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A highway whore is kidnapped.

"If that's what you want."

"Well, I don't," she said firmly. "I'm not a dyke."

"And I'm not queer."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not asking you to have your arse violated," laughed Gabby who was clearly quite excited by the idea. "That is, unless that's what you want?"

"Fuck no!" gasped a genuinely terrified Alex.

This was one m__nage Alex didn't look forward to. Besides his entirely genuine worries about anal violation, he was anxious about how well he would perform when exposed naked and erect in front of another man.

He tried to escape into Virtual Reality where he could sample a kind of simulated sexual threesome, but since he was the one determining the terms of engagement it wasn't especially realistic. Alex wondered just what sort of perverse rules Gabby might come up with. Perhaps he ought to break the whole thing off. But then the thought of having to rely on nothing more than women who pretended to be younger than they were and frequently made unreasonable demands on his virility persuaded Alex that maybe what Gabby wanted wasn't so bad really.

Most of the time he spent in Virtual Reality-togged up in bizarre equipment that simulated muscular movement and presented a 360 degrees vista of an imagined world in front of his eyes-wasn't so much for sex or entertainment but for work. And most of that was to scan the latest news and information generated by an ever-growing community of online users in the many Virtual Reality worlds. After he'd captured enough screenshots, Alex could then return to the real world by terminating his connection and tugging off the equipment. Then he returned to his desk, which was in a different room from where he did his research, to write his daily column. Most of this was nothing more than a verbatim account of what he'd seen and it was in that sense that he offered the world a kind of news amalgamation service.

However, he had to do more than simply that to earn his salary. Reuters-Fox wouldn't be very pleased if that was all he ever wrote about in the column he submitted every day to their news services' internet pages. He had to do a bit of private research, which entailed surveying weird VR sites that promised a lot but were the sole preserve of fans of Tolkien, Star Wars and Harry Potter who were probably many decades older than their avatars suggested, and where the principal activity was to engage in tedious debates that Alex never featured in his column.

Virtual Reality was his corner in the newsroom, but Alex felt restless. He would rather be doing something more interesting. He was weary of the online community's endless arguments about the significance of plot lines from now defunct television shows.

Alex also had fears about his job security. Would VR one day fizzle out and fade away, however inconceivable this now seemed since Microsoft and Google had merged? Would it continue to grow? And would he have to share his workload with someone else? Alex was sufficiently self-critical to recognise that some of his colleagues in the Online Media newsroom were rather better than him in the quality of their research and reporting. That could make his job substantially more difficult.

"Next Friday." Gabby texted him.

Her text didn't elaborate further, but Alex knew exactly what she meant. He even knew who the other partner in this m__nage a trois was going to be. It was one of Gabby's more frequent lovers: a guy called Ghazi. She'd met him when she was a student when they'd both been studying Business Communications as part of their degrees, although her final degree was in Agriculture and his in Business Studies.

Alex didn't consider himself to be a racist.

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