is shorter than those I've experienced in the past, it's somehow more intense. Desperate to prolong the climax, I touch myself until my clitoris grows too sensitive and I'm forced to stop.

Slumped against Fen, I don't try to lower my dress. I don't wipe away the lubrication coating my fingers.

Instead, I clumsily stand and turn toward him. He looks up at me, his eyes expectant.

I'm awkward straddling his legs. Holding onto him, I leave no space between us. I'm so close that I can see the different shades of blue in his irises. When he swaddles me in his arms, I again feel the warmth of a real embrace.

The virtual world could never compare.