It was a long day, and I’d been worrying about Cindy the whole time. Standing alone in the featureless corridor outside our apartment, I hesitated. Is it really what I want? Our door slid open and I strode in.
“Hey honey, I’m home!” I yelled out then stopped as I tried to make sense of what greeted me.
Our apartment was gone—not exactly gone, but replaced by a pssi projection.
Marbled columns rose up around a sunken living area in the middle of the room, surrounded by a raised terrace. A feast awaited on a low table, with red and gold pillows littered around it. Incense filled the room, and two handservants quietly and quickly moved toward me and bowed. A gentle wind blew in through billowing silk curtains, revealing the jumbled and exotic skyline of Mumbai framed in the distance.
Cindy swept through one of the doorways to the side, filmy skirt of shimmering red swirling about her legs, and jumped into my arms.
“Isn’t it just dreamy?” Draping her arms around me, she kissed me wetly. “Thanks for those flowers yesterday. That was really sweet.”
“Looks fantastic,” I said from beneath her kiss. Cindy sometimes swung from depression into manic episodes. I smiled cautiously.
“Come on, let’s eat!” She took me by the hand and led me down the stairs to a low table where she had bunched up some throw pillows and blankets. She kissed me again, and sat us both down. Reaching onto the table, she grabbed a bunch of grapes and began feeding them to me, one at a time.
“How was work today?” she asked, popping a grape into my mouth.
“Long,” I replied, laughing. “We’ve nominated Jimmy to the Security Council as our specialist in conscious security. He’ll be a big help.”
“Jimmy—Bob’s adopted brother Jimmy?”
“Yeah, that’s right, I guess.” For brothers, adopted or not, Jimmy and Bob sure didn’t seem to talk much. Of course, I hardly spoke to my own brother either.
We pulled some more pillows around ourselves, and the sun began setting while we chatted and began eating. She’d planned a feast for evening, all my favorites—fried shrimp, filet steak, even profiteroles for desert. It was the first time I felt totally at ease with Cindy in longer than I could remember. When I was about stuffed, she surprised me again.
“So, Mr. Rick Strong, who would you like me to be tonight?” she asked as all of the serving and cleaning staff retreated into the antechambers.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” She cast her eyes down, then looked back at me, smiling.
“Really?”
She nodded bashfully.
“Would you like me to skin-up, too?”
“Sure…,” she giggled. “You first.” We hadn’t made love in months. Unbuttoning my shirt, she began rubbing my chest.
She nudged me with a phantom for a stimshare. Surprised that she used a phantom, I looked into her eyes, and she winked at me. I quickly accepted and watched her shiver as my sensory input filled her senses.
I hadn’t expected this when I walked in the door. I didn’t really go for this stuff, but I was happy to experiment a little, especially when it was me that had asked her to try and get into it.
“No, you go first. Who would you like me to be?” I asked.
She looked at me shyly. “That Spanish guy in the crime dramas, you know, Julio.…”
I laughed. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
Echo sent me the licensing agreement in an overlay-display the moment she uttered the words. Skin-time in this Julio guy was expensive. He must be popular.
What the heck.
I punched the “buy” and “skin” buttons with a phantom hand and detached out of myself to look down at some Spanish guy sitting on the pillows, cuddling with my wife. It was hard getting used to this stuff. I snapped back into my body.
“What do you think?” I sat up and put myself on display, raising my eyebrows and winking at her.
“Very sexy, Mr. Commander,” she laughed. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Ahh…how about that Phuture News Network celebrity girl?”
“What!?” she exclaimed, laughing and punching me gently in the shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, that girl…you know, the one with the.…” I laughed awkwardly. The Phuture News girl’s large breasts were about all that came to mind on such short notice.
“Okay,” she agreed, grinning. “If that’s what you’d like.”
As I held her, she morphed into the Phuture News announcer. With particular fascination, I watched her breasts swell under the transparent fabric of her kurta. She looked up at me bashfully.
I could get used to this.
A rush of animal desire coursed through me. Lifting her top, I scooped her into my arms.
I could definitely get used to this.