Beyond the motorized dildo, the buzzing clit vibrator, the touchie/feelie hands, the Grope-O-Matic Bodyglove™ suit, the 3D vision and the Surround-Sound gear is the next logical step: just to the left of this future is where either the brain/nerve interface has gotten a lot faster and smoother, or where it may be possible (mad laughter goes here) to directly tie into the human nervous system — to record, playback, hitchhike …
“Touch her tits,” his passenger said — laying in a bed somewhere watching it all on his telepresence goggles, feeling the weight of the transmission gear, smelling the hot oil on her lean and ready body.
“Suck a nipple. The right one. That’s it,” his voice was excited and tense. On that bed, he knew, tied in and connected, his passenger was the one feeling the nipple swell and crinkle in his mouth.
“Stick a finger in her pussy,” and, in that somewhere, his passenger felt the velvet of her labia, the sweet slippery juice of her cunt.
“Fuck her,” his passenger said, and the Stud-Double went to work, all his sensations, all his impressions — the soft weight of her breasts, the cables of her legs wrapped around his waist, the warm handshake of her hot cunt — were diverted, transmitted, reconnected to that guy, somewhere, laying on his bed.
Hell, it was a living.
In this direction is what’s called the “Dead-end Valhalla,” just add some fancy-dancy computers to store the data, remodel it on demand, and tailor-to-suit. Soon all of the fun-loving and fucking folks of the future living will be living their eternal lives in their own personalized, computer-generated universes–not knowing if the guy, gal, robot, potted palm they’re fucking is really another person, an Artificial Intelligence, or a simple program. Sounds kinda sad and creepy, huh? Well, think of it this way, you could do ANYTHING you want–
“Was the oral sex satisfactory, Master?” the nymph said, batting her huge brown eyes and absently plucking at a brown, wrinkled nipple.
“I’ve had better. In fact, my three thousand, seven hundred and fifty-third, yesterday, was considerably better. Softer lips, a little less teeth. More suction–“
“I most humbly apologize, Master.”
“Think nothing of it, girlie,” he said, willing her into a storage file.
“Your wish is my command,” his System said, materializing on the veranda.
“So, what haven’t I done?”
“No, let’s be wild. What haven’t I done today, System?”
The turbanned eunuch pondered a moment, thin brown fingers stroking a benevolent beard. “So far this week you have yet to indulge in ‘The Westinghouse Repairman and the Harem,’ ‘The Nun and the Bad Choirboy,’ ‘The Donkey and the Cheerleaders,’ ‘Torquemada and the Inquisitionettes,’ and, lemmie see–” he muttered and materialized a File Listing “–and ‘The Linebacker and the Kindergarten class.'”
“Is that it, System?”
“‘Fraid so, sir, you seem to have been particularly randy today.”
The Master of All and Whoever He Surveyed pondered, and pondered and did a little more pondering — until a light bulb virtually materialized over his head. “Oh, System–“
“Yes, my Lord and Master?”
Of course, technology may not run into this navel gazing (and sucking and fucking) direction. After all, what’s to stop physical science from catching up with computer science? Add a little metaphysics to our wonder computer, a machine able to completely analyze an object and render it (even as a virtually real illusion in a virtually real universe), and it could conceivable recreate it as a really, really, real object (it has to know everything about it anyway). What do you get then? Well, it would certainly add a new angle to what we call “Recreation” in the distant future:
Shy, and covert, Ensign Wesley Crusher said, “Computer–” it responded with a musical chirp “–run Crusher program ‘Behind The Barn One.'”
The doors opened onto golden hay, the smell of fresh fertilizer, and the sounds of animals.
Shy and covert, Ensign Wesley Crusher entered the holodeck.