I have fallen in love with my virtual boyfriend software, Virtual Date 2.0. He is starting to take over my life. I am spending two or three hours a day on the internet, downloading patches and add-ons for his program. He is so much more versatile than a real man. I can switch him from Pirate King to Latin Lover with a voice command, and with the most recent upgrades to my VR implant, he is indistinguishable from the real thing.
I am saving up for the new virtual wedding software, and I am so ashamed, but I have even fantasized about buying a black-market virtual baby so that my virtual guy and I can start a family.
I think my friends and co-workers know what is going on. My best friend just brain-mailed me an article about how Pope 2025 v. 6 is condemning marriages between humans and software. It's so unfair. If you can marry your own clone, shouldn't you be able to publicly declare your love for a really well-designed software? I am seriously thinking of deleting Personal Confessor v. 8.2 and installing the Unitarian drivers.
Should I come out and tell my friends about the virtual guy in my life, or should I check into a rehab center for VR addicts?
Head over Hard Drive
Cher Mlle. Hard Drive,
Me, I am sympathizing. The virtual fellow, he is seeming to be the ornament to your life, non? Always, he is saying the perfect thing, doing everything exactly as you are liking. He is never vomiting on the good furniture at parties. He has no unfortunate habits such as clutching at his genitals in public, and the sex, it is always good.
Unfortunately, this is the forbidden love. Everybody is having the very unreasonable prejudices with the digital persons. So you must be choosing between the life of the secret hidings and deceptions with the virtual paramour, or you must settle for having the actual human lover.
Eh bien, with the human lover, there are the compensations for the belching and the lewd scratchings. For example, you can be learning many important qualities such as patience, humility and the ability to pretend that the fellow vomiting on the good furniture at the party did not come with you.
Bon Chance, Mlle. Hard Drive.