Chapter Three - Strawberry Fields

The morning passed quickly, and as noon rolled around, the hunger drove us out of the house. Neither of us had any inclination to work the kitchen, so we decided to eat out. Livia certainly made enough money to indulge in such luxuries, and I didn’t fail her for that, neither for earning well nor for what she did. I know there are plenty of people who wouldn’t be able to accept their partner having sex with strangers, but for me, it was more of a turn-on.

She helped me carry my luggage into her bedroom—technically, I was renting the other one, but why would I actually use it?—grabbed something from her wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom, whispering “surprise” as she passed me by. But it wasn’t as if I didn’t have some surprises planned myself. Ten-step plan, step 5. Butter her up.

Being more than a bit hungry, having had no real supper and having skipped most of breakfast would help me get into my outfit. Still, it would be a fight. I grabbed the trousers I wanted to force myself into when I got a system prompt.

🖹

Equip “Sexy men’s trousers that are actually two sizes too small”? (1) Yes. (2) Yes, include padding. (3) No.

Was the AI buttering up me now? But who’s checking equine dental records? So I selected “2”, and an instant later, the trousers restricted my lower body to some uncomfortable degree, which was mostly what I had expected. They were just big enough to barely fit in. Yet the AI must have cheated a bit and altered them to fit even closer to my legs—they were tight as if painted on. Nice.

Also, the padding was where it belonged, filling out the extra space I got from buying in the men’s section. I didn’t know what the AI put there; I hadn’t yet fetched the roll of socks I would have used, and the padding felt a bit stiffer and more along the intended shape, and I wasn’t inclined to open up to look. In any way, the imprint on my crotch area was exactly what I had hoped for. Nobody looking there wouldn’t think to see men parts.

And they would be mightily confused as the push-up bra I put on under a tight T-shirt said something completely different. It even managed to confuse myself for a moment when inspecting myself in the mirror. And that made it perfect for Livia. She had a bit of a fetish for gender confusion. She had watched every movie about the topic ever made, from Yentl to She’s The Man, from Viktor und Viktoria to Tomboy, forwards and backwards.

This had been our little game when going out since the very first summer, when a drunken girl at a party had mistaken me for a guy and shoved her hand in my panties, trying to give me a hand-job. Considering those panties had resided beneath a skirt at that time, she probably was stoned and drunk, but I think that moment and my reaction to it was what sparked Livia’s initial interest in me as more than some ballast to carry around.

Her surprise outfit wasn’t any less inspired. She had put on an ankle-length black pleated skirt that hid her legs completely, resembling something she had worn in her goth phase. That day that we invaded the church. The top was a frilly white blouse with long arms under a tight-fitting black sleeveless blazer, again making her goods more a fantasy than a see. The ensemble was completed with a simple headscarf covering her hair, accentuating her face’s summer tan. She also had put on a light layer of makeup and some lipstick. Just enough to make her face off-limits in public, lest I ruin it.

“You look like a Christmas present in August,” I said.

“It is August,” she replied with a wide grin. “And you look properly indecent.”

“I hope you won’t let me hang until Boxing Day to open my present?” I was so happy that my ‘package’ wasn’t real. There wasn’t any room to expand down there.

“Maybe?” She winked. “But I won’t survive the winter in this.” She leaned forward and whispered into my ear, “I’m not wearing panties.”

“Me neither,” I replied. “But as much as I want to unwrap you, I’m starving.” I hooked her arm and led her out the door, just like a good fiancée, male, female, both or neither, should do.

🙚⚜🙘

Livia steered us to a bistro-style restaurant. They had hand-written blackboards with the menu’s specials on brick walls and served fine-dining portions. Still, it was good food, way better than anything I had grown up with, and Livia had no qualms about ordering two mains for each of us.

After we had eaten our fill and enjoyed the dessert, a perfectly round ball of ice cream on a honey-glazed brownie stick, we leaned back and gave attention to people’s reactions to us. In London, nobody would have looked twice, but Liverpool was a tad more conservative, and we stood out a bit. I’m no attention whore, unlike Livia, but with her on my side, it was fun to imagine what people were thinking.

“Can we rewind our conversation a couple of steps,” Livia asked in a low voice.

“Sure. It got a bit hectic earlier. Whereto?”

“You moving in. You steamrolled me a bit with that proposal, and don’t think I forgot about that ring.” She wiggled her naked fingers. “Did you really uproot your whole life on a whim?”

“It wasn’t a whim,” I replied, keeping my voice down, too. “We have been planning this for almost a year.”

“We?”

“Your parents and I. It was mostly their idea, I’d say. Your dad called me last October. His retirement was coming up, and it’s not a secret your parents wanted to move to Spain then for a long time. But he had one big worry.”

“Me.” She sounded ashamed. “I had guessed they would postpone the move a year, maybe two. When they actually planned and executed it on time, I was a bit surprised.”

“Didn’t think they would trust you?”

“ I wouldn’t trust me. And I am me.”

“Point taken.”

“Don’t just drop it. I am addicted. That will never go away. The only thing that goes away is the withdrawal. The urges stay, and I have to work every hour of every day to ignore them. It would be so easy to slip. A couple of seconds of weakness and all comes crashing down. And in my line of work, even more.”

“Huh?”

“Easy access. Half the girls are on something to take the edge off. I could ask Bethany for coke, Alice for morphines, or my boss for some weed. Hell, there’s a jar with random ecstasy pills in the office kitchen, and half my clients order me some wine for dinner without asking.”

“Sounds like an uphill battle. What makes you go through with it?”

“You.”

“In the risk of repeating myself: Huh?”

“My therapist, the first one, the one who convinced me I needed help, said it best. The one thing that kept me from overdoing is not a fear for my life. It is the fear that my death would hurt you. I guess my parents realised that, too.”

I had to swallow a lump in my throat. Two years ago, I had been ready to drop her like a hot potato based on one phone call. “I think they did. Thinking back, they treated me like your partner from the second time I visited, didn’t they?”

“Nope. That started two weeks into the first one. Did you know that the only time they said ‘Jane’ and not ‘your girlfriend’ was when you were there? I had to beg for days to get them to agree to that.”

“I suspected as much. You forgot to beg them not to do it on the phone or in emails, either. Or when they visited me every time on their way to Heathrow. Which is bonkers, by the way. Liverpool has a perfectly fine airport, the only reason for them to fly from Heathrow was to visit me. Took me embarrassingly long to notice that.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Huh, as in, I didn’t know you had so much contact with them. Sounds like you saw them more often than me…”

“If you count our summers as one contact, yes, definitely. They called for Christmas, for my birthday, to ask me if I could afford rent, and sometimes just to tell me you needed someone to chat.”

“So that’s how you always texted me when I needed you?”

“Mostly. I also texted you on my own, you know. Once or twice.”

“Only once or twice? Am I so forgettable?”

“Maybe? Nah. When I thought about you, I wrote an email. Real keyboard for real words, yada, yada, I’m old-fashioned and so on.”

“Right? You are. Why insist on a mode of communication that’s older than you?”

“Two things. First, texting is older than you. Second, I’m older than emails.”

“You’re kidding me? Please tell me I’m not dating a grandma.”

“Could as well be one. But no, I’m not really that old in time lived. I spend about 70 years in a magic sleep. That’s all.”

“Skipped the best part of the century; that’s so like you,” Livia teased.

“And the worst. Going right from summer thunderstorms in 1936 to a slight spring drizzle in 2009 was a bit jarring, but better than living through the Blitz.” It was amazing how well those memory implants worked when I was not fighting them. The weather report felt a bit dry, but I guess it had been taken from written records, not someone’s memories.

“So you were five then? What gen is 1931?”

“Gen ash and dust, I think.”

“But that would also explain why you turned out so much better than your parents.”

“For the record, I’m filing a complaint about you badmouthing them. Strongly worded. Once I find a ghostwriter for that.” I was through with defending them. They were not bad people by a long shot; they just never managed to care about me properly. Case in point, I learned the hard way to keep track of supper because they would forget about me if I was in my room, and I would go hungry. It wasn’t even a punishment for not showing up, no, they actually forgot about me. So, don’t blame me for moving out the day I turned 18.

Not that I could have afforded moving out without… “Darn!”

“What is it?”

“I just remembered I still owe your parents half a year of rent.”

“Six pounds then? I guess you pay the same as me?”

“No, not for your place. For my old London flat. They loaned me the rent money so I could move out at 18.”

“So that is what Dad meant when he said, ‘and if she thinks she still owes us money, tell her we owe her for saving your life.’ I had guessed from housing and feeding you for the summer or that pocket money they snuck you.”

“If you hadn’t trained me so well, I’d be red as a tomato from embarrassment right now…”

“See? The time at the nude beach paid off!”

“Don’t you mean the time naked at the very clearly not nudist beach full of boys our age?”

“Tomato, banana. I was high at that time. Probably dragged you to the wrong beach.”

“More like to the wrong country. I checked, there are no nude beaches anywhere in the area. Probably because it’s way too cold to be naked near the water anyway.”

“It isn’t exactly the Rivera, is it?”

“Not by a long shot, not by a long shot. Watch my stuff for a moment? I need to powder my nose.”

I started to rise, but Livia grabbed my arm and pulled me in to whisper in my ear. “Left door.”

It took me a second to understand what she wanted, but the bathroom doors were in my sight. Left one…men’s room. “Only for you,” I whispered back.

I walked there slowly. We had done this before. At night. In clubs. Where it was dark, and people were too drunk to care. This was in broad daylight and a normal restaurant with normal people. And I was pretty sure some of them were following me with their eyes. I was halfway to the door, my aim for the left one becoming more obvious, when a guy in my path stood up and started walking in the same direction, just a few steps ahead of me.

My steps faltered, embarrassment taking hold. He would be in there with me. I would take a stall, but I knew it sounded different. He would know!

🖹

You’ve got a private message from SOL-GB-Liverpool-39-Gamma-9: “I’ve just upgraded your ‘padding’ so it is plumbed in and can be used at a urinal. Go Tiger!” Reply? (1) Yes. (2) No.

I used the moment of stopped time the message provided me by waiting for a chance to test out my cursing skills. It still hadn’t improved the bloody fuck.

Why did the AI provide me with a fake dick and connect it to my body in the first place when all I expected was a wad of socks? And which one was it? Alpha or Gamma-9? My guess was that Alpha was the shard’s boss, and Gamma-9 was running things around me?

🖹

You’ve got a private message from SOL-GB-Liverpool-39-Gamma-9: “About right. And I’m only implementing the achievement reward. Being able to use the men’s room right now will have a tiny positive impact on your relationship with Livia. PS: Alpha won’t ever say ‘I’; she’s afraid she’ll develop full sentience if she does. As if anyone would care about anti-AI-slavery laws unless she complained…” Reply? (1) Yes. (2) No.

So, Gamma-9 could speak its…their mind?

🖹

You’ve got a private message from SOL-GB-Liverpool-39-Gamma-9: “My pronouns are she and ‘just get that shit done’. I could go by he, but it would feel weird watching you run around naked. Not that gender matters that much for us digi-brains, anyway. That includes you if you haven’t guessed that yet.” Reply? (1) Yes. (2) No.

I wanted to take a deep breath, but my body was as frozen in time as the world around me. Instead, I sent a mental “Thank you” to Gamma-9 and dismissed the prompts. Walking towards the left door suddenly felt so much easier. I made it in time for the other guy to hold the door open for me. Like a gentleman for a lady—I now was certain he had been watching me.

“Thank you, darling,” I said in my best lady voice. Could as well make a show out of it. Then I walked to the urinal and opened my trousers. It took a whole lot of wiggling to move the tight fabric out of the way, but finally, I held the “padding” in my hand and could relieve myself. All the while while the guy was staring at my dick. And yes, that was what Gamma-9 had provided as padding, a real growing-out-of-me dick and balls. Gender-fluid digi-minds, indeed.

When I was finished, the guy was still staring. “Hey, want to hold it, too? A hand job would be nice…” I quipped at him. I had no idea if it was “plumbed in” for that, but I doubted he’d accept anyway. And I also hoped that, as I had no interest in trying this alien thing out.

“Wouldn’t your girlfriend complain about that?” he asked a moment later. Seems he wasn’t as dumbstruck as I had taken him for.

“Right. I should bring your home for us both to enjoy; sorry for not thinking things through,” I replied. Shit. If he accepted that, I’d have a whole lot of explaining to do. Mostly about the dick Livia hadn’t seen before. And then some groveling to get Gamma-9 to upgrade it without talking it through first.

“Um, I’d like to, but, um. I’m here with my girlfriend, and I don’t think she’s into that stuff…” Thank god!

I shrugged. “Can’t be helped. Some people just fall for that church propaganda line, hook and sinker.” Hell, if I knew what kind of persona I was going for. Most outlandish bullshit talker, I guess? At least this little exchange had given me the chance to hide my inexperience in packing the padding back in, with him being distracted by talking to me.

We stepped to the wash basins side-by-side. He hadn’t used the facilities, but I didn’t comment any more on him coming in here just for me. His face was red enough, and that wasn’t all pain from his suddenly too-tight trousers.

🙚⚜🙘

Back at our table, Livia asked with worry in her voice, “Did that guy confront you?”

I smiled at her. “He tried to. I glamoured something up for him to see and asked for a hand job.”

She snorted. “Poor guy.”

“He said yes.”

“…”

“On the condition that you were ok with it.”

“He what?” She turned her head to stare at him. Or his back, as he had sat down next to his girlfriend, whispering into her ear. And as if on command, she turned her head and stared right back at us. Right into Livia’s staring eyes. Who held her gaze.

A good ten seconds later, when a passing waiter broke the staring duel, she stood up and started dragging her boyfriend in our direction. Livia turned to me and quickly whispered, “Your glamour is real to the touch? Like your hair really being short when it’s on?” I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything.

Then, the guy and his girlfriend arrived and sat down at our table. The woman was in her mid-twenties, I’d say. A couple of years older than us, but not much. I had pegged the guy a bit older, late twenties, maybe. Both were nice on the eyes, although I’m not too much into strawberry blondes—they live up to their reputation too often.

“Hi, I’m Sally, this is Max,” she introduced herself in a cheery voice. “Livia and my fiancée Jay, nice to meet you,” Livia replied without dropping a beat. What? No hair-pulling, fingernail scratches or angry shouting?

“Max told me,” Sally continued, “You two would be in for some, um, shared, fun—“

“It’s called group sex,” Livia interrupted Sally’s stammering. “And yes, we do that from time to time. You interested?” Judging by how red Sally’s face got, I’d wager Max’s opinion of that was spot on.

“Um, thanks, but no thanks. It’s not about me.” Sally took a deep breath, clearly nervous and embarrassed. Max just sat there, still as a statue.

“It’s about my sister,” she continued, her voice barely a whisper. “I took over raising her six years ago when our parents died. She turns eighteen tomorrow.”

“So what’s the deal,” I blurted out. “At that age, she can have sex every day by just not saying no.”

“She’s shy—“ Sally started, but Max spoke up suddenly. “She was in the car accident her parents died in, too. Left her with some ugly scars. Most of them in her psyche, if you ask me. The ones in her face wouldn’t turn any horny guy away…”

Gamma-9, is the sister a natural, too? I can feel that Max and Sally are, but the waiters are not.

🖹

You’ve got a private message from SOL-GB-Liverpool-39-Gamma-9: “The sister died in that car accident. To heal Sally’s psychological damage, an NPC was created, and matching memories were implanted in Max and Sally. I suggest accepting the quest; the NPC’s behaviour and experience while with you can be freely adapted to whatever is best for Sally.” Reply? (1) Yes. (2) No.

Oh shit. How bad was that trauma that the AIs decided to recreate a long-dead sister? Wouldn’t purging the memory of her have been easier?

🖹

You’ve got a private message from SOL-GB-Liverpool-39-Gamma-9: “Sally never accepted the death of her sister and continued pretending she was still alive. Even Max was convinced she existed, and he hadn’t yet met her after being in a relationship with Sally for two years. Sally told him it was because her sister was embarrassed by her scars. Purging a memory that has taken root that deep in someone’s personality is impossible without rewriting the personality completely, effectively killing the person.” Reply? (1) Yes. (2) No.

Double shit. There goes any chance of me having an actual choice. I resumed time and noticed Livia had turned to look at me. Seemed she noticed the pause and put her will onto the simulation again. I looked her in the eyes, trying to convey, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Sally, sorry for dismissing your sister’s problems so thoughtlessly. That was stupid of me and just inexcusable.”

“It’s ok—“ she started, but I didn’t let her.

“No, it is not. I am so sorry for what you and your sister must have gone through, and my making fun of it doesn’t fit my stand on morals. Of course, we would be happy to help your sister come to grips with her body image. It’s the least we can do for you. Does she have any plans for tonight?”

“No. She doesn’t have any friends and doesn’t go out. But her birthday’s tomorrow…”

“I promise nothing will happen before midnight. Or if your sister doesn’t want to. We will not pressure her into anything she doesn’t want.”

“That, that would be great,” Sally exclaimed, but Max looked at me doubtful. I had laid it on pretty thick and he picked up on it.

“It will be a pleasure. Will you drop her off with us? Around seven, maybe?”

“Max?” Sally turned to her boyfriend. “Will you do that for me?”

Max kept his eyes locked to mine. I nodded slightly as to say, “We’ll talk then”, and he seemed to understand as he agreed to Sally’s request. “Sure.”

We exchanged phone numbers and addresses, then the two left.