Party like it’s 2099 - Arrival

The events you are about to read are true and told as they unfold from the point of view of the woman who is living them. Of course, all things being relative, depending on which of the infinite universes you may be reading this from, and at what point on that particular timeline you may have happened to come across this narrative, some of the historical details may differ slightly, or even drastically, from your perception. That doesn't make the following any less true for Ann.

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Chapter 1 recap (which you can find under the listing, Party Like It's 2099 - Pre-party)

We find Ann, alone and horny, masturbating with assistance from her bed's built-in SPA (Solo Pleasure Apparatus) device. The SPA, in conjunction with her apartments holo emitters, allow her to have virtual sex with friends from around the world, and while it's a great distraction, it can't compare to the physical sensations of actual sex which she desperately craves. But things are looking up when her friend, Clara, invites her to attend a pop-club later that night.

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I take a sip of DaterAide with the built-in straw in my mask and double-check the seals on my protective coveralls as I exit my apartment and head to the elevator. I don't usually drink this stuff but it's been a while since I've been to one of these "clubs" and I feel like I need a little something to take the edge off.

I pull up Lucy on my comms, "Lucy, activate. Please pull the car up to the front entrance. I'm on my way down. We're going out tonight."

As I wait for the elevator to arrive, my lips and tongue fiddle nervously with the straw. With all the recent news reports about how unsafe these pop-up parties are it's understandable that I'd be apprehensive, but I trust Clara. She has connections and I know she would never go to an event that didn't use testing equipment with an accuracy rating of 9.8 or higher.

Ironically, most of my trepidation is not related to any safety issues but revolves around the fact that it's been nine...no, ten months, since I've actually been face to face and in the flesh with another person, and even longer since I've had any intimate contact. Just the idea of being in a room with a bunch of strangers is scary and yet also very erotic.

It's one thing to meet someone online for virtual sex, but the real thing is just so much more...well, so much more everything! So much more intense. So much dirtier. So much more of a thrill!

The elevator arrives and its doors open like a set of chrome lips. I take a deep breath and step forward, allowing its mirrored interior to swallow me whole. Pressing the lobby button, I, as well as the infinite mirrored versions of my reflected self, drop silently and swiftly towards the ground.

I'm so nervous and excited by the thought of leaving my apartment and spending the night dancing, partying and having sex that my body is literally trembling.

Relax, girl. You know not only do you want this, you need this.

I can tell I'm desperately craving physical contact when I find myself doing things like trolling the Date-N-Mate database (or as we commonly call it in my circle, Mate-da-State), as I did the other night. Not that I would ever use it of course. But when I start feeling this isolated it helps to know there are other people out there also looking for a connection with someone.

The thing is such a large number of the State-run dating service enrollees are over 36 and survivors of the '63 pandemic. I know that some people my age have a fetish for the "Pre-'63's" but I'm not one of them. I don't find their enlarged and scared genitals sexy or their enhanced sexual aggression a turn on.

Of course, plastic surgery can usually repair most, if not all, the physical damage caused by the middle to late stages of the virus. Surprisingly though, I've heard a fair number of the inflicted choose not to go that route, as if erasing all physical evidence of their experiences somehow denies their trauma.

And while it's true that "Uncle" run dating sites only allow survivors that pass a psych evaluation to create an account, I'm not desperate enough to turn to these unfortunate victims with all their emotional baggage, for sex. Naturally, I feel sorry for the poor bastards, but I honestly have no desire to let those sex-crazed fucks get their hands on me, no offense.

I wonder if any of my friends in my VidCircle ever fantasize about fucking a Pre-'63. If they have, we've never spoken of it.

And to think these survivors are not nearly as aggressive as those that contradicted the disease and fully succumbed to it. What a nightmare it must have been to live during those times like my parents did.

Now there's talk that even those of us who never contracted the virus may have been altered by the monthly inoculations we receive to stay protected. The web is crawling with evidence that everyone's libido has been heightened since APDS-1 (Acute Psychosexual Distress Syndrome) and its numerous variants spread to most of the world's population.

Rumors and urban myths abound, claiming that an unforeseen side effect of the vaccines used to immunize us against the "love bug", or "sex fever", as it was dubbed in the early days of the pandemic, is to blame.

Some conspiracy theorists believe it isn't the vaccines themselves that are the cause, but a compound added to the serum by some covert government agency that has increased our sexual urges in an effort to boost population numbers. Of course, all the collective State governments and pharmaceutical companies deny these accusations.

Personally, I don't know and I don't care. Faced with the choice of a lifetime of increased horniness versus living with the threat of that horrific virus hanging over my head, it's a no-brainer what I would pick. Besides my libido, whatever level it's at, doesn't seem to have translated into me wanting to get married and have a whole gaggle of kids like the State wishes I would.

I take another sip of the legal alcohol and synthetic cocaine derivative blended drink hoping it will sedate the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. My drink may be legal but the contraceptive I took an hour earlier most certainly was not and it worries me that it's getting more and more difficult to get my hands on those.

The elevator dings, letting me know I've arrived at the main level and I exit into the apartment building's lobby and head to the glass-walled airlock that serves as a buffer between the purified air of the building and the possibly contaminated outside atmosphere.

My apartment building, just like all buildings these days, is capable of becoming an impenetrable fortress at a moment's notice, but the architects have tried their best to disguise its defenses in an attempt to project a sense of hospitableness.

The lobby is bright and inviting. Indoor plants and a water feature hosting a few lethargic goldfish brings a bit of life to the otherwise sterile marble clad space, but despite any appearance of fragility the walls are made of steel reinforced concrete and shatterproof glass. Plus, as of five years ago, force field emitters are standing by, ready to be switched on at a moment's notice to protect the building's occupants against any infected hoard of rioters should they attempt to breach the entrance or to block random shifting radioactive winds.

And, just in case the power grid goes offline and the building's backup generators fail, concealed in the entrance's sidewalls are tempered steel plates waiting to be manually slid into place should the need arise. There is something very comforting in the knowledge that the solidity of inch-thick steel, which was such an integral part of my childhood, is always at the ready.

I step over to the room's main feature, its atmospheric testing unit, and swipe my hand in front of the "Run Sample Test" sensor, activating the panel. Even now, after all these years, every time I do this I say to myself, "better safe than sorry", like some sort of protective mantra, just as my remote instructors drilled into my head throughout my childhood.

According to the hourly atmospheric news reports my area has been in the green for the past couple of weeks but I subconsciously hold my breath for the few seconds it takes to get a response, dreading any red indicators. Five seconds later the digital display reads:

12:06 AM August 23, 2099

Alert status - green

Viral load - green

Radioactivity - green

Toxins - green

Temperature - 92'

For a detailed analysis press here

Have a great day!

Exhaling a sigh of relief into my mask, I exit the building. Lucy is waiting patiently for me to arrive, leaning back against my vehicle with her arms folded across her chest and one ankle draped over the other. Even from thirty feet away she looks so chic and gorgeous that I can't help but smile as soon as I see her.

One of the first things I did when I set up her programming was to download a vast library of clothes for her to choose from and I always get a thrill out of seeing her outfit selection. Tonight she's wearing a bolero style black leather jacket over a deep burgundy and gold paisley embroidered crop top bustier, with tight, distressed, and ripped blue jeans and black leather stiletto-heeled boots.

Her beautiful face sports the circular, rose-tinted sunglasses that I programmed her to wear no matter the lighting conditions. I just find them so fucking cool, and it's not like she actually needs to "see", after all.

Lucy smiles at me as I near the vehicle, "Hey, Ann," then peeking at me over the top of her signature sunglasses, she looks me up and down and adds with playful sarcasm and a flick of her finger, "Looking good in that...ummmm, overall thingy. Bold choice." She grins at her own joke and steps to the side opening the car's door for me, "It's been a while, hon. Where to?"

I'd almost forgotten just how beautiful and sexy I programmed her to look and how much I enjoyed hearing her smooth and seductive voice. I always associate her with the start of a new adventure and only now do I realize just how much I missed her.

"Hi, Lucy, looking sharp as always. I'd love to borrow that outfit one day," I chuckle. "It's great to see you again."

Stepping into my Acharya AutoCrafts Europa1, fusion-powered Personal Automated Transporter (PAT), I sit in one of the plush and spacious ergonomically designed seats.

Damn I miss this. I need to get out more often.

Only a, "Granny", would have kept the default name of PAT and the preprogrammed banal computer personification. Half the fun of owning a top-of-the-line vehicle after all was setting up the avatar and making personality adjustments to the AI. I specifically choose the Europa 1 because it comes equipped with a QuantumInteli compressed multilevel matrix; the most sophisticated technology for personal use outside of high-end home Interactive Systems.

All vehicle companies have a range of PAT models, from inexpensive state funded entry-level vehicles with no avatar at all, up to models like the Europa 1 with holographic avatars, but no company uses better tech than Acharya. I work on AI programming for several companies and I can honestly say only their vehicles can produce avatars that come close to feeling truly lifelike.

I knew from the start I wanted a female avatar that I could program to be a "companion" and not just a driver or chauffeur. I spent hours customizing and redesigning her look until she was as stunning and stylish as I could make her. Then I adjusted her personality settings, balancing just the right amount of humor and sass. Admittedly I wrote a few mods of my own and tweaked her software a bit to achieve what I wanted, but the end result was so worth it!

Of course, she would not have been complete without the perfect name. Arrgh! I agonized for days over that.

I considered Vicky for a bit, until I realized that I just thought of that because it sounded similar to "vehicle" and that wasn't very fun. As I meditated on the matter, images of driving down open country roads and through the canyons of the Old City skyscrapers sped across my mind. It made me so happy imagining us traveling around so carefree. Then it hit me. Her name would be Lucy because together we were free and on the loose!

Glancing down at my communications bracelet I check the time even though I know I'm on schedule, and pull up the link to the party.

"Please take me to this location, Lucy." I let her scan the link to grab the coordinates. "We are going to a party tonight," I giggle.

"Minty, sounds like fun," she answers with a sexy grin. "Lay back and relax and I'll have you there in 18 minutes,".

Instantly the inside of the vehicle comes to life. Lucy pressurizes the cabin and purifies the air as she adjusts my seat position, climate, and lighting to my preferred settings. Quietly and swiftly she unparks and exits my building's forecourt.

"Feel like watching or listening to something, hon?" Lucy asks thoughtfully.

"Let's listen to some music, Lucy. Cycle through my playlist, audio-only, please."

I remove my mask and gaze out the window as the quick tempo beat of pounding drums spills out of her sound system. It's one of my favorite songs, "Give Me Your Disease" by Covid Undercover. I bob my head to its rhythm watching the city pass me by.

It's been almost a year since I've glimpsed the street and city lights from ground level and there is something quite mesmerizing about their bright glow as they flash past Lucy's windows. Adding to the light show every few minutes are the headlights of fellow travelers whizzing past me in the opposite direction or joining my route ahead or behind me.

All these strangers, going about their lives. Sometimes I forget there are still a few hundred thousand people living in and around the Old City. I wonder how many of them are going to the same party that I am tonight.

Scanning the cityscape an array of huge holo billboards catch my eye just as they were designed to do, and I ponder the flashy, kinetic ads as they come into view. So many revolve around dating apps and procreation centers, using sexually suggestive images hoping to titillate young, horny, and fertile citizens into using them.

Despite their best efforts I'm pretty sure everyone knows these legal dating services are just a cover for the State's repopulation agenda. Supposedly the apps are a way to meet screened people and hook up without the same commitment as a procreation center, but they monitor all your dates under the guise of safety protocols, and test to make sure neither participant is using any illegal birth control. Plus, If that isn't bad enough, they constantly pressure you to get married and start a family.

Thankfully, I don't need the birthing stipend or the perks that come with pregnancy and child-rearing. In fact not a single person I know wants to have sex with the weight and entanglement of procreation as a consequence, even with all the financial and social status benefits.

At least with the advent of screening pods, leaving the cocoon of my apartment every once in a while is now a viable option. They make it worth the risk of exposure to connect with other human beings for a little fun without any pressure of commitment.

When the proper equipment is used correctly it takes the risk out of meeting and mingling with other people without the need for protection.

Okay, once in a while like the other day, a story will stream about a shady pop-up club that supposedly faked the entrance screenings, exposing dozens of partiers to random pathogens and STD's, but most of my peers and I think that those are just State planted fake news reports intended to scare us.

Still, the testing equipment is expensive and hard to procure. If a party promoter decided to cut corners, it is possible you could be mixing with partners that weren't properly tested. That thought is admittedly terrifying.

That's not going to happen. Clara would never go to a party she didn't feel was absolutely legit and 100% safe.

Now that two generations have experienced such horrific losses of life, the fear of death from disease or from radioactive fallout from the Asia war of 2038, is so deeply ingrained in every person and every culture that not only has the citizenry of the world gotten used to quarantining and self-sequestering themselves, but they only feel safe when doing so.

Ironically governments are now faced with the new battle of convincing people that not only is it safe to come together again to repopulate their societies but that it is the citizenries obligation to do so. They've tried using incentives and propaganda yet mortality rates still outpace births in just about every country around the globe.

All I know is it's not my fault that this century is ending ravaged by three pandemics and endless battles for dwindling resources, and despite all the propaganda and urging from the "Grannies", I don't feel it's my responsibility to save humankind just because I'm female, and I certainly don't believe it's my uterus's duty to supply the State with babies. I honestly couldn't care less that the world's population numbers are a quarter of what they were a hundred years ago and are declining annually.

If anything most of my friends and peers, both male and female, feel just as I do, that on the contrary, it's negligent to bring a child into this world that seems hell-bent on ending all our lives in absolutely horrific ways. The State can go fuck themselves as far as we are concerned.

The scariest thing to me is there's more and more talk of government forced procreation in some of the outlying territories. It's bad enough that the State and the wealthy buy the procreation rights from the poor but at least you could argue that those women have a choice and are getting something for it. But mandatory pregnancies! No fucking way!

Ok, calm down. Deep breaths. Don't let the State ruin your mood. Tonight is about having fun!

I lift my mask back to my face and pull long sips of DaterAide through its straw attachment until the pouch is empty. Its narcotic effects pump through my system and work on lifting my mood.

Sensing my agitation Lucy tilts her head back at me from the driver's seat, "You okay, hon?"

I'm not surprised that Lucy is aware of my distress since she is linked to the biometric sensors built into my comms just in case I have a medical emergency and I lose consciousness or I'm unable to communicate to her that I'm in need of a medical facility.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm good. I just need to relax and get out of my own head."

"Can I do something to help, babe? We still have about 10 minutes before we arrive at your destination."

Lucy's massless body materializes in the seat next to me. Her beautiful face displays a hint of a seductive smirk, just as I programmed it.

"Help me? What did you have in mind?" I say, intrigued by her offer.

"I'm sure you're aware I'm equipped with a fully detailed portable SPA unit. Why don't you unzip that coverall, hon, and let me try to relieve some of your tension."

I've never used Lucy's SPA before, in fact I honestly forgot she even had one. But I have to admit just the thought of her helping me to "relax" makes my body tingle.

Humm, Why not. Tonight is about getting laid and what better way to get in the mood than with a little foreplay.

My hand seems to have a mind of its own because I don't recall telling it to move but looking down I see my coverall is completely unzipped and open to just below my crotch, exposing my extremely short skirt.

Instinctively I part my legs in anticipation of what's to come.

Lucy settles between my thighs. Two of the articulated arms that come equipped with the vehicle's much simpler SPA unit come to life beneath a layer of her photonic "skin" and sync with Lucy's movements. She uses one of them to lift the bottom edge of my skirt and her gorgeous face leans in for a closer look.