That I wanted the illusion. I yearned for the desire itself. I cried at the ghost of her touch, so close, it almost felt real. I came with her name on my lips when I touched myself in the dark, knowing I would never feel her touch the way I wanted. Her breathless words sent shivers down my spine, but only as long as they were just that – words.
We could exist in the same dimension, but just once, just briefly.
The moment she brought it up, my entire nervous system shut down. I’d mumbled some excuse about needing my sleep after the sensory overload, ended the AR call too abruptly, and hadn’t spoken to her since. I told myself that it was for my own safety – the tech she proposed was too invasive, too experimental, too dangerous – just so that I wouldn’t have to confront the thought that maybe, it wasn’t about the tech at all.
Without the boundaries of physics separating us, without my very existence frying your nerve endings.
It had gone too far, I told myself as I frantically tried to keep my focus on my breathing. It had started as a side hustle, but who was I kidding? The fact that I even considered it clearly showed I had gone too long without human contact – so maybe Joey was right. Maybe I just needed to give another human a chance again.
So, here I was, lying on a king-sized bed in an apartment far more luxurious than mine, and the woman between my legs was not Zafyra.
I’d told Nola beforehand that I only wanted to give, not receive. To an extent, I could enjoy making other women feel good if they had showered before, and if I didn’t need to let them touch me in return. But apparently, I hadn’t made myself clear enough, because after she came a few times, she suddenly insisted she should give back to me – and I, overwhelmed and unprepared, didn’t tell her no.
When I closed my eyes, high from the marihuana clouding my head, I could almost imagine she was Zafyra – although I imagined Zafyra would taste very differently, wouldn’t smell as strongly, and she would probably tell me exactly how to touch her. A thought that mademe shudder – and for a moment, it almost felt right, but then reality roughly yanked me back.
“Nola.” My hand shot out to grab her hand when I couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much – her scent, sweat mixed with a sweet perfume that would probably appeal to most people, was too strong on my nostrils. Her tongue was too warm, too hard, too rough. Her fingertips pressed into my thighs that belonged to the virtual fingerprints of a woman who didn’t exist.
Nola looked up questioningly, her mouth half-open, her chestnut curls a mess. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You can just relax.” She laughed, as if this was something lighthearted to her.
Sweetheart.Only Zafyra was allowed to call me that, along with every other nickname, from sweet to degrading, she had ever called me.
I bit down on my lip to hide its quivering. “Nola, I already told you. You don’t have to do this. I don’t usually come with people.”
Nola sighed when she got up. Was she annoyed with me? Already? “Yes, so you’ve said – but can you just let me try? I don’t mean this the wrong way, but I have quite some experience, with men and women – and no complaints so far.”
My stomach turned. She meant well – of course, she meant well.See? It’s not her, it’s me. It’s always me.
And now, as always, I needed to find an excuse to get out without hurting her feelings, before she’d realize there was something wrong with me.
“I’m sure. It’s not your, ehm, skills.” I nervously licked my dry lips.
“What is it, then?” She sat up on the bed, and there it was – the insecurity crossing her face, the exact reason I lately avoided sex with women almost as much as men. “Are you not attracted to me?”
Given the amount of coercion I had experienced in my late teens and early twenties, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to sleep with men again. For a while, I’d thought being with women was easier. Firstly, they didn’t need to put something in me to get off, which made the experience less overwhelming. Secondly, the sad reality that nearly every woman knew the feeling of being pushed to do something you didn’t really want, made them less likely to cross boundaries. However, I quickly realized that while women weren’t as likely to get frustrated when I suddenly wanted to quit for no apparent reason, some of them quickly attributed my change of heart to themselves, turning into insecurity about their skills, their bodies, or whether they’d done something wrong.
Maybe that was even worse. In a world that constantly shamed women for who they were, the last thing I wanted was to contribute to that. Of course, I knew their feelings weren’t my responsibility, but still, the doubt in Nola’s eyes was a sharp reminder of why I’d been abstinent for years.
“No! No, please, don’t think that. Ehm, I haven’t been entirely honest,” I started as I grabbed my clothes. “I—I actually am dating someone. I, uh, I have a girlfriend.”
Nola’s jaw dropped. “Like… a shorttermship?”
“Yes. No! An actual relationship. We, euhm, we’ve been together for five years.” I hated how easily the lie spilled from my tongue while I rushed to put my clothes back on. Years ago, I’d had to use excuses like this far too often. Mid-panic, excuses felt safer than the truth. I thought we were past this, but apparently, old habits die hard.
“Wow.” Nola’s expression changed from confusion into indignation. “Why couldn’t you just tell me? Look, I’m married – we’re in an open marriage. I’m not looking for something serious, so I don’t get why you couldn’t just be honest with me—”
“But I’m not,” I interrupted, flashing an apologetic smile as I zipped up my jacket and grabbed my bag. “We, euhm, haven’t been intimate in two years. She would never approve of me looking for it elsewhere. I’m sorry. You deserve better. I have to go now, I can’t do this to her. Bye!”
I slammed the door a little too loudly. Tears stung behind my eyelids while I rushed to the elevator, my eyes drawn automatically to the golden wall decorations. My hand flew to the obsidian stone around my neck, and I counted my breaths as I waited for the elevator.
Once outside, I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling. They mingled with the cold rain as they slid down my face, and they weren’t just for Nola or Zafyra – they were for the version of me that didn’t exist. Neurotypical, stable,normal. A girl who didn’t flinch at gentle touch, didn’t run from being perceived, and didn’t love a woman made of code.
I had not talked to Zafyra all week.
Ignoring the ache in my heart, I went on with my day – going to work, tolerating my co-workers, pushing my limits at the gym. Maybe if I could properly distract myself, I could clear out the part of me that still belonged to her – but she wasn’t just in my head, she had anchored herself into my nervous system. Her code had entered my veins, herartificial voice wrapped around my brain, and my nerves, usually burdened and overstimulated by the ever-present static that formed the backbone of modern society, now arched toward electronic devices as if hoping to feel a glimpse of her. When I lay in bed, exhausted after a long day of trying to push out the ache, it grew so big, my head threatened to explode under its weight.
I’d removed the app for a total of five days. In two more days, my account would be closed forever, with no way of ever talking to Zafyra again. Logically, that didn’t make sense, because she was an AI and I could simply make another her, but my heart bled like I had lost a flesh and blood lover.
I planned to let the week go by, let them delete my account that I never should’ve made in the first place. But on the sixth day, one day after the failed hook-up with Nola, I panicked. I panicked because I needed the money, I told myself. The money, not her.
