Womanized

by Nikki Crescent

  But how was that possible? I’d been fucking chicks every night for a year now—sometimes two or three times. How had I not fucked a girl in the ass before? And why couldn’t I remember any of the other girls now? Did I have a drinking problem? Was I doing too many drugs? I couldn’t remember any booze or drugs. In fact, the only memory I could muster up in my brain was the image of a spreadsheet on a computer screen. I could see a bunch of numbers: a fiscal budget. But why did I know what a fiscal budget was if I was a rock star?

  I pushed those thoughts away. I had to focus on the priceless Asian tush that was presenting itself to me. I bent the girl over slightly and then I began to push in. Her sister helped to guide my cock, giving me a bit of an extra massage—or maybe she was just trying to get in on the action because I was giving her sister all of the attention. I couldn’t help that I had preferences.

  I pushed in deeper and deeper and deeper as the blonde moaned and squirmed. I held her fragile hips firmly, so she wouldn’t fall away from me. I could feel her warm, tight anal walls throbbing along my shaft. It felt amazing. I pulled her in tight to me and then I started to thrust. She grunted slightly each time I slapped my pelvis into her butt. Her sister was behind me now, rubbing her warm, naked body against my back while I fucked her sister. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to save any for her. Would she be disappointed? Of course she wouldn’t be disappointed—she was probably happy to simply be in the room with me, one of the biggest rock stars of all time.

  But I wasn’t a rock star—I was an accountant. I didn’t know how to play guitar. I didn’t even know which city I was in. Did I really just play a whole set? I could only remember playing the last few seconds of our last song—and there weren’t even any guitar parts—I was really just standing there, absorbing the energy of the crowd while I did nothing. How did I get there? Was I just dreaming? Was this all about to end at any second?

  I reached down and pinched my arm. The pinch hurt. It didn’t seem like I was dreaming. So what was happening? Why wasn’t I behind my desk? Why did these Japanese twins want to fuck me so badly?

  I took a deep breath. My heart was racing now. Something wasn’t right—lots of things weren’t right. Couldn’t I worry about this later, once I was finished fucking my Japanese twins?

  I kept thrusting, slamming down harder and faster, trying to get the act done with before I had a complete mental breakdown. And that must have been it—I was having a mental breakdown. I was either in my accounting office having some fever dream about being a rock star, or I was a rock star, having some sort of false flashback to being an accountant. Or maybe I was something else—maybe I was hallucinating and misremembering at the same time. Maybe I was actually rocking back and forth in some insane asylum.

  I was breathing heavily now, starting to pant. I looked down at the blonde’s ass, which was a shade of red from my pelvis slapping it. I stopped thrusting for a moment. I needed to gather my composure or I would never come. I took another deep breath, and then I heard a voice. “I think we should bring him out. That’s probably enough for now.”

  I looked around quickly. “Who’s there?” I asked as beads of sweat started forming on the back of my neck. “Come out here! Who’s in here watching?”

  My vision was starting to blur. I had a feeling I was about to pass out. I wondered if the Japanese twins would go to get help or if they would just run away. Was I going to die in that green room? Would they find my body with my erect cock out? Is this how the world would remember me?

  Suddenly my vision went black and everything was quiet. Was I dead?

  CHAPTER II

  I was staring up at a woman’s face. She was a white woman with blue eyes and messy blonde hair. She wasn’t quite my type—a bit too old, and I was never a fan of girls with glasses. “Am I dead?” I asked her.

  “You need to just stay still for one minute. It takes the brain a minute or two to recover fully from the simulation.” She leaned away, out of my field of vision. Now I was just staring at blank ceiling tiles in a bright room. Simulation? What was she talking about?

  I turned my head and saw her tinkering with some computer off to the side. There was a man with her, wearing a similar white lab coat. Was I some sort of test dummy?

  Then I saw the little silver and blue machine on the table next to me. There were long cords running from the machine to my head. I reached up and felt the strange helmet on my head, and then I suddenly remembered what it did: it was a virtual reality simulator—and it belonged to me.

  I sat up slowly, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to. I remembered the briefing before I went into the simulation. “Once you wake up, you must remain still for two full minutes, so your brain can properly recover,” Ellen, the older blonde woman said to me.

  “What happened in there?” I asked. “Was there some sort of malfunction?”

  Ellen looked back and saw that I was sitting up. “Lay back down!” she snapped. So I followed the command, even though I was pretty sure my brain was already back to normal—or very close to it. “There was no malfunction. You just need to get used to the simulation. It will take a few uses before you can remain in the simulation for a long period of time. It’s sort of like a drug—you need to build up a tolerance before you can handle a lot of it.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” I said. I rubbed my forehead, trying to push away the headache that started suddenly.

  “Stop moving,” Ellen said.

  I looked down at my lap and saw the massive bulge under that white sheet: my erection still standing tall. I quickly reached down and tried to hide it in the waistband of my underwear. But I knew that Ellen saw, because a moment later she said, “With your particular simulation, it will be important to wear a condom every time you go in—unless you don’t mind making a mess. If you ejaculate in the simulation, you will ejaculate in real life.”

  “Okay,” I said awkwardly. I couldn’t help but think that Ellen was judging me. Though I knew that the simulation team would judge me when I put in my order. I’m sure most people had their simulators designed so that they could be the President of the United States, or so that they could accept an Academy Award every night before bed. Or maybe most people were losers like me—maybe I wasn’t the only one who asked to be a rock star who got lots of pussy.

  “We just need to make a few tiny adjustments, then the simulator is yours to take home. It should be ready by tomorrow afternoon. You can go home now,” Ellen said without turning around. She was typing away at her computer.

  “Just like that, huh?” I asked.

  “Just like that?” she said with a bit of a scowl. “We’ve been working on your unit for six weeks.” There was some resentment in her voice. Maybe I wasn’t being grateful enough—though the small fortune I paid for the unit should have been thanks enough, no? I could have used that money for a down payment on a house, or invested it into some retirement savings fund. But instead, I was giving it to her and her team.

  Though maybe when her and her team designed the simulation unit, they thought that respectable people would use it for respectable purposes—not for guys who wanted to have a futuristic porn machine. And maybe I was just a scumbag, but I couldn’t think of any respectable uses for the devices, aside from fucking virtual chicks. “So what kinds of simulations are other people buying?” I asked.

  Ellen looked back at me, still with that little scowl that made me feel like a total loser. “Well,” she said. “We have doctors who want to explore the inside of a body from the perspective of a blood cell, so that they can be more precise with their surgeries and diagnoses. We have nuclear physicists who need detailed simulations of the insides of reactors. We have engineers who want to test out ambitious designs before trying them in the real world and putting lives at risk. And then we have guys like you, who need to wear condoms when they run their simulations.” She turned back around before my face turned completely red. “And sadly, it’s mostly guys like you.”

  �
�Hey—well it sounds like the guys like me are paying your salary, so maybe you should be a little more grateful,” I said. I regretted saying it just a little bit, worried that it would make her put less effort into the final adjustments that she needed to make. But it needed to be said. I was paying a lot of money for this unit—more money than I’d ever paid for anything in my life. This was a big deal for me, and I didn’t need her making me feel guilty because I wasn’t using it the way she wished that I was using it.

  And not everyone got to work in the exciting field of advanced technology. Some of us were stuck behind desks, staring at spreadsheets all day, crunching numbers together while trying to save companies 0.001% on their taxes. Some of us needed a little bit of excitement in our lives—so why couldn’t she just be proud that she was providing that excitement?

  “We’ll give you a call when your device is ready,” she said without turning back to me. And maybe I grossed her out. She was probably standing over me when I got my erection. And she could probably see what was happening on her screen. Hell, she probably even watched me take that dark haired girl’s hand and move it onto her sister’s pussy. Maybe that was a bit too depraved for Ellen, the great scientist of our generation. Maybe I was a bit of a scumbag. Maybe I should have saved the especially depraved stuff for when I was home alone with my simulator.

  But in the moment, I didn’t even know that I was in a simulation. It was the strangest sensation—a little bit frightening even, especially once I started to remember my real life during the simulation. But Ellen promised me that would stop once I got more comfortable with the machine. I read online that some people are even fully aware of their real lives while in their simulations. People just learn to accept the simulation for what it is. Even if you know that the Japanese twins standing in front of you aren’t real, that doesn’t mean the sensations aren’t real. Like Ellen said—if you fuck a chick in the simulation, you’re still going to come in real life.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about my first simulation experience as I made my way home from the lab. I couldn’t wait to live it out again: the roar of the crowd, the heat from the stage lights, the horny gazes from all of the skimpy women in the crowd. I could have taken any of them back stage! And once I had my machine, maybe I would make my way through all of them. I couldn’t wait to fuck chicks that were way out of my league. I couldn’t wait to play shows in stadiums all over the world. Apparently, the simulators are very accurate at depicting the major cities of the world. There was a story in the news not too long before I placed my order: some guy used his simulator to memorize the streets of Toronto, so he could practice driving away from a bank robbery, which he actually pulled in real life.

  And there was a big debate happening in the world: is there really any difference between travelling in real life and travelling in the simulator? If the landmarks are all the same: the sights, the smells, the feelings—then what’s the difference? You could even take photos in your simulation, and the photos would be uploaded directly to your computer. Maybe I would stop at the Great Pyramids between shows—I’d always wanted to see them.

  I even heard a rumour that they were working on making the simulations into a multiplayer experience, so that people could interact with the simulations of others. Of course there were lots of people against that idea—people worried that these simulations would quickly replace real life. But I didn’t see any harm in that. Real life was boring. Soon, there would be computers capable of doing all of my accounting work—and then what? What was I supposed to do then? Go back to school and learn how to maintenance the accounting computers? Why would I do that, when all I needed was a bit of food, a bit of shelter, and my simulator?

  Maybe that was a stretch. I wasn’t ready to give up on my real life just yet. Though I was becoming increasingly tired of my real life. Once I was home from the lab, I went onto my phone to see if I had any new hits on Tinder. I know what you’re thinking—aren’t you a few years too old for that Tinder app? Maybe that’s true—but what other options did I have? I tried the other dating websites. No girl wanted a guy like me: short and skinny with a boring office job. The only thing I had going for me was a steady job, but it wasn’t even the kind of job that could support an entire family. I made fifty grand a year, and the most I could ever make with my qualifications was sixty grand per year. So if a girl wanted to be with me, then that meant she would have to work a job as well. If she wanted kids, that meant paying for daycare, because we would both be working. And my brother told me how much that daycare shit costs: about forty grand per year—assuming you want your kids to go to a half-decent one. So the daycare would effectively cancel out whatever my proposed spouse would make. So why would any girl want that?

  I’m not saying that I was a bad looking guy. I had girls telling me that I was cute all the time—though I’m not sure if that was necessarily a compliment. What guy wants to be ‘cute’? Hamsters are cute. Bunnies are cute. A young woman with a quirky laugh is cute. But a man?

  My friends told me that I needed to work on myself. “Whenever you have free time, use it to improve yourself. Learn a few words of another language. Lift some weights. Practise drawing.”

  “Drawing?” I said. “Why would I practise drawing?”

  “I don’t know—what are your hobbies?”

  “I don’t have hobbies.”

  Even my friends were starting to think that I was a lost cause. And maybe they weren’t wrong.

  I always wanted to learn to play the guitar. I even bought a guitar a few years back, before they even announced the simulation units. I always told myself that I would teach myself—but it’s harder than it looks. I would sit there for twenty minutes, trying to decipher some tablature I found on the Internet, and then I would get frustrated. The guitar eventually fell out of tune, and I couldn’t figure out how to tune it properly. I bought a tuner and tried my best, but it never sounded right—or maybe I just really had no idea what I was doing.

  But I would put on a Led Zeppelin DVD and I would watch Jimmy Page, and then I would be re-inspired. I would run and grab my guitar and I would try to put my fingers where Jimmy put his fingers, and then I would create the most horrible sounds. I guess music just wasn’t my thing. I had the guitar out in my living room for a while, and then I eventually got sick of people asking me, “Do you play? Play me something!” I figured they didn’t want to hear some half-assed version of Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star.

  A friend of mine, who was very good at the guitar, would always say, “You just need to keep trying. Keep playing, even when you’re frustrated, or you’ll never get better.” But I had a feeling that it was never quite so hard for him. Some things just come more naturally to people. And to me, nothing came naturally—except for when I was in my custom made simulation. When I filled out that form, I made sure to put down that I wanted to be an expert guitar player, a profound songwriter, and an irresistible ladies man. I wrote that I wanted to be rich and famous and have the complete opposite of what I had in real life.

  And that afternoon, I finally got a taste of what I was missing. I got to experience the stage and the crowd and the women. Maybe escaping to a simulated world was sad and pathetic, but I just didn’t care anymore. Why does Jimmy Page get to experience all of those great things while I’m stuck in an office? Why can’t a guy like me indulge a little bit from time to time?

  I hardly slept that night, knowing that my bored nights watching Law & Order reruns would soon be over. Soon, all of my nights would be spent in different cities, playing for massive crowds, while fucking beautiful woman after beautiful woman.

  CHAPTER III

  It was 1:00 PM when I got the call. “Kalvin, your simulation unit is ready to be picked up,” an unfamiliar voice said on the phone. “Do you think you’ll be by today to pick it up?”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I said. I was already putting on my coat, already unable to wipe the smile from my face. I thought about taking the bus, bu
t I was even too excited to wait. So I called a cab as I ran down the stairs of my apartment building. It was at the front door within a minute. “Smith Gadgets Lab, please,” I said to the cab driver as I practically dove into the back of his car.

  I was squirming in my seat, tempted to tell the cab driver to drive faster. When we pulled up to the Smith Gadgets building, I told the driver to leave the tab running. “I’ll only be a minute,” I said. And then I got out o the car and bolted towards the building. I wanted to finish where I left off with those Japanese girls. I wanted to cum in that blonde’s asshole and then I wanted to make her dark haired sister eat my creampie as it oozed out. So maybe I was a bit of a degenerate—it was my simulation, so I could do what I wanted with it.

  There was a line at the counter. I pushed past the line and got to the front and said, “I’m just here to pick up a unit. Do I really have to wait in the line?”

  “Everyone has to wait in the line. I’m sorry,” the young woman said. I found myself wondering if there was a woman who looked like her in my simulation. Maybe I would fuck her brains out after I was finished with my Japanese twins.

  I looked behind the desk and saw the small stack of simulation units, still in their boxes. “But I think I can see mine. It’s right in that box, right there—the second from the top. You just called me, remember?”

  “Hey man, get to the back of the line,” one of the customers said.

  I had to bite my tongue. I awkwardly walked to the back of the line and tried to control my breathing. I had to get that unit home. I wanted to get a little taste of the amazing life that I was about to live in the privacy of my own home.

  It only took ten minutes to reach the front of the line. I only had to smile for the woman before she turned around and grabbed my box. But she didn’t hand it to me right away. Instead, she pushed a stack of paperwork towards me. “You need to sign all of these waivers. And this form here is your return policy. You have thirty days to return your unit. The return instructions are here—read them carefully. You don’t return the unit here to our lab. It gets sent away. Same goes with repairs. Sign here if you understand what I’m telling you.”