M. Christian is a prolific writer, a brilliant mind, and a writer I truly look up too. We’ve also become really good friends, especially considering we’ve never met in the flesh. I’ve already written the forward to the latest edition of The Bachelor Machine, his classic collection of science fiction erotica, and we hope to work together more in the future.
This is the second time he has appeared on Approximately 8,000 Words as a guest blogger. For the first, check out “Do You Know What Your Children Will Be?”
Sure, the technology’s kinda crude right now (bored executrix, sitting behind her desk, pager set to BUZZ between panty-hose painted thighs, waiting for a lover to call), but just let those horny ol’ geeks and dweebs down in Silicone Valley work on it for a few more years and — ZAM!
The hoary old cliche with a new twist tells of how fast things are moving: “When I was young, son, when we fucked we actually touched each other.” Right now (aside from the executrix) things are at the “asking her out” stage — we’ve got quite a while to go before first, second, third base, and SCORE! (clickity, clack on a keyboard: “<Are you naked?>” he types. “<Yeah, and my nipples are hard and my pussy’s real wet>” a guy somewhere responds).
Right now, the science of what has been labeled teledildonics is still in its masturbating under the sheets stage — the subject of geek dreams, Adobe Photoshop pictorials, and a few hot zines. The electronic LSD wonderland of Virtual Reality is barely up and walking, let alone getting it on. Don’t worry though, like the camera, the telephone, the VCR, and the PC, sex will be right there when the breakthrough is made — there’s something in human nature that right after instant the light bulb lights, a new invention is born, the next immediate thought is always “Can I fuck with it?”
Getting from peg A to slot B is not that far off. Right now the big push is getting the operator’s hand into the VRverse, but you can bet other body parts won’t be far behind. For those who’ve been living in caves, and who seem to have missed the hoop and holler about VR, the idea’s simple: an operator wears a helmet equiped with teeny-tiny televisions over his eyes, a microphone so people can hear him, speakers over his ears, (and in the next few years) a jumpsuit with feelie and touchie capabilities, (and when the designers get horny) a “love machine” over his cock and balls–and then our intrepid explorer enters a computer-generated environment where he (okay, I’m being sexist — but do you really think a woman would come up with this kinda stuff?) can “interact” with other similarly-wired folks, and entertainment programs — in short “anything that moves.”
The sky was blue, the hills Astroturf green. Clouds, lazy and perfectly stratocumulus, drifted by. It was a perfect day. But then it was always a perfect day–here.
“Hey, hunk,” BYTEBITCH said to him, reaching out a reflective hand for his polished and gleaming cock, “wanna get it on? My rez is good, my OS’s faster than a bunny in heat, my RAM’s stacked and packed. I’m ready and wet — better than the real thing, baby.”
Her chrome tits bounced cartoon and firm, steely and ripe, nipples like, exactly like, flashlight batteries. Her hand on his cock was a slow, precise squeeze and a gentle, whirring stroke. Oh, man, she knew how to program!
“Let’s get it on!” he said, putting his mirrored hand on her mirrored tit, reflexors giving the D-cup the pressure of weight, “My hard’s up and running, and I’m ready to RAM!”
Somewhere else, linked, suited, wired, and wearing chrome tits, “Then let’s get hacking!” a guy somewhere said.
What’s cool and trippy about this next computer/sexual revolution is the way it will allow folks of every bent, kink, inclination, and obsession to get it on with their objects of affection. It could be a great learning tool, a way to exorcise sexy demons, test out new techniques, for homophobes to safely try it with someone of the same sex (or vices versa — that sexy computer-enhanced bimbette could be a Bear named Bubba): Virtual Reality is either what you want to see, or be seen as. Of course it’s also an excuse for the social inept, the geeks, the dangerous, and just plain too weird, to get their particular brand of nastiness down to a fine and navel-gazing art. Tech, the brand-new old saying goes, knows no morality.
And we’re so close — all it’ll take is a couple of ground-breaking gizmos and gadgets (happening all the time, now-a-days) some clever marketing, and before you know it, we’ll all be makin’ virtual bacon! All you need to make an effective (and fun, mustn’t forget fun!) virtually real environment is some kind of system that would allow you to touch something that wasn’t there — ideally so you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. In a few years, you could stand next to your handy-dandy home computer, all duded up in your VR gear, and fer instance, call up Carol Doda and swim between her mountainous breasts; have Mr. Right for a night — with his kind, perfect hands, his long, luscious tongue, and really, really big feet; or you could dive headfirst into one of Caligula’s more impressive birthday bashes and dog-paddle from one pussy, cock, asshole, mouth, to the next. You could ask a sweet young thing to sit on your lap. You could defeat the slobbering monsters from the planet Xxxys — or fuck them all silly.
But this digital, fuckable revolution can also mean that folks will also stumble across all sorts of nifty new ways to use this new, sexy-software (and mustn’t forget your ready-and-willing hardware!); it won’t stay just a way to have a vacuum suck your dick or a plunger push its silicone manhood into your wet pussy, or puckered asshole, for long. If we’re really lucky, with a few more years of innovation and creative invention, this kinda stuff will lead away from the idea that sex and whoopie (electro or not) is just the ol’ teledildonic in-an-out.
After-all, why stay with reality (or sorta reality)? It wouldn’t take long before folks start to realize the true potential of this “electronic masturbation”, this “computer vibrator” stuff. Not only could you make wet, hard, fast, slow, thumping love with whoever you want, you could make “better than the real thing” nookie with whatever you want.
Wrap yourself around a Doric column (circumcised or not) and slide yourself to one helluva Freudian orgasm, or maybe frolic in a pasture of your choice — play demented shepherd to a ready and willing flock. Take a swan dive into a sea of soft boobs, rolling in an ocean of tits, climbing up on atolls of nipples to dine on mother’s milk.
The file was her favorite — but one her roommates stayed well away from.
She stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, head high, shoulders back, arms at her side. Her suit was a good one, she’d had it custom made. Enclosed and embraced by it, all she felt — felt before she started the system, that is — all she felt was slightly warm.
She started the file, fitted the helmet over her head, and took a deep breath.
Then the fun started.
The file was called “Pain”.
Look for Part 2 of “Even Better Than The Real Thing” next week.
M. Christian can be found online at Imagination Is Intelligence With An Erection. One recent book (of many!) is How To Write And Sell Erotica. His newest book, Finger’s Breadth, is due out soon from Zumaya Publications.