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The video then rotates the POV and shows that to the outside world, it looks like the wearer is just wearing regular clear eyeglasses.
“Watch virtual reality porn, wherever you go, safely, discreetly,” I say into the microphone and the crowd begins to cheer. “But, now, Illicit Escape takes it one step farther.”
The video zooms out to show a diagram of the glasses on a human face.
“Using groundbreaking new technology, the Illicit Escape uses subconscious visual cues to make your brain believe that what you're seeing is something you’re actually experiencing,” I say to to the audience. I can tell they’re looking at me, not believing.
“That means that when she does this,” I say and point to the video as it changes to a user POV and shows what it looks like when one wears the glasses. A hologram of a woman is sucking a dick. “You feel the sensations of the mouth on your cock. Your brain feels every aspect of hands on your body.”
There’s a silence as the idea sinks into people. To put on some glasses and trick your brain into thinking you're really having sex?
Apparently everyone comes to the same conclusion that we did; this is a fucking great idea. Because the next moment, they’re cheering louder than ever before. It seriously takes me a few minutes to get the last line of my speech in.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Illicit Escape. Available for sale this year,” I say and pause as the cameras get one last shot of me. I wave and then Cheryl comes up to me. She’s smiling and she guides me off stage.
Lots of adrenaline, I’ll be the first to fucking admit.
But that’s not all that catches my eye.
At the curb, there’s a limo. And as I look over to see it, I notice the window gets rolled up. When I try to walk toward the limo—I don’t know why, okay?—it pulls away from the curb and drives away.
I don’t know why it fucking bothers me so much. Corporate espionage? Maybe.
“Cheryl,” I tell her as she handles some press inquiries at the base of the podium. She looks at me, waiting for me to speak. “Pull the surveillance cameras and get me the license plates and registration for that limo that just went by when you get a chance, will you?” I ask her.
She nods.
Maybe I’m being a bit too paranoid, you know?
But with this high of stakes—with something that’s going to take me from a regular billionaire to the richest man on the planet—you can never be too careful.
Brittney
I don't make it a habit of jumping inside of strange limos, but I acted on impulse and here I am. Walter didn't seem concerned, and I trust his instincts. He's never steered me wrong in the past, and when the man said it would be worth my while, I figured I'd hear him out. A new business prospect will always pique my interest, and like I said, I'm not worried; I can handle myself. If I can handle one man, I can handle them all. As I scoot into the limo, I look across the leather seat and find a man with long, stringy blonde hair. It's thinning and he pushes it behind his ears. He has a thin, crooked nose that he's rubbing with the back of his hand, and he's wearing skinny jeans that make him look more feminine than masculine. I don't see a bulge in his crotch. I was curious; can you blame me for looking? But I bet he has a small cock. He's rail thin with watery eyes, and I immediately second-guess my decision to get into this vehicle with him.
"You want a bump?" he asks. He's holding out a playing card—King of spades—with a small pile of white powder heaped on it. I wasn't born yesterday. I've been with enough loser ex-boyfriends to know what he's offering me. But believe me, I'm not about to go down that path.
"I'll pass," I say. "I'm not here to waste my time. Why did you call this meeting?"
"Suit yourself," he smiles. "But you're missing out. This is the good shit. Straight from Colombia."
I watch as he holds the card to his nose and inhales the powder in one, quick snort. His eyes seem more animated now and he continues, "I need you to get back into porn."
Is this guy serious? I laugh out loud. "That's it? You've got the wrong woman. I have bigger, more successful hustles now."
"No, I don't," he continues, looking straight at me. "I've got the perfect woman. I'd argue you're one of the best performers in the industry. That scene you did with the alien tentacle fetish—brilliant."
"I appreciate the compliment, but that's all in the past. I'm not getting back into that industry. I've moved on. If you know anything about me, you know that I now have better things to chase," I say.
"Let me finish," he says. "Are you familiar with the name Ethan Kane?"
"Of course. He's the billionaire porn producer of Illicit Entertainment. Who doesn't know him? He seems to be in the news every other day."
"I need you to get him to fall in love with you."
I can't help but laugh some more. Is this guy for real? I'm not laughing because I think I can't do it—I know I can. But why would I want to? "You've got to be kidding. Get Ethan Kane to fall in love with me? He's a playboy. He doesn't fall in love with anyone. And who are you anyways—some scorned ex-lover?"
"Pardon my lack of an introduction. I should've introduced myself," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Simon Conners. Ethan and I used to be business partners—but that's another lifetime… and a long story." He looks out the window of the limo, and across the city. He seems to be lost in memory.
