Ms. Armstrong is waving a finger around. “Oh no,” she says. “Uh uh. You’ve been missing for five days. We thought it was a glitch. Do you know what a glitch could do to us? Lives could be lost. You were gone and no one could find you so there will be no cuteness, get me? Where. Were. You?”

“Tonight we’re in Fort Reach,” says Wendy. She keeps checking her face and clothes.

“Yeah, it’s the first night we haven’t slept at Hypa’s!” I say.

“Hypa what now?” says Ms. Armstrong.

“She’s a healer and priestess of Hyparien,” I say. “I got hurt during your tutorial?”

Ms. Armstrong nods. “We saw that,” she says. “That looked awful.”

“Yeah, it really was,” I say. “Wendy carried me and found Hypa’s temple hospital.”

“Yeah, that we didn’t see,” says Ms. Armstrong. “You were carrying him down by a tiny ass river and then poof. Gone. We didn’t see you fall in. You didn’t show up anywhere. Gone.”

Wendy and I look at each other. Neither one of us knows what to tell her.

“You were staying with this woman for all five days?” asks Ms. Armstrong. She moves back around the desk, swaying her hips around the corners.

Wendy says, “Yes. Mark was hurt.”

“You said she was a healer.”

“His chi got all knotted up. We had to wait for that to… unknot,” says Wendy.

“His chi. Got knotted up.” It’s clear she’s asking a question but the inflection indicates nothing but skepticism.

“Yeah,” I say. “I couldn’t move it around. Couldn’t access chi at all at first until we… got it to loosen.”

“Yeah, but I’m being told that can’t happen, Mark.”

“You’re being told?”

“Remember this is all a simulation,” says Ms. Armstrong. “We’re not really here. I have access to data you can’t see. Other people that work here. Chi can’t get knotted.”

“Mine did. I saw it. It even felt like a roped knot.”

“We don’t see anything.”

“It’s fixed now.”

“And this Hypa,” says Ms. Armstrong. “She fixed it.”

“Well, yeah,” I say.

Ms. Armstrong is quiet. “This is all very strange. I’m so glad to see you two are alright. I’m sorry I got upset but I was worried,” she says. Her demeanor is softening. “You’re such nice kids.”

Wendy says, “Oh, Ms. Armstrong. You can’t be all that much older than us?”

I shoot Wendy a look.

Ms. Armstrong giggles, doing amazing things to her bustline. She’s wearing a dark blue-black suit and skirt with a fuzzy purple blouse. The cleavage is not as deep as it was the first time we met. Instead, there’s just a hint. Somehow that only serves to make her chest look even bigger. “How do you know? This could be a completely fictitious avatar. I could be a sixty-year-old white guy living in my mama’s basement right now.”

“I thought you said no cuteness,” I say.

“That was for ya’ll,” says Ms. Armstrong. ‘Okay. Alright. So, you were in a temple. That might explain it. There are some religious protections in place for players but I don’t think they apply to the ones cooked up by the company. I mean, you didn’t start worshiping Hyparien, did you?”

Wendy says, “Not hardly. Though she was very nice.”

“You spoke?” says Ms. Armstrong. “To the goddess Hyparien?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She told us how to heal me. It worked.”
“And all it took was fifteen easy payments of nineteen ninety-five,” says our liaison. “This stinks. Something’s wrong and I will find out what it is. I didn't know that Hyparien had even been coded. I’m going to be monitoring you closely, okay? If I see anything weird, I’ll call you back here. Now, ya’ll aren’t doing anything wrong but I suspect somebody’s messing with you and that shouldn’t be.”

“How could they be messing with us?” I ask. “Who?”

“I got no clue,” says Ms. Armstrong. “But I’ll find out, by God. Nobody messes with my people. Nobody.”

We all look at each other for a moment. Ms. Armstrong is breathing hard, clearly upset.

“We’ll help in any way we can,” says Wendy.

“I know you will,” says Ms. Armstrong. “You’re both sweethearts. Everybody’s been so worried. Your parents are mad as hell.”

“Our parents?” says Wendy.

“They’ve been informed where you are,” says Ms. Armstrong. “Our people have been working with them. Things have gone well. For the most part. Until the last couple of days with all this.”

“Not with my dad though, right?” says Wendy.

“No, not with your dad.”

Wendy’s dad is very… traditional. Extremely so. Worryingly so.

Ms. Armstrong brightens. “We’ve set up a time two days from now. When you’re sleeping, like now. It’ll be in the early afternoon for them. They’ll be so glad to talk to you.”

“Uh, what can we expect from that?” I ask.

“Well,” says Ms. Armstrong. “We can host it anywhere. Most people have it in their old living room. You guys were living in your dorms though. Seniors in college? We could have it in one of your dorms? Or one of your family’s living rooms? Oh, but that might seem partial. We have generic places. Uh, basic living room? Restaurant? Some place more interesting? A café in Paris? Or in Cairo?”

“I think for this first time, a generic living room would be okay,” says Wendy. She looks at me.

I shrug. I don’t think anybody will care.

“Fine,” says Ms. Armstrong. “Just fine. Well and good. Well, Mark, to answer your question a little further, there’ll be tears and lots of questions about what you’re doing now and how things are going. They’ll ask about your relationship, for example. They might be subtle about it or not.”

“We’re married!” says Wendy.

Ms. Armstrong claps her hands and bounces in her seat and I enjoy that. A lot. Because I’m a pig. “I knew it! I knew you would! Did this Hypa lady marry you?”

“Yes, we’re so happy,” says Wendy.

“Oh, I could tell,” says Ms. Armstrong. “Oh, congratulations. So very wonderful. They’ll want to hear that.”

“Not my dad,” says Wendy, darkly.

“No, not your dad,” says Ms. Armstrong. She seems willing to leave it at that. Or maybe hoping.

Wendy says, “He’s upset, isn’t he?”

“I think he’s trying to figure that out,” says Ms. Armstrong. “I don’t think he thinks it’s really real? He’s confused.”

“He thinks my soul is in heaven,” says Wendy. “That I’m a… copy. A fake.” She laughs. There’s no humor in it. “An echo of Wendy, given life.”

Ms. Armstrong says nothing.

“And we can’t prove I’m not,” says Wendy.

“Nobody can prove a negative,” Ms. Armstrong says.

I take Wendy's hand.

She squeezes it. “It doesn’t keep others from demanding that we try though, huh?”

“Hey, for all we know, this is a simulation inside another simulation, inside another and another as each civilization develops to the point where it could create one does it. Maybe in that first, real civilization that built the very first one, they have no fricking idea about all this,” I say. "Who knows?"

“Or maybe they do and they do just what we do with them,” says Ms. Armstrong with a wink. "Mine it all for wonderfulness."

“Dad would just call that blasphemy,” says Wendy. “Not all that long ago you’d get burned at the stake for saying it at all and I’d be in trouble just for hearing it. I feel real. I love my dad. Why won’t that be enough for him?”

Wendy breaks down and starts to cry. I kneel in front of her and take her in my arms.

Ms. Armstrong is right behind me and envelops us both. She’s soft and smells of baby powder and lavender. She’s such a nice lady.

Wendy gives a little hiccup of a laugh, cuddles in, and lets it all out, sobbing with her forehead on my chest and her cheek on Ms. Armstrong’s breast.

We stay that way until Wendy quiets and a little after, our liaison’s hands massaging our backs. She kisses the top of Wendy’s head. She is a perfect comfort and once again I marvel at how good she is at her job. I wonder how much the computer is assisting her, if at all. I wonder if Armstrong might be entirely AI. I doubt it. She seems too genuine. Then I remember that everybody I’ve met, Hypa, Caedi, Captain Gray, everybody in my new world is AI as far as I know. Like Wendy said, they feel real. They love. And does it really matter? Why wouldn’t that be enough? I decide not to worry about it anymore. I'm getting the same guarantees I've always gotten about everybody else's realness. None at all.

Wendy straightens and we let her go. The front of Ms. Armstrong’s blouse is damp.

“I’m sorry about your…,” Wendy says, gesturing at Ms. Armstrong’s front.

“My boobies?” says Ms. Armstrong. “Do you mean my magic comforting bazongas? Girl, they work wonders. You weren’t the first or the last to mess them up.” She snaps her fingers, and a blue silk blouse appears where the purple one was. “Easily fixed anyhow.”

I cover my face with my hands and shake my head while Wendy and Ms. Armstrong laugh.

We talk for a while longer, but it’s small talk. Once Ms. Armstrong is satisfied we’re both okay she says goodbye and we return to sleep.

 

 

I wake up with Wendy’s mouth on me.

When she sees that I’m awake she give a deliciously low giggle and taps my cock on her cheek. “I love your cock,” she says.

“I love you loving my cock,” I say.

“Mark?”

“Yeah, I know," I sigh.

“What?”

“You’re putting Ms. Armstrong on your list,” I say.

Wendy giggles and puts me back in her mouth.

“Who is not on your list at this point?” I ask.

Wendy pulls me out again and rubs me against her soft, soft cheek, pretending to consider. “Well, Sheriff Cronk is definitely not on my list,” she says. “Mayor Thalazar is not. Mr. Frent, no. Um, Twist? Elias? Tim Bickle? No, no, no.”

“Those are all dudes,” I say.

“Yeah, I don’t want any other dudes,” says Wendy. She kisses my glans. “This is the only dude I want.”

“What about Lilly?”

“The secretary?”

“Yeah.”

“A bit old,” she says. “Halflings are cute though.”

“Oh lord.”

“But don’t tell me you didn’t have an idea when Ms. Armstrong said that about messing up her boobies.”

“She might be listening, you know.”

“Nah, she said the privacy protections keep them from seeing sex, and you dodged the question.”

“She said.”

“Oh, good point.” Her grin is wicked. “You think she’s watching?”

“Wendy…?” I say, but I can’t continue and it's not because of what my wife is doing to me.

She drops me and looks up at me. “What’s wrong?” she says.

“Nothing,” I say. “Never mind.”

“And now I’m worried,” she says. “What is it? Talk to me.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “You love me, I know that. And you say you don’t want other dudes. Fine. That bit with Hypa? You're flirty, yeah, generally with me, right, and you say you don’t want other dudes.”

“Tell me you weren’t thinking about us staying at the hospital with her,” says Wendy.

“What?”

“Tell me you weren’t thinking about us staying at the hospital with Hypa,” says Wendy. “Together. You liked her. I saw how you looked at her. Mark, I was looking at her the same way.”

“And that’s what I’m saying,” I say.

Wendy sits up on the bed. She looks me dead in my face. “You listen here, Mark Wheeler,” she says. “You're my husband. I chose you. Yes, I like girls too. I didn’t tell you before Ms. Armstrong outed me and I should have. So, we’ve never ever talked about it. I think everybody who’s bisexual has to have a conversation like this with their partner so here goes. I love you. Not your bits.”

I grin.

“Okay, so I love your bits,” she says and reaches down to cup my balls. “A lot. Mostly it’s because I love you. I’d love your bits if they were three inches shorter and turned in a semicircle to the right, or trapezoidal or something. If you somehow decided to come down here as a woman, I’d love those bits of you too. You, Mark. I love you.”

“Did you love Hypa too?” I say.

“I might’ve,” she says. “Eventually. You were crushing on her pretty bad yourself, right?”

I nod. I can't speak. 

“I’ve chosen you,” she says. “You’re mine and I’m yours. If you ever doubt that, say so and I’ll do things to you until you’re reassured.”

“It wasn’t that I was jealous of Hypa…,” I say but I’m not as sure of that now that I hear it out loud.

“I wasn’t either exactly,” says Wendy. “But I couldn’t help but wonder what it was going to do to our relationship.”

“That’s it exactly.”

“I mean, we’re still figuring out how we fit together, you know? The two of us. As a team. Adding her, shifts the dynamic, complicates things—.”

“Were you tempted?” I say. “To add her anyway?”

She bends down and gives the head of my cock a lick. Then another. “Maybe,” she says. “Eventually. I don’t know. If you wanted maybe? We would've decided together, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say. And I realize I didn’t know. Whatever would’ve happened with Hypa, whatever still might if she reappeared in our lives, I can't predict it. I do know that I would talk to Wendy and we’d figure it all out together.

"Besides," says Wendy. "She looked amazing with all our cum all over her."

"Don't you have something to do?"

And she happily hums her response. I don't last long after that.