Knowing what “world” I was in, everything became easy. I fell into a routine of work, practicing my skills, masturbation, and sleep. It was easy to do well at work, all that mattered was me being in a good “mood”, and the promotions kept coming. It helped that gaming was a skill I needed, so I could improve that and distract myself.

The money I made went into my home. A bed that let me sleep better, more comfortable chair, better laptop. With those three improvements, I could improve my skills more every day and earn even more money. Next, I bought some things to make the apartment nicer. Plants, some artwork, fluffy rugs, a jacuzzi bathtub, self-cleaning toilet, a better fridge and oven for better food.

Then everything went into sex toys.

I bought a “back massager”, every variety of dildo they had in stock—even some with “cum tubes” so they could spurt out lube—more butt plugs. I bought lingerie, sexy dress-up outfits, a special chair for comfortably trying different positions with an easy wipe-down cover. Even the piston machine thing. Fuck, that was incredible. I could strap any dildo to it, lie down, and let it fuck me at the perfect speed, finding the right distance so it went as deep as I wanted.

There was probably something ironic about my best lover being a machine, but I was too horny to care. The rhythm perfect, bringing me nice and slow to the perfect orgasm, leaving my hands free to play with my nipples and clit. It even worked for fucking my ass, incredible when I used the magic wand on my pussy, deep vibrations blending with the strange feelings.

Wine helped too. A glass when I came home, taking the edge off. Another with dinner, getting me tipsy, a little horny. Then the jacuzzi jets were my foreplay, teasing my clit and asshole while I played with my boobs.

Once I had everything I wanted, I saved up to move to somewhere a bit bigger. Another apartment, but it had a spare room where I put all my sex stuff, remodeled the floor to linoleum and bought rugs that were easy to wash.

It was perfect for my hedonistic lifestyle. Well, if only someone installed a weed mod, then it’d’ve been perfect.

There really was nothing else for me. The only time I had ever thought about something else was when, in my career, I was given the chance to join an esport team. I vaguely remembered the other branch was about the same money, but fewer hours, so went for that and launched a start-up. I had to improve my charisma skill, but it was worth it. Five hours, three days a week, and I made more than enough to pay the bills and afford my luxuries. I went through so much lube, I might as well have bought it by the gallon.

How long did I spend like that? Every day blurred together, nothing different. Day after day, I lost myself in drink and pleasure, trying out every one of the countless combinations of toys I owned.

The only time I ever felt alive, real. Or maybe, the only time I forgot I was dead, trapped in this hell.

Days, weeks, months, maybe years. It didn’t matter. Every day would be the same until I died, so I never kept track. Day after day, seeing the same Sims at work, listening to their gibberish, no current events, no politics, nothing to set one day apart from another.

Over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

And over once more.

It seemed like the season changed, the clothes I put on thicker. I thought it might be almost Christmas—if Sims even celebrated Christmas, probably some similar-but-not-Christmas holiday.

Sure enough, I soon had a paid day off.

Lying in bed, I wondered if there was any point in getting up, if I should just try and sleep until lunchtime. It reminded me of an old thought, that I should swap out my bed for a worse one so I slept longer. Not one that would give me a sore back, but I currently only needed to sleep six hours while a worse one would need maybe ten hours. Four less hours I had to fill every day, day after day.

The depressing thoughts getting to me, I forced myself up, went to the toilet and brushed my teeth and had a morning shower. Afterwards, I walked naked to my room to dress. There were only so many times I could make a mess of myself and feel ashamed about walking through my own apartment naked.

While dressing, I noticed something outside, so I looked.

Snow.

I liked when it rained, something different. Soothing and calming too. But snow, this was my first time seeing it in this world.

After doing the same thing every day, it was a habit, but I wasn’t addicted. Going through my wardrobe, I found some thicker clothes and left my apartment. The first time I’d ever left it not for work.

Hardly anyone was outside, probably celebrating not-Christmas at home. I didn’t feel lonely, though. Long since numb to it. I walked to the park that I found on my phone’s GPS, a blanket of fresh snow covering it. There were a few footprints, some belonging to dogs, but most of it was untouched.

I didn’t know what I wanted to do. These days, I barely ever really thought. It was all ingrained behavior, routine, and habit. No need to think.

So I just walked, aimlessly. I looked at the evergreens, the bare trees, the shrubs, the bushes, the flowers, everything loosely covered in snow. Something different, something new. I walked and walked, eventually walking in my own footsteps, like a dog chasing its tail. Round and round, no reason to it. Not like I could ever catch myself.

But I could catch someone else.

I almost walked into them, staring down at the ground to match my next step to the footprint when a person suddenly came into my sight. Fortunately, I was walking slowly, no slipping into them or anything embarrassing like that when I stopped.

Not that I would feel embarrassed, no different to bumping into a fridge.

After a pause to adjust my balance, I went to step around them, not planning to talk to them or anything. But they had something to say.

“Merry Christmas.”

I froze up, heart thumping against my ribs. “Pardon?” I whispered, still staring at the floor.

“Merry Christmas. Or should I say Happy Snowflake day?” she said, a hint of laughter to her voice.

I licked my lips and slowly looked up, going from her heavy boots to skinny jeans to a puffy coat (bright orange) to a knitted scarf (violet) to a face.

A face I’d never seen before and knew so well.

“Jas?” I whispered.

“Gosh, Maddie, you really recognize me after all this time?” she said, her smile shy.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Here she was, all grown up, stunningly beautiful. “I, I thought you died.

She shrugged. “I did, and I guess you did too?”

I nodded.

Silence fell as I just stared at her face, remembering. My first love. I never told her, disappearing before I’d finished sorting out my feelings, so sudden I’d always known something was wrong.

“What happened?” I asked.

She awkwardly smiled. “A bad warrant,” she said, all she needed to say.

No wonder my parents didn’t tell me at the time. “Brain aneurysm, I think. Something like that,” I said.

“I’m kinda glad. I would’ve hated it if you suffered,” she said.

There hadn’t been a point to thinking about my death, so I hadn’t, but, when she said it like that—“Maybe you’re right.”

I couldn’t look away from her. Fifteen years, she’d been eleven when I last saw her. A pretty girl, confident, fun. She used to like watching me play games, so excited by everything happening. If a boy ever made fun of me, she scolded them, telling them I was great at video games. I had liked being with her, no matter what we did. Liked how she hugged me whenever we saw each other. It felt different, special.

But I didn’t realize why until she was gone and my heart ached, day after day, for over a year.

“D’you want to come to my place to talk?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said, smiling.

I started walking and she hurried to my side, looping her arm through mine. Like we used to do. I licked my lips, looked away for a moment to calm down, then looked ahead again.

We didn’t talk much on the way. Inside, I offered her coffee and snacks, getting some chips and dip for us to share. She idly looked around, different to how the Sims did. She wasn’t focused on a single piece of furniture and overly enthusiastic about it. No, her gaze slid across, drawn to the artwork and plants, natural. Real.

I honestly wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t all a hallucination after finally losing it. But, if it was, I didn’t want to wake up.

“Have you been here the whole time?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I was… I guess a ghost. Don’t be mad at me, but I kinda haunted you. I mean, you were my best friend, and I really missed you.”

At first, I felt happy, such a sweet thing to hear. Then my stomach dropped, thinking she’d seen me with all my girlfriends. Maybe even, when I was younger, heard me… say her name while masturbating.

I took in a deep breath and let it out. “Really?” I mumbled.

“Yeah. I was pretty surprised to find out you’re a lesbian. Honestly, I was jealous at first, not wanting you to be so close to another girl. But coz I couldn’t be there for you, I was happy you had someone. You were so sad when I died.”

It took me a bit to go through her words, trying to understand her. “I really missed you,” I said softly, looking down.

“I think that’s why I’m here now. I sort of faded away when you were finishing high school, but, a few months ago, I woke up here,” she said.

“Well, I thought it was heaven, so I hoped I might see you again,” I said.

She giggled, reaching over to pat my hand. “And you did.”

“And I did,” I said, looking up again to smile at her.

There was a little ambiguousness between us. Not much, but the way she brought up me being a lesbian, she didn’t seem disgusted. The way she mentioned being jealous. That she followed me all that time—not her family, but me.

And I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it meant something that she came to this world with me. That I called her and she answered.

Before I could test the waters, she asked, “Wanna show me around?”

I smiled and shrugged. “This is the lounge, that’s the kitchen, that’s my bedroom, that’s the bathroom,” I said, pointing at the doors.

Except for one.

She picked up on that, standing up and walking over. “What’s this one?” she asked.

I licked my lips. “Well, I thought I was alone here, and I was going crazy.”

“Oh, did you paint stuff? Can I see?” she asked, hand on the handle.

“It’s where I keep my sex toys,” I said calmly.

She froze up, eyes wide, trying to say something, but no words coming out. After a few seconds, she managed to say, “Oh.”

I chuckled. “What did you do to keep yourself sane?” I asked.

“Wrote out my memories with you,” she said softly, her hand still on the handle.

“D’you want to make some new ones?” I asked, my smile hardly subtle.

A pause, then her hand turned the handle.

Extra Scene

I had so many memories I wanted to make with her, so many toys to choose from. But, for our first time, I picked up the strap-on. I’d bought it by mistake, mindlessly going through the shop. A wonderful mistake now. It was made to fit other dildos on it and I chose my first tentacle dildo, something thin, but long… and I liked the thought of it being both of our “firsts” in this world.

Sitting on the sex chair, legs spread, she stared at my crotch, mouth a little open, eyes a little closed, her nipples hard. We’d already made out for half an hour, warmed her up in the bathtub. A drop of her juices dribbled down from her pussy.

But I wasn’t quite ready yet. Turning around, I showed her my ass as I slid in a vibrating butt plug, a moan slipping out. Seeing her watch me, I felt so sensitive again. The taboo came back. I was doing something dirty, something naughty, and that felt so good.

And she wasn’t disgusted seeing me do this. I almost asked her if she wanted to try, wanted to bring her down to my level.

But that could wait. We had a lot of time to pass.

The butt plug in, I turned it on, watched her eyes widen as the buzzing sound started. Licking my lips, I spread my cheeks and stuck my ass out. Gave her a good view. She shuddered, pressing her thighs together.

We couldn’t be having that.

I turned around and stepped over, gently opening her legs. Because of the height, that meant the tentacle was close to her face, hovering a few inches away. Swaying a bit, drooping, pretty soft compared to most, and she was mesmerized. I smirked to myself, thinking she was thinking something like: “That’s going to be inside me?”

She wasn’t wrong.

But not yet.

I leaned down and kissed her, felt the difference in her kiss. She was so turned on. Such a sloppy kiss, her hands desperate, squeezing my shoulders. It felt like she was begging me to fuck her.

Pulling back, she chased my lips, giving me puppy dog eyes like I was bullying her. I chuckled, a throaty laugh. “Soon,” I whispered, cupping her face and rubbing her cheek with my thumb.

She turned her head to suck my thumb. I didn’t know my thumb was sensitive, or maybe I was so horny it didn’t matter where she touched me, or maybe it was the look of her sucking on it. Whatever the reason, I lost my breath, legs weak for a moment before I caught myself. After a deep breath, I pulled out my thumb even as her lips tried to hold it in.

“Naughty girl,” I whispered and lightly spanked the side of her butt.

She gasped, lowered her head, looking at me through her eyelashes. I licked my lips, almost overwhelmed by the need to kiss her again. The need to fuck her.

But this wasn’t about me.

I took the bottle of lube and squirted out a dollop onto my hand. First, I stroked the tentacle, generously coating it, then rubbed her pussy. She shivered at the touch, her legs trying to close, but I was in the way. I coped with deep breaths, holding on for now. Once she was nicely coated on the outside, I sort of pushed the last of the lube onto my middle and ring finger, then teased her opening. Not time to go in yet, just try and make sure there was enough lube there.

She moaned again, her eyes misty, and she begged me. “Please.”

Not yet.

I held the dildo in my hand, moved my crotch forwards. Careful, I let the end settle between her lips, then rocked back and forth, the suction cups rubbing against her. She writhed, her hips also starting to rock, so I slowed down. Rhythm was important.

Her nails dug into my shoulders, painful, but I didn’t feel it. There was a little friction between the base of the dildo and my clit as I moved, enough to keep me going. Maybe, I didn’t even need that, this feeling of dominating her so erotic. Knowing how badly she wanted it, how she was begging me, and how I refused her, making her follow my rhythm.

But I wasn’t doing it for me.

Holding the tip, I pushed down, let the suction cups slide over her clit. She tensed up, her thighs trying to close again. I blanked, afraid she’d climaxed already, but, after a second, she relaxed and started rocking again, desperately trying to bring her clit back to the tentacle.

I didn’t let her. Moving the tip down, I swirled around her entrance. She caught on, her eyes opening as she stared at me, not even waiting for me to ask before nodding. I let out a breathless laugh, then slid inside her.

She’d died young so, needless to say, she was a virgin. That was also why I chose this thin dildo. Careful, I only let the tip in, the first inch or so of her vagina sensitive enough for now. Sure enough, her hips started rocking again. Hungry for more.

I wasn’t entirely sure how hymens worked, but loosely knew they were like delicate curtains. After all, virgins still had periods, so it didn’t have to tear to let stuff in and out. I rubbed her thigh while my other hand was on her stomach, trying to keep her settled. Gentle, careful, I pushed deeper, watching her.

Painfully slow, I pushed inside her. She trembled and squirmed and looked at me with begging eyes. Even then, she eventually winced. I stopped, leaned down to kiss her, let her bite my lip to make us even.

And she lifted her hips, taking me deeper.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, such a strange thing to hear her innocent voice say.

A strange, but beautiful thing to hear.

I started slow, both to make sure she was comfortable and because I wasn’t practiced, pulling out until just the tip was in, then sliding in until she winced. After a few goes, I learned how much was comfortable for her and started speeding up.

“Mm, yeah, that’s good,” she said, voice stained with pleasure.

I didn’t talk, too focused, but I heard her, heard her moans, her words, her twitches and squirms. With how wet she was and all the lube, every thrust squelched, a constant dribble leaking out. I knew it was different for every woman, but seeing how much, I felt so proud, like I was that good.

The only touch I felt was a weak rub against my clit when I thrusted in, but everything else—there was so much desire flooding me. I felt so hot, pulse racing, losing my mind to the rhythm, our moans mingling.

Staring into her eyes, I saw how she was like me. Like the dildo really was joining us together.

It couldn’t have been long, no way my body was in good shape for doing that, but the pleasure and adrenalin kept my aching muscles quiet, let me go on for far longer than I should have. The rhythm slowing, she was still getting closer. Her hips rocked more desperately, her thighs squeezed me more, and I even felt her vagina clench tighter, trying to hold the tentacle inside.

But I was closer.

Wanting to make sure, I sort of lay on her, keeping the dildo deep inside her and just rocked my hips to give her something, then slid my hand down to her clit. As gentle as I could be when on the verge of climaxing, I rubbed her nub in small circles.

Enough for her to finish first.

Her arms and legs wrapped around me, pulled me close, and she came—hard. I could barely move, but tried to work her through it, knew how incredible drawing out an orgasm was. A little rubbing, a slight rock, and I whispered in her ear, “Good girl, cum for me.”

But she had me beat, saying, “I love you.”

I was on the verge already and hearing that sent me over. And it was different, familiar. It brought me back to the gentle sex I’d had with my ex-girlfriends. It brought me back to the times with her where we just lay in bed together, talking about nothing. It brought me back to kissing her in the bathtub an hour ago, how she’d melted in my arms, how incredible it felt to know she trusted me.

An intense orgasm, my whole body clenching, then the release, the euphoric release, but it felt so warm and fuzzy, more vivid than the haziness when I got myself off. Vivid and real. The surge of love I felt for her, the need to hold her, nothing more. Every part of us that could touch was touching, but I wished there was more. A burst of penis envy swelled up inside me, but then I thought about how amazing it would be to have her fingers inside me and I settled down, looking forward to that.

Her deep and hot breaths tickled my ear. Still sensitive, they sent tingles through me. The rise and fall of her chest, a slight movement, yet I was lying on her, my nipples feeling it. Her vagina kept clenching, pulling and pushing on the dildo, putting a little pressure on my clit. Small things, unintentionally sending ripples of pleasure through me.

I wouldn’t stand a chance once she had some practice.

Belatedly, I realized I hadn’t answered her. Turning my head, I kissed her cheek and said, “I love you too.”

The first of countless times to make each of these bland days memorable.