Virtual Reality Pokemon D P Ch 1

Disclaimer: this story is a work of fiction based on the characters in the video game: Pokemon: Diamond/Pearl. I make no claims of ownership towards these characters, only the twisted things they do in this story belong to me. If you find this story on any site except Literotica, it has been stolen from me, I would appreciate you letting me know! Enjoy the story, and remember: Feedback is crack for writers!

"Excuse me, aren't you a little old to be starting out?" I jumped as the voice jarred into my consciousness. I spun around, only to find no one behind me. Then I looked down and saw a boy. He couldn't be any more than ten, maybe twelve, years old. Unfortunately, I've never been very good at judging ages. It's a useful flaw when dealing with grown women, I always guess about a half dozen years too low, much to their enjoyment. Unfortunately, it left me complete unable to process the roughly three and a half foot tall boy's comment.

When faced with a conundrum, I tend to revert to certain patterns, regardless of the age of the person in question. First, try to make comfortable eye contact. Well, that required I get off my bike and step to the side of the path. Then I crouched so I was as close to the boy's eye level as possible. Second, smile. Not a problem. Habit from years of customer service brought a swollen cheeked smile to my face. Third, remain polite and talk normally. Well, the second part is specific to kids. Don't treat them like a moron! They'll appreciate it and tell you if they don't understand. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I said... aren't... you... a... little... old... to...be... starting... out?" Lucky me, the kid didn't know my rules. Apparently he'd decided I was the moron. Either that or I spoke a foreign language.

What I needed was nothing more than a healthy dose of patience. Here I was, riding my bike through the park when something darted in front of me. I ended up in the bushes. No harm, no foul. The bike was fine, and the only thing I'd bruised was my ego. And it just took another hit when the ten year old thought I had the intelligence of an brain-damaged ant.

Time to try another track. "Ok, I understand the question, I just don't understand what it refers to." Before he could repeat the question again, one of my own annoying foibles according to my wife, I hurried on. "What am I to old to be starting out?" See? Empathic listening, just like the counselor says. Demonstrate you understand by rephrasing.

"D'uh!" The kid doesn't know empathic listening. He simply nodded his head vaguely to my left.

"The bike? I've been riding since I was five or something. Sure, I hit the bushes back there, but that was only because something darted across the path. I can take a slight tumble through the bushes much better than any little fuzzy could take a hit from a two hundred pound bike racing along." Ok, so I lied. I'm close to two fifty, but I'm betting that doesn't matter to the kid.

"Not the bike, that!" This time his arm shot out, with his finger pointed. Bemused, I followed his finger to the front wheel of my bike. Or rather, I followed his attention to what futilely tried to hide behind the wire spokes that comprised the wheel. My jaw dropped open.

How on Earth did a penguin manage to find its way into the middle of New Hampshire? There were absolutely no zoos it could have escaped from, the nearest being Boston at about an hour and a half

drive

away. Besides, I'd have heard about it on the morning news. But that wasn't the only odd thing. I'd never seen a penguin that was bright blue before. Maybe it was because this one was a chick. Many species drastically changed color as they matured. Why not some random species of penguin. Of course, that still didn't explain

how on Earth did a penguin manage to find its way into the middle of New Hampshire?

And of course the equally important question, how could it deal with the ninety degree heat? I'm human and I was sweating like a pig.

The kid seemed to understand I hadn't the slightest idea what was going on. "He's not yours, is he." Although phrased as a question it clearly wasn't. I wasn't taking any more chances with this kids, however, so I shook my head. "Cool! Then I can catch him! Not exactly my usual style, but I can always trade him for something more powerful."

As I looked back at the kid, he pulled something from his belt. All the sudden, the marble defied the laws of physics that I'd so carefully learned in college and grew to about ten times its previous mass. He wound back and tossed the softball sized anomaly in the general direction of my bike's front tire. It was at this point I realized I had hit my head quite a bit harder than I thought. There must have been a rock, or something, I'd bumped my head on. Despite the best protection a helmet can provide, I was hallucinating.

The pokeball, for that was undoubtedly what the anomalous device was, managed to miraculously hit. The little white button on the front reached through the spokes, exactly, and barely touched the penguin. Well, at least that part was merely improbable instead of impossible.

Despite the impossible, correction, improbable hit, the ball didn't split open. No red energy poured from the device to engulf the aforementioned bird. The ball did, however, bounce backwards and fly straight into the kid's hand. It's a good thing I already doubted my sanity. The level of improbability was growing towards something out of

Hitchhiker's Guide

. I certainly didn't need my outer garments jumping exactly two feet to my left without me.

"Shoot! I knew it was too good to be true." He turned back to look at me. "You sure he's not yours? The pokeball only returns to your hand if someone already owns it." At this point, I wasn't sure of anything. This was my delusion, so it was entirely possible he was my pokemon. Meanwhile, the penguin was doing a great Attica impression, it's flippers curled around the spokes of my bike. I wasn't going anywhere yet.

I turned back to the kid. "Look, if he was mine, I should have a pokegear and a pokeball to go with him. You see either?" I held open my trench-coat to show him my belt. Yeah, ninety degrees, I wear all black and a trench-coat. No one ever accused me of bouts of wisdom; smart, yes, wise, no. The cell-phone and multi-tool were where they belonged, with no additions. The kid stood, solemn faced, and pointed again, this time over my right shoulder. I turned. There, attached to my bike by the same improbable mechanics that kept them on a trainer's belt, come what may, was a pokegear and a single, small, pokeball. I shrugged and plucked the ball from its perch.

In order to use a pokeball, you must first get it to expand. I was new here, I hadn't the slightest idea how to do that. I rolled the marble-sized object around my fingers for a moment and oriented the little white stub so that it faced away from my hand. Let the thing slide into your palm and it suddenly grows. It's possible I did something more than that, but if so I have no friggin clue what I did. One moment I have a marble rolling across my palm and the next my hand was full.

In the show, as well as the game, trainers always call back their pokemon by name. If that was a requirement, some sort of voice command, I was screwed. I can get pretty obscure in naming my pokemon ~I once named a Fighting type Hitmonlee 'Bruce,' after the noted martial artist. I had to hope it wasn't necessary, or that any name I used would work. I certainly wasn't about to trust the mounting improbabilities that I would stumble on the correct reference to this particular pokemon. Fortunately, some combination of 'grip the pokeball' and 'point the pokeball at its resident' seemed to work as the red energy poured from the ball and sucked up the cute little penguin.

"I

knew

it was yours!" I turned a cold stare at the kid. Hey, I was still being polite, I hadn't throttled him yet. "So, you want to battle?"

Somehow, I knew that question would come up. Here I was with no idea where I was, New Hampshire not being well known for a population of real live pokemon or any of the relevant gear, and no idea what level my pokemon was at. The one thing I

did

know was that if you lose a pokemon battle against another trainer you end up losing half of the money you have on hand. With roughly five dollars and sixty eight cents to my name I really didn't want to risk it. Especially when I had no idea of the status of the penguin, or even what it was. However I had a very eloquent, well thought out, response prepared for just such a contingency. "No!"

The kid seemed to shrink in on himself at the force of the single word. While part of me felt truly sorry that I'd shouted, another part wished it was that easy to avoid the multitude of opposing trainers in the games. But I didn't feel truly miserable until the first tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes. Within moments the kid was a fountain and running away. Ok, so maybe it wouldn't be any easier if you could get rid of them if they did that every time. I'm a softy at heart.

Now I felt like crap, but at least I was alone. Now I could figure out a little something about my little, blue, bird friend. Pokeball still in hand, I pointed it a little ways from my bike and willed the little guy out, unsuccessfully. Unlike returning, it seemed you did need a verbal component to call a pokemon forth. I feared I'd now condemned the poor little squirt to an eternity in a pokeball. Or at least until I would find a Pokemon Center. They had to have tools for this kind of thing, didn't they?

I shrugged and ran through my twisted logic. He was a penguin, so my first thought was that I'd have named him Chill. Stick with me here. There's a cartoon penguin named Chilly Willy. I certainly wouldn't have used the later portion for all of its biological connotations, so I would have gone with the former. Chilly, however, sounds a little cheesy to me, so I'd have dropped the 'y'. Hence 'Chill'. "Come on out Chill!" I continued to point the unmarred pokeball at nothing.

I sighed. I knew I didn't have to throw it. Ash usually did, with the resulting improbable return to his hand, but many trainers in the show just held onto it and pointed. I'm not a spazz, so I figure I'll hang onto my balls, thank you very much.

I looked at the treacherous pokeball and shook my head. "Come on out, Chide?" Don't ask! Somehow my mind makes connections between words that make absolutely no logical sense, even to me. How I get from Chill to Chide I honestly don't know. Apparently, however, my mind follows the same inconceivable trail over and over, because the now familiar red energy began to pour from the device. In moments, the little pokemon, named Chide, looked up at me and smiled. I melted, dropped to my knees and began to speak baby-talk. What can I say, the little guy was cute, for a figment of my delirium.

After I had regained control of myself, I pulled out my pokegear and quickly set it for a pokedex listing. "Piplup..." It took me less than a second to find the mute button, once reminded of the intensely annoying voice of the pokedex, and read the salient points. It was a Water type, which explained why I'd avoided 'Chill' which I would have associated with an Ice type pokemon. It evolved into a Prinplup, and then Empoleon. With that final evolution he would gain steel type. It also referred to it as 'an extremely rare pokemon.' After more than a decade playing the games I understood that to mean 'one of the starting three pokemon that every trainer worldwide has.'

I quickly switched the pokegear to another setting and took a look at it's stats. My eyes widened. I wasn't doing too badly at all.

"You're new here aren't you?" I jumped. The moment I landed, I spun to face the woman.

I'm not exactly a lady-killer, but I like to think I'm a little more suave than Brock. Brock is the one character in the otherwise children's show that seems to have any understanding of sexuality. Unfortunately, he has all of the self control of a rabid Chihuahua the moment he spots a woman. And though my jaw literally dropped, I did manage to keep from drooling. I counted that a victory.

The woman before me was tall, probably around five foot nine or ten inches, and augmented with three inch stiletto heeled black boots. She wore loose black slacks, a black tank-top and a long black overcoat lined in even darker black fuzzy trim. She had very long, blond, hair and dark gray eyes. And although she was a little thin for my tastes, she certainly wasn't a skeleton. Best still she had very long, shapely, legs and pert c-cups for breasts.

The gorgeous woman merely smile patiently as I managed to gather myself together and answer her question. "Uh, hi! Yeah, I honestly don't even know where I am or how I got here. I'm James by the way." I took a couple of steps forward and extended a hand. See? Much more in control than Brock. I managed to avoid dropping to my knees and professing my undying love for her!

She snickered and the laughter lit up her eyes. She stepped forward and took my hand in a firm handshake. "You're in the Sinnoh region. Although how you could have a Piplup and not know that is beyond me. I'm Cynthia."

Sinnoh!?

Where the hell is

that

? Wait, it took me a moment, but I vaguely remembered the most recent games, Diamond and Pearl were set there. But why did it have to be Sinnoh? I knew the other regions' pokemon pretty much cold. At a glance I could tell you what it was, what type or types and how relatively effective in battle. But for Sinnoh I was lost. I'd barely started the game, and the pokedex wasn't out yet to tell me the attacks each were capable of. My five sixty eight was in serious jeopardy.

As she released my hand, two of her fingers shifted and brushed across the inside of my wrist. My whole body shivered and Cynthia's smile grew slightly. Her fingers trailed across my palm and I shuddered some more. Her eyes narrowed in predatory delight. As her hand fell to her side, her other moved to rest on her hip. The overall effect was to shift her breasts up and forward slightly and shift her legs so that the gap between widened. My heart raced. She was toying with me. What's more, she knew I knew, and approved.

She eyed me up and down, and for the first time in my life I knew how women must feel when guys started their appraisal. "So, how much do you know about battling?"

"Actually, I'm pretty good at it. As always, though, depends on the pokemon in question. Match types, type of attack, and so on. Whittle down wild pokemon and toss a pokeball to catch them. Face other trainers to win or lose money. Take on Gym leaders to earn badges and make it to the nationals."

Cynthia's smile became absolutely feral. "That's the kiddies version. Gym badges and Tournaments are fine, and great for publicity and prestige. Money battles are a must to keep up the lifestyle. But I'm talking about the

real

reason we adults still head out to find new people to battle." My blank stare must have clued her to my lack of inspiration. "Tell you what," another lingering glance at the only now shrinking bulge in my jeans, "let's battle.

Adult

victory conditions. I'll even give you a little help. I'll use my Garchomp. Since it looks like all you have is that Piplup, at least you'll have type advantage on me."

Cynthia reached back to grab a pokeball from the small of her back. As she did, her chest thrust forward some more. Well, my pants thrust forward in response which earned a twinkle in her eyes. Whatever 'adult battles' were, I think I liked the sound of them. She called out her pokemon and I cringed. It stood on two legs and its arms each had a fin I was sure could act as a blade. It had a decent length tail, but it was the hammer head and dark colors that truly made the pokemon intimidating.

I fumbled for my pokedex. "Garchomp..." There

had

to be a way to permanently mute the damn thing! Much to my surprise, it turned out to be a Dragon-Ground dual type. From it's appearance I would have guessed Dark in the mix, but appearances, as they say, can be deceptive.

I kept my expression schooled, a feat I have great confidence in. To her, it must seem like I tried to cover my nerves. I wanted her to keep thinking that I was a total noob. It was now clear she had chosen her weakest pokemon against mine in an effort to claim 'fair play.' She knew her high-level pokemon would mop the floor with mine, regardless of type advantages. "So your Garchomp versus my Piplup? A one on one battle."

She smiled and nodded. "But...only if you agree beforehand that it will be adult rules, which means no money. And," she added as I opened my mouth, "you cannot ask what those are until after the battle." I shrugged and nodded, my face still closed to interpretation. Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Garchomp, use..."

I didn't give her the chance. "Piplup, Hydro Pump!" Cynthia's jaw dropped and her instructions faltered as a deluge of water began from the little penguin's beak. I couldn't keep the grin from my face. The amount of water that blasted from the little bird went far beyond improbable and into the realm of impossible. The terrifying Dragon was lifted from it's feet and thrown back a number of feet, before it finally landed on its back. It rolled to its stomach, but collapsed again. At least it's eyes didn't turn into spirals, or "x"s, or any other of the strange effects animators used to signify unconsciousness.

Cynthia ran forward and skidded to her knees. Her arms wrapped around the fainted pokemon's neck as she held it close. But I barely noticed. My eyes were firmly locked on Chide. The little penguin glowed fiercely. I'm not talking about beaming with pride, or any such analogy, I mean his skin was literally luminescent. A quick glance at Cynthia confirmed that she now understood her error. I kept my little Piplup from evolving until he had finally learned his most powerful attack. Earlier forms of pokemon tended to learn moves much quicker than their more evolved versions. Most trainers figured the earlier increase of power outweighed the extra levels. But I'm a tortoise and the hair kind of guy.

Cynthia drew my eyes away from the newly evolved Prinplup. There was a twinkle in her eyes, as she knelt in the grass, alone. I took the hint and recalled Chide to his ball and moved closer to the attractive woman. "So, I couldn't ask about adult rules before the battle, how about now?"

The twinkle in her eyes grew into a veritable inferno. That was good, it matched the one that pumped through my veins as I ardently tried

not

to imagine the possibilities. "I can see quite clearly what you hope it means." Cynthia's hands reached my knees and began to glide upwards. "To be honest, it's exactly what you're hoping. At least in this case I think it is."

I gasped as her hands reached my hips. Her thumbs curled between my legs and she cupped me gently for a moment. Her hands continued up and slowly began to unbuckle my belt. I began to sit, to get more comfortable, but she stopped and gripped my belt to keep me standing. The moment I shifted my weight to stand more comfortably, she resumed with the buckle.

"Here's the deal, adult rules can include just about anything sexual. Well, anything legal that is." The buckle was clear so she moved on to the button. "Both parties must agree to use them ahead of time or it's a no go. Of course, you can always say 'it's adult rules or nothing.'" The zipper was quick work and she slowly began to guide my pants down my legs. She stopped about halfway down and gazed at the barely contained bulge in my boxer-briefs. "MMMmmmmmmm."

Cynthia shook her head to clear it. "Where was I? Oh yes. Once you agree on adult rules, you pretty much have to set any stipulations in advance, or else it's limited to vanilla." After her brief loss of control, as she stared at my crotch, the pants came the rest of the way off very quickly. Her fingers picked at the elastic waistband of my boxer-briefs as if she didn't trust herself to pull that down.