Simlog #1, recorded by Babsie
White noise, then changing to colorful pixels a face emerges from chaos. Hands come into view, distorted sound. Fragments of words “…no…” “…fit…” “…like this.” Hands become sharper, the visual forms into something more humanoid, until it solidifies to the three-dimensional image of someone in between his mid or late thirties. He’s wearing a colorful unironed shirt, khaki colored cargo pants. His arms are around the POV, the point of view, adjusting something. “The fit is not correct. You have to put it like this.” A male voice, a bit broken by too much cigarettes and whiskey. The vision get’s clearer, finally they adjust. Some distortions, some white noise. The POV is looking a bit up. Emotrack is flooding in; excitement. “Let run diagnostics, bunny. It’s in the DNI.”
Menues pop up, searching mental fingers gliding over the interface. “Where?” Her voice is louder than his and sounding in a deeper tone, as if she was hearing herself. She blinks and the visual is flickering for a blink of an eye. A weird feeling in the stomach. He moves himself a step back. “Can you see me clear? Can you hear me?” “Of course I can! I’m still me!” “I mean switch to monitor mode.” “Ah.” A further degression of sensual quality. Like she was on drugs and the stim is a bit out of synch. “It’s okay.” “Fine”, he says. “Test, go around, jump a bit. Is the simrig fitting tight? Is it moving?” She jumps and the feeling of lifting into the air, young and elastic bouncing back from the floor. Her footwork feels a bit clumsy. Her legs feel naked.
“It’s okay.” “Bunny, this is great! This recording is approved as valid witness statement for the use in court. It’s very difficult to fake by editing. Not like video or audio streams. We have direct POV proof with this, this is just…” “A really cool toy!” “This is no toy, Babs! This is our future! It’s the one halve of our agency bonus. And here’s the other.” He holds out a packet for her.
“Gee!” Overwhelming joy and the POV jumps. He’s near, a kiss, his lips are tasting of smoke and whiskey. His beard is poking in her face. Her hands in his. Her legs close around his hip. He’s taking breath. She feels his arousal. “Open it, damn. Babs, I have to go. Charleen is really pissed off, if I let her wait. I trust you with the bureau for a few days. Are you okay with that?” The POV nods. “’s kay. Said so!” Hands quickly picking open the packets. A small black wool cap. “Try it on! It’s ballistic, we got it as bonus for the simrig.” Fitting the thing on the head, funny feeling when she is putting her hair back to a ponytail. Nimble fingers fumbling behind the head. She turns, a mirror. The slightly distorted view of herself in the mirror. White tank-top ‘Plushator’ in black and in mirror-reverse on it. Slim body. She’s plucking on her clothes to look good. Mirror says it’s nice. She sticks out her tongue. The feeling of your tongue sticking out. “Like in the flicks”, she says. Turning left right, looking at the cap.
“And the second”, he offers a second packet. Fast moving, bad visual. Then looking at herself in the mirror. A bulky parka in military camo, a small German flag on her arms. “Like the thing you liked Richard was wearing.” She grins. Pulls it tight. Big hood hanging on her back. She pulls the inner string around the waist, the thing narrows and it’s fitting much better, showing more of her girlish figure in the mirror. She’s coquetting with it, setting herself in poses.
He’s behind her, her arms embrace her. Warm, she’s feeling funny in her stomach, turning around. “No”, he says. “I really have to…” She’s kissing, her naked thighs rubbing against him, when she starts to cling herself around him. Tumbling, she hits the desk behind her, sitting on it. Fingers fumbling with his fly. He’s aroused, she feels him press against her naked leg. Then he’s inside her, filling him. She presses against him. “No”, he says, but he stopped fighting it. “I will miss you”, she whispers in his ear, her tummy bouncing against him, he’s sliding in and out. “When you’re gone with her. You think of me, sometimes?” She kisses him. His zipper hurts a bit, but she just takes him with more enthusiasm. The feeling in her belly getting stronger, getting wilder. “You think of me?” He’s not talking. A half spoken: “yes.” “Tell me, you want me.” Moaning. “I’m late…” Rush of anger, fear. “You can’t, just before…” Her movements faster, kissing. “I will…” “What?” “I said, oh god, Bunny. I will think… of you… stop that…”
She feels him coming. Warm feeling inside. Tightening of his body. His kisses, hands around her head. Flush of emotions, mixture of several things. Fear, arousal, loneliness, jealously. Eyes closing, screaming, distorted signal, her trode-net moving, his warm moist breath tingling in her ear. Feelings of dizziness, exhaustion. He inside her, something running down her inner leg. He trying to move away. She holding him, pressing herself against him. Cold tingling feeling running down her cheek. Vision distorted. “Think of me.” “And you use the time for training.” Her hand touches the outside of her thigh. His fingers caressing her skin then finding something that is fit there. A weapon. “At least once a day. At 1200”, she says. “Okay. Twelve o’clock.”
She lets him go. “Have fun with her”, her voice says. Smell of sweat in the air. He’s tripping over the chair on his way to the door." “I’ll do. Call me if something’s important.” She nods.
He’s gone. She starts to smile. Feeling of victory. With a hanky she’s wiping over her leg, cleaning away the stuff that’s running down.