"Thanks for coming over, Johnny. Do you want a Coke or anything?"
The house was exactly as I remembered it, right down to the smell of the potpourri, and the rustling of the new carpet. I recognized Ms. Carter's dress as one she actually wore, the furniture was right, the magnets scattered on the fridge, even the dishes were the right department store print that my family wouldn't have been able to afford. Her appearance also fit my memory. Tall and curvy, long, thick, black, wavy hair with streaks of grey, light olive skin, and a faint smell of vanilla. One thing that seemed new was just how attractive I found her. I didn't really pay much attention to her back when I was a teen, but reliving the memory now that I was her age, she was a knockout.
"I'm okay, but thank you," I replied after a delay to take everything in.
She sat down across the marble kitchen island from me and held her Diet Coke with both hands. "I don't want to be having this conversation."
On a wave of shame and dread, I suddenly remembered this exact moment from my past. I lowered my gaze to break eye contact. By happenstance I looked directly at a folded newspaper. The headline read, "JOHN! SOMETHING IS WRONG!" Below, text trailed on, "We can't disconnect you. Working on a fix. You should be safe, but..."
"Johnny, this is really important, are you here?"
"Uh. Sorry. It's just," I pointed back at the paper, and the headline addressed to me had been replaced with one about George Bush vomiting on a Japanese politician.
"Oh, I know. What a goober." She took a sip of her Diet Coke, leaving a lipstick smear on the rim. "I want to talk to you about our daughter."
"Yeah, I know."
"With your birthday last week, my husband and I don't think it's appropriate for you two to spend time together right now." Even now at 45, reliving this moment from right after I turned 18 hit me like a brick to the gut. I remembered leaving and feeling like I was dirty or inherently a bad person after. Her daughter and had never even done anything, but the shame of that moment lingered in me for a long time.
I lowered my gaze again, and said, "I see."
"I'm really sorry, Johnny." In my memory, that's where the conversation ended. I sullenly left, and after a couple years, found a girlfriend my age and forgot. In the simulation though, she continued, "But so long as you stay away from her, I'm prepared to blow you once a week."
"Wait what?"
She smoothed the lipstick at the corner of her mouth with a fingertip, and said, "Just don't tell my husband."
The cognitive processing device we were working on was meant to be a tool for exposure therapy. It worked from brain scans to find traumatic events, and recreated similar circumstances with positive outcomes using a full sensory override. Basically, it beamed created experiences straight into your brain. You would experience them and interact with them in real time, just as if they were real events. In practice it was meant to highlight with simulated experiences how heavy events can distort perceptions even long after the events end, and to be used as tool in therapy to challenge those distortions after. I wrote code for the device's UI, and didn't fully understand what it did, or it's intended usage, just the boilerplate, "this is what we want it to do," and my small piece of that. At present (and in the present) we were at the, "will this thing even do anything?" stage of its development. I hadn't had an awfully traumatic past, so I was picked to relive a past memory just to test out the sensory override. They hooked me up to it, and shortly after my high school girlfriend's house dropped around me, and now the simulation had gone astray.
Panic flittered in my chest a little. What had gone wrong? Was the device scrambling my brain? Would I be a vegetable when they finally got me out? I silently damned that I hadn't been able to read the entire article warning me of what was happening. It said I was safe, BUT. But what? Maybe they could get another message to me later?
Ms. Carter stood up on the other side of the island, and said, "Don't just sit there blinking, get it out for me hon," while she walked around to my side.
A confused stare was the best I could manage. "What?" `
She stood next to my stool, set down her Coke, and swiveled my stool to face her with a hand on my knee. "Don't worry sweetie." Her hands moved to my belt, "I'll get it for you."
The panic in my chest was replaced with a different feeling entirely. I stared into her face, but she was looking down at her hands working my belt and zipper. I felt her hands work into my boxers, and then the cold air of the kitchen on my dick.
She looked back into my eyes and with a wicked smile said, "my work is cut out here, huh?"
I looked down, and it seemed the situation wasn't the only place the simulation had gone awry. I was averagely endowed in real life. Around 5 inches, and a decent thickness, but the dick she had found in my pants was at least twice the size in every way. She lowered to her knees keeping one hand on the counter and the other on the massive cock that was apparently mine and started slowly stroking it to hard.
"My God," she muttered, "it's beautiful." She looked up at me like a kid looking at an Easter basket. With glee in her voice she said, "thank you for understanding about our daughter," and took me in her mouth.
At that point in my life, I had kissed a couple girls, but that was the furthest I had ever gone. Chronologically though, I was 45, and compared to my past experiences, I never would have known it was a simulation. For the first several minutes my brain searched every stimulus for how it was not actually happening and came up empty. Eventually I gave up on trying to think of it as faked somehow, and just enjoyed it. She didn't take it very deep, but worked her tongue on the underside constantly, and pumped the shaft with her hand. I didn't know how long I would be stuck in the simulation, but as I neared orgasm, I hoped it was more than a week and she kept her word.
Just as I hit the edge, the cordless phone on the island rang. Ms. Carter reached up, picked it up, and clicked the green button with fingertip. She took my cock out of her mouth just long enough to say, "Hello?" She slowed her pace significantly, basically just stroking the length with the head in her mouth. It was enough that my orgasm backed off a little, but it was still right there. She took my dick out of her mouth again to say, "Yes, baby. Talking to Johnny went just fine," and put it right back in. She groaned something like an affirmative sound, then pulled back a little and said, "no, I told him to leave her alone, he understood and was fine with it," with the head of my cock still touching her lips. A steady flow of precum leaked out into her mouth as she talked. "Baby? When you get home, do you think we could mess around? My panties are completely soaked right now." My cock went back in her mouth then she worked her grip and sucked hard to get more precum out. "Please baby. I'm throbbing. I can't get myself off enough. I need a real dick." When she said the word, "dick," she slapped mine gently against her face. "I need it so bad, baby. Please." She sucked gently at my head a little more, and shifting her voice to pleading said, "Please, baby. We can do everything you like. I just need it." She kissed my dick gently as she kept stroking as she starting begging, "I'll shave my pussy bald right now, wear that teddy you like, whatever you want I just need it. You can cum on my tits, or my face. We can go to the strip club. Even anal, baby. I'll get cleaned up and you can fuck my ass, all night." After a pause, she added another, "Please baby?" The phone beeped once signaling that the line had disconnected, and she sighed heavily.
Setting the phone back on the island, she made eye contact with me again and said, "He's pathetic," then took my dick deep in her mouth until she gagged. One of her hands moved to the hem of her dress and worked under the fabric. The other clamped around the base of my cock as she repeatedly tried to swallow it whole, but only succeeded in getting about half of it in. "I am going to get this down." After a couple dozen tries the hand under her dress came up and grabbed at my wrist, smearing wetness all over it. She put my hand on the back of her head and pushed, then both her hands went back to her pussy.
I put my other hand on the back of her head and started pushing her face down on my cock. At first I kept pressure down until she gagged, then let up long enough for her to catch her breath, then back down. Eventually though I was fucking her face at a slow steady pace. Not all the way down, but still deeper than she was getting it before. An orgasm started to build in me again and like last time, just as I reached a good edge we were interrupted.
It was a knock at the door this time, three quick raps. Ms. Carter pulled her face off my dick and looked toward the front door then back to me. "Crap. It's Ginny." She stood up, and quickly wiped her hands and face off on a tea towel, then draped it over my erection, barely concealing it. "I'll get rid of her." I thought about putting my dick back in my pants, but I didn't really think it would fit at full mast.
Ms. Carter answered the door, and said, "Ginny, hi, it's not the best..." but the guest pushed her way in anyway.
"You are not going to believe this, Ronda. I was at the porn shop and..." Ginny's sentence trailed off when she saw me sitting behind the island. "Oh, I didn't know you had someone over."
I waved and smiled halfheartedly, "Hi, Ms. Reed."
At that time, I worked in our town's only video store. It was connected to a convenience store big enough to have a produce department, but still smaller than the actual grocery store. I probably knew almost everyone in town from that job, and as a result, Virginia Reed was no stranger (as well as her husband and son), but I barely knew her except for her taste in video rentals (rom-com, and women led action movies). She was petite, and a natural redhead with a chin length bob cut. Like Ms. Carter she was generally around 40, and she worked at the gym as an aerobics instructor. Today she looked like she had come straight from there. She was wearing spandex shorts that came to her navel, a pair of nylon jogging shorts over them, and a tank top. In short, she was a total fox.
"Hi Johnny." She waved back and looked questioningly at Ms. Carter.
"Rebecca's boyfriend. I was just explaining to him that he's too old for her now that he's legally an adult." Ginny shot an eyebrow up at me. Ms. Carter walked past her and toward me, adding, "I'm just going to grab your book so I can finish our conversation."
She went to a drawer behind me and Ginny followed her into the kitchen, and said, "You know Rhonda, it's okay. If you're busy I can come back tomorrow." She stopped at the corner of the island and leaned against it, looking over at me with a coy grin, mouthing, "Happy birthday."
"Oh nonsense, it's right here, just a sec to find it."
