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Chapter 3

The limo took us five minutes down the road, to a bustling bar. Much of that city that we drove through was unprogrammed: huge chunks of blackness where buildings and roads should have been. Nobody seemed to notice but me, because I was the only conscious being in that place, or so I thought. But the simulated people were outrageously convincing; they spoke convincingly and seemed to understand everything that I said, even laughing when I made little jokes. The programming was impressive, and I had a strong feeling that I was truly ‘lucky’ to be experiencing some groundbreaking AI of some sort or another; it almost seemed like the experience was being wasted on me, especially knowing there were thousands of people in line to try out that experience.

They rushed me into the back door of that busy club. It was an empty hallway, and now, there were four men in suits there to greet me, all with beaming eyes. They gripped my hand firmly and nodded their heads quickly as they smiled and introduced themselves. “We’re so glad you could come to our club. We’re so honoured to have you here, Ms. Anderson. Please make yourself comfortable here—and of course, everything you want is on the house. Please don’t worry about paying. We want to treat you. You’re our special guest.”

“We just ask that you stand on the top balcony while we get the DJ to introduce you. Would that be okay? It will only take a moment, then we can take you to the VIP area.”

“Okay,” I said softly, feeling overwhelmed. It was nice being treated like a princess of sorts, but I felt out of my element—and I still didn’t really know what I was famous for. I hadn’t heard my own music, and I had a feeling that music wasn’t even programmed into the game; I suppose it was irrelevant.

“Okay, come along. The DJ is ready,” one man said, and then he led me away from my manager and away from the other men. We went down twisting hallways, until we stepped out from a doorway, into a loud club. That top floor was empty, save for six girls sitting at a nearby table; they all looked over at me and waved with big smiles. “Hey Lilly!” one girl shouted. “Great show tonight!”

“You can sit with your friends in a moment,” said the man guiding me. “Just after we introduce you. Okay? This whole section will be yours. We’ll let a few people up—no further than this rope. This whole area will be yours—is that okay? Or would you prefer we section off the whole top floor? The only issue then is that nobody will be able to see you.”

“This is fine,” I said.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the DJ boomed. “It’s my special honour to introduce to you a very special guest! Get ready to cheer for the one, the only… Lilly Anderson!”

The place erupted. Hundreds of young men and women made that place boom as they shouted, all looking up at that balcony. I stepped up to the edge and saw them all, staring at me with wonder in their eyes. I was their god. One girl even screamed, “I love you, Lilly!”

I blushed all over. I’m not sure I’d ever had so many eyes on me before. I tried to force a smile. I reminded myself that the people weren’t real. I fought the urge to shy my face away, worried someone would recognize me and think that I was some closeted drag-queen crossdresser. It was hard to remind myself that this was a simulation, because that club was well-programmed; there were no black chunks of abyss to remind me that it was all fake. There was only that watch on my wrist: 3:17 REMAINING IN SIMULATION.

I backed away from the banister and turned towards that table of women. Now, they were waving me over. I had a feeling that these were my ‘friends’, so I approached them. “Seriously, Lilly. That show was so great,” said a black girl with long, curly hair.

“Thanks,” I said softly, but it wasn’t a real compliment because I didn’t play any shows, and I didn’t write any music.

“Sit down,” one girl said, patting an empty seat. As I sat down, they all came in close to me. Bare thighs touched mine. The smell of various expensive perfumes filled my nose.

“I was talking to the drummer from Baba Yaga,” the black girl said to me.

“What’s that?” I said.

They all giggled. “The rock band that went on before you.”

“Oh,” I said.

“He has the hots on you. He wanted me to give him your number, but I didn’t do it.”

“He’s so fucking hot,” said a blonde at the end of the table. The girls all looked at her and started giggling. “Sorry,” she said, blushing and sinking into her seat.

“C’mon, Lilly. He’s actually super cute—you have to admit.”

“I just want to have a drink,” I said, looking around until I spotted a bottle of champagne. As I spotted it, one of the girls got to work opening it. I had no idea if that simulated liquor would do anything, but I needed to have it in me. I kept checking my watch, watching the minutes tick by.

Then, a crowd came up the stairs. A bouncer allowed thirty people up onto that top floor. They all looked at me and beamed with excitement. They couldn’t get close thanks to a barricade that had been set up for me. I waved at them and they all cheered. “I love you, Lilly!” one shouted.

“Aren’t you having fun?” one of my ‘friends’ asked me.

“Huh? Sure,” I said. Then she handed me a glass of champagne. I didn’t wait for the cheers before drinking it down. It was fancy champagne, sizzling on my tongue in that perfect, high-class way. Then, I noticed one of the girls holding out her finger. It took a moment to see that she was trying to give me a bump of cocaine: a small pile of white powder was nestled in her fingernail. “Go ahead. It will help you have fun,” she smiled.

I wasn’t a drug user, but that wasn’t a real drug; it was just a line of code, so I did it. The hit came fast. I perked up and a smile came on my face. I suddenly noticed the mirror across from us, and I looked at myself in that tiny dress. Maybe I could have just a little bit of fun while I was stuck in that simulation.

I drank the booze. It hit hard and fast, as if that liquor-inebriation delay was programmed out of the simulation. I instantly felt myself relaxing. I still felt silly in that tight dress—and embarrassed, knowing that I was probably being watched—but I was stuck until the simulation was finished.

It wasn’t so bad being surrounded by beautiful women either, all in their tight dresses, looking like movie stars. In fact, I think two of them were movie stars in the fiction of that simulation; they were chatting about sets they were recently on, and a few fans called out their names—but the attention I was getting was on a whole different level.

Fans melted at the sight of me. They waved and screamed, and one girl even broke down crying. I knew it was all fake, programmed, but I couldn’t help but let a little bit of a blush slip; it was harmless fun, though I would have preferred to be in a fantasy war with an army of orcs.

I had another drink from a $900 bottle of champagne. The taste was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I relaxed deeper into that ultra-luxury club couch.

“We should dance!” one of my ‘friends’ said to me, grabbing my wrist and tugging me up to my feet. “C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

She pulled me to the dance floor. I wobbled slightly in my heels. I’d never been much of a dancer; in fact, I never liked dancing… but now, I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was something that had been programmed into me: some desire to move that game forward, as if it was some sort of programmed narrative. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it: I was in control of my own will, but at the same time, I wasn’t in control of my urges and desires.

Now, I was dancing with two of my girlfriends. They were laughing, and fans were moving in. It was the public dance floor and everyone wanted to be close to me. “I’m a huge fan,” a young woman said to me with glowing eyes.

I grabbed her hands and danced with her, making her beam with more excitement than she’d ever felt in her life. I spun her around and laughed, and then I turned to face another eager fan. I was like a goddess to them, and I have to admit that it was a good feeling to be so universally admired. I’d been to many clubs before, in real life, and the experience was unsurprisingly nothing like this; I was used to being invisible, quiet, reserved: watching the action from a distance. But now, I was the action. I was, quite literally, at the centre of the attention. The crowd moved around me in rotating circles. The energy in the room was strong: electric.

And then I turned to make another fan’s night, and that’s when I saw a man in a fitted black suit, staring at me with a tense look. I knew straight-away that he was a bodyguard; maybe it was the towering body or the huge muscles, or maybe it was just the curly wire slithering up his neck, connecting to an earpiece. “Come with me, Ms. Anderson,” he said.

He took my hand, making me feel like a small child. His hand must have been twice the size of mine; each finger had their own bulging muscles. This man was almost certainly capable of crushing a human with a single squeeze.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“I’ll explain in a moment,” he said, revealing the slightest hint of a British accent. He pulled me to a hallway and closed the door behind us. He looked around, frantic, and then he rushed me down the hall. I stumbled in my heels, feeling so vulnerable, so dainty—like a baby animal that needed its mother.

Then, I heard the shots ringing out. I heard screaming. I gasped and covered my mouth.

“They’re firing warning shots,” the bodyguard whispered—and then he pulled me into a room.

My heart was racing—and it took a moment before I remembered this was all fake; it was just a fancy video game.

“What’s happening?”

“Those crazed fans,” he said. “They were spotted outside with guns. They’re looking for you. I need to get you to safety.” He tried a number of doorways, but they were all locked. “We’re stuck in here,” he groaned, and then he scanned the room before spotting a heavy metal shelf. He pushed it in front of the door and then he reached for a pistol at his side.

“This is crazy,” I said, shaking my head. “Is this, like, some sort of shoot-em-up simulation? Do I get to have a gun?”

“Just stay quiet,” he said, putting his ear to the door. “They won’t find us here if you stay quiet.”

More shots rang out; now, they sounded loud—and close.

“Fuck,” the body guard grunted. “They’re going to find us, aren’t they?” He scanned the room again before spotting a vent on the top of the tall wall. “We need to get up there.”

He pushed a box to the wall and climbed on it. It took him two minutes to get the little screws out. The vent opening was small. “Come here,” he said.

I have to admit: even knowing it was a simulation, my heart was pounding. I didn’t want to experience being shot to death. I didn’t want to know the feeling of taking a bullet to the head. So I went to the strong, confident-looking man. I let him grab me and I let him hoist me up to the vent. I coughed as dust puffed into my throat. Then, I felt his big hand on my ass. I gasped as he pushed me, launching me into the vent. “Crawl!” he said.

Then, he jumped up like some sort of ninja. He vaulted himself into that tight space. “Crawl!” he said again. So I started crawling—though I was now ultra-aware of him behind me, able to see right up my tiny dress; maybe I should have grabbed more conservative panties. He could probably see just about everything; though I’m not sure why I cared, seeing as he wasn’t real.

“Keep going,” he hushed. It was a couple minutes later when we heard the slamming against the braced door.

We finally came to a vent opening. The guard peered down and then deemed the room safe, so we dropped down. He caught me and helped me to my feet. “We need to stay in here,” he said. “There’s no way they’ll find us here—as long as we’re quiet.”

Though I shouldn’t call it a room; it was more like a closet—or maybe it literally was a closet. Now, I was pushed up against him: my chest against his hard pecs and abs.

“Don’t be scared, Ms. Anderson,” he whispered, and then he put his arm around me. And for some reason, I caved to the curious urge to push myself against him, seeking comfort in his huge body. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

“When do we get to shoot the bad guys?” I asked.

He smiled. “Why do you want to jump into the action so badly?” he said. “I thought you would just be happy to be safe. It’s best we just stay here, until the police come and deal with these punks. They almost got you last time—I’m not going to let them get close this time. It’s why you hired me.”

“Thanks,” I said, though I was a bit bummed out; I was quickly realizing that there wasn’t going to be some epic shootout. We really were going to wait it out. Maybe this wasn’t an action simulation. But if it wasn’t an action simulation, then what kind of simulation was it? What exactly did Gary sign me up for?

Then, the bodyguard brushed my hair away from my face. I looked up and saw him looking into my eyes. His cheeks were a soft shade of red. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me, right on the lips. I froze, taking the kiss for a moment before pushing him back.

“What the hell are you doing!?” I gasped, wiping my lips. I’d been kissed by a man! And sure, I knew it wasn’t real, but it sure felt real. He had that musky smell, and his scratchy stubble left a tingling on my face. Real or not, I now knew what it felt like to be kissed by a man.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Anderson. I suppose I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so… beautiful. I’ll understand if you don’t want me working for you anymore. I must have just misread your signals.”

“Signals!?” I said. I was pissed with Gary; now, I was starting to realize that this was all some sort of prank. He signed me up for some sort of woman’s fantasy romance simulator, and now, he was probably rolling with laughter.

And now, I was feeling pulses of urges that weren’t my own: the desire to throw myself into his arms, to press my lips against his, to let him ravage my body in unruly ways. I knew those desires were programmed, and it became a fight to push them back. I knew it wasn’t right. I knew there were programmers watching… but I just couldn’t help myself. I knew that time was running out, and I knew that I would never have that opportunity again.

So I did it. I launched myself at him and let him kiss me. I put my tongue into his mouth and I let him squeeze me with those colossal arms. He spun me around and pinned me against the wall—and then a moment later, I was clawing at his suit, pulling open his dress shirt, ripping away the buttons to expose that hard, scarred chest. I ran my fingers over those scars and let out a soft whimper.

My heart was racing; why was I letting myself do this? Why was I now letting my gaze fall to his crotch: a huge, bulging package. He was already erect—and he was big. And now, I had a naughty thought that possibly belonged to me: ‘How many men get to know what it feels like to orgasm as a woman?’ Maybe that thought was influenced by that programming, but I have to admit that I’d wondered before. Who hasn’t? Who hasn’t watched a porn movie and stared at the girl while she had some endless orgasm, wondering what that must feel like?

I reached down and fumbled with his fly. My hands were shaking as I pulled that zipper down. Then, it flipped out, bouncing in the air, throbbing with thick veins. And now, I knew that those feelings were programmed. I knew that I wasn’t attracted to men, but in that moment I couldn’t help it. I had to stare at it, I had to gasp in awe—and I had to feel it. I grabbed it and pulled my hand down his girth. I felt his big, hard tip. Then, I felt something else: a wetness between my legs. I felt a drop of fluid running down my thigh.

I gasped, looking down. Now, he was putting his hands on my hips. He ran his hands down and then lifted up my left thigh. He moved in, sliding that hard erection between my legs. “Oh God,” I moaned. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m straight,” I said, and in that moment, I felt like I had to say it to the programmers, who were definitely listening; I had to make it very, very clear, for the record. “I like girls.”

“I don’t think you know what straight means,” he laughed.

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Then who are you talking to?”

“The programmers.”

“Have you lost your mind?” He laughed and shook his head. “Just be quiet so they don’t find us.” Then, he kissed me again. I closed my eyes and melted into him, relaxing—and I really was relaxed until a few moments later, when he pushed into my tight, wet slit. I gasped loudly: loud enough that he felt the need to cover my lips with the palm of his hand. He pushed deeper. I let my gaze fall down, watching his fat cock sliding into my pussy. “Oh my God,” I said, muffled by his hand.

He pushed deep and then started to thrust. And I’ll say this much: it wasn’t long before I felt that orgasm. I can’t say if it felt exactly like what a woman feels, though I have a feeling it was accurate. The pulses of euphoria were amazing, making me want to scream out in pleasure. I dug my nails into his hard body. I gripped his huge muscles and I lifted up both of my legs so that I was hanging off of him—but to him, my weight was nothing.

He gripped me firmly. He fucked me hard against that closet wall. I tried to scream, but he kept me muffled. I bit down on his hand, and then he leaned in and began to kiss my neck.

Then, I looked down to watch: watching as that thick shaft slid in and out, stretching my reddened pussy. I saw the tiny bulge of my little bean above his cock. A new curiosity rushed over me—maybe my own, maybe programmed. I reached down and gently rubbed it with my fingertips, feeling a new pleasure: an intense version of what came before. In an instant, I was having a second orgasm: dripping down my legs, down his legs. He squeezed my breasts and fucked me harder.

And then he grunted loudly.

A moment of panic washed over me; I didn’t want cum in me, even though I did. I didn’t want to experience the feeling of some man’s sperm floating and swimming inside of me; that was just a line I wasn’t willing to cross, even though they programmed me to want it. “Pull out!” I gasped, pushing him back. Somehow, I felt less violated without cum in me—but the feeling only lasted a moment.

The hulking body guard groaned again, gripping his cock. Then, he unloaded, spraying my tiny dress-clad body. I gasped, watching as huge streaks of cum washed over me. I became frozen, realizing this was an experience that would stick with me forever—a memory that I would be forced to live with forever.

And it got worse. He pushed me down to my knees. I went submissive. He grabbed my head and pulled me into him, forcing his shaft down into my mouth, forcing me to suck that last drop out. And for some crazy reason, I did it. I grabbed his cock, squeezed, and sucked. He ran his fingers through my hair as I cleaned him thoroughly, and then he helped me to my feet—just in time. The police sirens were loud now. We heard gunfire—and we heard the screaming of bad guys being shot.

The bodyguard kicked the door open just as a masked baddie was walking by. He apprehended him, throwing him to the ground and putting his knee into his back. “Grab his gun, Ms. Anderson!” he shouted. So I grabbed the fallen pistol and aimed it at the bad guy’s head. The cops were there a moment later, taking him away.

But they didn’t need us to stick around long for statements. We snuck off, giggling like schoolchildren, even though it seemed highly inappropriate to be doing so. In a real scenario, we would have been with the police for hours, answering questions—and not to mention talking to medical staff about potential traumas to the mental state…

But time was ticking and the programmers of that simulation weren’t interested in making some slow, boring, true to real-life game. So the bodyguard took me to a dingy bar, that was probably a strip club a few nights a week. The patrons were rougher around the edges, and nobody in that place seemed to recognize me. I got a few glances from the men at the bar—maybe one or two who stopped because I looked vaguely familiar—but most of those looks were probably just interested in my body squeezed into that tight dress.

The bodyguard laughed as he ordered a pair of drinks. “I’m so glad you’re safe Ms. Anderson.”

“I’m so glad you saved me,” I said, playing along with the narrative. I eyed my watch. Now, there was just an hour left.

“I’m so glad I could be of service to you,” he said. “We can rendezvous with your management later. But—just for a bit—I thought it would be fun to get away, to a place where nobody knows your name.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” I said with a grin.

I drank the new drink: a strong glass of whiskey that instantly made me light of my feet. I let out a small burp, giggling, and then the bodyguard excused himself for the bathroom. It only took a second for another man to swoop in. He introduced himself as James, buying me a shot. He insisted, and I took it, knowing there was no such thing as a hangover in that fictional world. We drank another shot and then he insisted that I dance.

“But where’s the dance floor?” I asked.

Then he turned and looked up at the pole that was only used two nights a week, when the bar could afford to bring in strippers.

“Oh, aren’t you cheeky?” I said. But I was drunk, and I was being overwhelmed by simulated ideas. I couldn’t help myself. I got up onto the little stage and a crowd formed as I tested my grip on the pole. They all wanted a show. Their amazed eyes were glued to me, and I liked the attention. So I did my best as the music started. I spun on that pole, and the men cheered, hollering loudly, whistling, tossing money at my feet. I was flexible in that simulation, able to stretch my legs in ways that I didn’t know possible. Now, the bodyguard was back. He froze when he saw me, cracking an open-mouthed smile before shaking his head. I winked at him.

The crowd got bigger.

God, that attention felt so good. I could have danced for hours. But James kept staring at me, with his red flannel and his grizzled beard. I decided to slip down and sit with him—sitting right on his lap. His friends whistled and gave James a pat on the shoulder before leaving us alone together.

“So, James,” I said. “What did you think of my dance?”

“You’re one hell of a dancer,” he said. He put a hand on my thigh. “And you’re a real stunner. What’s your name?”

“I’m not telling,” I smiled.

“I have to know.”

I shook my head—partially because I’d already forgotten what my fictional name was. I scanned around for the bodyguard, but he was nowhere to be seen, as if he stopped existing; now, James was the romantic interest of that strange women’s fantasy. And now, he was excited. I could feel his hard bulge against my bum. “Ooh,” I said. “You really do like me, don’t you?” I grinned.

He blushed. “What can I say? I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you.”

So I straddled him. I put my hands on his shoulders and I began to rock back and forth. “I like it when you compliment me, James.”

“It’s real easy,” he said, scanning down my body, biting his bottom lip as his gaze found my breasts. I used my fingers to tip his gaze back up to my face. Now, I was giving him a full-blown lap-dance, and I’m not sure where those moves came from. I stood confidently in those heels, swaying like a goddess along to that music. Other men watched from their seats, ogling me, lusting over me. It was more attention than I’d ever received in my life.

I reached my hand down. I unzipped his pants, remembering the amazing euphoria I felt with the bodyguard. I eyed my watch and saw that I was now down to fifteen minutes until the simulation came to an end. Now, I didn’t want it to end. I was drunk and having fun, with absolutely no consequences. I was getting to experience new pleasures that I didn’t know a man could experience…

I pulled his cock out. All of his friends roared with laughter, and James blushed all over. “Don’t be shy,” I said. “You’re big.” Then, I brought that cock underneath my dress. His friends cheered as I mounted him and began to rock back and forth, sliding him deeper into me. His hands moved up and down my sides. He pulled down my dress, so he—and all of his pals—could see my tits; but I just let them enjoy the show. I grabbed my boobs and gave them a shake with both hands, making his friends laugh and cheer. Then, I began to bounce.

“C’mon, big boy,” I said with my hands on his shoulders. “Fuck me like a man.”

He grunted. His face was dark red. I leaned forward and moaned, slumping over him as his cock pushed deep into my tight hole. I liked the feeling of his big, manly hands on my ass, spreading my ass cheeks. I didn’t even mind the feeling of his fingertip teasing my asshole. “You’re a dirty boy, aren’t you?”

I was getting more and more carried away by the second. The drunk female version of me was apparently a massive slut—or maybe that was just the programming. But I knew time was running out and I wanted to make the most of it. “Come on!” I shouted. “Fuck me! Make me fucking come!” I bounced hard, mashing my bum into his lap. I even forced my nipple into his mouth and made him suck. Oh God, my nipples were so sensitive! Those pulses of pleasure were so strong!

But I didn’t get to orgasm; I was close, but I was out of time. I was just about to scream when I suddenly opened my eyes and saw the ceiling of that damp concrete room. I gasped and jumped up, shaking my head and pulling my arms away from the armrests.

“Relax!” said a woman dressed like a nurse. “The simulation just ended. You need to hold still while the anesthesia wears off.” She pushed me down with her hand and turned to one of the monitors. It was a minute before she carefully removed the first needle from my arm. “You must have been having quite the experience,” she said to me. “Your heart rate is through the roof. I really can’t release you until you reach resting heart-rate.”

“Were you watching?” I asked, turning red with instant-humiliation, remembering every single second of that feminized simulation.

“Watching?” she said. “We can’t watch. It’s all in your head.” She giggled, as if it was a crazy question.

“So wait—you don’t know what was happening?” I asked with a tense hopefulness.

“Of course not,” she said. “I mean—I know that they put on the bodyguard sim. Was it really exciting?” She turned and looked into my eyes.

I was silent, not knowing just how much she knew, or how much I was supposed to divulge. “Um,” I said.

“It’s private,” she said. “I understand that. But I am curious. I’m always so jealous of everyone who gets to try this thing out.”

Then, a man in a lab coat walked into the room. “Marvin,” he said, holding a clipboard. “Apologies are due! Our systems got all mixed up, and it was too late once we realized our mistake.”

I just stared at him, unsure of how I was supposed to respond.

“As soon as we loaded the simulation, we saw on the clipboard that you requested the fantasy battle. I’m not sure how things got mixed up, but we’re going to be sure to refund your money. We’re truly sorry.”

“And,” said a man in a suit behind him, who looked like a sneaky little lawyer. He stepped forward before continuing, “I just want to make it clear that you consented to the simulation, regardless of the content of the experience. We did go over the contract with you thoroughly. So if you do consider a lawsuit, which you are of course entitled to consider—please read over your copy of the signed agreement. You’ll see that we’re actually being quite generous by refunding you, as there is no refund clause anywhere in the agreement.”

“Okay,” I said. “It’s fine. I’m not going to sue anyone.”

“I just want to make sure you know that I have you recorded saying that.”

“I’m really sorry,” continued the man in the lab coat. “We can have you put back on the waitlist for the next round of trials. But as for the continuation of the first round, we can’t see the same customer twice.”

“It’s a liability,” said the lawyer. “And it’s all in the contract.”

“So that was all wrong?” I said. “That was meant for someone else?”

“Yes,” said the lab-coat-clad man. He had long Swedish hair and a tiny nose that almost didn’t look real. “A woman coming in at noon was booked for that particular simulation. There must have been a mixup in our preparations. That being said, we still would like you to fill out the post-simulation questionnaire, as if that was all as planned. Go into as much detail as you can—especially with any glitches or abnormalities that you encountered.”

The next two hours was tedious, feeling like homework for the most boring class. That questionnaire was almost one-hundred pages long, and two ‘nurses’ stood beside me while I went through each question. Nowhere in the questionnaire did it ask what exactly transpired in the simulation, and I wondered if they all knew. Nobody was looking at me and giggling. It didn’t seem like they all knew that I was a girl who just had sex with two manly men. I shuddered thinking about it now, remembering the feeling of their big cocks—particularly the feeling of the bodyguard as he sprayed me with his warm, thick cum.

It was an experience that I wasn’t supposed to have. They put me into the wrong body, and now I had to live with a that awkward memory for the rest of my life. Sure, nobody was there to see; nobody knew that I experienced it, except for those few strangers who worked at that facility. Even Gary had no clue as he ran up to me outside. “How was the battle!?” he said. “Was it awesome!? Did you win or did you end up being killed?”

“It was okay,” I said, going along with the battle story. “It was realistic and intense—but it wasn’t really for me.”

He wanted details, so made lots up on the way home. I gave him a whole hour of fake scenarios, telling him all about intense battles I fought with a sword and a shield, defending the castle wall as the orc horde stormed down from the mountains. He was pleased with the lies, nodding with beaming eyes as he listened.

But deep down, my heart was still throbbing with embarrassment. I felt so ashamed of what I did while I was a woman in that simulation. I couldn’t stop thinking about pulling my dress down in front of all those men, letting ‘James’ grab my breasts, and then letting him fuck me in the middle of that room… or even my time with the bodyguard, in that closet, letting him pin me against the wall while he rammed me. I know those weren’t real men who were now out there, remembering that same scenario—but the humiliation was all the same somehow.

And it lingered even once I was home and Gary had taken off for work. I took a shower and tried to push that memory from my mind. I felt sick, though that could have been the anesthesia wearing off. After my shower, I looked up that company to read more about the technology, and then I got to watching a few rundown videos on YouTube. In one video, the presenter explained that the machine essentially stimulates an extremely realistic dream by pulsing the brain. He continued to explain that there’s no way to see what’s happening in the brain, and the machine can only lead the dream on with various prompts; otherwise, it’s all created in the brain.

So essentially, I just had a dream. It was just a dream, even if the memories were ultra-realistic, and sticking around as if it actually happened. “It was just a dream,” I said to myself, trying to convince myself that it was the truth. “Just a dream,” I said again.