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Erotic Notion #27: Supersex 3000

Comic look at futuristic sex: In this age of virtual fucking, it's still possible to fall in love.
Comic look at futuristic sex: In this age of virtual fucking, is it  still possible to fall in love?
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"This dream was not so much the dream of a perfect woman
As a spectre, sick of unbeing,
That had taken possession of his body
To find herself a life."
(Tales From Ovid, tr. Ted Hughes).

"What would you like to do today?"

"I don't know. Are there any good programs?"

"None of your favorite shows have new episodes."

"That's okay. I'm in the mood for vintage comedy. What about 'I Love Lucy'?"

"Would you like a particular episode?"

"It doesn't matter. Put on something random."

"Color or – "

"No, black and white. And leave it on the flat screen."

After a few moments, an image appeared on the wall screen, and Wallace sat on the sofa with a bowl of oranges. For a few minutes he watched the show, sucking on the oranges, then tossing them into the disposal.

"Vic, take that back. I'm in the mood for Supersex. Have you loaded the upgrade?"

"Let me check." After a few moments, Vic, the virtual assistant replied. "I have finished upgrading Supersex to Version 5.01. Ninety three dollars has been deducted from your account." Suddenly a smiling-scantily clad holographic women materialized in the middle of the room.

"Welcome to Supersex. If this is your first time, please – "

Wallace pressed mute on the audio button to bypass oral instructions. Text appeared onscreen, and he began scrolling through options.

First time user? N

Revisit an old encounter? N

Create your own partner? Search database? S (Wallace never bothered with the Create your own partner option. His few attempts at creating a partner produced only grotesque caricatures of women instead of anyone he could enjoy spending time with).

Hetero Homo Both Orgy Other? Hetero.

Romantic Evening – Vaginal – Oral – Anal – Bondage – Other – All? All

Giver Recipient Both? B

Celebrities Young Stuff Models Random? Celebrities.

New Stuff Nostalgia? New Stuff. That particular menu always amused him. Any person who had been a celebrity for more than three years was automatically classified under Nostalgia.

Particular Person or Just Browsing? Just Browsing.

Browse by Name Face Body? Face.

Figures in Entertainment Politics Academia Science Other? Entertainment. (He once chose "Other" just to find who fell under that category. He found business tycoons, fashion models, criminals and athletes). Since most of the figures in the database had appeared often in the media, composing a 3D sexual persona was just a matter of doing a few manipulations. In fact, he rarely had trouble finding anyone in Supersex's extensive database. The only people specifically not in this database were US presidents and their spouses, religious leaders and people over 65 or under 16. Even with these prohibitions, it was fairly easy to find black market versions of anybody. He wasn't above the appeal of forbidden fruit; he'd already slept with three First Ladies.

Dozens of celebrity faces flashed by, and eventually he picked (almost out of boredom) a young Hispanic actress he'd never heard of. After he punched in a scenario, the actress suddenly materialized before him, dressed in a 20th century T-shirt, skintight shorts and a baseball cap. "Hello," she said. "What's your name?"

These sorts of questions unnerved him. He knew they were merely part of the program, along with a set of introductory questions and obscene come-ons. He could have easily turned them off. But he went ahead and answered them, perhaps out of habit, perhaps because they created the illusion of conversation.

"Wallace."

"And what do you do?"

"I edit instructional modules. I'm in the middle of constructing a musical lesson."

"Wow, Wallace – "

"Yes?"

"Do you mind if I get more comfortable?"

"Not at all," he said, chuckling.

"Can you close your eyes while I undress? I'm a little shy." she said. He heard the sounds of her clothes dropping to the floor and smelled her fruity cologne. Yes, Supersex took care of all the details. "Wallace, do you know that before I became an actress I sang at clubs?"

"No, I didn't."

"You may open them now." He saw her standing fully naked from the waist down, her breasts covered by a sequined pullover. "Hi," she smiled. "Have you heard any of my songs from my first release?"

"No."

"Okay, boys," she said. A salsa band appeared behind her, playing while disco lights leapt over the room. "Blanco paloma perdida," she started singing and dancing. "Promixo a tender su vuelo."

He walked over to her and started fucking her, just like that. But the woman just kept singing and smiling. "Blanca paloma perdida..." She laughed once, and when he thrust really hard once into her virtual loins, she laughed and kissed him, while the salsa band played without missing a beat. "Soy tu criada," she purred. But though the girl was attractive enough, he was getting bored with it. This Supersex upgrade was much better than previous versions, but everything was a little too artfully wild.

"Discontinue," he whispered into her ear, and in a flash, everything was gone. The Celebrities Young Stuff Models Centerfolds Random menu reappeared on the wall.

This time he picked Young Stuff. 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26. Anything under 18 was illegal, of course, although girls under 18 were easily available on bootleg networks. It was just a matter of stealing her image and voice and putting it into the simulation creator. Some parents even went to great lengths to prevent their daughters from being photographed or recorded for precisely that reason. But most had resigned themselves to the futility of this effort; some even admitted that the freedom to manipulate a physical likeness of another was actually an inalienable form of artistic expression. Wallace had actually tried one of the underage models, a 15 year old from Topeka, Kansas. She wasn't bad, but her limbs felt a bit too spongy, and the girl occasionally would just shake uncontrollably while he took his pleasures. The girl just didn't seem as human as the legal simulations.

Birthday Girls? Y (That was the popular choice. It gave Supersex users the illusion that they were getting the youngest girls they could possibly get).

Virgins? Y (That was one menu he was suspicious of. Although the Supersex data retriever had a knack for collecting details about girls it was simulating, it rarely had access to people's bedrooms – if only because couples generally scanned a room for surveillance devices before engaging in passion).

The computer showed 85,000 candidates and asked for searching criteria.

Sort By hair eye color GPA measurements location interests height ethnicity weight

He never could make up his mind on this menu. He loved blondes, but it didn't really matter what color her hair was as long as she was attractive enough and loved to fuck. First, he picked weight, limiting the entries to under 120 pounds and 5'6". For the hell of it, he specified green eyes. Then, he added location to his parameters, selecting Midwest. That brought the count to 23,000. He limited it to Oklahoma and specifically to Bartlesville, a small town he'd once chosen at random and made it his goal to sleep with every 18 year old female in the town. So far, he'd already slept with about 70 simulations from Bartlesville, and someday he planned to visit there just to meet the unsuspecting girls in question. Bartlesville had only thirteen 18 year olds meeting his parameters. While he flipped through their profiles, he recognized two he'd already slept with. The other eleven were dull-looking, so he widened the search to Tulsa, widening his results to 70 girls. He ran through the profiles, paying attention to biographical details and extracurricular involvements. When Wallace started accessing the available voice prints, the network monitor beeped: a message had penetrated the firewall.

"A message?"

"I can't seem to locate the identity," Vic said.

"What about credentials?"

"The caller authenticated manually, but I can't locate the originating node."

"All right, let the caller in." These calls could be such a bother.

A holographic image appeared of a man in a three piece suit standing before a chart. He was in the middle of a speech – "Pursues capital appreciation by investing in unrecognized or undervalued companies. This fund concentrates its investments in --"

"Not interested – thank you."

"– your once in a lifetime opportunity to post long term growth for your stocks and bonds. If you act now and request our introductory packet, you will receive a free gift – this ballpoint pen."

"Thank you."

"And for those interested in a more aggressive mutual fund -- "

"Vic, disconnect please."

"That may take some time, I'm afraid." Vic said.

"You may begin investing in $2500 increments, and several--"

Finally the man disappeared, and Vic said, "To erase the message from your holophone, it was necessary to change your phone ID again. I am now changing the keys."

That made three junk calls for the week. The last anti-penetration system was supposed to prevent these intrusions. Somebody (or some machine) must have cracked his key generator, and now it was clear the whole system would need to be replaced. Until then, such interruptions were inevitable.

"Vic, just shut the system down. Block everything and allow only high priority calls. Now rewind the program up a minute."

A panoply of images of Tulsa girls appeared on splitscreen: three smiling yearbook video photos with neatly-combed hair and bland gray backgrounds. Wallace glanced quickly at them. "Next."

Three more came on. "Next, please." Wallace went quickly through each screen in 5 or 10 seconds (he didn't have all day!). None of them looked appealing; they looked nice, yes, very nice, but he still hadn't found one who made his heart stop. After fourteen or fifteen screens, he saw her, a brunette with short curly brown hair and a sweet simple smile. "What is her name?"

"Lana Roberta Parks," Vic answered. "Attending Tulsa High School. GPA is 3.7 –"

"High, but not neurotically high," he said to himself.

"Born February 24, 2048 in Dallas, Texas. Daughter of Kenneth and Roberta Parks."

"Do you have any better clips?"

"Loading..." In a few seconds, the other two girls on the screen disappeared, and a dozen other photos and video clips of Lana appeared: driver's license, passport photos, school photos.."Holographic simulation loading..." Suddenly, in the middle of his living room she appeared to be stepping down some stairs and smiling at the camera. She was wearing a very short skirt.

"My name is Lana Parks, and my destination is France." "My name is Lana Parks," said the second image, holding a well-worn suitcase and small hat, "and I'm going to South Africa." Then another image of her knocking at the door. "It's me," she said. "Let me in."

"She's beautiful," Wallace said, walking around in a daze. Never before had he come across a girl with such tenderness in her eyes, such perfect skin. She was everything he wanted and more, the way she rocked her legs back and forth, the way she made faces into the lens while waiting.

"What other samples do you have? Do you have voice samples?"

Suddenly he heard her singing, "Mary had a little lamb," and reciting a paper on termites in grade school. Then she appeared five feet in front of him in the middle of a school play, speaking Shakespearian lines, looking radiant in colorful Elizabethan attire. Although he wasn't certain, it seemed to be Romeo and Juliet, and she was preparing to die, that sweet innocent thing.

He weaved in and out of the crowd of holographic actors while the girl cried out to the invisible audience. He laid his hand over the space that was to be her face. She looked straight through him, as though he were the holographic image and not she, reaching forward with her soft delicate hands.

Wallace was in love. The image quickly changed to an anxious girl preparing to take the SAT, then a 12 year old about to ascend the steps of the US Capitol and finally reciting the Gettysburg address to her class.

"This is the end of all transmissions of Lana Roberta Parks," Vic announced.

"Thank you," he said. He didn't need to respond, but he couldn't break the habit. He watched the final image, that of Lana dancing with ten other teenage girls in gaudy outfits down a football field. "Yes, she'll do."

"Would you like me to construct the Supersex version?"

"Yes, please."

The girl who had been reciting the Gettysburg Address stood motionless before him, but her image was flickering, her skin and hair color changed a few times before settling on an appropriate tint. The mouth started talking, slow at first, then quickly, changing intonations and eventually breaking into uncontrollable laughter. Suddenly, a bright flash of light enveloped the room, and when it returned to normal, the girl's eyes moved to and fro, then directly at him.

"Hello," she said. Her voice was low and serious. She did not look afraid, merely subdued. "What's your name?"

"Wallace," he said, walking around her and staring. "So you were in Romeo and Juliet?"

"Yes."

"You were wonderful."

"Thank you," she said carefully, still not smiling.

"You can sit down if you wish." She took a seat, and he noticed how her body appeared to press down on the seat's cushion. "I'm sorry if I can't think of anything to say," he said. "I guess, I'm overwhelmed by the magnificence of your smile, the beauty of your face." He became nervous. The girl just sat there, watching his performance with interest and curiosity, but not passion. This was strange. The girls from the other programs usually just threw themselves at him right from the beginning. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

"I suppose so."

"Would you mind if I give you a kiss?"

"Why?"

"Because I am in love with you." She stood and walked beside him, more out of polite curiosity than amorous enthusiasm. She looked into his eyes as she let him caress her cheeks. And neck. And shoulders. And arms. Everything was so real – the smoothness of her skin, the way she stared into his eyes as though silently searching for an answer to some question. And when he kissed her, she merely consented to it, then brought her head away. But the next time she anticipated it by bringing her lips closer, resting her arms around his shoulders.

"Vic, can you play music?" The music started, and after putting his hands into hers, they waltzed slowly around the living room.

"I'm almost afraid to touch you," he confessed. "Afraid that you're just going to melt away." He pressed her body closer and put her head on his shoulder. The music went on, and the girl whispered, "Do you know what I'd like right now?"

"What?"

"A nice cool glass of Coca Cola. Coke. It's the drink for everybody all the time." She laughed then reverted to her shy self. Wallace hated the commercials but tolerated them. They always spoiled the mood. He once found a sex service that bragged no commercials with its lovergirls, but stopping using it when he discovered "Mitsubishi – because you're terrific!" tattooed across one of the girl's asses.

He asked her about college and her friends, partly because he was interested, but also because he wanted to test Supersex's range of extemporaneous responses. She gave sketchy answers – obviously Supersex only had limited data about the girl. But she seemed to talk a lot, especially about her best friend Jennie. He listened politely and even felt bored. But even in boredom, he could look at her eyes and imagine what it would be like to make love to her. If only this were real.

He held her close and begin kissing her again. "I've seen and kissed hundreds of girls in my life, but none compare to you." She smiled. "Vic," he whispered as an aside, "Shakespearian sonnets, random, back wall." On the wall behind her appeared the verse, which he recited while unbuttoning her clothes:

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.

At the utterance of that last word, he slid his hand underneath her backside, causing her to jump a bit and move away. He pulled her close again, and soon they were embracing half-naked on the couch.

"Excuse me for interrupting, there's a priority three emergency message for you," Vic said.

"Can you take a message?"

"I'm afraid it's important."

Wallace kissed Lana again. "Let me take care of this," he said. "I'll be just a moment."

"Take your time," she said nonchalantly.

"The message has no identification."

"Have them call back tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, but the message has passed through the security checks. Feeding now."

Three busty bikini-clad women burst into the living room, followed by several men in bathing suits playing volleyball on a holographic image. "Welcome to Long Beach, California," purred one of the gals. "Only 799 dollars for a weekend excursion. Why do the simulations when you can go there for real? For the traveler who knows the difference."

The holographic image dissolved into night around a house, where a masked gunman slammed open the door and fired indiscriminately. An unseen child started crying. "Could this happen to you?" asked an ominous voice, emerging from the shadows as a badged deputy. "You say you are well-protected, but how can you be sure? Are you willing to entrust your life and safety on security systems more than a year old? Please consider a Reassure Home Protection system." Classical music piped resolutely in the background. "Not for yourself, but for those who need you most." "We love you daddy," two small kids cry out in unison from behind him.

The living room darkened again, and Lana whispered, "What was that?"

"Don't worry about that. Vic, will you – "

"I'm afraid I'll have to change the phone lines again."

"Can you just disconnect the whole damn system?"

She and Wallace begin kissing again. "Lana," she said, "I wish you could stay in my arms forever." She scooted off the couch and removed the rest of her clothes.

"No, let's talk first," he said.

"What shall we talk about?" she asked with neither enthusiasm or resignation. Her attitude confused him. The other lovers had been so eager to play along (that had been part of their program). But Lana and Supersex 3000 were different, and absolutely lifelike. It wasn't just the feel of her skin or the facial expressions. She seemed to have an individual temperament. Not exactly a personality; not yet anyway. He embraced her tenderly, feeling the way her hips quivered to the caress of his fingers.

"Have you ever slept with a man before?"

"Not yet," she replied. Of course, none of them said they had; that was the program. But the girl said it wistfully, as though it were one aspect of her life that had always been troubling her.

"Lana," he sighed, moving his mouth down her body. "The more time I spend with you, the more I long to stay with you forever." He continued kissing her, but she seemed stiff and uncomfortable on the couch, maybe even nervous. So this was Supersex 3000! It had just introduced him to his dream, and now in this age of virtual fucking, it was still possible to fall in love. "I am in love with you," he said. She looked at him with curiosity. "If only our love could be real. If only a momentary exhilaration could last and words alone could make real the love I've been waiting all my life for." But was his love real? He kissed her and moved aside so she could reposition herself better on the couch. They touched and gazed at one another, finding in the other's eyes the presence of an admirer. "Do you feel this?" he asked, moving his mouth down her neck and breasts. "Is this real?" The girl closed her eyes and breathed unsteadily. He moved his hands down lower, sliding lightly over the delicate skin of her thighs. "Is this real?" he whispered again in her ear. Then he pressed his palm to her sex, rubbing it slowly as the bottom half of her body trembled. "Is this real?" he whispered, kissing her mouth once more and moving down her body to her soaking wet pussy. "This is the heart of your sensuality, the heart I've longed to taste and touch. Is this real?" He licked her once, causing her to laugh and knock her knees against his head. He licked again and again, giving no respite to the pleasure that coursed throughout her body. "Here," he said, sitting beside her and placing her hand around his penis. "This is my love. Is it real? From now on you will have my love whenever you want. Do you feel my love?" The girl said nothing, but turned her head away as he caressed her shoulders. "Do you feel my love?" he repeated, kissing her lips once more. "Yes," she said softly, putting her hands through her hair. He eased himself in slowly, whispering, "Do you feel my love?" She jumped a little, but he kept kissing her, whispering "Is this real?" all the time.

While they began making love, a female voice came through the speakers. "Hello, are you there?"

"Sorry for the interruption," Vic explained. "Another priority message."

"Hello?"

"Just turn off the telephone system please, Vic." Wallace continued to thrust into her, coming close to climax as she wrapped herself around him.

"Trying to override."

"Hello, are you there?" It was Linda, a familiar voice.

"Oh, my god," he moaned.

"Freeze," Lana said, searching for the control panel and pressing the AUDIO ONLY button.

"Lana, are you there? It's me."

She pressed the Microphone On button and said, "Hi, Linda." Wallace's hot sweaty body hovered motionless above her as she tried wriggling free.

Linda appeared on the opposite wall, a short-haired women in her forties dressed in a long black dress. "Aren't you going?"

"Where?"

"The Grand Hotel."

Then she remembered. "Was that tonight? I thought it was next Friday."

"Well, if you don't want to go – "

"I'll go," Lana said. Ever since they reinstalled the new Fred Astaire, she kept missing him at the hotel. She'd been looking forward to dancing the Continental for months.

"Were you eating?" Linda said.

"No, just looking at my high school memories."

Linda chuckled. "Who was it this time? Kevin? Or Andrew?"

"No, Wallace," she said, throwing on some clothes.

"Did I ever meet him?"

"That was years ago." (Seventeen to be exact). "He was the one who found me through Supersex. You probably wouldn't have liked him. What a jerk."

"You must not have thought so once." Linda teased. "Why don't you invite him over tonight?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Lana said. "He'd never come. Last I heard he was in South America."

"You could make a dancing sim."

"It's never the same though."

"Invite him next week."

"Why don't you invite him?" They laughed.

"Not me," Linda said. "Rumor has it that tonight three or four men will be at the hotel tonight. Real flesh-and-blood men."

"You said the same thing last week."

"One can only hope. When should I pick you up?"

"Eight o'clock."

"See you soon," Linda said, signing off.

Lana took a quick shower and tried to pick an appropriate outfit.

"Would you like to erase this episode or save where you left off?" Vic said.

"No, just rewind it five minutes, and I'll get to it tomorrow."

I long to stay with you forever. His voice reverberated through her head even after she shut the program down. That was the danger of memories, she decided. She could dream all she wanted, but she could never turn the memories off. For a moment, she wondered where he might be – perhaps he had returned to the States? She could certainly look him up, and perhaps she could even find him, but it was all so futile. The lover she once knew was gone for good except in her head. How did the line go: "Cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun."

Forget about that. Tonight was Fred Astaire, the Continental and swing dancing. She skipped excitedly out of the apartment.

"When will you be coming home?" Vic asked. "When will you be coming home?"

Written Spring, 1995.  Jan 1 2008 version

Canonical version: http://www.asstr.org/~99ernotions/99er27.html

(From 99 Erotic Notions, a free erotic story collection by hapax legomenon
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