CHAPTER 28--VIRTUAL VIRGIN

June 1997

R

ooster led me through a labyrinth of halls deep into the back part of the complex, to a back room called the Lab, a shop, where he could exercise his remarkable, if somewhat demented, genius. He said every place he'd ever lived since college had its version of the Lab.

We passed through a set of double doors into a huge room, which was cluttered with computer gear, terminals, and whatchamacallits. You know things like rack-mounted gizmos, and then a section that looked like some kind of chemistry lab. Back against one wall was a row of steel storage racks, with red cans marked "flammable" and all sorts of equally frightening things. Everywhere I looked, red lights and digits winked at me.

We continued towards a back part of the room.

"Anyway, there it is," he said, pointing at a long, coffin-like box in the corner that also resembled a sleep deprivation tank. It was rigged with all sorts of wires, tubes, and computers.

Rooster rambled on. "It's through a novel use of neuron-circuitry, combined with moisture simulators, lubrication, and controlled wind currents, that it all works. Very, very precise technology. Like the box. Not easily duplicated. But it can be duplicated."

"So you want to try it out, Jackie boy?"

"What could be safer sex?"

I went to hang up my coat on a coat hook on the back of a door. Rooster walked alongside me, still talking.

"Before we start I wanted to go ahead and give you this."

He held a large manila envelope.

"Your marching orders, as it were."

He cracked a silly smile.

"Plus a little front money for the road. Will $50,000 be enough until I can wire you the rest, anywhere you like?"

Rooster: Employer of the Year.

"Also, inside is another Voice-It. With all your contact instructions for L.A. And Jack..."

"I know. I know. Don't listen to it until I cross the city limits."

"Actually, it's the county limits."

"Rooster, want to know the last time I got laid?"

Puerto Peñasco.

Rooster instructed me on how to situate myself inside his million dollar play machine. Once I was settled in, I could hear Rooster's voice from the internal speaker system.

"I took the liberty of running a program for you, Jack-one of my favorite ones. You're free to change it if you like," Rooster's voice advised.

Suddenly, blackness was replaced with a sea of moving, twisted, naked flesh. A man lay on his back, with his legs spread, his cock stiff, as a semi-sinewy blonde with long legs and an eager pussy hovered for a brief second before sinking her love hole down on the hard meat. Moans, groans, and sweet laughter filled the virtual living room.

"You are in Orgy 1. Mixed couples. 15% black, 20% Latin, 65% white, 5% other. 70% female, 30% male. No male homosexuality. For other options select appropriate square," the computer said in a lusty, breathy voice.

I scanned my options.

One program in particular interested me. "Madonna," it said. I touched the square. "Like A Virgin" began playing and there she was, just as when I first fell in lust with her, before her decline that is, into major weirdness. The Boy Toy. She swaggered that stomach up to me and began to remove various parts of clothing until she sat there with just her underwear, which she pulled on dangerously. She inserted a finger into her slit beneath the silken panties. I felt my cock stiffen. It was so unbelievably real. She pulled the panties to the side, revealing a moist, luscious, inviting vagina.

"Oh, your cock is getting so hard," she said. You want to slip that salami into the Queen of Pop's luscious love tunnel," she said.

She removed her underwear. Her two lips smiled at me, such lickable labia, now exposed and appearing pink, wet, and raw; just begging to be licked in the tender pink light of the virtual orgy den. She spread her legs even farther.

And there she was, raw and naked, the Madonna circa 1985. Her big tits just like I remembered them from Penthouse magazine. I reached out my hand and gently touched the nipple of one of those babies. It stiffened upon my touch. Man, Rooster really had outdone himself.

I began to fuck her. I began to fuck Madonna. I was beside myself. The ultimate oedipal fantasy can be had in virtual world. It was great. It was more than great. Then I noticed a tool bar with several buttons, one of which read: Gallery of Playmates. I pushed it. Names, upon thousands of names of beautiful woman. I scanned the images.

Pamela Anderson. Wham bam thank you Pam! Terry Carter. Jennifer Aniston. Then I came across some oldies. Raquel Welch 1969. Betty Page. Marilyn. Started getting crazy and hitting buttons carelessly. Tom Selleck. Thanks but no thanks. And then back to Madonna. How appropriate, I thought. Return to the womb. The mother. Like Jim Morrison said, "I want to fuck my mother."

Here she was before me, virtually. The sacred and profane. Blake's Marriage of Heaven and Hell.

I was at the point of climax, just ready to explode, to let my groin blow, when I felt dull heavy thuds, like somebody was hitting me, and, what's more, the thuds felt very real.

"Is this part of the program?" I wondered. I never was into that pain/pleasure thing. At least not until that moment. It felt kind of good. Despite the pain, the sweet erotic rush inside my body could not be stopped and exploded. White creamy drops fell like a rain of pearls all over Madonna's tits, stomach and pussy. And then more heavy punches.

Pleasure. Pain. It no longer felt good. To the point of hurting. Really hurting.

Rooster, what the fuck?

And then, with a fading image of a sated, virtual Madonna spread eagle on a waterbed and a soundtrack of "Like a Virgin" playing, everything faded to black.