A gay story: 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.