Trying to hide something from someone close to you.
Even when it’s the right thing, when you’re doing it for your own protection.
Every awkward pause is a moment where you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time they have something they want to talk about, you wonder if they found out.
Especially with your parents. Especially when you’re still living with them.
As a teen, a low level stress seeps into your relationship with them. You avoid spending too much time alone. You find excuses to not be as present.
The need to remove yourself from the specter of investigation looms over you day and night. As if not being physically present would somehow shield them from ever finding the truth.
So when you father calls you in to “talk about something important” your heart rate goes crazy. You look for an excuse.
When he says “No, we can’t talk about it later,” your adrenaline is kicking in.
You try and maintain composure. You try to act like you haven’t been waiting for this for months.
“I wanted to talk to you about this, just the two of us. I know how much it would upset your mother.” He says, that look on his face saying he’s not mad, just disappointed.
There’s a lot I wish I could change about that summer.
I wish I’d gotten Naomi out of there, out of Bedford. Especially after realizing how lost she was that day on the side of the highway. I could have just kept driving, fuck the school and the plan to download the ghost file.
I wish my horny, immature, 18 year old self could see I was constantly hedging. Betting Naomi’s freedom, her mind, on the chance I could… I don’t even know…
The change take advantage of her?
I hate myself to even say it. To talk about my wife, the mother of my child like that.
But I’ve come to terms with that a while ago. As much as I tried to obscure it to Naomi and even myself at the time, the truth is I was weak and selfish.
And I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since then.
The thing that makes it difficult to clear my conscious is how fuzzy things got by July. Not just the imperfect memories that come with age, but the programming and the chemicals I now know were influencing Naomi and I that whole summer.
That fog and the ambiguity it brings is a double edged sword.
On one hand, there’s the specter of absolution; everything I did or didn’t do may have been beyond my control. I can point my judgement and revulsion at the men (and woman) who drugged and hypnotized me for their own gains.
On the other hand, I can’t be certain what actions were my own. I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.
But then, some nights, when Naomi is particularly horny and spaced out, she begs me to save her.
It’s an act. She’s beyond saving now, and she knows it. We both are.
Still, my wife will look up at me, with a mimicry of her old, teenage self. She’ll lock eyes with me and beg me not to take advantage of her. She’ll plead with me not to turn her into a slutty, mindless caricature. She’ll say she doesn’t want the same fate as her mother.
Naomi says all this because she knows it drives me wild. It’ll always been in the middle of some heavy foreplay, right when she knows I’m struggling to pace myself. She’ll turn on her ‘old’ self, and watch me swim with guilt and desire.
Not that it really matters. The deed is done and Naomi is who she is now. But she likes seeing it play out again, watching me break because I want her so badly.
And I lose that battle every time. I always fuck her. And Naomi smiles and slowly lets her facade drop, turning her pleas into giggles and moans of pleasure.
I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.
Concept and characters generously provided by VoidGolem.
Further Down The Spiral – July 1999
“It’s too big, it won’t fit. I told you this would be painful, but you’ve got a one track mind.”
I leaned back in my chair, not ready to give up yet. “I can’t stop now, I’m close. It’s right in front of me, if I could just…”
Aaron cut me off. “It’s not happening with your internet connection. Your trying to download a full disk image, almost a gig, over a 56k connection. The server will keep timing out… hell, I’m surprised you can connect at all.”
Two weeks of searching online for Prefect Wife Inc. and this was all I had. A ghost… or to be more specific a .ghost image file. I had no idea what the hell it was, or how I could open it. That’s why Aaron, my old Debate Club partner and class ‘hacker’ was on the phone with me.
“Are you sure you can’t just come over and walk me through this in person? I can’t talk and browse, my house only has one line.” I glanced down at the notes I’d made so far, and already knew I was lost. “How do I even install the FTP? Just bike over here.”
“No can do, good buddy.” I could hear Aaron typing away while he was talking. “House arrest. You know that.”
He was exaggerating, but not by much. After accessing some teacher’s personal documents on the school network, he’d been suspended and grounded. Aaron didn’t even walk at graduation; he got his diploma mailed after some community service.
“So how do I download it? Can you do it for me? I could swing by and pick it up…” I was desperate.
“Nope. You’re going to need a T1 line if you want to snag that baby.”
“And where do I find one of those?”
“Not in Bedford. We’re not wired for fiber. Closest one is…” he stopped typing. “Say, aren’t you going to State this fall?”
Naomi double clicked on the HomeReBoot file. A new window opened up, just random characters and scrambled text.
“Did you open it in the right program?” I leaned forward and squinted. The text was scrolling down, but it was still just gibberish.
“Mmmhmm.” Naomi had taken her hands off the keyboard and had begun rubbing herself again. “This is the right program for good girls…”
The text started to blur by. I couldn’t look away.
“And I’m a good girl…” Naomi sounded miles away.
There was a pattern I could almost make out. It was nearly strobe-like, flashing shapes too fast to discern…
…
Naomi is seated and I’m standing behind her. I’m bending down and kissing her deeply while she plays with herself. I’m cupping her tits, working my hands below her bra to feel her hard nipples. My cock pressing through my shorts, up against her back. Porn is playing on the computer loudly. Naomi seems to be breathing in time with the woman on screen.
…
I’m holding Naomi down and she’s smiling up at me, licking her lips. Her jeans are half off and I can see her red underwear, totally soaked through. I’m instructing her… about… something… telling her how dirty and perverted she is. She twitches her hips each time I call her a names. “Slut. Whore.” She begs me to make her a Good Girl. I tell her I will and she moans with pleasure. I pull my cock out and she grins at it and licks it and I can’t think anymore and she takes me deeper and I want to fill her cunt and I tell her and she moves faster.
Concept and characters generously provided by VoidGolem. Special thanks to @talesforsluts everyone who provided edits and feedback on this chapter, including @generalwizardtragedy, @totallynotskynet and @paradoxguild679.
The Line Begins to Blur – Late June 1999
Sneaking around wasn’t something I was good at.
I’d gotten drunk once. It was some post-track meet party, and someone handed me a Jack and Coke. I spent most of the night just in a side room, playing video games, trying not to throw up from the awful taste. To be honest, most of that night was a blur.
The clearest memory was trying, and failing, to act nonchalant. I puked as soon as I’d walked in my front the door, mostly from nerves of my parents catching me stumbling in so late.
Playing it cool was not my strength.
“You’re absolutely, positively sure she’s at the gym all afternoon?” I was keeping my voice low while Naomi let me into her foyer.
“HEY MOM!” Naomi screamed, cupping her hand to her mouth for effect. “RYAN AND I ARE GOING TO DO CRACK IF YOU WANT TO JOIN!”
I flinched a bit, but the silence proved her point. We were totally alone in the house.
“Point made.” I said, slipping off my shoes.
“You turn red so easily.” Naomi chuckled. “Seriously, your ears look like they’re on fire.”
“Hardy-har-har. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously.”
She led me down the hall to the computer room, more of a nook just off the kitchen. Unlike the attic, it was immaculately staged. Not a hint of dust or clutter.
It was also totally exposed. if someone were to walk through the front door, we’d have seconds before our cover was blown.
“So if she comes home early…?” I dragged a kitchen chair next to the monitor.
“If she comes home early, I’ll just yank out the power cable before she can see anything.” Naomi sat at the keyboard and flicked on the screen.
“It’s a laptop though.” I pointed at black, closed Gateway locked into the docking. “You pull the plug and nothing will happen.”
“Then I’ll turn off the screen. Keep it cool, Mr. Privacy.” she was already connecting. The modem started it’s mechanical cry of life as she logged in.
A sample of Chapter One from my current work in progress. Concept and characters were generously provided by VoidGolem. Special thanks to @talesforsluts for some great edits and suggestions.
Naomi was chewing her hair absentmindedly, which stuck me as out of character. But then, I’d never seen her this nervous before.
“Hey…” I said leaning in and putting an arm around her. “Maybe it’s just porn?”
She blinked, then cracked a pained smirk. “Oh god…” She was half laughing, half crying. “You’re the worst.” She leaned in and buried her head in my chest. I kissed the top of her head and pulled her close. This whole thing was surreal for me, I couldn’t imagine what was going through Naomi’s mind.
She looked up at me and started to say something when the TV blared out.
“The Perfect Wife Program!” a loud, movie-trailer styled voice read off the cheesy-80’s title that faded on screen. Generic background muzak faded in; the slight warble in the old tape’s tracking gave it an eerie sound.
The picture faded into a generic, windowless office, where a grey-suited man was sitting at a comically large oak desk.
“Welcome! We here at Perfect Wife Inc. are happy you’ve chosen to subscribe to our full Platinum Service. We’re confident this new program will bring our trusted brand into the future, with all the technology the 1980s will have to offer!”
Now the nameless suit was walking through a busy office, grinning and continuing his pitch.
“Our clients are realists, practical men who know times are changing. Women now have a more prominent role at work and at home.Why just take Susan here,” he gestured to a woman typing at a table behind him. She looked like a porn-star than a secretary, with huge tits, heavy makeup and blown-out platinum hair. “Sharp as a tack and cute as a button!”
“I can do anything a man can do!” The blonde mugged to the camera, delivering her lines in a stilted, high pitched voice. “Why would I stay at home?”
“That’s right Suzzie!” The man patted her head lightly.
“Christ, where did they dig up that bimbo?” Naomi muttered. I didn’t say it, but I was starting to suspect we’d already seen how Perfect Wife Inc. recruited.
“But just because the world is changing, that doesn’t mean you can’t still have what every man wants.” The screen did a hacky, harp-scored dissolve to a generic 1950’s kitchen. The narrator and Suzzie appeared with a cartoon ‘pop.’
“With the new Perfect Wife program, you have all the tools you need to build the family of your dreams!” The narrator snapped his fingers and Suzzie was suddenly a retro, pin-up housewife; a technicolor model that would have looked right at home in any Nick-at-Nite rerun.
“But mister,” Suzzie cooed. “Won’t I get bored with this big brain?”
“Oh fuck…” Naomi sat upright, just putting together what I’d already feared.
“No worries missy. We’ll take care of that!” The narrator winked at the camera. “Now we’ve been keeping you at home waiting long enough. Be sure you’ve read all the included instructions. And, as always, our customer service team can assist you if any glitches arise!”
The narrator and Suzzie faded out, replaced with bold text on a black background:
PROGRAM START
“What did we just watch?” Naomi asked, “And what’s that awful tone?”
“What tone?”
I looked over at her, expecting her to be in tears after all that, maybe even furious.
Instead, she was staring blankly ahead at the screen, mouth slightly ajar.
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