So, you came back for Round Two, I see," Jon Chamberlinne said, pushing his silver, wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Who will it be tonight, Mr, Cooper?"
Mike had thought about that last night, as he lay in bed, gently massaging his dick, remembering his virtual experience at the Cleavers'. He had at his disposal every fictional female of significance—movies, books, TV, you name it. He could try his hand at a super hero like The Invisible Woman, he could get a crack at a young, hot thing like Julie James in "I Know What You Did Last Summer" (he had a thing for Jennifer Love-Hewitt, and getting a crack at her character when she was still a teenager gave his dick a jolt), or he could try for a period-piece encounter, like Ma in "Little House on the Prairie." Ma as played by Karen Grassle he found to be a highly sexual woman. He knew that underneath all those layers of fabric and prairie dresses was a sexual dynamo, just waiting to explode.
But for now, he decided he'd stick with what he started the first time: June Cleaver. Their first tryst was memorable, but surely it would only get better the second time. June was now eager to see him, hoping for a return visit. Well, he wouldn't disappoint her.
"I'll be going back to Mayfield," Mike said. "June and I—we have some unfinished pleasure to attend to."
"Ahhh." Chamberlinne smiled, and, though he appeared to be only in his early twenties, Mike noticed his teeth were already yellowing. He supposed that was the price Chamberlinne played for spending all his hours on his creation, his virtual reality machine. There was no time left over for such unnecessary endeavors as showering, brushing teeth, or washing hair. The fact that Chamberlinne had no facial hair was likely due more to his inability to grow any than to a regular shaving schedule. "Well, I can't say as I blame you. Mrs. Cleaver is quite attractive."
Mike nodded, and held up a razor. "June and me, we have plans," he said. He visualized what it would be like to strip her down and shave her blonde bush. Almost instantly, the beginnings of a tent formed in his jeans. She would be nervous about it, but she would go through with it. June Cleaver, with a shaved mound. If Chamberlinne's virtual reality application did indeed make it to the market, the guy deserved some sort of prize. Maybe the Nobel Peace Prize. With the ability to live out fantasies so vividly, who would want to go to war anymore?
Chamblerlinne chuckled, but before he could speak, there was a yell from upstairs. The Hansons, no doubt—going at it again. "As you recall from last night . . ." Chamberlinne said, nodding at the ceiling. "As I mentioned, they do this every night. Mr. Hanson comes home from work, they have dinner, and then all Hades breaks loose. You can pretty well set your clock around it. In fact . . ." He glanced at his wristwatch, a silver affair with a digital clockface . . . "Yes. Seven twenty-two. Right on the button. Anyway . . . before I activate the device . . . let me remind you again of the implications of your trip to Mayfield. Remember last night, you returned from the session with Mrs. Cleaver's bra. Even I had no idea such a thing could happen. It's as if the virtual and the real intercoursed with each other in some way . . . in more ways than one, I might add. Until I understand how that happens, there is significant risk involved, as I told you yesterday. But you signed the waiver, so all is in readiness. Are you sure you want to proceed again, Mr. Cooper?"
From upstairs, Mrs. Hanson told her husband that he should go find whatever whore he was fucking behind her back, and spend the night with her. He countered with, "I damn well wish I had someone on the side! I oughtta find somebody! Somebody who at least can suck my dick, or wants to!" To which Mrs. Hanson replied, "Your dick is too tiny to suck!" And on and on they went. Mike had no idea how small Mr. Hanson's dick really was, but his ego swelled with man-pride anyway. People could say a lot of things about him. He was thirty-one, had a receding hairline he hated, his job paid him just $32,000 per year, he could be an asshole sometimes. But, damn it, he had a good dick! A solid eight inches, sometimes eight and a half when he was really jacked.
"Damn right I want to proceed," Mike said, again thinking of June's pussy. Mmmm. Besides, even if he had brought back her bra (and he already had it hanging from a nail in his bathroom), what could possibly happen to him in virtual land? Even if Ward did walk in on them . . . old Ward didn't carry a gun, did he? So what was there to worry about?
"And remember," Chamberlinne went on, as Mr. Hanson defended his manhood to his wife upstairs, "the effects of your first visit to Mayfield will be in effect, Mr. Cooper. Mrs. Cleaver will remember you. She will remember your encounter. Because it really happened in her world, you see. And any ramifications from her behavior will be in existence, too. If she acted strangely with Mr. Cleaver after you left, that will now be a reality in the world you're delving back into. Nothing happens in isolation, Mr. Cooper. Your actions yesterday will have a bearing on what happens henceforth."
What was it with this guy? Geez. Mike just wanted to virtually fuck June Cleaver again. He didn't need to hear a treatise on the interaction of virtual reality and real reality. Everything Chamberlinne said seemed like it was grist for a PhD dissertation mill. Just hook him up to the machine, let him play with June, and then go back home and jerk off, thinking of the fun he had. Was that so freaking complicated?
"Look," Mike said. "I signed the waiver yesterday. You already told me about the risks. I already saw what could happen, I mean with the bra and everything." That was pretty freaky, he had to admit. Still, having June Cleaver's bra as a memento—did it get any better than that? "So, with all due respect, can we just get on with it? I want to go back."
"I like your enthusiasm, Mr. Cooper," Chamberlinne droned on, his expression thoughtful, serious, like a professor talking theory with a student. The guy could take the fun out of an all-night orgy, for crying out loud. "I am just making sure you fully understand what you're getting yourself into. With luck, you'll have a blissful, carefree time. But just be aware, always. Anything you do in the virtual world you are about to enter has unbreakable consequences—for you, as well as for the people you interact with."
Mike honestly couldn't care less. He was sure nothing would happen to him. And as far as June Cleaver was concerned . . . who cared? She was a fictional character! That was the fun of it, the harmlessness of it. Chamberlinne had discussed that very thing last night.
"Indeed," Chamberlinne said, when Mike asked why he should be concerned about a person who didn't exist in reality. "But at the same time, June Cleaver exists in her mind, you see? Tell me, when you, um, pleasured her last night . . . while you were there, did it not seem real?"
Mike nodded. It definitely had felt real.
"And that is the point, Mr. Cooper. To June Cleaver, to everyone in her world, it is real. She may be a fictional character to you, or to me. But to her, she exists. So, all I ask is that you take that into consideration."
Mike nodded again. He thought he got it now. Chamberlinne had created June, he had created all of the characters he filled his application with. They were like his children, or, better yet, his mistresses. It was like an author, who creates characters in a story. If you live with the characters long enough, they become real to you. Chamberlinne's rhetoric was nothing more than artsy-fartsy attachment to his own invention. Well, okay. That was cool. Mike could understand that.
"Get out, out!" Mrs. Hanson screamed upstairs, and then a door slammed, and footsteps rushed down a stairwell beyond Chamberlinne's door.
"Sounds like Mr. Hanson should give your application a try, too," Mike said. "Maybe it could give him a little stress relief, and a whole lot of pleasure, for a change."
"That's a splendid idea," Chamberlinne said. "I'll approach him about it shortly."
Mike rolled his eyes. He'd had enough of this discussion. "Okay, I'm ready. Hook me up, man."
Chamberlinne laughed, displaying more prematurely discolored teeth. "Far be it from me to delay a man's pleasure," he said. "Just mind everything we've discussed, last night and tonight, while you're in Mayfield."
That made Mike wonder. The first time he used this application, he'd arrived in the afternoon, in the Cleavers' neighborhood. In that virtual world, how much time would have elapsed between his first visit and this one?
"A very good question, Mr. Cooper," the young inventor said, again adjusting his glasses. "And, at this time, with the application still in a state of testing, I cannot give you a definitive answer. Suffice it to say, this is why your usage of the application is so valuable to me. Only by having live subjects test it out, repeatedly, can I learn the answers to such queries."
Good grief. Wouldn't a simple "I don't know" have gotten the job done?
"But," Chamberlinne went on, "my educated guess is . . . the amount of time that passed will be the same there as here. About twenty-four hours."
That would suit Mike fine. "All right, Mr. Cooper. Let me just attach you to the PC."
Just like last night, Chamberlinne attached something to Mike's temples, then he clicked an icon on his desktop, typed in a few commands, and then, after a "have a pleasant time, Mr. Cooper, you will have three hours," Mike felt himself being pulled away. It was as if the molecules in his body were being ripped apart, then brought back together again. There was a moment of weightlessness, and he felt a surge of panic, but then he felt like himself again, and the world around him brightened. Sun, hot, midday sun, shone down on him. He was in a neighborhood, walking down a sidewalk. It was very familiar. The same as yesterday. Yes. He was back on the Cleavers' street! And there, just ahead, was the perfectly-kept-up house, its white picket fence an open invitation.
He approached the Cleavers' front door, and without hesitation, he knocked.
