5PM

by Chris Heinicke

  * * * * *

  It’s only eight p.m., but already, I’m the only person in the house still up and not in bed yet. There’s nothing good on TV tonight so I head to the office to check out what’s happening on social media. The newsfeed is full of friends posting photos of their dinner, opinions on which celebrities are hot, which ones are losers, as well as multiple cat memes. Most nights I wonder why I even log on, but I have siblings, cousins, as well as old school friends who I like to keep in contact with.

  I can’t even think of a witty status update to post.

  Roger’s posted a photo of himself sitting on his couch with his laptop, obviously not aware of the fact the screen of his laptop is in the picture. He’s on the chat program already and with a lady.

  I’m bored. I don’t get into online gaming at all and my brain isn’t in the mood for working on my business plan. I think about the blonde from last night for the first time since I got home from work and decide to open the chat program. I mark myself as offline to Roger. I don’t need him at work tomorrow in my face questioning me about appearing online and not stopping in to say hi. I look at the shop section at what I could spend money on, and within seconds, find myself drawn to the adult section. There’s a selection of penises to choose from, and obviously, they are all large in size and erect. The more lifelike they appear, the more expensive they are, but five dollars seems reasonable for a top of the range one.

  I chuckle and think of the silliness of it, but it’s just a bit of fun. I also purchase a black suit and then send my avatar to the blues bar. There are a number of males and females there and a big group chat is happening. People are talking about the music playing in the background, and while it’s not as good as the music played the night before, it’s still quite decent. As yet I don’t see BluesGirl88 in the club, so I just sit back at my desk and watch the small talk in the room. Not surprisingly, every avatar is good-looking and the majority of the females are dressed in cleavage- and leg-exposing attire. This whole thing is so removed from the real world I can understand the attraction to it.

  I’m in reasonable shape, but then I do eat and drink sensibly and make sure we’re pretty active on the weekends unless my work drags me away. But saying this, I’m not even close to the perfectly crafted piece of male flesh on my screen representing the real me—who’s floating through this virtual world of perfection.

  The bottle of scotch is still on my desk from last night, and my unwashed tumbler sitting next to it. I pick it up and take it to the kitchen to rinse it out and grab a packet of potato chips before returning to the home office. Placing the tumbler on the desk and half filling it with some of the silky smooth alcohol, I look at the monitor and see a chat request from someone named DancerGirl.

  I accept and find my avatar standing by the ocean looking rather silly in a full three-piece suit while the leggy brunette is lying on her back on a towel catching virtual rays in a string bikini.

  “Hi, do I know you?” I type.

  “Not yet, but take a look at me—I think you’d like to,” she types back.

  I laugh out loud and take a swig of scotch. It tastes just as good as it did last night. During my wild single years I could pick up a woman for the night most times I went out, but they were never as forward as these chat girls. It’s what I’ve always said, the internet allows us not only to be who we want to be, but it also seems to give everyone the courage of a lion to say what they want.

  “Haha,” I type and click on my suit and change to a pair of board shorts.

  “Now, that’s better, Terry. How about coming over here and rubbing some oil onto my back?”

  I click on her back and my avatar goes from one side of the scene to the other. He’s supporting his weight on his knees, one on each side of the sexy brunette on the towel. His hands move up and down along her back in a crude-looking massage action. She’s doing something making her avatar repeatedly groan in satisfaction. I know the sound is coming from the chat program and not a microphone; it has a cheesy pre-recorded tone to it.

  “Wow, I’m only rubbing lotion on your back, and you’re getting all excited. I knew I was good, but not THAT good,” I type.

  “Don’t flatter yourself too much, mister. It’ll take more than this to get me off.”

  I nearly spit the drink from my mouth with her comment. It takes me a minute to prepare my comeback. “Well, you best keep being nice to me if you want it to happen. I save my best work for the bitches who earn it.”

  This will either bring the chat to an abrupt end or shoot things ahead at light speed. I’m not feeling the least bit turned on by her avatar just yet, so I think this will be a laugh if nothing else.

  DancerGirl moves from the towel and is now knee deep in the water with the back of her visible. Her bikini top disappears and her avatar has no tan lines. Trust me to pick up on those little details, but then my sharp eye has been a great asset to me in my occupation. When you appraise a house for a potential client, you need to take notice of every little thing that can add value or reduce it.

  “What are you waiting for, you big talker? Click on my back... Stud!”

  I do as she says, and my avatar re-emerges standing right behind her, his hands working their way over from her back to her breasts, cupping, and rubbing them before the animation repeats itself over and over.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s it. I’m getting so wet now,” she types.

  “What the fuck’s going on here?” a new chat bubble appears in the scene, and as the offending avatar loads, I see the blonde from last night, dressed in a short black skirt with a short sleeved white blouse. Her hair is in a ponytail and not flowing free like last night, but the name doesn’t lie—BluesGirl88 is back to see me.

  “I was just chatting with my friend who was showing me some of the things this chat scene does,” I type.

  “I guessing rubbing boobs must be one of the highlights, but I must ask, do you rub the boobs of all your female friends?” BluesGirl88 asks.

  “Not as many as I’d like,” my typing grows in cheekiness.

  Her avatar is on the sand. “Get over here now.”

  “Gee, you found yourself a bossy one there, Terry,” DancerGirl says.

  “Who the hell asked you... slut,” BluesGirl says.

  “Go fuck yourself, psycho.”

  “Hey, girls, can’t we all just get along?” my avatar says.

  “Listen here, Terry. It’s either her or me. I didn’t come here for a ménage á trois with two guys,” BluesGirl88 says.

  “What the fuck?” DancerGirl asks.

  “You were rubbing a man’s tits, Terry. So if you want to stay here and pursue some homo fantasy of yours, that’s fine. As they say, people can be anyone they want on an internet chat site.”

  “Is this true?” I ask the accused.

  “Tell the truth or I’ll find you and hurt you,” BluesGirl88 says.

  “You’re not real and you can’t hurt me, so don’t throw stupid threats around,” DancerGirl says. Her avatar starts laughing hysterically.

  BluesGirl88 transforms into a ninja in full white attire, including the head covering. She has a samurai sword in her left hand and swings it around in a high arc from behind and over her head, and it connects with the neck of her target.

  The beach scene coupled together with the lack of gore animation enabled for the DancerGirl avatar results in the sword going straight through the character’s neck without decapitating her. “That was cool but pointless. Yes, I’m a guy, but please don’t tell anyone.”

  BluesGirl88 invites me to a private chat, and I soon find myself materialising in her virtual mansion again. I close off the chat with the other woman, or should I say man, and find myself in the entertaining room on the second level of the giant house. She appears in a matching white lace crop top with G-string panties, and picks a spot on the carpet and starts dancing.

  “Please be seated for the show,” she types, “and make sure you’re wearing something...
comfortable.”

  I zoom in on her, and she’s dancing like the highest paid exotic dancer at an exclusive gentleman’s club. My head stops at the term and breaks it down, amusement growing from it. When I was a boy, my mother told me how gentlemen behaved, and I find it hard to believe ogling a naked woman while swilling booze qualifies someone as a gentleman. I click on the couch and my avatar sits down. Then I give him an instant costume change, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black cotton boxer shorts.

  “So how did you know she was really a man?” I ask her.

  “You can just tell. It comes with experience and time on this site. The men who try and pose as women here generally act a certain way. They don’t care that in real life they’re chatting with another man, because men are visual creatures and what they see is a man and woman engaging in heterosexual acts, which they then use to assist them as they fist pump the trouser snake.”

  “You have a way with words, and obviously, a hell of a quick typist. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “Lots of things, but I’m not about to advertise my shortcomings.”

  There’s a shiny pole in the middle of the animated room we’re in, and her avatar materialises, instantly swinging on it in tune to a slow rock song. I look at my scotch bottle and see I’ve almost drained it.

  It certainly explains why I’m feeling so light headed, almost carefree to anything happening in the real world outside of this desktop computer. Here there is no stupid office politics and a jerk-off boss. No sick kids and hour long commutes in the morning and late afternoon. The packet of potato chips is almost empty and I’m not feeling good in the stomach for it.

  “You’ve gone quiet. Is something wrong?” she asks.

  “I’ve been drinking and put down the whole packet of chips. I’m too old for this shit.”

  “So you’re not twenty-five years old then like your name says?”

  “I was once.”

  “So you lied about your age? It doesn’t surprise me. You don’t seem like a twenty-five-year-old. But age doesn’t matter here, does it? As long as we’re both consenting adults and we are the opposite sex to each other, I’m okay with it. But please tell me you’re not seventy.”

  I type ‘LOL’ in a speech bubble and my avatar bursts out laughing. “I’m thirty-nine, actually.”

  “Well, you better not lie to me about anything else,” she says, and her character loses her top.

  “Wow, I love the way your boobs swing as you do that.”

  “Like I said, I paid some good money for these. Have you been spending some money on yourself?”

  I make my character’s cotton boxer shorts disappear, and his penis is visible and in its default erect state.

  “Wow, that’s impressive. We should go to the top floor and test it out.”

  “Lead the way, baby girl,” I could face palm myself for the cheesy comment, but it’s too late once I hit enter and it’s on the screen.

  Her character pops up in the bedroom. I zoom in and see she’s now fully nude. I send mine up there too and click on the bed. The bed has different points to click on and with each location my avatar goes, he engages in a different sexual action.

  “You starting without me?” she types, and she sends herself to the middle of the bed, lying on her back with her knees in the air. I soon find myself on top of her in what looks like missionary position sex.

  I watch the animations from my chair, taking the last drink from my bottle. Every few minutes, BluesGirl goes to a different spot, and I follow her and we engage in intercourse in a different position. There’s not much typing going on, and if she’s doing what I’m doing while watching this from my chair, I know why.

  I finally look at the time and see it’s three a.m. I tell her I have to get up for work in a few hours, and I really should leave and go to bed.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, and when I do, I want you to take me to a place you’ve bought. I can tell you’re a man who earns a lot so I don’t want to hear any whining about having to spend money.” Her character is standing by the bed with her hands on her hips.

  “I’ll see what I can find. Thanks for the fun tonight, BluesGirl.”

  I leave the chat and exit the program. Where did the time go tonight—and what does it mean when I have myself as a pixel built entity having sex with another one? It’s not my physical body, but my mind was in the room with another’s mind, involved in intimate activities. I may not have been there in the real material form, but spiritually, I was with another woman.

  I sneak into bed and Talissa doesn’t even move, nor does my son who’s sleeping in the middle of us for the second consecutive night. Here I am, looking at the woman who loves me and the little boy who looks up to me as if I’m some sort of hero.

  I’m no hero, and after my actions tonight, I’m an awful husband.

  Chapter 4

  Day 3

  “Terry, wake up. Terry.” I wake to my wife’s face and feel her hands rocking me. It’s nearly eight a.m. and I don’t remember my alarm going off at all.

  “Yeah, I’m awake.”

  “What time did you come to bed? Once I woke up at two and you still weren’t in yet.”

  “Yeah, I know, sorry. I’m still brainstorming a business plan of mine, and I was coming up with all sorts of strategies.” Damn it, I’m lying through my teeth to cover my own sick self-serving activities from last night.

  “I worry about you when you don’t sleep well. Get in the shower and I’ll have an extra strong coffee and cooked breakfast ready for you.” She gives me a big kiss on the lips. “Were you drinking last night?”

  “I had a couple of scotches. It helps with the creative streak.”

  She rubs a hand through my hair. “Please don’t keep doing this. I love you.” I receive another kiss on the lips, and she smiles at me.

  I could cry. She’s the most beautiful woman inside and out, and I’m doing sneaky shit behind her back while she’s comforting the boy we brought into this world a little over seven years ago.

  I shower, drink my coffee, and eat some bacon and eggs at the table with Talissa and the kids, and I barely say anything. Why am I carrying so much guilt about this virtual blonde girl? I kiss my kids goodbye and after I give my wife a big kiss, I say, “I love you, so much. Please don’t ever forget it.”

  I take a large hot thermos flask of coffee with me to work. I have about forty-five minutes to do a trip to work, which usually takes me just under an hour

  * * * * *

  “Geez, Terry, you look even worse than yesterday,” Roger says as I get into the office at about five minutes past nine. The rest of the staff are already there, even Phelps.

  “Did you forget to shave or just couldn’t be bothered?” Phelps asks.

  I put my hand on my jaw, and I come to the realisation that I clean forgot. I never forget to shave for the office. “Oh shit, sorry Phelps.”

  He turns away from me and addresses the room. “As I said on Monday, we have a temp working with us for a while to help us catch up with the increasing workloads. If we do well enough, she may stay on longer.”

  “She? Wow, I won’t be the only chick here anymore.” Kate smiles as the door opens and the new temporary agent walks in, and I could fall over when I see her.

  “Everyone, this is Emily. Not only is she pretty, but she has a brain that’ll make any of you look like a single-celled organism in comparison.”

  Kate is the first to shake hands with her. Then George and the cheeky smile-wearing Roger are next. I feel faint. I take a deep breath and am the last to shake hands with the blonde woman. She looks me in the eye as she says, “Pleased to meet you, Terry,” and flashes a smile.

  My head’s spinning. She has long blonde hair in a ponytail, is wearing a white short-sleeved blouse with a short black business skirt. Her eyes are blue, and while being careful not to take a leering look at her, I do notice the blouse is very tight fitting against those high and mighty breasts of he
rs. I try not to look at her face too much; she reminds me of someone I had virtual sex within the early hours of the morning.

  “Are you okay?” she asks me in a husky tone.

  “I’m not feeling well today. I need the men's room,” I say, and run out of the office. I get to the men’s toilet and almost dive for the bowl in the solitary cubicle. My throat burns as my breakfast makes an exit and splashes into the water in the bowl, a couple of drops hitting me in the face.

  How the hell am I supposed to work in this branch with the woman I’ve been chatting to on 3DDreamChat? I mean, it has to be her. She’s wearing the same clothes and has the real life husky voice like the one I heard the first night. And her face—the avatar has an uncanny resemblance to the woman.

  It’s not possible. How can it be? A familiar voice cuts through the fog in my head.

  “Terry, you okay, mate?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say and walk over to the hand basin to wash my face.

  Roger grabs my shoulder and tries to spin me around to face him., “Hey, I’ve known you for a long time, even longer than Talissa has. What the fuck is going on?”

  “It’s her, the girl from the chat. I chatted with her again last night and she was wearing the same clothes as Emily. Her face, her tits, even the voice—I’m telling you, it’s her!”

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Yeah, Emily is hot and definitely worthy of a night of hot steamy sex with yours truly, but she’s like a hundred other blondes with a nice body. You need to get it together and get back in there.”

  “Roger, I’m not crazy. I’ll prove it to you by the end of the day.”

  He sighs. “Buddy, I hope you can. Now, come on, let’s sell some properties.”

  * * * * *

  I get back to the morning brief, and Phelps gives me a glance as he carries on talking as if he doesn’t care whether I’m there or not. I tune in and out and steal an occasional glance at this Emily. At one stage, she catches me and gives me a small smirk. She’s messing with my head and all I can think about is whether she looks the same naked in real life.