Love's Illusion Read online

  That’s why I love playing video games: You can play them by yourself and pretend you’re somebody else. And if you’re lucky, you might actually meet someone playing online – like I met Beowulf845. I know he’s not my boyfriend. But he’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to having one. The only thing that makes it a little weird is that we don’t know what the other looks like in real life. We don’t know each other’s real identity.

  But I’m not complaining. If Beowulf845 knew what I looked like in real life, he probably wouldn’t be interested in me. Even though I know his avatar isn’t real, it sure is sexy. Beowulf845 is incredibly fit with long brown hair and deep blue eyes. He’s the kind of a man I could only dream of being with in the physical world. And when Beowulf845 talks to me – in his sexy, low voice – he makes me feel special… desired. I sure as hell have never felt that way in the real world.

  “Just looking at you gets me so excited, SexyMinx243.”

  “I’m glad,” I gush. “Now, let’s enjoy the little time we have together in the blue room.”

  I undress my avatar as Beowulf845 undresses his. Now that we’re both naked in the virtual world, we move toward one and other.

  “I want to get inside you so badly,” he says, his voice filled with lust.

  “Good, because inside me is where you belong,” I reply.

  I still can’t believe how free I am online with my sexuality. I would never have the confidence to talk this way in the physical world. In fact, in the real world I haven’t had much experience. At twenty-three, I’m still a virgin. But online, as the last month has proven, I’m anything but.

  As I lay back on the virtual bed, I spread the legs of my avatar. Beowulf quickly inserts his virtual cock inside me.

  I imagine it’s a real cock, filling me to the brim. “You feel so good,” I tell him.

  Beowulf845’s heavy breathing echoes through my headset. “Sexy Minx, I want you to cum all over my cock,” he declares with a moan. “I want you to cum like you’ve never cumed before.”

  “That won’t be hard. Not when you fuck me the way you do,” I tell him, feeling my cheeks – and the rest of my body – grow heated.

  We both groan as we watch our avatars fuck on screen. I begin to sense a tingling sensation between my legs. Sitting behind my desk, I unbutton my jeans and slide my fingers under my panties. I rub myself with one hand. At first slowly, feeling the wetness spread. Then quickly, as I begin to swell. My other hand works the keyboard that controls my avatar. Years of playing video games have made me very good at multi-tasking.

  “I’m going to cum,” Beowulf845 proclaims, his breaths short and quick. I hear him jerking off as our avatars continue fucking their brains out.

  “Me too,” I reply as a warm sensation sweeps over me. My nipples harden.

  Beowulf845 then groans loudly as he climaxes. I follow soon after. As my avatar orgasms on screen, my real body shivers with delight.

  Leaning back against my chair, I smile and try to catch my breath. My avatar returns to its standing position.

  “You were on fire today,” remarks Beowulf845.

  “I guess I had a lot of pent up energy,” I admit.

  Suddenly, there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

  “Honey, it’s mom and dad. We need to talk to you about something.”

  I quickly pull up my jeans and button them. “Just a minute!” I turn toward my computer screen. “I’ve got to go.”

  “When can we talk again?” Bewoulf845 asks.

  “Soon.”

  “I really want us to talk face-to-face, SexyMinx. I need to see what you look like in person.”

  “I know. Soon,” I tell him. “I got to go. Bye.”

  I quit the game and get up from my chair. I open my bedroom door. My mom and dad are standing before me.

  “What’s up?” I ask, trying to act like I’ve been doing nothing but packing my things.

  A look of concern washes over my mom’s face. “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks. “You look a little flushed. Doesn’t she look a little flushed, Charles?”

  My dad leans forward and eyes me closely. “A little,” he says with a nod.

  My mom places her hand on my forehead.

  “I don’t have a fever,” I say, rolling my eyes. I slide my right hand behind me to hide the lingering scent of sex.

  My mom shrugs her shoulders. “Well, you can’t blame me for being worried, especially since you’re leaving us tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be back in six months,” I remind her.

  “Not if they extend the offer and give you a full-time job,” says my dad.

  I sigh. “That’s probably not going to happen, Dad. I’m one of like twenty interns. And only one of us will get the full-time position.”

  My dad shoots me a stern look. Then he points his finger at me. “Don’t count yourself out, honey. What am I always telling you?”

  I hesitate but realize he’ll keep pestering me until I say it. “I’m a star, and I just don’t realize it yet.”

  “That’s right,” says my dad with a smile and twinkle in his eyes.

  “Anyway, what did you guys want to talk to me about?”

  “The weather,” they respond in unison.

  I turn toward my bedroom window. Huge snowflakes are falling like feathers from the sky. It’s been snowing all day. Looks like it’s going to be another brutal winter in Minneapolis.

  “I think we should leave a little earlier for the airport tomorrow,” my dad suggests. “The way it’s coming down, the road conditions might be a little sluggish tomorrow morning. I was thinking we’d leave at five.”

  I shrug. I don’t care either way. “Okay, sounds good. See you guys in the morning.”

  As I’m about to close the door, my mom leans forward and says, “Sweetie, give me a hug.”

  “But I’m not leaving until tomorrow. You’ll see me in the morning.”

  “I don’t care,” my mom says with a shake of her head. She opens her arms and beckons me forward. “You’ll hug me tomorrow, too. I just need one now. Come on.”

  I hug my mom.

  “Me too,” says my dad stepping into the room.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. I’m very serious.”

  I hug my dad, too.

  My dad then gives me a kiss on the forehead. He grips my shoulders as he stares at me. “Flo, make sure you don’t take too long to show them your video game. You should be really proud of it.”

  I nod. “I will. But I’m not going to show it to them on my first day. Let me get settled in first.”

  I’ve been developing my own video game for the last three years. It’s a labor of love. I’ve done all the coding and design work myself. It’s a really simple game. But my parents – because they’re my parents – think it’s the best thing since sliced bread. I look at the two of them. “I really need to finish packing now.”

  “Alright, good night,” says my dad as he steps out of my room.

  “Good night,” says my mom, her eyes a little watery.

  They both hate the idea of me leaving. But we all agree that I can’t live with them forever. We’d drive each other crazy.

  I close my bedroom door and stare out the window one more time. The snow is really coming down. Thankfully, I’m going to escape this dreary Minneapolis winter. In Los Angeles, it never snows. Apparently, the sun shines every day of the year.

  I collapse onto my bed and look at the poster of Prince hanging on my wall. I am a girl from Minnesota, after all. And all girls from Minnesota love Prince. May he rest in peace.

  “Can you believe it, Prince? I’m going to LA?” I say to the poster. “I just hope this all works out. I really need this internship to turn into a full-time job. I can’t be stuck living with my parents for the rest of my life.”

  I stare at the poster and await Prince’s reply. Ever since I was a teenager, Prince has been my confidant. I always have late night chats with him in my bedroom. I know the poster can�
�t talk back. But I like to think it can. I’m not crazy, just a little lonely.

  “What’s that?” I ask out loud. Then, I nod.

  “I know,” I reply to Prince’s poster. “I should probably tell Beowulf that I’m coming to LA. But if he knows I’ll be in the same city as him, he’ll want to meet me in person. And that means he’ll see what I really look like. Then, everything will be ruined. Let’s face it, Prince, it’s not like I’m the catch of the century. If he sees the real me, he’ll be so turned off, that he’ll stop spending time with me online,” I say with a sigh. Then I notice the time. “Anyway, I have to stop talking to you. I’ve got to finish packing,”

  I get up from my bed and walk toward my dresser. I begin taking out my clothes and placing them in my suitcase. Thankfully, I don’t have to pack many sweaters, since I’ll be living in LA.

  Chapter 4

  Nash Davis takes a shower at the LA Rams training facility. He’s just finished his tryout session. Things did not go as he had hoped. As he runs his head under the shower, he replays every throw and scramble. He curses himself for so many missed opportunities – so many incomplete passes. Since the car accident, his arm just hasn’t been the same. The touchdown throws of his college quarterbacking days are a distant memory. Now, he can barely throw a ball thirty yards without scorching pain running through his arm and shoulder.

  The LA Rams are the third team he’s tried out for this year. And after his pathetic performance, he realizes there’s no way in hell he’s going to get offered the third slot on their quarterback roster.

  Nash finishes his shower, towels off, and gets dressed. He makes his way to the coach’s office. He knows meeting with the coach and offensive coordinator is merely a formality now. It’s unlikely the LA Rams are interested in him. He knocks on the door, and coach Hendrix tells him to come in. Nash steps inside the office. Coach Hendrix is sitting behind his desk and offensive coordinator Thompson is leaning against the wall.

  Coach Hendrix points to a chair. “Take a seat, Nash.”

  Nash takes a seat. By the look on the coaches’ faces, he knows the news won’t be good.

  Coach Hendrix takes a deep breath and begins tapping his fingers on his desk.

  “How you feeling?”

  Nash shrugs. “Okay.”

  Coach Hendrix brings his hands together and leans forward across his desk. He stares at Nash. “Son, this is the part of the job I like the least. But I think you and I both know that your performance today just isn’t going to cut it.”

  Nash nods and briefly looks down at the floor. His heart sinks like a heavy stone. He’s heard this before. “Yeah,” he simply responds.

  Coach Hendrix leans back in his chair. “Your arm – since the accident – just isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Yeah,” repeats Nash.

  “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Nash,” offensive coordinator Thompson chimes in. “But I think it’s time to start thinking about your future.”

  Nash realizes he means a future that doesn’t involve playing professional football. As the men continue staring at him, Nash feels a swell of emotions rise inside him. He struggles to stifle them down. The dream he’s been working toward since he was a little kid just isn’t going to happen. It’s over. Nash feels his chest tighten, and his emotions catch in his throat. With the coaches’ eyes still on him, he refuses to break down and cry.

  “Well, thanks for the opportunity to come in and try out for you. I really appreciate it.”

  Nash gets up from his chair and shakes both their hands. He can barely meet their gaze.

  “It’s the least I can do,” says coach Hendrix. “Your father and I have always been tight since our 49er days.”

  Nash nods. He leaves the room and makes his way out of the training facility. He walks past the practice field and watches the players doing their drills. He is no longer one of them, no longer part of the brotherhood. It kills him.

  He walks toward his car, a black Porsche, that he can no longer afford the payments on. As he stares at the Porsche, he realizes it’s only a matter of time before it gets repossessed. He throws his workout bag in the back seat and gets behind the steering wheel. He turns the ignition and revs the engine. He peels the car out of the parking lot and onto the road. When he gets to a red traffic light, the anger and frustration he’s been suppressing is finally unleashed.

  He bangs his fist against the steering wheel relentlessly.

  He curses out loud, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! You’re a fuckin’ loser!”

  Chapter 5

  I can’t believe I’m finally in Los Angeles. And I can’t believe it’s January, and I’m only wearing a long-sleeved shirt. I glance out the window as the city bus chugs along Sunset Boulevard. Everyone looks so hip and skinny. So fashionable.

  As passengers get on and off the bus, I’m constantly having to move my two large suitcases to accommodate them, much to their annoyance. I keep apologizing for my bags being in the way. But most of the passengers just roll their eyes. Then I notice a woman, who appears to be homeless, staring at me from across the aisle.

  “You’re not who you think you are!” she snaps at me with a glare.

  I look around. Is she talking to me or some imaginary person?

  “You’re not who you think you are!” she repeats.

  Feeling a little uncomfortable, I turn around in my seat and look out the window again. I stare up at the sky and notice the palm trees above me. I’m sure not in Minneapolis anymore.

  The bus turns and heads toward the Hollywood hills. The driver announces that my stop is next. I grab my book bag and two suitcases, as he pulls the bus over to the side of the road.

  When the bus pulls away, I take in my surroundings. I check my phone and realize the street I’m looking for is on the other side of the road. With my suitcases in tow, I cross the busy street. Some impatient drivers honk. Wheeling my luggage behind me, I eventually find the street I’m looking for. I sigh when I realize the road leads up a huge hill.

  Here we go. You can do this, Flo, I convince myself. I begin the long, strenuous trek.

  Twenty-minutes later, I’m breathing heavily and sweating profusely. My calves and thighs are burning. I wonder if this is how contestants on The Biggest Loser feel when trying to complete a challenge.

  The road I’m walking on doesn’t have a sidewalk. So I have to be careful when I stop to catch my breath. I check my phone to see how much farther I have to go. There’s still a mile left.

  I look around and inhale the scent of eucalyptus from the surrounding trees. I marvel at how quiet and secluded this area is. It doesn’t even feel like I’m in LA, or that Sunset Boulevard – one of the most famous streets in the city – is only a few minutes away. It’s incredible to think that the sandy beaches of southern California are only fifteen miles from where I’m standing.

  Apparently, this part of LA used to be popular with counter-culture artists and musicians in the sixties and seventies. But now, it is home to some of the richest celebrities and entrepreneurs in Los Angeles. I can’t believe this will be my neighborhood for the next six months. It’s almost too good to be true.

  I continue to marvel at how quiet it is, when suddenly I hear a loud honk. “Get off the road!” shouts a guy in a red Ferrari as he races by. I realize I better get moving. I’m at risk of getting hit by a car the longer I stay on this street.

  While I’m living in LA, I need to watch every cent I spend. I can’t afford to buy a car or take an Uber everywhere. As I continue walking uphill, I contemplate if being broke will work to my advantage. After all, doing this trek – every day – to and from the bus stop – will probably help me lose weight.

  In order to keep my mind off the burning sensation running up my legs, I begin to sing Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” through my labored breathing.

  When I finally get to the top of the hill, I find the address I’ve been looking for. The house is even more impressive in person than the p
ictures online. It resembles a sleek modern fortress, painted in grey and white. I can’t wait to see the view from the backyard overlooking the city. As I take a deep breath, I notice the sweat stains all over my shirt. So much for making a good first impression. I take another breath and walk toward the front gate of the house. Then I press the button on the intercom.

  Chapter 6

  I keep singing “Little Red Corvette” as I wait by the gate of the house. I press the intercom button again. Finally, someone answers.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, this is Florence Hill. From Minneapolis.”

  “You made it! Welcome to LA! Come on in.”

  The gate buzzes and slides open. I wheel my suitcases past the gate and toward the house. As I approach, the front door opens and a young woman steps out. She has short, black hair with blue highlights and tattoos running up and down her arms. This must be Selena, the girl I’m renting the room from. She waves toward me and helps me with my suitcases.

  “How was your flight?”

  “Good. I can’t believe I’m finally here.”

  As I follow Selena into the house, I notice her slender figure. I get the hunch, I’m always going to feel like the fat girl in the room during my six month stay in LA.

  “Well, this is it,” says Selena with a smile.

  I admire the impressive home. It’s decorated in a minimalist style, with a handful of abstract paintings and sculptures scattered throughout the various rooms.

  “This is amazing,” I reply as I look around in wonder. This house is a far cry from the boring, uninspired tract home my parents and I live in, in Minneapolis.

  Selena turns and looks at me. “I can’t remember if I told you this over the phone, but this isn’t my house. It belongs to my uncle Jesse. He’s in Singapore or Hong Kong. I can never remember which one. He’s going to be gone for a year, and I offered to house sit. But as you can tell, this is an awfully big house for just one person. There are five bedrooms and three bathrooms. So I thought I’d rent out some of the rooms to make some extra money.”