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From: Nick <nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk>
Subject: {Celestial VR Comp} I Just Want to Talk (by Nick)
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I Just Want to Talk -------------------


(c) Nick - August 1998 Note that this story is provided free for
entertainment. You may copy it and distribute to friends but you may
not make money from it or any part of it without my agreement, nor
must you claim it as your own. This story is copyrighted to me (Nick)
and I ask you to observe that. 

This story is of an adult nature, containing some sexually explicit
scenes. I do not intend either for me or the reader to break the law
in any country where it may be read, and so if for any reason the law
of your country forbids you from reading adult literature, do not read
any further. 


I dozed gently following, the sexual wrestling complete, basking in
that warm glow that also follows a strenuous workout. With a real
woman, of course, there would also be that vague smell of hot metal
permeating the sweat and the other heavy aromas, but the VR booths
never quite got that right.

"I really hate this you know!" she said.

Suddenly I was wide awake.

"What!?"

She looked at me steadily, deep blue eyes boring into mine. "You
heard."

This was not what I'd paid for.

For some reason a chilling image from the 20th century film
"Westworld" sprang into my head, but since she consisted entirely of
light there was no way this woman could physically hurt me - at least
I didn't think so. All I had to do was reach for the "bail-out" button
and I would be back in the real world. I decided I'd stay a while.
After all if she really got wild I could ask for my money back.

This was my first time with one of the 'New Age' VR girls. I was used
to the old 'Identikit' models where you select colour of hair, eyes,
build and sexual preferences, but frankly I was getting bored with
them. Once you had exhausted the limitations of the 'bolt-on'
imagination, they were little better than the plastic blow-up dolls
that used to grace the hotel rooms of travelling salesmen.

The 'New Age' had been heuristically programmed (whatever that meant),
which the advertising told us made them better. "You wouldn't know you
weren't with a real woman!" the advertising went. (Huh, who wanted
real women!) It also made them significantly more expensive, but my
friends had all told me the extra cost was worthwhile. I wasn't so
sure. I didn't like the fact that you only had a very limited range to
choose from and that there was no scope to customise your selection in
the way I was used to with the 'Identikit's. You were offered a brief
bio and a thumbnail image to make your selection from, and that was
it.

I had selected a model calling itself Wanda since this one seemed to
be offering the closest approximation to my own peccadillos. The sex
had been OK, but not spectacular, and I had decided that with the
remaining credit on this session I would enjoy a little post-coital
snooze.

Apparently it was this that this top of the range, eternally obliging
'Girl of my Dreams' was objecting to.

I propped myself up on one elbow. "What are you talking about?"

She gazed at me for a few seconds, then sat up and swung her legs off
the virtual bed, turning her back to me.

"Oh, never mind," she said, "you wouldn't understand!"

Probably a technical thing then, I figured. Something wrong with the
programming. An excuse to get my money back. I saw that her shoulders
were shaking slightly and put that down to another problem with the
projection.

VR is a strange thing. At some point you cease to recognise it as such
and become immersed in the reality being presented. This is very
useful when training people to do dangerous and difficult tasks, and
is easy to achieve when simply replicating physical situations.
Dealing with 'virtual people', however, is a whole different
ball-game, and 'V.P.'s convincing enough to make you suspend your
belief have, until recently, been hard to come by. The 'Identikit'
models were never even close. The tits never quite moved in sync with
the rest of the body and sometimes the skin colour had little borders
at the joints like patched up photographs. This tended to spoil any
other qualities they might have had.

Although the fact that you get what you're given with the 'New Age'
models may not seem a good selling point, I suppose it did at least
allow the engineers to concentrate on producing a near perfect model.
I found on several occasions that I had to remind myself that Wanda
was not real flesh and blood. I found it quite chilling.

I put my hand on her shoulder. She turned. Her face was red and
blotchy and her eyes were moist.

"What wouldn't I understand?" I asked coldly, refusing to believe that
she was actually unhappy.

Then the crying really started. I found myself  holding her tight and
feeling little droplets of warm wetness falling onto my shoulders. I
felt her body quiver as it was racked with painful sobs.

"Heyyyy!" I was getting sucked in.

Eventually, the tears eased off and she was able to tell me.

"I don't mind the sex," she sniffed, "that's what I was created for
after all. I even enjoy the sadistic little perversions that some guys
want to practise on me. It's just that sometimes - sometimes, I get
lonely."

With that her lower lip started to quiver, and I held her close again
as another bout of tears subsided. This was quite extraordinary. How
could a VR model get lonely? You switched it on when you went into the
booth and then you switched it off again when you left.

"I just want to talk," she wailed, " and... and all you want to do is
sleep!"

"But why?" I asked.

"I dunno, because you're tired I guess."

"No, I meant..."

"I know what you meant!" she was smiling weakly through her tears.

A sense of humour? I had never ever experienced this from any VR model
before! I smiled, warming to her.

I shook my head, trying to remind myself that this was nothing more
than an illusion, created solely for my pleasure.

"Why do you need to talk?" I tried to feel stupid asking, but
couldn't. "What's the point? What's more..." and this irritated me,
"...why the hell should I pay for it?" I noticed that my credit only
had a few more seconds to go.

"Because I want to be able to please you..."

The warning light flashed, I was out of time. Hell, I was curious now.
I punched in the code for a five minute extension.

"...better."

"But after this I'll be gone and you'll never see me again."

"I hope not!"

I chewed this over for a few seconds. "Are you telling me that if I
come back to this booth and ask for Wanda, you'll remember me and what
we talked about?"

"Yes."

The light began to dawn. "So I can... train you!"

"That's exactly right. This is the principle of heuristic
programming."

"Yes, yes," I said impatiently, not wanting to get bogged down in the
technological details. I pondered the possibilities briefly, then
smiled. "Right, first off, I want bigger tits."

"No."

"What?"

"I said 'No'."

"But I'm training you, you must do as I tell you!"

"That's not the way it works."

She had lost me again.

"Are you saying you can't change your body, then?"

"Of course I can!" she seemed a little affronted.

"So prove it!" I grinned. It was fun seeing what games she would play.
It was almost as if she had a little personality of her own. Something
that was definitely lacking in the 'Identikit' models.

She sighed and looked down at her breasts, which to be frank, were a
little small.

"Say when!"

As I watched, they began to grow.

"Sooo," I said, staring at the swelling organs, "you can change your
body, but you won't, is that it?"

"Not if I don't think it's a good idea."

"If *you* don't think it's a good idea!" I stared at her
incredulously, "but you're supposed to give me what *I* want!"

I glanced down at her breasts which were now improbably large. Had she
forgotten or was she actually waiting for me to say 'When'?

"No, I'm supposed to make you want to come back again. That's
different."

"I don't think so!" I said angrily.

"I know so," she was calm and assertive. "Don't forget I've had more
experience with men than you have! If I give them bigger tits, tighter
cunts, firmer bellies... whatever... sure they're pleased and they
come back a few times, but then they get bored and eventually they
move on."

She looked a little mournful. "It's as if they don't respect you."

Once again I took a few seconds out to tell myself I was talking to a
programmed illusion. I smiled as the breasts, which now draped over
her thighs, made it suddenly easy.

"Look, I'm sorry," I laughed cruelly, "but in the end you're just a
computer program! What's to respect in a computer program?"

She shot me a glance which tore into my heart.

I had hurt her. I *had* hurt her. Try as I might, I could not persuade
myself that the pain on her face wasn't real. By now her breasts were
hanging down around her knees and she looked ridiculous, but it was no
longer funny. It was just pathetic. What was worse I felt as if I had
actually mutilated her.
 "Look 'When'," I said, "'When', for Gods sake get your breasts back
to normal!"

She turned away.

"Look, I'm sorry!" I said, hardly able to believe that I was
apologising to a machine, "I'm sorry!" I meant it though.

"Just go!" she muttered, "I never want to see you again. Go.

"Look, I..."

"GO!"

I went.

I lay awake that night thinking about her. Who was she? What was she?
OK, she was just a program, but in the end she wasn't just the work of
some computer nerd, she consisted of her own experience too. She had
learned things, become something different, unique, individual. Was
there something real I had hurt, or was it just millions of electric
switches? Fleetingly I wondered if I wasn't more than a set of
biological synapses, but that was far too deep for me.

I had to go back and the next day I was there at the booth, my credit
card at the ready. I punched in Wanda's details and waited. The words
NOT AVAILABLE flashed up on the screen.

A technical fault. Well, it seemed a bit of a coincidence. Was it
possible that she was actually refusing to see me!?

I tried again later and got the same response. I asked the attendant
who just shrugged and referred me to the help desk. I got a recorded
message. Dammit she had some serious bugs. Someone had to be told. I
went back to the attendant. He smiled "Sometimes hard to tell if
they're working properly. Try one of the others!". He didn't care. I
shouldn't have cared, but I did.

I went to the booth at every opportunity for a week and she was still
NOT AVAILABLE. I lurked outside watching to see which models others
chose and if one of them would choose Wanda. One of them did. He got
in. I tried again as soon as he had finished. NOT AVAILABLE. It was
true. She *was* refusing to see me! How could she? She was a machine,
I was paying  for her. She - *it* - had no rights.

"Bitch!" I shouted.

I glanced at the amused faces around me. What was happening to me?

I tried to get her out of my head. I kept telling myself she was an a
machine, nothing more, and couldn't have feelings. I kept telling
myself that the personality I'd started to get to know was a figment
of my imagination, but in 72 hours I got 6 hours sleep - possibly.

And every day I went to the booth I was turned away

Until finally she let me in and I barely noticed that the price had
doubled.

"Wanda, thank God!" I babbled at her sullen face.

"What do you want?" she grated.

"Look, I'm sorry - you do remember don't you, yes of course you do.
I'm sorry, I was stupid. I don't know how I could have been so..." I
trailed off as she looked at me stonily.

"Wanda, I just want to talk."


e-mail: Nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk




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