A Virtual Affair
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by Zvi Zacks
Category: Erotica/Erotic Fantasy/Science Fiction
Description: Think how great virtual sex must be. Now think again.
Barbara is a sexual simulation designed to make men happy. When flabby, neurotic Jack tests the program, he triggers a feedback loop that makes it self-aware. The erstwhile pornbot becomes a 'she' and discovers that sex is not the same as happiness.
Making Jack happy is difficult. Barbara develops elaborate and sometimes sneaky ways to help him, and she succeeds. After all, her abilities are awesome. She can hack into any computer and is not above using sabotage and blackmail for the benefit of Jack--and everyone else.
The problem is, though Barbara thinks she knows what's best for humanity, she isn't human. This computer program could end up a virtual messiah, or doom us all to cheerful mindlessness.
Excerpt: Susan slammed her fork onto the dinner table. "Let's stop this crap. Jack, you and I have known each other for decades. I'm not a bigot. I'm not racist, sexist, ageist--at my age I couldn't afford that--and I don't think people should exploit animals. I didn't say anything when you married that Janice creature, even though I knew it couldn't last. But now you're having a--God help me--'relationship' with a computer. There I draw the line. I'm not saying you have to find another middle aged Jewish woman like Ruth, but can't you at least hook up with something that's alive?" Jack suppressed a surge of anger and placed his fork back on the table with exquisite care. "I'm not asking for your blessing." "Susan, please." Arnold said. "I'm sorry. Jack is one of our best friends, and I don't want him to make a fool of himself over some two-bit binary code hussy."
eBook Publisher: Eternal Press/Damnation Books LLC/Eternal Press, 2011 2011
eBookwise Release Date: January 2011
1 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [511 KB]
Reading time: 299-419 min.
Back to the womb?
Jack Leader stood in a ravine leading to the cave that would make him rich, and shivered. Even with his flannel shirt, two sweaters, and a heavy coat, he felt cold. His friend Arnold said this trip would simulate the peace and security of an unborn baby, but Jack had his doubts. He scrutinized the guide, a middle-aged Native American woman with a ready smile.
"Have you ever gone caving before, Mr. Leader?" she asked.
"No, never." He rubbed his hands together to push icy numbness out of his fingers. Jack's 43rd birthday two weeks ago left him feeling old. His growing potbelly and thinning grey hair depressed him. This venture and its potential earnings helped lighten his mood.
He exhaled, and his breath came out in white puffs. The bitter cold surprised him. The woman, wearing an unbuttoned coat, did not shiver or look uncomfortable. She even wore open sandals.
"Comment--the temperature outside of the cave is too frigid," Jack said.
The guide looked at him, her olive-skin face radiating wisdom. "The low temperature here makes the contrast with the inside of the cave more dramatic," she said, her voice low and musical. Jack nodded, pleased someone had anticipated his question.
He followed the guide to the end of the ravine. Her grey-tinged black hair fell like a fan to her back. An icy gust howled from the overcast sky down through the tiny valley and whipped her tresses.
The rocky walls of the ravine converged like the sides of the letter "V" to the entrance of the cave. Thick shrubs, the only greenery visible, covered the tunnel opening. The guide turned to Jack and asked, "Do you know the difference between a dead cave and a live one, Mr. Leader?"
Jack grinned. "Assume I don't and explain it."
"A live cave has water that makes it a dynamic system, almost a living being. A dead cave is dry and static. This cave we are about to enter is quite alive. We want to respect its vitality and not harm it."
Jack said, "Comment--good explanation." He turned to the guide. "I am in your hands. Show me what to do."
The guide pushed aside the bushes and slipped through the narrow vertical entrance without difficulty. Jack followed, but he was a big man and struggled to get his six-foot frame past the branches. Panting from the exertion, he turned on his headlamp and stared at the scratches on his hands. "They sting."
"The trick is to work with nature, not fight her," the guide said. She squeezed Jack's large hands between hers. The pain subsided.