tagMind ControlYes, Oculus Rift Sex

Yes, Oculus Rift Sex

byDesiremakesmeweak©

There are many variations of the narcissistic disorder personality, each one leading potentially to a different kind of 'brooks-no-equal' occupational excellence, but those who gravitate to violent occupations do so because they are themselves violent inside. And not violent as in angry pub-drunk - or bar-drunk, if you are an American - football lout violent, if you are English, but rather -, grindhouse violent. They will organise and arrange a killing. And they will do it with relish.

Knife-edge shirt pleats and trouser crease, and spotless laundered clothes aside - there is no elegance or subtlety about these people at all. It is the very reason they tend to, as soon as they have acquired the financial means, buy, or try to buy, what they are told by the rest of the world is the best of the best. That is the way narcissists and ego-centric people do things.

*

Voilà! Now there - is a beautiful sitting room... a room that looks out onto the inner garden courtyard, where the diners may lounge, whilst waiting for their table at Le Parc at Chateau Les Crayeres in Reims. Heavy corded fabric armchairs and highly polished mahogany side tables are placed around in small and discrete clusters. Even in the night time there are cut flowers - little vases of night blooming jasmine on tabletops. Lalique glass light covers. Very expensive tapestry...

The scent of truffles was in the air all around. There's a lot of rubbish constantly written about truffles. Even the BBC writes rubbish about it. They write about 'Anandamide' being in truffles. There is no Adandamide in truffles; Anandamide is a commercial name for a synthetic substance.

Rich clever people eat them not even because they taste okay... No, the whole, and the main attraction, lies entirely elsewhere.

The chemicals in truffles in specifically make the skin more permeable to the individual's own scent molecules.

The true natural scent of truffle alone is itself relatively very mild. After all it is a fact you need special dogs or special pigs with extremely acute smell senses to be able to locate them at all! Master Chefs soak truffles firstly in absinthe to release their odour along with other chemicals - your own chemicals - which are carried by the ethanol in the liqueur.

Truffles have complex chemicals in them like some other, some even quite toxic fungi, although they are very mild by comparison to say something like amanita muscaria,for instance, which also grows in oak forests just like the truffles. Some of the chemicals include things like myristic acid, which allows the skin to become highly permeable to odoriferous molecules. Consume truffles prepared the right way and your body will give off a very characteristic odour, and it will hang around for a long time too, and permeate into the clothes you are wearing. Like spermaceti - the crystallized fraction oil from the sperm whale - truffle odour molecules tend to grip tightly onto other odour molecules, particularly human ones. It's a way rich humans have of being on a rich person's subtle list.

Then again though, there is also the expensive girl as compared to the merely rich one.

General Keith Lysander was paying for an expensive girl this evening. She was scheduled to meet him for dinner - and for afterwards too. She was going to make an entrance, according to the pre-arrangement, while he was waiting for his table to be readied. Theoretically - and since she was an experienced night-time sky-diver - she was going to para-wing into the larger open air gardens just outside the floor-to-ceiling bay windows of Le Parc restaurant's dining room.

This type of thing they do in Europe; arrangements like this, one or two of the really expensive escort companies do it to create excitement for the bored ultra rich. Lysander had had it all depicted personally and quite conveniently to him on a very private, a very exclusive App - on his intelligent mobile phone. A rather unusual, almost strange, audio-visual presentation as it happened. Must have been a European thing.

But she didn't show. Not for dinner this evening. Or pre-dinner drinks. Or anything. And the general was now about to get very angry. After all he'd paid extremely good money up front and he'd had things checked out beforehand too - so what was the problem?

"Monsieur?"

He turned his head to see who had spoken to him. A waiter had approached to his left side and was leaning downwards a little to speak solicitously with the angry, though not yet quite disconsolate retired general. "If the monsieur general is dining by himself this evening, perhaps he may like to accept an invitation from the Maison Taittinger and the Total Oil Corporation for dinner with their small party on the top floor -"

The waiter's hands made a gesture to display something like reaching up and sliding one's hands on the top shelf of a tall dresser. "...On the starlight balcony room?"

*

As the general took the sedate lift up the mere three floors to the roof-top location of the private party to which he had now been invited, an App message on his slim-line mobile phone kept flashing a GPS tracking co-ordinate to him. It was meant to have been the target for the girl sky-diver. Now it was simply an annoyance. At best meaningless... At worst a reminder of a problem and a mistake.

Flavours of smoked bacon and seared ciabata sourdough bread, chicken frontanianum, the best quality white truffles, strongly scented Arbequina olive oil, and Compte de Taittinger Champagne - all greeted his nostrils as soon as the lift doors opened.

I was of course on the look-out for him, having previously spent a small amount of time studying a good-quality photograph of him so that I could easily recognize him. Xenia, the redheaded Russian gymnast was standing next to me, dressed in skin-tight N. Peal cashmeres top and bottom and quite dramatic-looking with her green eye-shadow and black mascara uplifts. Xenia was a dangerous, a very dangerous girl and every moment that I ever passed with her was, frankly, tinged with a constant feeling of a certain quantum of anxiety for me. I'm not even sure that it might not have been actual fear... Maybe one day I would be able to feel differently about her, but because of my actually knowing about her skills and her practical history with automatic pistols, for one instance, and her apparent total lack of compunction too about killing - she was in fact a source somewhat of guilt to me, and of niggling worry as much as she was also a source of real hedonistic physical intimacy and pleasure. It might be that I would have to tell her that I actually feared her... Next time we were having it off...

I hastened over towards the general to hand him a flute glass of Champagne from one of the waiters with freshly poured glasses on trays, as soon as he stepped out of the lift and began to look around, not yet looking actually lost.

"Good evening. I am with the Total Corporation," I lied.

It was quite easy to engage the general in the most casual and innocuous little chit-chat. That kind of thing seemed to go along almost expectedly with blinis and caviar and Milléssimé Taittinger. 'Oh yes, and what a great company it was. What a great board of directors. Lots of exploration happening. Even the difficult shale in northern Europe, too...'

But really, I could see his eyes darting regularly up to wherever the redheaded Russian girl was standing. The hot, perfectly charred lobster toast and Brillat-Savarin with Napoleon Brandy being served by crisp-uniformed service-people, just another excuse to look over the tops of the over-large sized slices, now and again lifted purposefully to his mouth but yet again still always seemingly aimed at and always body positioned towards the central object of his attention.

She batted her green eye-shadowed eyelids at him, from across the expanse of rooftop landing, the Turkic-Asiatic uptilts of her mascara-extended eye-creases at once uniquely exotic and very mysterious, amidst the fifteen or twenty milky white Western faces, both those of the males as well as females present in the private function. And her age appeared a lot younger than it really was too, against all of that other women-of-a-certain-age flesh present, all of them dressed in their austerely mature-looking, certainly expensive and quite sophisticated evening dresses.

Various subtle little wakes of floral and spice drifted like a tropical effluvium on a still night out on a moonlit beach. The air was calm and warm up here on the rooftop, with its outdoor grills and decadent standing air warmers.

Perhaps she had smiled once toward the general. Both of them highly trained expert professionals...

There was one word certainly, that described the trait that all generals possessed - and which was also of course the word that described the area of their most high potential for personal vulnerability - and that word was 'ambition.'

And this general had ambitions to bed the fascinating stranger with the exotic eyes.

A silence fell across the whole floor. High up in the black night sky, six or seven glittering flashes of chemical laser shots star-fired pin-point sparkles more or less in one location immediately perpendicular overhead. An unmanned stealth Karman line ram-jet aircraft. People's head looked upwards to see what was happening. But nothing followed - nothing seemed to be happening.

And then the DJ's beautiful - and rather expensive - set-up of Thorens turntable, Stereovox cables, and Mcintosh speakers warmly came to life with Nat King Cole's old 1958 version of Hoagy Carmichael's Stardust.

Something fell from the sky and came whistling straight down with a slight hint of tracer glow, and buried itself into the ground somewhere close by below them in the courtyard gardens.

Suddenly the redheaded girl, crossed her arms over her upper body, hands at waist, and quickly took off her black 2-ply cashmere pullover. She turned to the general and handed him the garment, still warm and odoriferous from her skin's previous proximity to it and the heat of her muscled body, and perhaps the slight hint of an almost simplistic and one-dimensional Hervé Legér Femme EDP...

She was wearing only a tight compression t-shirt, slacks and specialist black filoselle and 'ultralux' leather pumps.

She walked over to the balcony's edge and raised her muscled gymnasts arms up to the small folded roll linked into a simple modified Abalakov anchor fixed on the end of a steel pole extending overhead. In one fell move the roll burst out to unwind two long swathes of silk, all crimson red in colour and seemingly feeding themselves out into the complete blackness of night over the edge of the balcony. Grasping the two silks and wrapping them - one around each arm - so that she was positioned equally balanced between the two banner width red falls, she next pulled taut against them until they were holding her full weight against the top pinion, and then she launched herself over the edge.

"Sometimes I wonder..." the harp strings played up and down the scales in accompaniment to the words. "Why I spend, the lonely night..." And the wind fluttered against the silks. "I am once again, with you..."

Huge vast arcs of twin red silks flew into the night, flowing in a relatively gradual negative logarithmic crescent all the way down to the ground below. "And each kiss, an inspiration..."

The girl slipped easily down the aerial silks and descended, virtually floating as much as swinging using the gymnastic pendulum lever of her gravity, down to the grassy ground.

He lost sight of her in the line of large bushes and then trees behind them.

I could see the red silks get a little tightening evident in them again. I went to look over the edge of the balcony where they hung over the side running down from their overhead fixtures. Grabbing the twin lines of silks in handfuls, I drew them up feeding the loose silk back over my forearm onto a falling folding spill on the ground behind me. There was a weight at the end of the silks holding the remaining long lengths down away from me over the balcony straight and taut. Soon I pulled up the wrapped ends of the twin silks, which had been wrapped around and around and contained a small slim ballistic plastic hard-shell case within, about six centimetres by thirty centimetres by twenty centimetres.

"Here you go, general." He was standing right up beside me, curious. I turned to him and opened the box and showed him the contents. "A present for you..."

"What's this?!" His voice faltered just a little, although his face didn't register the full force of the surprise that he was experiencing.

"All machined 7075 aluminium alloy, 9mm, Russian Swift Strike tactical handgun. The latest thing. And with ammunition." I tapped the case top.

I handed the automatic out to him, and he put his hands out to receive it quite mindlessly, tucking the girl's sweater under his arm, and then turning the weapon over in his palm this way and that admiringly.

The awesomeness of the display - what had just happened hadn't really dawned on him at all yet. Perhaps it was the surroundings, the context, maybe the wine and the truffles, or the sheer unexpected nature of the event itself.

The general frowned suddenly and looked directly into my eyes, but I just smiled nicely back.

"I think I have to go now..." He said in a low whisper. And he handed me the black cashmere pullover.

But he kept the gun and its case and ammunition and quickly left the rooftop party. Fireworks took off into the sky and exploded in green and purple starbursts and everyone else was starting to have a really good time, laughing and some even shouting. One or two Champagne corks popped. The wine flowed freely.

*

"He's probably going to ring his old ADC, Captain Brighella, no doubt." Xenia said, with some sense of deprecation coming across from her words. She picked up a plate of charcuterie, and a small cocktail fork.

"We know his name as well?" I asked.

"It's an 'in' joke for intellectuals, of which I had supposed you were one." She chided.

"I might have to look that up," I admitted. "I have this inclination to say it has something to do with the comedia dell'arte..."

"Oh very good! And so it does, at that." And she proceeded to fill her pretty mouth with some slices of cold meat and chewed down on them.

Placing the cocktail fork down temporarily, Xenia fiddled around inside the highly streamlined and Velcro-d side pockets of her cashmere sweater. "Hhmmn... here," she mumbled. "Micro body-cam, micro action-cam, and distance cam. You can put all the wild vision together and make something watchable out of it, yes?"

Yeah I could do that. And you all can watch it too - it's on the web at Enhanced Recall.

Enhanced Recall - which is a real thing, and probably still on a Wix.com site page somewhere - 'works' on any member of the ordinary public too. Yes I guess it is pretty dangerous but then you can't really suppress these types of things nowadays. It 'gets out there' eventually; this one's already out there, in fact. It's not just about being able to covertly practise 'dark arts' on some unsuspecting intelligence target who thought he saw someone drop zone a contraband payload. Enhanced Recall is a form of highly innovative 'synthetic memory' free downloadable software that's available out there... The standard data sources are from micro body-cams, micro action-cams, close-up cams - the neural re-entrant stimuli are from binaural audio, neural triggers, neural temporal coding... One result: highly immersive sex cams, erotica cams - for instance. And all integrate-able into your Oculus Rift headset, if you like, or your Google Glass, or even just your plain PC. And all free. Oh yeah it's there all right. Look it up on Google; it's all there. If you can't find it call me; I'll send you a direct link.

It's just like that old sci-fi movie 'Total Recall,' isn't it - only now it's for real. Sure it's come out of Russian labs, but so what. You wouldn't not look at it just because of that, would you? After all, totalitarian communism is dead. This is today's world now. High quality sex for all. What do they say: 'enhanced living through digital electronics.' And now the enhanced technology of sex too.

Xenia's a model for the green screen on it, by the way. You'll like her when you see her. And the digital truffle scent, not forgetting that - among so many other controlled or artificial sense stimuli components - is programmed into the optional metered olfactory USB aerosol micro-pitot attachments, if you choose to get those.

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