The Girlfriend Experience

by Aubrey Parker

  What desires was she supposed to have, beyond her own?

  What was she supposed to be, other than what she was?

  Who exactly was Chloe Shaw?

  Being with Andrew was singularly unique.

  Chloe was doing the same sexual things she always did, but with Andrew her reactions, sensations, and responses were suddenly all natural. She wasn’t used to the sheer uncertainty of unrehearsed lust. The only time she’d had sex for her own reasons, before the tables and O’s employ, was that one time with Brad. That had been more like an experiment than lovemaking; now she felt unprepared, without any knowledge of what was coming next — what she’d need to do with each new step, what she could plan to feel.

  Andrew was so delightfully unknown. So new to her.

  Chloe lay on the bed, eyes closed, waiting to feel the pressure of his cock between her legs. Instead, she felt something softer and wetter.

  She kept her eyes closed. His tongue, of course.

  She could feel his hands still on her inner thighs, parting them as his tongue lapped her from bottom to top. His fingers left her legs to part her folds; Chloe could imagine him delicately opening her up, then sliding a finger inside.

  She lifted her head, wanting to see, and saw his mop of brown hair, his head working between her thighs. Fresh sensations slithered like a serpent inside her. She felt a long shiver. And then, almost without warning, Chloe’s hips rose from the bed and her knees clamped on his head.

  Andrew’s tongue was on her clit and he had a finger inside her but otherwise she couldn’t tell exactly where anything was, other than everywhere. She cried out, more vocal than she was when she’d masturbated after their earlier dates, when she’d been unable to dampen the feelings he caused her.

  She rubbed her pussy against his lips and face, coating them as she came. His tongue trailed her belly, cheeks, and mouth, covered in her juices.

  “I got you good,” she whispered through thin breath.

  Andrew wiped his mouth, smiled, and pressed his lips to hers.

  The tail end of her orgasm pulsed below, her clit still oversensitive. She clenched. Needful twitches climbed her body.

  Andrew wasted no time. As his gentle tongue met hers, he slid his cock inside her, and yanked a gasp from her throat.

  Chloe was so hot and wet from her orgasm, it felt like she was devouring him, sucking on his cock with her pussy as a mouth.

  She clamped down as he thrust, his first strokes already hurling her toward a second orgasm. Before 30 seconds were even behind them, Andrew wrapped his arms around Chloe and rolled her over so she was on top.

  Without pulling off, she sat tall and rode him.

  His hands rose to cradle her tits, rubbing them in long, worshipful handfuls. He gripped them firmly, as if with urgency.

  She slid up and down on his shaft as he thrust up to meet her.

  Andrew was on the edge.

  So was Chloe.

  She buried his dick in her pussy, and began to grind, lowering down to rub her clit against his root. Her breath swelled.

  Andrew wrapped his arms around her, hugged her to him, and whispered in her ear, “Come for me, Chloe Shaw.”

  Her control was gone. Chloe came hard, the second orgasm far stronger than the first. Her senses wanted to flee. Her head was light. She closed her eyes, feeling contractions take over.

  She bore down on his dick, grabbing it with her pussy, rubbing its length inside her.

  As Chloe came, Andrew did, too.

  She yelled and he yelled.

  Andrew rammed upward as hot warmth filled her. His thrusts were liquid. His come lubricated their final moments, wetting her pussy lips and the length of his shaft.

  When both orgasms were done, neither wanted to move. Chloe squeezed Andrew’s cock inside her, holding it in place until it finally softened and slipped out.

  Then they were both asleep and sweetly dreaming.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Benson was clapping. Actually clapping.

  “Sit down, Benson.”

  “Oh, up yours, Olivia. It’s not our fault you don’t have an artistic bone in your body. Some of us can derive pleasure from creation.”

  “Oh, so it’s art?”

  Benson tapped the boardroom table, then raised a hand and pointed a finger at the paused holo: Chloe Shaw, totally naked, her smooth body on top of and wrapped around Andrew, asleep.

  “Oh, yes,” said Benson. “Look at it like this.”

  He reached forward and tapped the control, turning it back into a 2-D image. They’d recorded both versions with hovercams, but Benson and Charisma had started in 2-D and still considered holography to be a flashy and inferior substitute to two-dimensional imagery. Some true artistes still worked on film, developing black and white images on paper using carcinogenic chemicals — a slow, impractical, and ludicrously expensive hobby. For such artistes, newer was always worse, and older always better. See also: collectors of vinyl records.

  Olivia stared at the image now projected over the boardroom table. It was still two people in post-coital bliss. Changing the medium didn’t alter Olivia’s mind. “I’m looking,” she said.

  “And you don’t see it?”

  “I see two people locked together. Like what happens with dogs or whatever, where the male gets stuck inside until he’s finished.”

  “I don’t think that’s dogs,” said Houston. “Maybe elephants.”

  “Do elephants fuck?” said Olivia.

  Parker shook his head. “Of course, they do. How do you think they get more elephants?”

  Houston: “Do they get locked together?”

  “I don’t know,” Parker said. “But let’s definitely spend more time talking about this.”

  Charisma tapped the table, same as Benson. She pulled the control toward her, scrubbing the footage back further into Chloe and Andrew’s covertly recorded encounter.

  The Six had considered meeting in Benson and Charisma’s editing bay, but after the debacle with Vic the hammy actor, no one was particularly optimistic about the video’s outcome and preferred to review raw footage in the more comfortable boardroom. If the footage miraculously turned out to be usable, they could edit later.

  “Just look at this,” said Charisma. “It’s beautiful. They kept their sex simple and predictable, so the cameras had no problem keeping up and finding good, stable shots. Even the nano-cams gave us great footage. The lighting is like velvet. Chloe looks fantastic, as if we’d sent her to makeup. We have a ton of terrific reaction shots, fantastic angles on penetration. The few words they exchanged were cute but not overbearing and the mics got it all.”

  “Cute but not overbearing,” Olivia repeated, shaking her head with annoyance. “It was sappy as hell. Worse than last time.”

  “Worse than last time?” Benson blurted.

  “Yes. At least the last time was lusty. Vic buried a bone in her ass and made her cry for mommy. What are we supposed to do with this milquetoast bullshit?”

  Charisma looked at the paused footage. In the new still, Chloe was about to slip Andrew into her mouth for the first time. Charisma stared at it like she was about to cry. “Are we talking about the same scene? This one here?”

  “Why do you think it’s so goddamned great, Charisma?” Olivia shook her head at the scene. “It’s the most pedestrian of fucks. Totally amateur, far beneath your lofty standard for porn.”

  “Look at it!” Now Charisma really looked like she was going to cry.

  Olivia saw it and turned away in disgust.

  Charisma charged on, defensive. “Are you kidding me, Olivia? This is beautiful!”

  “Define ‘beautiful,’” said Houston.

  “Define it? Use your eyes!”

  “You’re talking about the aesthetics,” Parker said. “How it actually looks.”

  “Yes, Parker,” said Charisma, now patronizing. “How it looks. That’s why I said to use your eyes.”

  “There’s more to a successf
ul scene than how it looks,” Parker countered.

  “It’s a vidstream! How it looks is all that matters!”

  Olivia shook her head. “You’re seeing it like an artist, but that’s not how people watch porn. Ask Benson about all his biometrics thingies. About Slava and her little facial expressions that make men shoot geysers for some reason.”

  Benson stood but didn’t address Olivia’s mention of triggers and biometrics. Instead, he sounded defensive. “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe you should ask two people who founded a very successful erotic video company about how people watch porn.”

  Olivia was undaunted. “Chloe and Andrew don’t use one goddamned bit of enhancement in this video. No tech, no external stimulation, no implants or visuals — hell, there’s not even any real dirty language. It’s two people fucking. You’re telling me people would want to watch that?”

  “Of course! That’s how we got started! I think Charisma and I know better than you what exactly—”

  “Sit down, Benson,” Parker said.

  “You people act like we’re a couple of pompous assholes who wear berets and talk about how life is pain,” Benson said, refusing to sit. “We had a billion-credit-per-year enterprise going before we even merged with O, and we continue to be a billion-credit-per-year company — hell, it’s over four billion now — and—”

  “How many non-toy, non-tech videos do you do each year at Nectar, Benson? How many that are this simple, with just two people having very average, one- or two-position sex?”

  “We do some!”

  “Calm down. Just tell me how many.” Parker turned to Charisma. “How many, Charisma?”

  Softer, she mumbled, “Five or six a year.”

  “That many, huh?”

  Benson glared at Parker.

  “Well then,” said Olivia, “if that’s the wrong question, why don’t you tell us how well those videos do in the market you know so well? The ones with two ordinary people fucking, with no enhancements, none of Houston’s fancy toys, no stimulators, no sex furniture, no bio-interactivity, no views available from internal micro-cams. Just two people fucking, nothing fancy. How do they do?”

  Benson shook his head and sat.

  “You think this is so artistically great?” Olivia gestured toward the video. “Fine. Make a loop, put it in a frame, and put it on your wall at home. But maybe it’s time we call this experiment a failure.”

  “A failure?”

  “Yes, Benson. You want to tell me how this sap-fest is supposed to be our revolutionary video? She didn’t look at the camera once, which is what you yourself said that Russian girl does that viewers like so much, and—”

  Benson said, “She didn’t know the cameras were there!”

  “—she didn’t do anything specifically for the viewers. You said it was a problem that Chloe always molds herself to her current guy rather than the viewer? Well, if that’s our standard, then this attempt is even worse than the last one. She was all about Andrew. It’s one step above a voyeur stream.”

  “It is not like a voyeur stream!” Benson blurted. He scrubbed through the video again, pointing as he spoke. “Look at that! How gorgeous is that shot? It’s like she knew to pose!”

  “Pose for him, maybe,” said Houston. “She’s hot for Andrew. But how does that help the viewer?”

  “Right,” said Parker, looking at both Charisma and Benson, his voice low like a peacemaker. “When Olivia says it’s like a voyeur video, that’s not a comment on your camerawork or what we know your editing can do. She means watching this is like watching two people fuck like they would when they’re alone. Yes, she’s gorgeous. Yes, the shots are fantastic — just like the lighting and everything else — but it’s just her and him, and her eyes are always on him and vice-versa. They do their thing. There’s no personalization, no customized positioning based on what we’ve learned from our market research or biometrics like what you, Benson, showed us with Slava. There’s no ending shot in this scene; he came inside her and didn’t even pull out, for Christ’s sake. There’s no tech at all. Chloe is natural. So is Andrew; we verified that when we put him on this assignment. They used no nanos, sprays, or any devices. Not so much as a vibrator. So, please, set your personal feelings aside and put on your business hat. Then you tell me, Benson: Two people fucking as nature intended, doing nothing to meet niche demand in any way, no script, no enhancement, no future of sex here at all — can you look me in the eye and tell me this is what people want?”

  And someone said, “Yes.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Yes,” Alexa repeated, now that everyone was staring.

  Parker’s look seemed to ask Alexa, as O’s unofficial lead, how she could possibly be so naive. But Alexa went on.

  “‘Two people as nature intended’ may seem unconventional to us, but that’s only because we’ve changed the world’s standards and gotten used to thinking according to those new standards ourselves. But, Parker? Olivia? Houston? Try something for me. Step outside of O and the Brave New World we’ve so carefully crafted these past few decades and just think about what I’m proposing for a second. Deep down, despite all the social engineering, this” — she pointed at the video — “is what people are wired to want. We’ve nudged them into wanting what we can sell, but I can’t help but wonder how far we can push before the pendulum starts to swing in the other direction. Maybe it’s all coming back around; who knows? In the end, this right here is the basis of it all. You want psychological triggers?”

  Again she nodded toward the paused scene of Chloe and Andrew.

  “Doesn’t it seem logical that the strongest triggers would be the ones millions of years of evolution have hard-wired into us?”

  Alexa stood, then pinched the projection above the boardroom table to spin it. She walked to the far end of the room, to where the cone of light over the table surrendered to shadows, then stood beside one of the six glass-fronted cells around the room. This was her cell — the one that, in the room’s original design, was supposed to be curated by Alexa. Inside the cell was a tall, dark-skinned man with a six-pack. The man had a giant erection, and as Alexa stopped in front of the cell, he guided it into the rear of a bent-over woman with a long tumble of flaming-red hair.

  Alexa tapped the glass. The man looked over. He wasn’t supposed to acknowledge the room’s occupants, so as quickly as he’d looked out he turned his attention back on the woman. The Six watched as he slid his penis into the redhead and thrust.

  “Man,” said Alexa. “Woman. Two human beings with interlocking parts. This is what humanity is wired for. No more, no less. If you’re gay, swap genders for whatever combination tickles your fancy. But in the end, it comes down to one person doing carnal things to the sexy parts of another. Everything we add to the equation is an attempt to enhance that one base thing. Or to record it. Think about it: porn is older than language. At first, people reproduced sex with drawings on whatever surfaces they had. Then photos. Then film. Then better film. Closer shots. Warmer light, sharper resolution. Superior sound. Even the earliest virtual reality started playing with porn right away, shitty as it was. The VR today, though it’s better, is still based on the same foundation.

  “We, as erotic humans, have continually tried to take this One. Basic. Thing. and to deliver it in better and more realistic ways. That’s all it’s ever really been: How can we make sex seem as real as possible to people who aren’t actually doing it? How can we show them better things, then put them ‘there’ as faithfully as possible?

  “The second there was a sexual economy, people started to buy into the possibilities of porn. That’s what we as a company have always chased. We sold, they bought. People wanted to feel real touch, so we made toys, then better toys. Lots of toys. Crazy toys to fit crazier and crazier kinds of touch. We made niche videos and holos. Shit, even when O was barely coming up in the world, sexual limits had already been shoved to their limits thanks to the Internet. So what did we do? We made new limits. We nor
malized what had been abnormal, then created newer and bolder abnormalities for our customers to desire. To gain our edge and dominate the market, we needed to make things more extreme on Crossbrace than people had ever had it before. Bigger. Faster. More partners. Then toys, then tech, then tech toys. And yes, all those things were great enhancements on sex. But has it ever occurred to any of you that we may have lost something in this mad dash to push harder and farther and bolder and better?”

  “Okay, Alexa,” Olivia said. “Enlighten us. What exactly have we lost?”

  “Simplicity.”

  Olivia nodded. “I see. So you want things dumbed down.”

  Alexa shook her head, then returned to the table. “Not dumbed down. Purer. We’ve always focused on pushing limits, and that’s always meant the need for more variety. We gave people everything, in their porn or in the form of something they could hold, so there’d always be something new to buy — something they didn’t have, something to desire and covet. But do you ever wonder if we’ve strayed too far from what matters most to people at their cores?”

  Houston laughed. “You think there’s a limit to what people want sexually? I’ve been in the toy business for over 40 years now. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that a dildo can always be made a little bit better — or just different enough that someone will want it over last year’s model.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Alexa. “They’ve followed us. We’re the industry leader; we have sex cornered horizontally and vertically. Sex is what O says it is. We created this country’s sexual culture. We told them what’s right and wrong and what they shouldn’t be ashamed of. We told them what felt good, then told them that pleasure would lead to empowerment. We told them yesterday was the past, and only the future mattered. But in the end, an orgasm is about nerve endings and everyone wants to get off.” She shook her head at the other five people in the room. “We must never forget that.”

  “I have stimulators that will make people get off sixteen times per minute,” said Houston. “I ain’t forgetting anything.”