From Dark Treats

Copyright 2024 Ray Gregory

 

BudBin Dream Girl

Laurie Wells loved BudBin. It seemed like everyone in the world hung out there, half of them looking for adventure, the other half selling it. “The world is your BudBin. Share, have fun, make money,” cooed BudBin’s avatar on its homepage, the ethnically ambiguous young woman with the most recognized face on the planet. 

Laurie always set her BudBin pay preference to pay as you go. Dangling those U.S. dollar cash credits like a hopeful little smile, dropping one here or there whenever someone pleased her, always got the best results. In the poorest regions of the world, even setting her tip scale at a fraction of a dollar assured eager service. She could be “walking along” with someone in an out-of-the-way bazaar on the other side of the world when she saw a shop she wanted to enter. When she asked them so sweetly, and they heard that little cash blip, they never said no.

Still in her bathrobe, nursing a cup of rich, creamy mocha, Laurie settled in before her computer. Breakfast was done, Rick and kids were off to work and school, plus the maid had come yesterday and was as thorough as ever, so nothing needed doing around the house. It was just her and BudBin.

She took a long whiff of the dreamy mist rising from her cup, then slouched back in her chair. Did she fit the BudBin stereotype to a T or what? The bored, affluent suburban wife slumming for cheap goods and thrills, with a slew of developing-world lackeys desperate to fetch them for her. But lackeys? So much for that half of the stereotype. The most creative headcam jocks everywhere became real-life sensations. Internet tour entrepreneurs made fortunes as BudBin collected its behind-the-scenes cut on every transaction. What a leg up for the ambitious nobodies of the world!

With dirt-cheap headcams available by the gazillions, with satellite Internet access to every square inch of the planet, was anyone, anywhere, not doing their thing on BudBin? Even she would slide on a headcam when she left the house to shop so a gaggle of Somalis or Mongolians or whoever could get an eyeful of the local stores. The whole time they’d ooh and ah and ask all kinds of questions, mostly about prices. And every time, she felt like the star of some decadent, exotic soap opera.

She remembered what Patsy said last seek. “Is that the best you can do, Laurie? Virtual shopping? Sight-seeing? Borrr — ring. What about trade?”

Trade? Just the thought of it gave her the creeps. She couldn’t believe Patsy — her best friend! — was into tawdry online buddy sex.

But Patsy had only shrugged. “What’s the big deal, Laurie? You opt for anonymous like everyone else, do a face paste, change your whole body even. With a different face you can do anything you want, really want. And who will know? — unless, of course, you brag about it.” Patsy winked, because of course she would want to know all the juicy details. “Don’t be so naive, Laurie. Live a little. Have your naughty fun.”

Practical Patsy even waxed philosophical. “It’s all just a game. You know, like life. I mean, who knows what’s what about anything for sure? Physical reality’s just technical stuff, atoms, energy, molecules, things you can’t even see. Everything of any real interest is in your mind, pure mind play, especially when you ditch all the silly everyday distractions. In trade you’re dealing solely with another mind.

Unbounded make-believe, fantasy made real. Does anything get realer than that?”
She’d squirmed, looked Patsy in the eye. “But how can you do that when you don’t even know who you’re really with in trade?”

Patsy shrugged. “Who cares who, or what, the other person is in real life? So what if it’s just some pimply-faced kid, or a withered old guy, or even another woman? If they’re good enough that you can’t tell, then for all practical purposes their mind really can be — really is! — what they say. So let them have their fun, and you have yours. If they don’t rock you, just move on. It’s not like there isn’t always way more to choose from out there. The bottom line is, you gotta give as good as you get. If you’re looking for your prince charming, you gotta become his dream girl.”

Still, trade? Laurie shook her head as she stared into her steaming cup, trying to imagine the impossible. Even hiding behind a phony face, she’d still be herself. She would know who she was. It all seemed so sleazy and dishonest. And what if a trade relationship spilled over into real life?

“It’s completely safe,” Patsy’s words came back to her, “designed that way, guaranteed. Besides, your trade partner’s probably somewhere on the other side of the planet. Just don’t let your real name or address out, certainly not your real face.”
Laurie stared at her vacant computer screen. So was she missing something? Maybe she did need to lighten up, be more playful. And as for her ultimate qualm, she remembered how Patsy laughed. “Are you kidding, Laurie? What do you mean, ‘mental’ adultery? It isn’t really you, not physically. Besides,” Patsy smirked, “it isn’t like you aren’t an adulterous little fantasizer already, now is it? You telling me every one of the studs in those racy romance novels you curl up with looks just like your husband? Doesn’t every girl, even every wife, fantasize about what it’s like to cheat or be a prostitute or a porn star or worse?”

Laurie shook her head as she drifted back to the present, to reality. Why did Patsy have to be so infuriatingly smug? She stared at her computer screen, set her cup down by the keyboard. Was there any doubt what she had to try it...?