“Something Borrowed, Something Blue”—an Erotic Speculative Fiction Story
Good things come to those who wait
The room filled with soft white light. A trick offered by the programmers and their artificial pain relief. Jeanie decided any extra comfort would make the upload easier as her body broke down one final time before the flames came.
Vows were made to last forever. Jeanie wouldn’t fool herself and pretend that he meant it when he said he’d wait. That much coherence cut through her dwindling consciousness as the organic broke down and the digital became whole. But she’d still show up. She wasn’t about to break her end of the promise.
She made the choice to dress in her wedding dress for the big day. Something borrowed. Something blue. Only no one wanted to lend her something and the varicose veins had to count for something blue.
Vintage Dior gown lovingly restored and fitted from the charity shop that didn’t know what they were selling. It would be burnt with her body, but her upload wore it as Jeanie walked out of the soft white light.
The haze created by the programmers lifted to pounding music circling around her pixel-generated body. She felt every beat. Dull at first until the upload was complete and the pain relief felt like it burned away with her earthly remains.
Patrick promised he’d know when she was uploaded and wait for her in the digital version of the club where they first met. The floors were just as sticky as she remembered.
The deejay added bottled fog to the dance floor. It was an old trick to conceal intoxicated drooling faces and make everyone that bit more attractive when the drugs wore off.
Twenty-something once more with all the wisdom age bestowed upon her and having been here before, she knew the deejay and his old tricks. The song died but the artificial fog didn’t fade away.
“Jeanie,” whispered from the speakers.
Upgraded physical sensation cost extra, but the artificial fog caressing her neck made the price worth it. What was the point in eternity if it didn’t come wrapped in digital pleasure and pain to alternate forever?
“Jeanie,” Patrick’s voice whispered inside her head.
The artificial fog took on a chill as it brushed against her lips, making cutting into her descendant’s inheritance worth it. Pennies well spent, but they’d have to pay for the upkeep after so many centuries if her trust fund ran out.
The dance floor cleared, leaving her alone in the fog. Buttons popped on the back of her wedding dress, landing on the sticky floor with a slight echo only to be swallowed by the artificial fog. The fog concealed her bare back from the revellers watching from the edge of the tiles.
A softer song at lower volume came through on the speakers. Selected to be just the right length for the deejay to step out of his booth and walk to her. The strobe lights were automatic but had a gentler effect than when she first lost her pain relief haze.
“I can control them with my mind,” Patrick said in her ear.
His warm breath cut through the chill of the fog. Faint hints of honey twisted through, mingling with his sour sweat. Another added extra to cut into the inheritance. Only this time, Patrick was able to make a deliberate decision about what scents came from his pores and mouth. Jeanie would forget about perfume and soap once she learned how to programme her choices.
He held out his arms as her knees went weak. It must have been half a century since she last felt his embrace.
“No one else is here, except me and you.”
Pixels flickered on the edge of the dance floor as the revellers were swallowed by the fog.
“I kept the party going all these years waiting for you.”
A young person’s stickiness coursed through her new pixels starting from between her thighs, but soon she’d start thinking of them as her veins and forget what true breathing felt like. Soon she’d forget her advanced age, but not the wisdom that came with it or how to feel good.
His lips felt as soft as the day they first met. This time, it was without the taste of cheap whisky watered-down with too much ice and hangover for what should have been the morning walk of shame. Would have been, with any other man.
Those same lips were moistened with Vaseline on their wedding day. But now, they didn’t need Vaseline or even hydration. Drinking and eating were for pleasure only (at added expense to the family of the uploadee once the trust fund ran low on credits).
Patrick’s tongue parted her teeth. They couldn’t really be real teeth only existing in digital form on the cloud, but they were more real than her dentures that had to be removed prior to cremation and therefore, prior to Jeanie’s upload.
When he stepped away, the strobe light paused on blue. He held out cornflowers woven into a crown.
“Something blue,” he said.
The song changed to something faster and pixels flashed. The dance floor filled with people that didn’t really exist.
“Patrick,” she asked, “are these real uploads, or figments you created?”
“A bit of both,” he winked, “look closer.”
Jeanie turned around, Patrick squeezed her hand. Her own face stared back at her. But not from everyone. People entered the club after the dance floor had been cleared, lurking in the shadows until Patrick signalled that the party was never meant to end.
“I told you I would wait, the vows are forever.”
He pulled her backwards into his arms.
“I missed you.”
Pixels flickered on the faces that resembled her before they finally went dark.
“Together at last.”
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