VR Palace

By J.M. Snyder

In a future where pleasure is bought in virtual reality parlors, one man creates the perfect lover. Spun from binary code, everything he could want in a boy except real ... or is he?


Be forewarned: this story is different from what you're used to reading. It's in the second person POV, the present tense, and contains two nameless characters.


Welcome to a world where pleasure is bought and sold in virtual reality parlors. Where customers can fashion a computerized fantasy playmate who is always willing and caters to their every sexual desire. Where reality blurs between worlds, and the only thing you can believe in is love ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Jul 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781935753414

J.M. Snyder

An author of gay erotic romance, J.M. Snyder began self-publishing gay erotic fiction in 2002. Since then, Snyder has worked with several e-publishers, most notably Amber Allure Press and eXcessica Publishing.Snyder’s short fiction has appeared online at Ruthie’s Club, Tit-Elation, Eros Monthly, and Amazon Shorts, as well as in anthologies released by Alyson Books, Cleis Press, and others.For more book excerpts, free fiction, and purchasing information, please visit http://jmsnyder.net.

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VR Palace

By J.M. Snyder

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit http://www.jmsnyder.net for more information.

Copyright 2010 J.M. Snyder

ISBN 9781935753414

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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VR Palace

By J.M. Snyder

Part I

It’s the part of the city where you go to disappear. All that neon, the crowds, the music. By day the buildings seem to shrink from the sun, exposing trash-strewn alleys and cracked pavement, shattered glass in one-way streets that twist together into a maze you can’t hope to escape. Boarded over store fronts, tumbling bricks held up with graffiti, a few broken souls shuffling through the remnants of what used to be called downtown. The tram doesn’t even stop there anymore.

But at night the shadows lengthen and the streets come alive. Bright lights push the darkness back, neon signs eclipse the stars, and when you get off work, you won’t admit even to yourself that’s where you’re headed. Down there, where you’re just another nameless face looking to get lost for a few hours. In the office parking lot, you toss your jacket into the back seat of the car, loosen your tie, roll up your sleeves, and smile at the secretary who calls out goodnight to you as she passes. You put on music, something hard and fast, turning it up loud until it pumps through your veins like blood and pounds in your temples. You try not to think while you drive.

When garish lights streak over the hood of your car like oil over water and you have to slow down to avoid the kids from local gangs spilling out into the street, you slide into the first empty spot you see along the curb. The tie’s gone now, in the back seat with the jacket, and you don’t meet your own eyes when you glance in the rearview mirror to run a hand through your gelled hair, mussing it. It’s short enough that it stands beneath your fingers, dark spikes you like to think make you look as wild as the punks lining the store fronts. You pull on a pair of shades to hide your eyes, tug your shirt out of your pants, and tell yourself no one will recognize you. No one usually does.

You ignore the guys that call out when you step from the car—they see the Beemer and think you’re fresh meat. Farther up the street, a couple girls notice you and start to advance, predators on the prowl. You think you can just pass by—if they can’t see your eyes, they won’t stop—but when one of them hikes up her skirt, exposing dusky flesh, you cross the street. You’re not here for anything they have to offer.

Another block and you see the familiar sign. The V’s burned out, the R stutters, and most of the time it just reads Place, not Palace, because that first A has a tendency to wink when you walk by. Like now, it’s out, and you watch it from the corner of your eye as you open the door and enter the shop. It stays off.

The guy behind the counter knows you. He says his name is Vito, and he calls you James because that’s the name you gave him. He’s with someone right now, a guy your own age who glares at you, daring you to say something. You don’t, not even to Vito when he nods your way; you just stand back from the window, hands shoved deep into your pockets, and wait. Five minutes, that’s it—then the other guy’s edging around you, heading down the stairs, and it’s your turn.

James! Vito sounds like he hasn’t seen you in a month with the way he laughs as you step up to the counter. You force a tight smile, hand him your chit, and tell