Visit the Sex Shop While You Still Can

I think it’s December. I’m not sure. Nowadays, no one keeps track of that. The standard twenty-five degrees Celsius is maintained according to the Weather Regulatory Office’s decree. My wife’s birthday is approaching, so it would be nice to get her something. The most original gifts can be found in the Old Town, in brick-and-mortar shops that exude the history of the 21st century. But I’ll need to get dressed and put on shoes. Teleporting to the Old Town is prohibited by the decree of the Historical Institute. It will be a classic shopping trip, like the ones I saw once in the colorful Nano Journal. I’m actually looking forward to it.

The Old Town has four entrance gates. I decided to go through the East Gate. In front of the gate, a crowd of people is standing. They’re the Primitives. They’re cursing loudly. I can’t blame them, they can’t get into the city. According to the decree of the Security Office, the City Council installed antiprimitiv membranes at the entrance gates. A Primitive can’t get through them. Since then, the Old Town has been safe, albeit empty.

After being sucked through the membrane, I sighed in relief. It let me through, so I’m not a Primitive. Today, no one can be sure if the membrane will let them pass. The automatic Mesaupdate system continually raises the requirements for IQ and EQ. Despite this, ordinary citizens have begun installing these membranes as stylish additions to their homes, of course, excluding the Primitives.

I walk through a narrow alley. It’s beautiful here. Nothing but concrete and glass, materials of the past. Nowadays, buildings are constructed exclusively from coral membranes, as decreed by the Architectural Department. This is how our great-great-grandparents shopped. It must have been quite exhausting, lugging things around, haggling with staff, waiting in long lines. Incredible. Especially considering that today, I can buy everything by tapping the left side of my forehead, where I have an implanted Tesco chip. A few taps activate the neural interface and start automatically ordering anything I’m missing at home. Sometimes it even orders things I don’t need, like new hair.

A beautiful glass building labeled “Sex Shop” caught my eye. Perfect. I’ll get something there. It will be original. These days, we only know virtual sex, without physical contact. If I want to have sex, I just tap the right side of my forehead, where my Sex chip is implanted. The chip sends a post-processed signal of my desires to the relevant organs. It has its flaws, though. Once, instead of the eagerly anticipated orgasm, I received a grocery order.

I walk into the sex shop and quickly get my bearings. Everything is beautifully labeled. On the right are stylish costumes for women. I sift through maid, stewardess, and dominatrix outfits. No, no, my wife won’t wear these. We go around naked, after all. On the left, I notice some fascinating gadgets. They were made back when humans mastered the forces of nature. So, I get to peek into a box containing a “breeze of a hundred touches” or the “wind of a thousand kisses.” There’s also an “orgasmic storm” and a “hurricane vibrator” on display.

I’m most impressed by the vibrator. If my wife doesn’t use it, it can serve as a fan, a paperweight, a rolling pin, or a lamp. Practical. I’ll take it. I quickly pay by sticking my finger up my nose, where my biometric Credit chip is implanted, and dash towards the East Gate.

I think my wife will be thrilled with my originality. I try to pass through the membrane, but suddenly, a voice announces that I lack sufficient IQ to pass. Immediately after this announcement, the membrane spits me back into the city. Great! Now what?!