Pandemic Beach Bums

This is a fictional, original short story and probably one-off. All characters (human or not) are over 18. It's a bit of a fantasy, but really not so far from some of what's currently being offered for purchase on the gay porn sites. VR and life are merging. Ironically, no AI was used in the creation of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved, Brunosden.

I've been working from my home office for almost three years. You can probably guess the reason. Earlier this year, I had moved from New York City to a rented beach cottage on the Gulf Coast. It's small and old, but enough for me and directly on the dunes. Why work in a few small rooms in a high rise with no view when for the same monthly, I can be on the beach? Fortunately, the wi-fi coverage is nearly pretty good.

I'm a computer engineer, a self-described geek. (Even if I didn't self-describe myself that way, others would. So I guess I'm pretty honest about myself.) I'm 25, 5-11, 165, with short blond hair, nicely defined (because I'm slim, not a gym rat: my athletics are confined to a morning run and, at least before COVID, some tennis). I'd call myself a twunk, primarily because I look younger than I am—I still get carded everywhere. I wear contacts (but mostly glasses since the pandemic) over deep green eyes. My best feature is my ass, a cute little bubble butt that is the product of relentless squats to counter the hours I spend sitting at a screen. And again thanks to the pandemic, I'm usually barefoot, in gym shorts and tees—over which I pop a button-down for tele-conferencing. I'm really shy except maybe under the cover of an anime or on-line. Then my imagination takes over.

I work alone except for about an hour per day zoom call with my team members, stretching from India to California. I design games—mass audience for a giant tech company (which mostly pays the bills) and gay porn for a German entrepreneur (which mostly provides my entertainment and some vacation spending money). I know you're familiar with the big selling games, but authorship of those is "corporate anonymous."

Clearly, the line between virtual reality and everyday life is pretty blurry in my case. That's about to get much more so.

By contrast, most of my porn stuff is solo-produced, with some help from a gifted graphic artist. My biggest accomplishment (and best seller) is "Designer Hook," a game where purchasers can design an ideal partner (an anime), specifying height and weight, blond or dark, muscled or not, twunk or twink, top or bottom. One can even select from a list of celebrities. (But somehow, although there are options on genitalia: size, shape etc., the designer partner anime is always at least 10 inches and 7 around, uncut and with enormous ballsacs and a bubble butt! I guess I really didn't need to program in those options.) I think you can picture the typical designed anime-partner. However, they might look, they're all hung with firm round butts and shaved "winking" pink holes. And they all cum buckets.

After designing a sex partner, the user downloads a nude picture of himself (often a fake or at least seriously photo-shopped, I guess, as the photos are always of porn-model quality!). The program turns the photo into the user's anime/player/character. The program adapts a little: there is strong resemblance, but anonymity.

The user can make the program self-start from this. The user can select, on any "play date," various sex acts, positions, time to orgasm, edging, rimming, eating, licking, fingering, etc. (After signing a disclaimer, the user can also designate some rougher stuff.)

A second level of play (which of course, costs a bit more), permits others to "adopt" any anime on line and then search for a partner. The two can have virtual sex, controlled separately and even with disguised audio. With passwords specific to an adopted anime, repeat performances often occur. And we've even seen a few virtual relationships develop. We now have a "library" of more than a thousand "adoptable" animes.

It's been fun, and I'm working on a more advanced version where multiple parties, orgies, master-slave hooks, BDSM and "marriages" can occur. Only underage activity is verboten—even in those places where it isn't illegal.

I'm told that some work is being done at CMU on a 3-D copier follow-on, but somehow, I think that's more than a few years away.

So that's who I am. And I presume you can guess how I spend some of my time. I create a virtual world—and sometimes I find that living in it is preferable to living in the real one, particularly the world of COVID isolation.

Lately, I've been heading for the beach every morning. I run about three miles south and the same amount back (duh!). Then, I re-hydrate, drop the shorts, and stretch out on a towel, clad in a skimpy Speedo, to try to get a little color on my New York pasty body. The beach isn't crowded, probably only a dozen or so folks each day, mostly retired out-of-shape walkers. So there's not much eye candy, inspiration or interruption. I have to go back inside and power up the lap top to find that. The pandemic has closed the clubs and local law enforcement (very conservative) has effectively shut down or infiltrated most of the on-line dating and service sites. It really doesn't matter to me anyway—I was never a club player. I'm a virgin, except in my fantasies where I am definitely a virtual contender with experience and inventiveness.

But, I'm okay for now. I've got a vivid imagination—I do get to use my games gratis—and I have special access to many player files.

This has been my routine since I arrived. But today as I was returning north on the run, a young guy ran past heading south. He was much more of an athlete than I ever was. His bare, slightly hairy chest sported nice square pecs, a respectable vee shape and a six-pac. He was tall and probably football material—maybe 220. His waist was narrow, a soaking tee tucked into the band of silky running shorts. He waived a cursory greeting, "G'mornin," as he continued on. I quickly turned to see really nice legs topped by a full muscled butt. Instantly, I was sure that we had met, but couldn't place him. I knew he wasn't a colleague or a fellow alum. But what then?

I finished up my run, stripped off the shorts, and collapsed on the towel. The sun was warm and I felt really good, maybe a little horned by the encounter. So I rolled over onto my belly to conceal any evidence of arousal as my Speedo was tight spandex. I just couldn't place him and that was bugging me. I'm usually much better at remembering potential hunk-hooks. Despite my laptop, I occasionally prefer to visualize real flesh as I stroke and my spank-file is bursting.

About ten minutes later, he returned and veered up the beach to where I was dozing. I felt the shadow. "Good to meet someone under fifty. I'm Paul. I'm staying at my grandparents' condo north up the beach for the summer."

I shaded my eyes, grabbed for a baseball hat, and looked up.

"Ah, a Yankees fan, I see. I'm a Red Sox fan. I guess a friendship is out of the question." He laughed.

I reached up to shake his hand. "I'm Jake." I pointed to the shack in the dunes. That's my pad until the end of the year—or maybe longer if COVID stays with us. There's water in the cooler if you'd like."

He grabbed a plastic bottle and dropped down onto the sand—the requisite six foot spacing away. His dick was straining the silky fabric, the head just concealed under the left hem. I could tell he wasn't wearing a jock. He must be very lonely or very much an extrovert if he's already committed to a conversation with me. Maybe he was just looking for a chance to advertise his equipment to a potential customer. At any rate, he had already sold me. I'm definitely in his market.

I looked into his chiseled face, dark eyes, heavy eyelashes and noted the carefully groomed "three-day scruff" facial hair. Thick ropey muscles trailed down his neck. He was really good looking, masculine and hard-bodied. My type. And, God, he looked familiar.

We both started at once, "What brings you here?" I laughed and added, "You go first."

"Summer break from UMass. My last year, junior, was a total bust—no athletics, no in-person classes. I was going mad, living at home, stuck in front of video classes. Parents looming all the time. Then, no summer job. And, right now it's still unclear whether I'll get any campus time or a chance to play ball in September. Name is Paul Stover. Currently unemployed, bumming from the grannies. I'm going to teach Phys-Ed and coach high school football and baseball—assuming the world doesn't end soon and I can graduate. Maybe I'll get to play football this year. I hope so. It'll be my last chance as pros are out of the question for me."

Of course, I needed to reciprocate. He had already provided me with more of a bio than I usually share. "Jake Simmons. Software designer—a computer games creator. So I really don't add much to the common good with my efforts, except maybe some diversion in these lonely times. Normally I'm in NYC, but could really be anywhere. Graduated RPI three years ago—just before the world collapsed. Fortunately, I had six months at the gaming think-farm in Lower Manhattan before we closed down—and they've let me continue from home with periodic zoom calls with my team."

"Any games I'd know? I'm definitely a fan."

I named a few (not including those in the porn catalogue). "I've got'em all. It's just about all I've got to do these days, except for the morning run and some gym time. I see you've got a phone. I don't have mine on runs. Let me put in the number. Call me later. Maybe we can run together tomorrow or play some games."

"I only run about 6 miles."

"I do a little more, but not much more. That could work for me."

He didn't say anything more about the games. But, I had already decided, I was up for games with him.

We parted and I watched him jog up the beach. Several times he looked back at me with some intensity, apparently trying to memorize my features.

It was about time to get ready for my call. So I packed up and headed in. The call was typical. We were making extraordinary progress in creating games—solo time was definitely efficient and the private network permitted us to share and comment frequently--without having to walk around or engage in the many distractions. And there was no commute. And no required office attire. And the market was booming. Everyone had time to play—and the games were inexpensive entertainment that could be enjoyed in safety from home. The company was flying high and several tech giants were sniffing around with potential offers. I was glad I had taken some comp in options.

Later in the day, still horny from the morning encounter, I fired up Designer Hook. It was either that or jerking in front of some gay porn videos. I started logging in and indicating preferences. Then it hit me! I think I know where I'd seen Paul.

Over the last few years, the German company had been hacked several times; their security was shit. As I mentioned, buyers of my game typically uploaded nude pictures of themselves—and filled out a questionnaire to create their robotic sex partner-animes. The program turned their photo into a player-anime. The hacks had gotten into the uploaded pictures, but fortunately we had encoded the senders' personal info, and we didn't think the hack had matched the uploads with the players. But, we had to be sure or we had legal disclosure obligations—that would probably destroy the game. I had been on the team that investigated the incidents—and thus I had had access to all of the uploads—thousands, together with personal details and the matching animes.

I went back into my investigative files, which we had classified for convenience by approximate height, skin color, hair color, hairy or smooth, and geographic origin of the upload—to determine whether there might be a clue to the identity of the hackers. It hadn't worked then, but I had nevertheless kept the files.

I moved to the file with tall, dark, hairy, New Englanders. There were about a hundred. And there he was. It was definitely Paul. Assuming the photo had not been shopped, he was a muscled athlete, uncut and horse hung. The chiseled face was unmistakable. The eyes and smile were definitely his. Perhaps he was a little more muscled—but he had been out of the classroom for over a year with presumably nothing else to do. The only question: had Paul uploaded himself or had someone surreptitiously expropriated his photo-identity to create an anime?

I was curious. I opened the file and looked at his robot-partner-anime. I nearly died. I was as close to his robot as one could reasonably expect in a random world. No wonder he kept giving me the evil eye as he sat beside me and as he ran up the beach earlier.

I couldn't wait to find out more. How often did he play? Usually once or twice a day. Was he a top or bottom? Top, usually, but he liked to have his ass played with and bottomed occasionally. Missionary or doggie? Both. Did he like it rough? Occasionally.

Then I turned to the robot-anime that he had created. His robot was smaller; blond and green; had a nice ass; an 8 incher, cut; and, a nearly hairless body. A power bottom. And the robot loved to suck, eat and rim. Me!! (Well, maybe not actually me, but close enough and it was certainly how I would self-describe.)

I'd hit the jackpot. This was far better than any match-up or meet-up service. This was Grindr-on-truth-serum. Fantastic! Even if he was exaggerating his expectations, they were close enough that we were a match. And it would be just too weird if someone had stolen his photo. I refused to believe it. There are only so many coincidences in this world.

Now how am I going to play this? I was so excited. Okay, I know he's gay (or if he's bi or hetero, he's at least curious, very curious—he plays with boys on line regularly). He's obviously a hunk. He's alone here. He's an extrovert. I'm definitely his fantasy partner. But, I can't let him know yet (maybe never) how I know all of this—or he could run screaming about internet security and privacy, fearful that his most private fantasies were known to the world.

Later that afternoon, I logged into the master game porn site and perused casually the number of players, geographic location etc. I knew my log-in would be recorded and my activity noted by the system manager so I didn't want to be too specific. I was "just" checking the level of activity—maybe mining for ideas for a beta version. But, Paul was definitely online—and playing with me! He had my anime beneath him and he was pounding my ass with abandon (and with his horse dick) as he shouted his dominance. All my conjectures were accurate.

I think I'm going to let him play—hopefully with me in real life. Just give him plenty of opportunity and rope—and let him take the initiative. Maybe he too is ready to blur the lines between VR on-line and life. My summer now had an interesting new future. Maybe I could lose my virginity at last. Paul was certainly the kind of guy I'd dreamed would take it. I was going to try a real life game.

I don't think I'll call. I don't want to interrupt his "studies." And, I'd rather not get involved in conversation. I haven't worked out all of my strategy yet. I'm just going to txt. ****Good to meet, Paul. See you tomorrow. Promise not to pound me into the sand. Jake **** Suitably cryptic, I thought.

Then, I went back to his game profile and watched one of his "matches." I had to jerk off before he even finished. He was so hot, even as an anime.

*****

The next morning, I woke early. Hard as usual, but I decided to ignore Little Jake for now. He'd probably make me pay later, but so be it. I changed the sheets—just in case. I picked up the mess (well, at least the dirty laundry), filled the dishwasher and started it, and then went to the closet. Today, I needed to be perfect. His partners always wore red jocks or thongs—but that would be just too obvious. So I pulled on a pair of tight red running shorts that showcased my basket, and, just for fun, grabbed a tee that advertised (discretely of course) a supplier of gay sex toys.

I had just set out my towel and chaise when I saw Paul jogging in approach. I got up and stretched, baring my abs, getting ready to set off with him. It was a terrific morning. The water was clear. The breeze was light. The sand was pristine. I realized he was close. So, I bent over, throwing my ass into the morning breeze, and retied my beach running shoes. He was already red when he arrived—from my show or the two miles he had already accomplished? He looked again right into my face and I noted the recognition. I'm pretty sure he knew now that he had found a doppelganger for his created perfect partner anime. I think that was also the hunger of a predator! I was expecting him to jump me on the spot, but he turned and jogged off.

I fell in beside him and we took off south, skirting the wavelets and mostly silent. When we reached the south turn, we paused at the jetty, pulled off the tees, used them wipe down, and pushed them into our waist-bands. I got as good a once-over as I gave. I noted that he was chubbed. We continued the run in silence. Occasionally, I let him run ahead, feasting on his ass. Then, I would take the lead—apparently with the same impact on him. Soon we were back at the cottage.

We stopped and I wondered whether he would run on to his condo a mile or two north. I grabbed a water and threw him one to stop his departure. I wasn't a good pitcher and he had to reach for it. When he did, his dick head definitely peaked out. "I got a surprise from my sister, yesterday. She's convinced I am on a desert island. So she sent an Italian coffee maker and fresh beans. Can I interest you?"

You should have seen his face! I had rescued him from small talk and seduction—or empty-handed exit. Prey was inviting the predator into his cozy den. Little did he know. One second more, or if he had refused, I would have jumped him!

So we walked up to the cottage. Without really even noticing the place, he complimented me on my choice and décor—of which I had had no part. "So much nicer than the sterile condo I'm in. The whole building only has about a dozen retirees. And there's a concierge who watches me every time I leave—probably to make sure I'm not absconding with the family silver."

"There's an outdoor shower if you want—or you're welcome to use mine in there. Only one bed and bath in this place."

"I'm good with outside." He walked up to the outdoor deck, stripped off everything, and stood under the weak spray, turning often to rinse his body. "But I haven't brought anything else to change into."

I threw him a towel, making sure he noticed that I was scoping his package, and that I was smiling. I duplicated the greeting his anime had given him in a game the previous afternoon,. "You're a big boy, Paul. I bet it's pleased many." Then I approached, "Here's a towel. My tees will fit you, maybe a bit tight. You don't need one for me though. Not sure about the bottoms. Maybe these old sweat shorts." I handed him a pair of threadbare grey shorts and a tee, tie-died in rainbow colors. Could I have been any more obvious? But, he is a jock, and I really haven't assessed his intellect yet. My seduction had begun. And I think he was already firing up his side of the game.

He wasn't quick to finish or redress. So I stood there watching him "pose" before I began to set up the coffee maker. Then I moved outside to take a shower. Now he would have the full view of what I was offering—and presumably he would realize I was his perfect partner and take appropriate action.

I dried off slowly, bending and posing, fluffing shamelessly, and soaping my crack, to give him all he wanted. Then I pulled on red gym shorts and a tee, carefully tucking my semi into a nice horizontal spot. I've got a little over an hour before I'm expected on a zoom call. It's now or never.