Better Than Real – A Story About SL

Chapter 1. Better Than You Can Imagine

 The first time I ever met Ohna Exceedia was at the big launch party she held for the very first line of Better Than Real© avatar accessories. The party was held in Second Life, of course, the virtual birthplace of virtuality, at Frank’s Elite Jazz Club. When Ohna Exceedia did things, she did them right.

Hard to believe now that was the night that started it all, and gave birth to the Better Than Real© movement that people say both saved inter-human sex, and yet destroyed it too. Because what Ohna Exceedia and her crew debuted that night was a way of making virtual sex and sexiness not just better than real, but better than you could literally imagine. Your imagination was no longer the limit. It was only the starting point. Things would never be the same.

And I was there from the start. Present at the creation, as they say.

This was not long after the US emerged from the First War of Confusion with its economy in ruins and a deep depression on the land. We hadn’t lost any men, because it wasn’t that kind of war. Armies and navies still went tramping and sailing all over the world, but they were all just chasing down rumors and reports of invasions and revolutions and atrocities that were almost always just bullshit.

That’s because it was a cyber war, run by a few thousand jackers and some rogue nations who’d managed to get their hands on some of the early quantum computers: machines so powerful they could crack any security code and infiltrate any system simply because the spookies were just so damned fucking fast. Once inside a government or power station, they could shut a country down, wreck an economy, or even send armies on fools’ errands invading each other with fake orders and intelligence.

Markets collapsed, transportation got fucked, and the whole world was in pandemonium. No one knew what was true or not, or who was doing what, or what anything was worth. By the time the US just slammed the windows and isolated itself, everything was in chaos and we were living in a depression with 34% unemployment and a restless population.

Second Life itself had seen better days, and had lost a lot of SLitizens to newer sites with upgraded I/O systems and slicker GUI’s; flashier graphics, or gimmicks like crotch-cams and bizarre dildonics that could let you diddle your partner halfway round the world. But SL was still the birthplace of autonomous virtual reality, and the commercial center of the v-fashion industry, so choosing it as the venue for the big party was entirely appropriate.

Plus, Ohna had rented out Frank’s Jazz Club, the center of SL society pretty much since that society began, and refurbished the ballroom at Elite for the show, setting up lights and speakers, decorating it with flowers and plants and carpets so it lost that tiled-bathroom feel. She’s had a long runway built that ran far out over the crowd that would give everyone a good long look at her new line. They didn’t have quantum servers yet, but Linden was co-operating and running stacks of 512’s, so for once everyone was guaranteed a no-lag night at Frank’s, no matter how many people showed up.

The quants were coming. That was the one thing we all knew for certain. Quantum computers were going to change everything, and no one was quite sure how. The government had banned private ownership of them during the war once they realized how dangerous they were in the wrong hands, but that only fueled demand and created a raging black market where developers worked at furious speeds to find ways of exploiting the spookies’ new power and speed.

Quants brought a whole new world to cyber: new architecture, new languages, new hardware and software, and most important, insanely rich new potential markets. Everyone was fighting and pushing to get a seat at the table for the billions to be made once the government lifted the ban.

The unscrupulous few who already had a quant or two didn’t even wait for that.

Government control of quantum computers was lax at first because the quants had a problem: Input/Output. The spookies were so fast and put out such a deluge of data that they just overwhelmed anything you hooked up to one. The best solution to date were the ultra-fatty shaped-core stacked I/O handlers, but the fatties were too slow for the quants on input and lost way too much data on output. It was like trying to breathe through a straw. The gov had a lot more success keeping these secret till after the War, so before that, and they made it illegal to produce the liquid nitrogen you needed to cool these fatties. So back then, if you really wanted to experience quantum power and speed, you had to somehow build your own ultra-fatty plus cooling unit plus liquid nitrogen compressor.

Which is where I came in, because I was making a very nice living wiring up fatties to the black market quants that were humming along in secret, mostly in SL basements for those willing to pay. No regulations, no licenses or certification, no paper work, no questions asked, and of course, cash only. Just ask for “Mr. Black” and leave your number and I’ll get back to you.

So when news of the new electron-spin quantum-entanglement Input/Output gates started leaking out, I was one of the first to get my hands on one and reverse engineer it so I could build my own, and business really took off.

Chapter 2. A Glimpse of Heaven

At the time of our story here, on the night of Ohna’s show, the tanglers, as they called them, had just become legal, and I was one of the very few in SL who know how they worked. People were just throwing cash at me, and I’d never had it so good. So when my bud and fellow hardware geek Lord Iridium from Second Life asked me if I’d wire up the I/O for Ohna’s big debut party, I really wasn’t very interested. My main residence was in SL where I lived with GF Suzanne, and I did almost all of my business in SL, but I was a hardware guy and didn’t pay much attention to what the developers were up to. I’d never heard of Ohna Exceedia or her company and didn’t know a thing about the SL fashion industry. Making and wiring up e-spin entanglement gates for data control was hard work, and Lord Iridium wasn’t offering much money.

“But we need you, bro,” he pleaded on the phone. “No one else can rig those tanglers and Ohna wants tanglers! You’re my man Archie, and I already told Ohna you’d do it.”

“Well that was your mistake, Lordo. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Better than seeing the Hot Botties up close and personal? The Better Than Real© girls are going to be there.”

“The Better Than what who’s?”

“The models for the Better Than Real© line. They’re called the Hot Botties.”

“Hot Botties? Cute. Real cute. Now why don‘t you tell me what you’re talking about?”

“Bro, you’re in SL like all the time. And you haven’t heard about this?”

“Well, when I‘m out I’m working. Not dicking off and wasting time chasing the pink biggs.”

Suzanne called from the kitchen. “Who are you talking to?”

“It’s Lord Iddy.”

“Say hi.”

“Suzanne says Hi,” I said

He shouted into the phone, “Hi Suzanne!“ then lowered his voice: “Right, right. Okay. Listen, Arch. Fire up a UHD screen. You’re gonna want to see this shit I’m sending over now, trust me. And you’re going to want to see it in ultra high-def. I can’t believe you haven’t heard about this! You don’t even know what’s been going on over in SL, do you?”

“No. I  quit paying attention when the smart-mesh thing started. I never even heard of Better Than Real.”

“Forget that. This is bigger than mesh. Just play the vid, bro, and hold on to your dick.” He raised his voice and shouted, “Sorry, Suzanne.”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” she called back. “Is this about that Better Than Real stuff?”

“Yeah. Iddy’s sending over a video.”

It was one of those rare days when I’d stopped home at midday to pick up some tools, and Suzanne was in the kitchen making us some quick sandwiches. As I turned on the UHD she came hustling in with the falafels. “Hold on! I want to see this! Archie, I can’t believe you haven’t heard.”

I looked at her with some surprise. Normally, Suzanne had no interest in Second Life, other than shopping there.

She sat down. “This stuff is mainstream news. It’s on TV and in all the lifestyle blogs. “The next big step in virtual reality“, “Quants go public”, “Welcome to Tomorrow”, that kind of thing. You really need to get out more, baby.”

I felt blank. Suzanne doesn’t impress easily, and is kind of a snob when it comes to tech in general. If she was excited about this, it must mean something.

Most of my work was with those SL users who were just obsessed and crazy enough to spend big money cranking up their band width just to squeeze a little more detail from their daily fap sessions. At least, that’s what I assumed they were doing. It never occurred to me that developers were still working in Second Life, let alone working on the cutting edge with quantum computing applications. It occurred to me that I really had no idea what my customers were using all that power for.

While I pondered my own ignorance, Suzanne impatiently downloaded Iddy’s clip and sent it over to the  UHD, turned on the player and leaned forward expectantly.

There was a big CGI gonzo fanfare. Big announcement splash, flashy graphics: New Worlds of Virtuality! A Revolution in Cyberdynamics; Unimagined Detail! Automatic Interactivity! Virtuality That Goes Beyond The Real To—Better Than Real©! This and that! This and that!

Finally, things calmed down and here’s a shoot of dramatically dark alley dotted with three overhead streetlights. Here comes a girl, walking out of the dark wearing a clingy evening gown, passing beneath the streetlights so you could hardly see her, just enough to see that she was way overbuilt the way SL men like their SL women to be and had killer physics, but there the similarity stopped.

To say that her walk was sinuous or sexy would be an insult. It was beautiful in the way that true art is beautiful, showing the truth behind the appearance by lying to us. Watching her walk made you realize you’d never really seen a woman walk before. It wasn’t that she was overly suggestive or slinky, though she certainly was both, but with an effortless elegance that showed you just how every part was connected to the next, and how the whole together made up this biological miracle that was woman.

The biological aspect hit me especially hard  as I’d never though in those terms before: her ripeness and almost visible fertility.. She slinked, (or slunk, or slank or whatever the word is), walked, swayed, paraded and sashayed, all at the same time, all completely natural and absent any self-consciousness. And as she got closer, you could see the jiggle, the ripple and bounce and wiggle that was just too perfect to be real.

And of course, it wasn’t. It was Better Than Real©.

For the first time I could ever remember, the product lived up to the hype. This was paralyzing beauty. This was a goddess: the idealized vision of femininity, whore, virgin, and mother, all rolled into one incredible work of art, and all in ultra-real 3D Hi-Def.

It was CGI I told myself. It had to be. But there was nothing CGI about her. Nothing awkward or stilted, nothing that looked cartoony or overdone. The optics were brilliant, the textures had depth and sensuality. The gown was black velvet, there was no doubt about what that fabric was. I could feel it between my fingers. It draped exactly the way fabric is supposed to drape on a woman. The hair-swing and bounce, the detail and specularity, were amazing, and her jiggle and sway were so spot on that you could tell immediately what her breasts felt like, their mass and resilience, and her shoulders, and her lips.

It was not just well-done. It was aggressively well done; a deliberate punch in the chest. A tour de force. I almost felt assaulted by her beauty.

“Wow,” I allowed myself to say. “That’s pretty amazing. Okay, Iddy, I’m impressed. Hentai?”

“Unh-uh. Hentai are images, cartoons. That’s a real avatar, wearing BTR. She’s live in front of a camera. She’s real.”


“Iddy, you’re telling me she’s real? In Second Life?”

“Come on, brah, now what the fuck does that mean? You can see her, you can talk with her, you can fuck her. Try that with a hentai. Is that real enough for you?” He added, “Uh, sorry Suzanne.”

She didn’t notice. She and I—by which I mean our avatars–were sitting in our SL jungle treehouse-mansion watching this on SL TV, while Lord Iridium was probably home at Castle Iridium, his home in Second Life, kicking around in one of laboratory-dungeons. Everything around us, ourselves included, had no real physical existence. We existed as Zero’s and Ones in computer memories. So to speak of Beta as being “real” was just silly.

But to an SL citizen, avatars were “real” in the context of SL. You could talk to them, fall in love with them, and yes, fuck them. An image of an avatar, on the other hand, wasn’t “real” in SL terms. You couldn’t fuck it, not really. Well, you could probably transfer the image to an avatar body and make the image into an avatar but—

Ah fuck it. I decided this was not the time to get into a discussion of Second Life ontology and whether avatars were “real”. I knew what he meant.

Meanwhile, the girl stopped by a table while the camera 360’d  around her so we could see her from every angle, then lifted her rump onto the edge of a table and leaned back on her hands, and gave the camera a look that just sizzled, a look I felt was directed just at me. Her hair was basic brown and worn simply at neck length, but that plainness only set off the beauty of her face: the face of a pouting angel with that look of innocent sexual need that always just devastates me: a look that says that she’s trapped in this that fantastic body but doesn’t know how to use it herself, and so desperately needs me to take her and lead her to a place where I’ll do unspeakably dirty and delicious things to her.

It’s that look of the most quintessential form of female sexual power, one that appears to be passive but is actually anything but. It’s a kind of aggressive passivity, a drawing in, and it’s terribly exciting to men, and maybe even to other women, I don’t know. I do know that Suzanne was sitting there frozen in awe, tzatziki sauce dripping from her fingers. I’d never seen her look at anyone like that.

The girl smiled.  “Hi,” she said. Her voice was strawberries, cream, and smoke. “I’m Bethany, one of the Hot Botties, but you can just call me Beta. I’m a plain old avatar in Second Life, but I’m wearing just a few of the items from Exceedia Designs’ revolutionary new line of avatar enhancements we call Better Than Real. Can you figure out why…?” Coy smile, followed by a modest eye-drop. “It’s my pleasure to invite you to our debut showing of the Better Than Real line to be held at…”

I tuned out.

I was being blatantly manipulated and I knew I was being blatantly manipulated but I didn’t care. You’re manipulated when you go  on a roller coaster too, but no one on a roller coaster ever complains about it. They enjoy the ride. And I was too amazed at the work that had gone into Beta. She was perfect. Not a bimbo, not a slut. She was obviously a sensitive and intelligent woman who just happened to be blessed with the most incredibly sexy body ever to grace the surface of the earth, and I could just tell from her eyes and her attitude that she needed desperately to give that body to me and me alone.

And I knew that every other man who ever saw this clip felt exactly the same way.

I glanced over at Suze, who has some pretty strong opinions on the way women are portrayed in Second Life (to say nothing of first life), but she was transfixed, falafel sandwich raised halfway to her mouth, eyes rapt.

I pulled my eyes from the screen. Beta was going on with her spiel, but I pulled myself away from her voice like Ulysses pulling himself away from the Sirens’ call, and with the same almost panicked need to save myself.

Beta had my number. Somehow, Beta knew all the right buttons to push to make me fall in love with her right on the spot. Love? Of course it wasn’t love. But it was desire so strong that it might as well have been love. An instant obsession.

I heard her inviting everyone to sign up to Exceedia’s group, and giving us the details of the Party, where she and her nine sisters would be putting on a fashion show, but I was tuning out, trying to clear my head.

The video ended and I turned it off. Suzanne sat there looking as if she’d just witnessed the second coming. I’d never seen her look like that. Her sandwich was still in her hand.

Lord Iridium was still chuckling in his end of the phone. “Okay, listen Lordo,” I said. “I’ll think about it and let you know, ‘kay?” and I rang off. I didn’t mean to be rude but I was honestly a little concerned about Suzanne, who seemed to be almost hypnotized.

“I want that, Archie. I want to look like that.”


She surprised me. Suzanne was a great girl, smart and funny and supportive, but never very sexual in the way I’d always hoped for. She was very pretty, clack hair and blue eyes, but no one’s idea of a fashion plate, dressingin clothes that—let’s face it— a girl scout would have no second thoughts about, just to discourage the heybabywannafuck crowd.

But now she put down her sandwich and stood up, and went into Appearance mode, turning her back to me. I’d never known her to so much as tweak her appearance, even to get into the old mesh. When she finally turned back she had a chest, some hips, longer legs and she’d done something to her mouth. Lipstick!

“Suzy, what are you doing?”

“Didn’t you like her, Archie? Didn’t she turn you on?”

“Wouldn’t you like me to look like that?”

I thought she must be kidding, mocking the whole BTR thing. But she wasn’t. Suddenly she had eyelashes. Her jeans and t-shirtwere replaced by lingerie. She had cleavage.

“What would you do to me if I looked like that?” she asked. “What would you make me do?”

“Suzanne! What’s going on?”

“Would you do those things you told me about I said I wouldn’t do? Would you make me do them?”

For a moment she seemed to snap out of it and looked down at herself with some disbelief. But no, it didn’t last. Her body appeared as a surprise to her, but it was a surprise she approved of.

“That slut set me on fire Archie! I want what she gets. I… She opened something in me, Archie. She flipped some kind of switch or something! I want that!! I want what she has!”

I knew enough not to look this gift horse in the mouth, and I took Suzanne’s writs and pulled her against me, big new tits and all. As I said, she’d never quite been what I’d hoped for sexually, and part of that was her dispassionate, businesslike way of making love. She did it, but she never seemed to feel it, or never let it touch her. Get on, get in, get off, get out, that was her way of doing it.

But now her body molded itself to mine. Her leg wrapped around mine. My kiss was met by her fiery acceptance. She grabbed my ass and pulled me against her.

You know how it is with Second Life sex. Animations can only go so far. If you don’t emotionally connect with your partner, SLex is nothing but beating off to bad porn. But now Suzanne and I connected like fire and gasoline, and with that explosion I hit that magical place of heightened empathy where I could imagine exactly what she felt like and imagine exactly what she was doing. I pushed her back onto the sofa and by the time she fell her panties and bra were gone and she met me with legs apart and open.

“Jesus, Suzy! What’s gotten into you?”

My hips jerk up to find you, totally out of my control, she wrote back. Everything feels out of control! I’m melting, dissolving, and I need your big hard dick to make me solid again! Unnnh!!

She grunted as I slid home in her socket, and then she started pumping.

Can’t stop fucking you, she texted. Wrap my ankles round your legs for leverage and swing my hips at you! Archie Archie you feel so  fucking good!! Hold me! Squeeze me! Fuck me baby I’m gonna cum!

She must have smashed her fist down on the keyboard at that point because all she texted was: ijijjpjooijojiopipojpppjpopooo, which I assume is not the communication of a rational person.

More! She texted. More PLEASE!!

And suddenly “Menu not available because it’s being used By Suzanne Twotrees. Would you like to continue?” came up and I realized Suzanne had taen the menu. She flipped us over into a woman-on-top position and flicked through the positions till she found the most extreme lady-fucking one, where her hips slid back and forth like a porch glider. She pulled her dark hair back from her face and looked down at me with a mixture of lust and triumph.

As she fucked me she said, “All my life, I swear, men have always had all the power and all the control! I looked at that bitch today and you know what I saw? female power and female control. And that’s what I want Archie. I want that! You’re going to take that job with Iddy and I’m coming with. I want to feel like the way she looks!”

tit cum

Chapter 3. Going Technical 

Let me get technical here and tell you what was going on:

Second Life’s graphics and interactivity had continued to increase with each new generation of processor, going from the 64-bit machines to the 128’s, the 250’s, the 512’s. Each could handle more than twice the data of the previous generation, meaning the graphics and user experience got better and better but eventually hit a bottleneck. The bottleneck had been, again, Input/Output but not because of hardware limitations. It was rather the inability of the user to input so much data.

Control of gross body movements like arms and legs were doable using MoCap harnesses, but once you reach a level of detail where you’ve got 64 different hand positions and 128 different facial expressions, there’s no way a user can input all that data in real time. HUDS certainly won’t work, and even typing is too slow and takes too much time to learn. For a while piano-type keyboards were popular, and that’s what I still used, because I’d had four years of piano as a kid. Instead of clicking HUD buttons, you hit keys or simple chords. They were a lot faster, but learning to key in all those different facial expressions and gestures wasn’t easy. I suppose they were good for people who could play the piano, but not much help to anyone else. After that came cybergloves that users wore on the hands. They communicated expressions and gestures by finger and hand positions, and they worked okay technically, but using them made you look absolutely demented, fingers wiggling and hands waving. You looked like yu had the DT’s.

Finally Stellar came out with auto-sensing face-helmets. These fit over your head and extended down on either side of your face and contained an array of 128 tiny lidar and transponders that could read the users’ facial expressions, even down to muscle tension and blood flow, and convert all that information into code. Now you didn’t have to input anything. The face helmet did it for you, and at last avi’s achieved facial verisimilitude: your avatar on the screen mimicked almost exactly the expression on your own RL face.

Now you had to wire up for serious Virtuality: VR face-helmets with 3D UHD VR screens, skeleton-packs that attached to your body to read the gross movements, simplified cybergloves for hand and finger movements. No more HUDS, no more typing. Real-time action as it happened, all biomimetic.

And of course almost at once developers started coming up with movement enhancers, after-market add-ons that would make you more graceful or quick or sexy, able to dance like Bio Sektor, or at least make sure your avatar didn’t have the same stupid face when he laughed in SL as you did in RL. Now all these I/O devices and data massagers were putting out more data than even the 512’s could process.

And now came the quants, and no one could say what the limits were anymore. The spookies put out more data than the processors for the I/O’s could handle. Even with the e-spin entanglement gates, about 38% of the spookie data was just lost, “truncated” as they said. What came through was still a flood, a megatorrent. But all that data was more than anyone but a true cybergeek needed or could reasonably use. There was talk about just what you could do if you could access that missing 62%, and it was kind of spooky, but as far as anyone knew, it was just talk.

Ohna Exceedia wasn’t the first to develop a reliable quant-tangler system. But she was the first to apply it to Virtuality. And her application wasn’t an attempt to make things seem more real. It was an attempt to make things seem—say it with me—Better Than Real©.  And she did it in a market where everyone’s a consumer and an addicted one at that: people looking for love, sex, and the power to have both.

The one thing missing from virtuality now was the neural link, the Holy Grail and Ark of the Covenant of virtual reality: the mythical piece of wetware that would connect the user’s nervous system to their computer, so that he or she sitting at home could feel what their avatar was feelings and sense what their avatar was sensing.

Once a safe and workable neural link was developed, there’d be no operational difference between reality and virtuality. You could fly, teleport, change your appearance, enhance your senses do all you could do in Second Life, and do it from your own home. The greatest tyranny in the history of the world—the tyranny of reality over desire—would be overthrown, and we would live as gods.

At present there were some primitive neural links available, but nothing that approached anything real sensations.

At least, not that I knew of.


Chapter 4: Under the Bridge at Elite

Like I said, the launch party was held at Frank’s Elite, which had been set up as for a fashion show with a long elevated runway and lots of folding chairs. Iddy and I got there early, and I got the tanglers wired up and running, three out of four of them anyhow. The fourth wouldn’t work, and I didn’t know whether the problem was in the tangler or the spookie. But that was academic. The three tanglers fed three quants that in turn powered three giant 3D UHD screens that hung over the runway to give the folks back in the cheap seats a look at what was happening up front, and three was enough.

Ohna’s whole Better Than Real© line consisted of the elaborate code that resided in the quants and would take the raw camera feed of the girls and massage that data in ways that enhanced their looks, movements, voices—all their output really—before it was sent back out to the audience. That an a few pieces of actual clothing.

By the time I got all set up and grabbed some RL food, avatars were started to arrive for the show. I’d never seen a Second Life fashion show before, and I really didn’t know much about the virtual fashion industry, except that it was big and rich, so I was curious. The evening would be an education.

The crowd, the women at least, were mostly dressed to kill, showing off their sense of style and vision in their clothes, hair, body art, shoes (!); all cutting edge, all top-of-the-line stuff. This was the time to see and be seen and they were making the best of it. On the other hand, there was a sizeable contingent of less flamboyant women who, sensing that whatever they wore might be out of style as soon as the show started, opted for more basic and simple outfits, as did Suzanne.

The men? They tried, some of them anyhow, but they couldn’t compare to the women. The SL fashion press was there: bloggers, designers, manufacturers, store owners, models and photographers, anyone associated with virtual fashion. A bunch of suits from Linden Labs was there too to lend some establishment cred to the proceedings, with avatars that looked like they hadn’t been upgraded since the Torley Linden days. But they seemed affable enough.

What surprised me most was the intense, cut-throat atmosphere as the room filled up. I’d always assumed fashion shows were gentile, tea party-like affairs, with white gloves and big hats, but that’s how much I knew. This felt more like a boxing match or maybe a beheading. There was a tense, brittle feeling of repressed violence in the air, and it was coming from the women. Someone was going to live tonight, and someone was going to figuratively die.


I’ve been writing this without bothering to explain much about Second Life or Virtuality because I assume everyone already knows about those. But the same’s not true about the SL Fashion industry, as I quickly learned that day. Fashion is the biggest revenue generator in Second Life, and the business has created millionaires—real US dollar millionaires, and lots of them—and intense competition.

There’s a fashionista underground in Second Life. Well, not even an underground. It’s quite above-ground and visible if you know where to look, and it’s composed of people who use SL only for fashion and design. They dress up their avatars like kids of another era used to dress up paper dolls, creating looks and modes of expression that occupied the hazy ground between fashion and fine art. It seems that Second Life is ideally suited to this kind of thing: no sewing, no measuring, and plenty of very creative people.

The fashionistas and fashionista-ultras dress up and adorn themselves, take pictures, and blog about their outfits, and in a few days, rip it all up and start all over again. Their world can be intensely competitive and ego-driven, especially at the top, where status and prestige demand early access to the latest and best of SL as much as they do talent.

The fashion business wasn’t just about clothes and hair and make-up either. Avatar enhancements were a big segment of the market now, plug-in software that would improve your avatar’s looks and grace by grafting on new software that would supply them with enhanced boobs, butts, hands, feet, animation over-riders, body physics. This what Ohna was selling. This is what BTR really was: a bunch of frightfully expensive avatar-enhancement plug-ins with some clothes thrown in. This was the market that Ohna was trying to crack.

So all the fashionistas and ultras at the party were fully expecting to see something that could in one strike render their looks and status obsolete, out of fashion, behind the times. They’d invested small fortunes and God-knows-how-much time in making their avatars cutting edge, and now there was a chance that it would be back to square one for the very best of them, and they weren’t very happy about that. They weren’t a cheerful group. More like a bag full of angry cats.


I was up in the balcony looking down at the crowd when Suzanne came up next to me.

“God, I feel like such a frump!” she said. “Look at these women! I feel so out of place here!”

“You look fine,” I said. “You’re just here to watch anyhow.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t understand it. Listen, how much time do we have?”

I shrugged. “Half an hour maybe. Maybe an hour. Depends on how fashionably late Ohna wants the show to start. Don’t understand what?”

She moved close to me, very close, so that her boobs were pressing against my arm.

“I need you,” she said. “I need you in my mouth.”

Well that was a surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“God! I don’t know.” She pressed herself closer against me. “I just need to do you, baby.”

“What? Here?

Her hand slid down to my cock. We were surrounded by men in tuxedos and an edgy group of women dressed in Industrial-Goth with white or green dayglo faces. Warm up music was playing through the speakers, the bass drum already punching me in the chest.

I’m not much of a gash-hound, but Suzanne’s words, her attitude, just hit me deep. Or maybe I was reacting to the tension too, the coiled up impatience, the anger and resentment vibes already being given off by some on the crowd.

“Okay.” I took her hand. “Come with me.”

Out on the long avenue that leads to Elite there’s a little alcove that takes you down a bunch of stairs to a lagoon. They used to give boat rides there years ago, but I don’t think it’s working anymore. I dragged Suzanne down the steps, turned left at the bottom and led her to the shadows under a low Venetian-style bridge. It was isolated here and well-hidden from view, and it was good to get away from the loud buzz of the party. T was quiet here, with the sound of water quietly lapping. Ripples in the water cast shifting strands of light on the underside of the bridge.

“Here.” I started opening my pants.

Suzanne stepped up, her face a mix of desire and confusion, as if she couldn’t believe what she was doing, but the fire in her eyes left no doubt as to what she wanted. I went to embrace her but she stopped me with a hand on my chest.

“No,” she said. “Let me.”

There were no sex animations under that bridge of course, and all of Frank’s was strictly G rated, but the days of pose balls and external animations was long gone. Suzanne and I had everything we needed right in our inventories in the form of macro-gestures and facial animations, and there nothing hard about jamming Frank’s security system. Suzanne opened my pants and took out my cock.

They’d come up with mesh clothes you could remove with RLV like the old system clothes, but they were still complicated and had to be programmed. I don’t like smart-mesh myself. It looks great and moves like the old flexies, but it’s complicated and demanding too, and more trouble than it’s worth to me.And I hate disappearing when I undress, or replacing myself with a naked-outfit avatar who’ll probably be wearing the wrong hair. So I was wearing a system tux and didn’t have to worry about removing an alpha layer and standing there gone from the socks up. It’s worth it to me

But It looked like I wasn’t going to get blown, because she made no move to get to her knees. Instead she pushed me back till I stopped against the low wall at the bridge footing and she leaned against me, letting me feel the luxury of her tits (she might not approve of the objectification of SL women, but Suzanne rocked a nice set of hooters I knew she was proud of) and splitting her legs around my thigh, riding her pussy up against my . She held my cock with her thumb towards my body in an overhand grip and she began to pull me off, circling her other arm around my neck and pulling me down to her kiss.

Oh, I knew this move. I knew her so well, like she knew me, and I knew what this hand job thing meant. I had moaned into her kiss and my belly trembled from the lewd and delicious sensations of being beaten off in such a crude and graceless manner. She held my cock like it was a hammer, a dumb, mute tool, and she beat me off like I was some ass-o-holic junior high kid who kept pestering her for sex till she gave him the crudest, most disrespectful sex, so cheap and easy. I was always the top with Suzanne, and I found this switch in roles hot as hell.

She kidded me hard, all her heat and emotion in her kiss while her hand pumped me like I was a human cum-dispenser, like those soap dispensers in public bathrooms, licking my mouth, biting my lip.

I knew she was afraid. She was afraid of what was going to happen at the show inside. She’d already seen the clip of Beta and knew how irresistibly sexy the Hot-Botties were going to be, and now every woman would be buying BTR stuff and making themselves just as irresistible and I figured she was afraid she was going to lose me.

She knows me. She knows how to play me like an organ, her little finger rubbing the head of my cock as she gripped hard and slid the loose outer skin up and back and the pre cum dripped from my dick. She knew the rules of the game we played too when I was domming, that she wasn’t allowed to touch me without my permission. But here she was playing domme and I wasn’t allowed to touch her, wasn’t allowed to do anything until she told me. I knew she could feel the trembling in my legs and belly, the impatient twitching of my dick in her hand. This was turning my on so much I was already approaching climax.

”Close?” she whispered harshly. “Are you close? You tell me when, Archie. And don’t you dare do it without my permission! I want it on my pussy, baby. Are you close?”

“Oh God Suze, yeah, I’m there. I’m almost there. Oh damn! Oh fuck! I’m there! Fuck!”

Suzanne yanked up her skirt and pulled down her panties and spread her legs and aimed my cock right at her pussy, bending her body into an S so she could look down and see me cum on her. I strangled back a howl of release and my dick started spurting, right on her mound, right on her pussy, right on the hood of her clit. She made a funny whining sound as these long ropes of cum splattered against her flesh and she yanked my cock mercilessly, with a woman’s instinctive lust for seed, only stopped when she was sure I was done. Then collapsed against me and shuddered violently.

I held her as our breathing slowed. I said, “You’re really worried about this show, huh?”

“Yes, I guess I am. That’s so strange isn’t it?”

“Well don’t worry too much, Suze. None of those bitches has anything on you.”

She leaned back in my arms and looked at me levelly.

“I don’t know, Arch. Once I get my stuff, I’m not sure I’m not sure if we can still stay together. Don’t take it personally, but I just don’t know if you’ll be enough for me. But still friends though, right? Always friends?”

She pulled up her panties and smoothed down her dress, then gave me a little kiss and pat on the cheek and a tight smile.

She walked back to the show, a load of my semen dripping between her legs.

End of Part I. Coming Soon: Part II: The Unveiling


About Aiden Swain

Editor/Publisher, Humm Magazine: Journal of Cybersexuality

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