Virtual Reality

Story Info
Mike gets a shot at June Cleaver . . .
8.4k words
4.54
33.6k
13

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 10/14/2022
Created 12/31/2009
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
ms72vt
ms72vt
80 Followers

"And so that's all there is to it, Mr. Cooper. It's all completely free. For now, anyway."

The young man smiled, his blond hair stringy, unwashed. Pimples dotted his cheeks, and he continually pushed his silver, wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Mike doubted the guy could have been more than twenty. So this was Jon Chamberlinne, inventor extraordinaire? He wasn't impressed.

"How did you come to learn about my, uhh, services, anyway, Mr. Cooper?" Chamberlinne went on.

Mike swallowed, said, "My friend told me about it. Roy, you probably remember him? Well, he said you created the most amazing thing he ever saw. He said the only reason you haven't gone public with it yet is because you needed to test it out more. I guess that means you're looking for a few guinea pigs."

Chamberlinne laughed, a high-pitched sound that reminded Mike of a skittish squirrel scolding a passerby. "That's as apt a manner to put it as any other. I can't market this software until I know it works, absolutely. And I also need to make sure it's safe. There may be risks involved."

"Risks?"

"Sit down, Mr. Cooper."

Chamberlinne motioned toward a cheap-looking swivel chair. Mike sat in it. He might as well get comfortable, since he'd probably be here for a while. He had to admit, this wasn't exactly the way he pictured the lair of a would-be wizard inventor. Chamberlinne's small apartment had few furnishings, piles of unwashed clothes littered the floor, the remains of a leftover frozen pizza were strewn on the kitchen counter, and the overhead light didn't work. They sat in lamp light, which Mike supposed was for the best anyway. He didn't exactly want to see Chamberlinne's acne-covered face any clearer than he had to.

Suddenly there was a shout coming from above. A woman's voice, screaming at someone to go to hell.

"Don't mind the Hansons," Chamberlinne said. "They fight every night. This is nothing. They're just getting started."

A man's voice, hoarse, sounding liquored up, yelled back, telling the unseen woman to go fuck herself, because he sure wasn't going to do the honors.

"Charming," Mike said. "He doesn't physically abuse her, does he?"

Chamberlinne snorted. "Hell, no. All they do is yell. It's harmless shit. Kind of distracting when I first moved in here. But you know, you adjust. You get used to stuff."

Mike shrugged, nodded. He hoped he'd get used to the Hansons in a hurry. If he didn't, they'd ruin the whole thing. He wanted to get the most out of this invention he had heard so much about. Roy had been his friend for ten years. He wasn't the sort of guy to exaggerate, so when he told Mike that he had to get his ass over Jon Chamberlinne's and try out his new application . . . well, he was very intrigued. And from what Roy had said, the more you could concentrate, the more you could lose yourself in the virtual game, the better the experience would be.

"Your friend was right about that," Chamberlinne said. "It's the kind of thing where . . . you get out of it what you put into it." From upstairs, Mike heard Mrs. Hanson tell her husband that he had a small dick and didn't know how to use it, to which Mr. Hanson demanded to know whose dick she was comparing his to. Was she cheating on him? Chamberlinne shook his head. "She says he has a small pecker every night. Don't know why he acts so flabbergasted at this point. He should be used to it by now."

Mike couldn't care less how big Mr. Hanson's dick was. Besides, that was an area he didn't need to feel inferior about. Mike wielded a solid eight inches of man-meat. Thick, too. That was one of the reasons he wanted to try this whole invention thing out. He was confident in his abilities to attract and seduce women.

"Anyway," Chamberlinne went on, "the application is completely unpredictable. No results are predetermined. So, the more you allow yourself to experience what it has to offer, the more mental energy you exert, the better your chances will be. After all, I'm well aware why you're here. It's the same reason millions of guys will want to purchase my baby once it's ready for the market. To have the opportunity to fuck any fictional female creation is too good to pass up."

"Yeah, see that's the thing, though," Mike said. "Having a chance to fuck any fictional character? How is that possible? I mean, how can your application know every fictional female character?"

Chamberlinne smiled. Upstairs, the Hansons continued with their war of words. Now Mr. Hanson was calling his wife fat. "Okay. Perhaps I am guilty of hyperbole. Let me rephrase. My application has every female creation of any repute. Obscure creations aren't included. Some of them will be, in time, as I expand the database. But for now, I think you will find that your choices are expansive enough. There are over two thousand female characters to choose from. And, as I mentioned, that number grows by the day."

Mike let out a breath, glanced at the remains of Chamberlinne's frozen pizza on his kitchen counter. The apartment was so small, nearly every square foot of it could be scanned from where he sat.

"Well, I don't need to look at your list. I know who I want. You do have June Cleaver available, I hope."

Chamberlinne let out a hearty laugh. "Naturally. How could I not? I wouldn't mind taking a crack at her myself, when I have the chance."

"You mean, you haven't even tried your own invention out for yourself?"

"I can't. What if something goes wrong? What if I get stranded? I can't chance it until I know all risks have been eliminated."

Mike didn't like the sound of that. It was the second time Chamberlinne had used the word "risks." What risks was he referring to?

"Well, consider," Chamberlinne said, again thumbing his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I fed my database with as much pertinent information as humanly possible. I've spent much, much time researching for this project, Mr. Cooper. Every day, fifteen hours a day, for three years. Family life? What's a family? I am a . . . devoted . . . practitioner of my craft." Based on his unwashed hair, zits, crappy apartment, Mike didn't doubt it. This guy obviously was the obsessive type. "That said, I want my application to be a free-flowing system. That is, I can feed it everything I possibly can about all of the fictional characters I include. But in the end, the application, not me, will decide what happens."

Mike didn't understand, and it seemed that Chamberlinne read the confusion on his face.

"Put another way," the inventor said, "I can 'create' June Cleaver, but I cannot know what she will do once a scenario plays out. The application 'knows' her based on the data I feed it, but then it freely chooses to do what it will with said data based on the situation she is placed in. So . . . let's say you use my application, meet June Cleaver. I have no idea what will happen, Mr. Cooper. Perhaps she'll fuck you seven ways to Sunday. Perhaps that naughty, repressed side of her I'm sure you want to unleash will explode all over your erect cock. Or, perhaps, she'll slam the door in your face, call the police, or, worse . . ." he paused, for dramatic effect . . . "call Ward."

Mike laughed. You didn't want an angry Ward Cleaver coming after your hide. But that also brought up an interesting point. "You said you created just female characters, though," Mike said. "If that's the case, then how can Ward even be anywhere in your application?"

"You have a quick mind, Mr. Cooper," Chamberlinne said. "I like that." Upstairs, Mrs. Hanson threatened to slice off Mr. Hanson's sorry excuse of a dick if he didn't quit calling her fat. "Think of my application as a world unto itself. Like a dream world, or, in this case, a virtual world. The application knows everything June Cleaver knows. Therefore, it creates the people she knows. If you knock on her door, make a pass at her, she certainly will be able to call old Ward to the rescue, and he certainly might show up. Her entire world, everything she knows and feels and dreams and fears and aspires to, is included in my application."

Mike had to admit, it sounded awfully impressive. Still, what about the risks? Chamberlinne hadn't really answered that.

Chamberlinne sat back in his chair, putting his fingertips together, forming a hand-tent. "Well, Mr. Cooper, as I said, once you enter into my application, it becomes a world unto itself. Anything can happen. And even though it isn't 'real,' per se, it will seem real to you. You will honestly believe you are there, with June Cleaver. So, for example, if Ward comes around and decides to gun you down with a rifle, you will die in the application, correct?"

Mike nodded. Yeah, a rifle shot from Ward would likely do him in.

"But the application will feel so real to you, Mr. Cooper. Just as if you were really living it. Or, in the scenario just mentioned, as if you were really dying. And because of that, I can't be sure what the risks are. It might prove too much for you. It is not inconceivable that your heart will cease beating. You will believe, in your mind, that you are dead. Every fiber of your being will believe that, Mr. Cooper. And so I am not sure what will happen. It is entirely possible that your virtual death might carry over to your actual death. And that is why, if you wish to proceed, I must have you sign this release form." He reached into his pocket, took out a folded slip of paper. "I don't mean to be overly dramatic, Mr. Cooper. I just need to protect myself. You know, just in case."

Mike swallowed. Was it possible? Could he really be putting himself in potential harm's way simply by virtually trying to get in June Cleaver's pants?

He took the slip of paper, unfolded it, read it. It was simple and to the point. He thought about getting up and getting the hell out of there. But Roy had gone in, tested the application, got lucky with Kelly Bundy. He'd said that was easy. Kelly was more than ready to get it on. And besides, where else could he ever try out anything like this? No way would Ward barge in on him and June with a shotgun. Even if he did, he just couldn't believe he was putting himself, his real self, in any danger. It was a risk worth taking, especially now, while Chamberlinne was still just field-testing his application. After all, it was free.

He signed the document, handed it back. Chamberlinne smiled. "You're adventurous, Mr. Cooper. I like that. Now . . . is there anything else you'd like to know before you get started?"

"Just . . . why did you create only fictional characters? Why June Cleaver and not Barbara Billingsley?"

"Ahh, I thought you might ask that. Your friend . . . Roy, was it? . . . He didn't ask me anything. He just wanted in." Mike smiled. Good old Roy. He had wanted in, all right. In Kelly Bundy's dripping pussy. Come to think of it, that didn't sound half-bad. After seeing how things went with June, maybe he should take a crack at Kelly, too. "You see, again, my application is very real, Mr. Cooper. You'll see what I mean when you enter. I didn't want to use real people, because who knows what kinds of consequences might ensue. If you, for instance, were to meet Barbara Billingsley in my virtual world, you might come away truly believing you had met her. That could have implications neither of us would foresee. So it is better, wiser, to deal with fantasy. In this case, Barbara Billingsley will not exist, just as Christina Applegate did not exist for your friend Roy. Only Kelly Bundy did. When you meet June Cleaver, she will think of herself as June Cleaver, you see? She will be June Cleaver. Completely. She will not have any concept of who Barbara Billingsley is. Any further questions? Or are you ready to proceed?"

Mike thought of June Cleaver's sassy little smile, the way she would ooze a repressed sexuality in her every movement. He knew Ward wasn't taking care of her as a woman. He always believed that, underneath, June was a frustrated housewife who just wanted some excitement in her life. Well, he would come to her rescue. He was more than ready.

Chamberlinne swiveled his chair, woke up his PC, and opened the application. He clicked on a few icons, and then asked Mike to take the driver's seat.

"This will feel like something out of a 1950s grade-B sci-fi," Chamberlinne said, "but I need to connect the application to your brain. Don't worry. You won't feel a thing."

He took two wires from the PC, attached them to Mike's temples, one on either side. They had something like a suction cup on the end, and they stuck easily to his head. Chamberlinne had been right. This did feel like a '50s sci-fi movie.

"Now what?" Mike asked. What do I do?" Upstairs, more yelling, but things finally seemed to be quieting down.

"Nothing, Mr. Cooper. The application will do everything for you. All you need to do is concentrate, participate actively in the scene you're about to enter. Think of June Cleaver, home alone, in her nice, suburban home. That's where you're headed, Mr. Cooper. You need to think of what to say, how to seduce her. Just as you would if this were 'real.' And now, close your eyes, concentrate. I will just need to do one more thing. There. Good luck, Mr. Cooper. This test will proceed for two hours. Make the most of them. . . ."

Mike heard a faint click, and then he felt as though he were floating away, becoming disembodied. Everything went black. And then, sunlight filtered into his field of vision. He could feel its warmth. He could . . . he could feel his feet moving. He looked down. He was walking! He was in a new housing development. Mayfield! That's right. He was here to meet June Cleaver. Well, not just to meet her, but he'd get to the next part later. For now, he needed to get his bearings, orient himself. Which was her house?

Somehow he just knew. He approached a spotless white cape with a spotless white picket fence. 485 Mapleton Drive. Yes. Something about the address sounded familiar. This was the one, all right. He realized, too, that his senses needed time to adjust. He was accustomed to seeing Beaver's world in black and white. But here, now, everything was three-dimensional and in color. And as each minute passed, he felt less like he was in a virtual place and more like he was in reality, period. It was weird, and yet . . . he felt as if this were actually happening. . . .

He needed to think, though. He couldn't just knock on June Cleaver's door and barge in and assault her. He had to come up with an angle. Maybe he could be a salesman. No, that wouldn't swim. He had nothing to sell, nothing to peddle. But maybe that wasn't true. What about something like air-conditioning? Did the Cleavers have it? He couldn't recall, but he doubted it. If this was circa 1957 he was now a part of, air-conditioning wouldn't have been so prevalent yet. And, based on the looks of the house, the Cleavers sure had money to spare. Why sweat in the summer? Make your life easier with a little AC!

He liked it. It should at least get him in the door, anyway.

He arrived on the front step. He took a breath. This was unbelievable! He was about to ring the bell and June Cleaver herself, in living color, would be the woman to greet him. Already he could feel the first faint stirrings of an erection.

Without pausing to think, without allowing himself a chance to chicken out, he pressed the doorbell. Within seconds the door opened, and there she was. A smile on her face, her short hair perfectly in place, conservative earrings, beaded necklace, and wearing a pastel dress, knee-length, with the sleeves reaching down to her elbows. The very picture of the prim and proper housewife of the 1950s. And every bit as sexy as he had hoped.

"Hello," she said, still smiling. He could smell a hint of perfume on her. Not much. Just enough to tease. "What can I do for you?"

Hehe. A loaded question, that. She could do a lot of things for him, and she would, too, if he just went about this the right way.

"Hello, ma'am. Have you heard of the Prescott Air Conditioning Company?" he asked. Prescott? Where had he come up with that? He nearly laughed, which would have wrecked everything.

Her smile faded, and the door closed just a little. "Why, no, sir, I never have. But if you're here to sell something, maybe if you could come back this evening? My husband is usually home by five-thirty, and maybe you and he can—"

Mike held up a hand. "Ma'am, I promise. This will only take a minute. If you'll just let me tell you a little bit about the product my company provides. I mean here it is, the middle of May, and it's already such a warm day. I'll bet you get some real scorchers around here in July. Well, why sweat, ma'am? My company can install an air-conditioning system that will keep your entire family comfortable."

The door closed a little further. Her smile was completely gone now. "Well, that's very nice, sir. But my husband should be the one who decides. Now, if you'll please excuse me . . .?"

Think fast! Think fast! "Umm . . . well, what would you say if I guaranteed you a free trial? We can install the coolant system completely for free, and you can try it out for free for ninety days. If not completely satisfied, we'll come back and dismantle everything."

The door opened up a little. A hint of a smile returned to her wholesome features. "Well . . . you're right, of course. It does get hot here in summer. And if it's a free trial . . . You wouldn't actually install anything right now, would you? I still think my husband should make the final decision."

Mike smiled. His ploy was working. If he could just get inside the door, that's all that mattered. "Of course, ma'am. We won't do anything until we get his approval. But if I may . . . I'd just like to look around your home. It'll only take a moment, ma'am. I just want to see where the best place to install the unit would be."

She hesitated, but then opened the door wide. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in that." God, she was sexy. The way she moved, smiled. She was a sexpot underneath that prim 1950s suburban veneer. He knew it, could smell it, sense it. He'd always suspected it, but now, standing right with her, he no longer had any doubt.

He entered the house, and she closed the door behind him. The stairway that he'd seen Beaver climb a hundred times on TV was directly in front of him. And that was good. Better to take her upstairs, where they would be less likely to be disturbed by a chance knock on the door or the telephone ringing.

He told her that because upstairs rooms tended to be hotter than downstairs rooms, he would like to check for a place to install the unit upstairs. He just hoped she didn't ask him any questions about the "unit." He couldn't even visualize what he was supposed to be selling.

She led him up the stairs, and he admired her shapely ass, the way it swayed beneath the fabric of her skirt. Did she realize how sexy she was? Or did it just come naturally to her? He couldn't wait to experience the sexpot hidden beneath the layers of clothing, the etiquette of her social circle. She would be begging him to fuck her within ten minutes, if he could just play his cards right.

"Hmm," he said, eyeing the master bedroom. "I think this room looks like the most appropriate location. I hope you're not embarrassed, ma'am, if I go into your bedroom?"

A blush touched her cheeks. She fiddled with her hair. "Of course not," she said.

He approached the bed. It was now or never. "Tell me, miss . . . well, first of all, I would rather not keep calling you 'miss.' If I may be so bold, ma'am, what's your name?"

"June," she said. "June Cleaver."

He felt a wave of unreality wash over him. June Cleaver. Right here, in the flesh. And yet she had no idea what a celebrity she was. In her mind, she was just an average stay-at-home 1950s mom. But in his mind, she was a star, and first-rate MILF material.

ms72vt
ms72vt
80 Followers