Connie Raymond looked up from the magazine she was reading, frowning at her friend. “You want me to hit your button?” she asked, and hoped the request did not have some perverted, hidden meaning.

Darla Bingham laughed, then nodded to the PC tower unit resting on the floor by her home office desk. “Hit that button and open the tray. My hands are full,” she said, illustrating her point by holding up a large clamshell case.

With a perfectly manicured fingertip, Darla pressed the center button holding the disk in its place. “I can’t wait for you to see this!”

Connie sighed, slid off the couch and did as her friend asked. Darla's newly applied manicure was threatened enough having to deal with the CD-ROM, so it made sense not to risk chipping it on the tower button. The CD-ROM drawer whirred open, like the tower unit was sticking out its tongue. She smiled down at the gaping hole. “Did you ever hear the joke about the guy who thought his CD-ROM tray was a drink holder?” Connie chuckled.

“Oh, about a million times. I think everybody and her mother has forwarded that urban legend to my e-mail.” Darla pursed her lips, her gaze fixed on the disk. Extracting it from the case with such ceremony, she might have held some kind of ancient Bible code important to mankind’s survival pinched between her fingerpads, rather than a simple computer program.

Connie pulled a chair closer to the desk, careful not to disrupt the small piles of test papers and manila folders arranged in an arc on the area rug in the tiny room. Darla desperately needed a file cabinet, she decided.

Of course, she’d need another spare room in which to put a filing cabinet, Connie thought. She also knew she was certainly not being any help taking up the other bedroom in Darla’s condo. The second she got back on her feet, Connie was determined to repay Darla’s hospitality with an expensive dinner and lots of margaritas.

“How do you keep track of everything?” Connie asked with a gesture to the papered rug.

Darla cast a sharp glance at the wheeled feet of Connie’s chair and pointed the disc at them. “I have a system, and I’ll thank you not to wrinkle any of those papers underneath your chair. I spent most of last night grading them, and they don’t need to be mixed up, either. You ever sort a stack of essays from two hundred students into their proper classes? Especially when half of them don’t even bother to put their names on the papers, and you have to rely on your memory to discern whose handwriting belongs to whom?”

“Uh, hello, Darla? My classroom is two doors down from yours. And I teach English, too, lest you forget.”

“Yeah, but you’re lucky,” she grumbled, though the lighthearted tone to her voice negated any sour grapes. A day had yet to pass where Darla did not allude to Connie’s good fortune--having been promoted at the beginning to the year to teach the Advanced Placement English classes. Connie got the college bound, the leaders of tomorrow, but she knew even the most fastidious of her students could be as forgetful and lazy as Darla’s standard classes.

Connie sighed. She didn’t feel lucky, and the promotion didn’t come with a large boost in pay, just the standard cost of living increase. Maybe if her soon-to-be-ex husband were shacking up with a buddy, as she was, instead of sleeping in their nice home, in their comfortable bed, like she wished she was doing every night since she left...

“You all right, Con?”

“Hm?” Connie’s head snapped up as the computer whirred and clicked, reading the disc. “I’m fine. We’re both lucky,” she said, reaching to brush aside a long lock of Darla’s titian hair. “We have our health, good jobs, and a roof over our heads. What more could we need?”

“Two men.”

“Each?” Connie raised her eyebrows.

Darla’s green eyes flashed with mischief, noncommittal. Connie waited for the inevitable saucy retort from her friend. Why not two? she imagined Darla saying That way, if conversation breaks out, I don’t have to be involved. Insert drum rim shot. Thank you, she’s here the whole week. Tip your server.

“I wouldn’t mind having the roof over Aaron’s head,” Darla goaded instead.

“Me, too.” Connie sighed deeply again, thinking about her house--a two-story town home with garage overlooking the beach. She and Aaron fell in love with the place at first showing, and Connie had hoped they would remain there through retirement, rocking on the back patio and holding hands. Now, Connie doubted she could ever return, given the indelible image in her mind of the last time she came home.

There she found Aaron, naked and twisted around his curvy blonde secretary in the bed they had shared for ten years, with his long nose imbedded between two identical, silicone-bloated breasts. Suzy, short for slut, had squealed in pleasure, a sound so high-pitched every dog in the neighborhood probably winced at that moment. Connie still heard it in her worst dreams.

Yes, she loved that house, and though Aaron had offered to leave, Connie found she just could not stay. All the same, she didn't look forward to negotiating its sale during the divorce proceedings, assuming Aaron was on board.

Shaking away the memory, Connie unfolded herself from her chair and quick-stepped into the galley kitchen. “Would you settle for some wine instead?” she called, ducking the hanging industrial pot rack.

“Got a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the fridge,” came the answer amid more computerized whirring. “Ooh, and get out the sweet potato chips, too. The program should be installed by the time you get everything.”

Ah yes, the mystery computer program for which Darla insisted she set aside her life to come see. Not that she had much of a life right now to set aside.

Connie sighed and wished for the wherewithal to pour herself into a skimpy outfit and strut with confidence and purpose to the nearest bar for a wild night out. Flirting with handsome young men, dancing and drinking, perhaps getting someone to take her home and slam his cock into her waiting, wet pussy the way Aaron had done to a woman that was not her, the way he was likely doing to that woman right now.

The way Aaron hadn’t done to her in a long time. Connie sighed again and padded back to the computer with the wine and snacks.

Darla steered the mouse’s pointer around the screen and clicked fervently as Connie handed her a filled balloon glass. “It’s loading now,” she said, giddy. “You’re going to love this. Ginny loaned it me.”

“What is it? I swear, Darla, if I see a giant yellow cheese wedge gobbling glow-in-the-dark pellets I am going to bed.”

“It’s called DoMINion. It’s a real-life simulation game. Ginny says she and the other Home Ec teachers use it in their classes to help teach kids about household budgeting,” Darla explained as her screen turned a bright red. The DoMINion logo, a series of bold, black letters superimposed over what Connie assumed were screenshots of the game, flashed for a few seconds before fading into a control panel screen.

“Real-life simulation. Isn’t that a contradiction of terms?” Connie scolded. “We are English teachers, you know. We should know better.”

Darla ignored her. “You can create entire neighborhoods and people, give them specific interests, control their every movement...”

“In other words, you’re playing God. Wouldn’t this game be more useful in the hands of the Comparative Religions classes?”

Darla cast Connie an amused look. “I wouldn’t go that far. It’s really no different from when we played Barbies when we were little. The only difference here is that Barbie is on screen, and she moves.”

Connie leaned into the screen to watch the activity. In the space of her friend’s explanation, Darla had not only set up housekeeping in her imaginary neighborhood, but she had employed a rather attractive decor of pastel walls and art deco furniture in the split level home with stucco siding that she chose. It looked much nicer than Connie’s place, nicer than anything in their Virginia Beach neighborhood.

“I get it now,” Connie said. “DoMINion. The MIN part stands for miniature.”

“Now you’re getting into it.” Darla’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Let’s move in.”

Their point of view switched to the people factory. Darla created a miniature version of herself--a Min woman of slender build, long red hair, and fair skin. The attention to detail in this computer game amazed Connie; though the characters created stood no taller than two inches, she could still see polished nails, shirt pockets, and even the occasional facial twitch. The being on the screen was a near perfect, scaled replica of her creator.

“She’s so cute,” Connie cooed watching Min Darla, as her namesake christened her, amble through her new home. An inset box at the top right-hand corner of the screen displayed Min Darla’s current emotions and net worth, which had fast dwindled with the purchase of her home and furniture. “Too bad we can’t get her some nicer stuff. I suppose she’ll have to get a Min job, huh? Working in the salt mins?”

“Yeah. Or,” Darla giggled. “I downloaded some cheat codes from the Internet which would add to her income, so we can make her a millionaire if we want.”

“Darla,” Connie chided with a playful slap to her shoulder, then paused. “Why stop at just one million?”

* * * *

In the end the two women decided against the money cheat code. Being teachers, both had spent their careers discouraging cheating among their students. It would not be ethical, Connie reasoned to Darla, for them to cheat at a game, even if they were alone. Darla saw Connie’s logic, but pouted that without the code she could not buy Min Darla a robotic housemaid.

Thirty minutes into the game, Min Darla had landscaped her property with animal-shaped topiaries (ones she could afford), redecorated her den three times, and learned to play the guitar. Occasionally other Mins in the neighborhood dropped by to socialize, and Darla showed Connie which buttons to use to make her Min communicate with them. Unfortunately for their little friend, the potential friends and lovers at her disposal did not appear to be interesting.

“Min Darla needs a boyfriend, fast,” she grumbled, her chin on her fist as she watched the game through heavy-lidded eyes. “Surely there's an eligible Min out there for her.”

“The way my love life is going, I wouldn’t mind a Min for a boyfriend,” Darla said, “so long as he can cook.”

Connie snorted. “Cook? A Min boyfriend would fall down your sink drain.”

“Yeah, but he’d be short enough not to hit his head on the pot rack, unlike some people I know.”

“Funny, ha ha. Let’s see you sing the praises of your Min boyfriend the first time he undoes his pants to show you his Min erection.”

“Just like my last boyfriend.” Darla shrugged.

Connie brightened. “Let’s make a boyfriend for Min Darla, shake up this game a bit, huh?” She waited until Darla hands were busy with the potato chips before commandeering the mouse. “Where’s that people factory page? Okay, let’s make a man. What should he look like?”

The two didn’t take long hashing out specifics. Soon Min Darla had a next-door neighbor in a tall, olive-skinned gent with an athletic build and shoulder-length black hair named...

Connie arched an eyebrow. “Min Roy?” She knew a Roy: Roy Hudspeth, the handsome Latin and Spanish teacher whose room was across the hall from Darla’s. Single with looks that sent his senior girls swooning, Connie knew Darla developed a crush on him the day he started last year.

“Why not?” Darla shrugged. “Nothing wrong with injecting a bit of reality into your fantasy life.” She pointed to the wavering mouse on the screen. “Hey, hit the goatee button. Might as well make him look more like his namesake.”

Connie shook her head and obeyed. “Min Roy. Sounds like a martini.”

As they settled Min Roy into his new home, Connie found herself bothered by Darla’s earlier remark. Fantasy life. What kind of fantasy life consisted of playing a video game? Fantasy, to her, was a word that evoked strong feelings and images more erotic than the Disneyesque bushes lining Min Darla’s home. For a computer to enhance any of Connie’s fantasies would require a scouring of the Internet’s steamier sites, downloading pictures and movies of people making love.

But really, where was the fun in DoMINion, or, for that matter, in downloading porn, when she wanted to be making love, with Aaron. She wanted to be the one in her bed, writhing underneath Aaron’s thin yet tensile body, feeling his tongue tracing her every curve and flicking against her clit, his hands caressing her breasts and hips, his cock sliding into her pussy and filling her womb.

She wanted to fuck, the way they used to when they were first married. She wanted to bore her knees into the mattress and grasp the bedposts, feel her entire body shake with every hard thrust as Aaron fucked her pussy from behind. She wanted his tongue lapping up and down her labial folds as she hovered over his face and bent low to take his thick, throbbing cock into her mouth and suck him dry.

She wanted to make love ... to her husband. She didn’t want the divorce, but Aaron had left her little choice. Damn it, she loved being married, to him, and she knew Aaron had enjoyed it once, too. What had changed his mind to tempt him to stray? Did he want to be married again, to Suzy? Far as Connie knew, Aaron and Suzy had no such plans. She blew back an errant strand of hair falling into her eyes and half-heartedly hoped his balls shriveled like a slug sprinkled with salt.

“Is there any more wine?” Connie leaned over Darla for a better view of the kitchen.

“I’ll check in a sec.” Darla picked up the mouse and maneuvered Min Roy towards his Min phone. “Just have to make a quick call.”

She punched the dial phone command and waited, and they watched Min Roy obey and press the receiver to his face. No sooner than she depressed the mouse button did the real phone ring. Darla grunted and sprang for the handheld on the desk.

“If that’s a telemarketer I’ll scream,” she said, but her frustration quickly morphed to joy as she checked her Caller ID device. “It’s Roy! I recognize his number from the faculty phone list.”

“Roy? That’s a coincidence.” Weird, Connie thought. “Why would he be calling?”

But Darla was already to her bedroom. “Who knows, who cares? Take over the game, would you?”

“But...”

The door behind Darla closed, leaving Connie to study the split screen on the monitor as Min Darla and Min Roy chatted quietly with each other on their Min cell phones. Connie briefly wondered if the little Mins had enough minutes bought for chat.

“Minutes, cute,” she chuckled to herself. “Okay, guys. One round of Divine Intervention coming up.” Connie studied Min Roy’s options menu and selected actions at random. Talk, gossip, ask about work ... the options seemed endless. Connie then cringed when she realized they had yet to find a job for Min Darla. How was she going to pay for her Min house and belongings and phone bill?

Nevertheless, Connie noted that the two Mins seemed to weather that topic without much tension. What were they talking about? Perhaps they were engaged in some hot, nasty Min phone sex? Darla had the speakers turned down, and Connie remedied that problem quickly. Soon the tiny pinholes positioned at either side of the monitor released a stream of nonsensical jabber.

“What the...?” The Mins babbled like cartoon aliens. Connie checked the instruction booklet inside the clamshell case and learned that the game was not defective. The Mins had their own language.

“Nice.” She couldn’t wait to hear Shakespeare translated. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option in this game.

Connie hit Min Roy’s joke command. Seconds later, giggling could be heard from the other side of Darla’s door. Her onscreen counterpart joined in the merriment. Connie cast a bewildered glance at the door.

So weird. Of course, it could’ve been mere coincidence that the action onscreen coordinated with Darla’s phone call.

She looked at the options she had yet to use; Min Roy had done everything but ask Min Darla out on a date.

“Well, no sense in all of us spending Friday night alone,” Connie muttered, clicking the mouse. Within seconds Min Darla nodded her assent and dashed to the wardrobe to change into a Minidress.

Not long after that, Darla burst from her bedroom, changed from her sweatpants into crisp, black slacks and a glittering blouse, affixing matching low heels to her feet as she hopped about the office. “I’m out of blush!” she cried as if that were the most tragic thing ever to happen in her life. “Can I borrow yours?”

“No, but you can have some, considering you won’t be able to put it back into the canister once it’s on your face,” Connie replied, but she discovered Darla could not hear her for all the rattling in the adjoining guest bathroom that Connie used exclusively.

Darla re-emerged, fully blushed. “What was that you said?”

“Nothing, forget it. Where are you off to?”

“I have a date!” Darla’s voice was jubilant. “Roy called to ask a question about the graduation trip that we’re both chaperoning...”

Connie nodded grimly. Babysitting three hundred rabid teenagers running wild through Busch Gardens Williamsburg was not her idea of fun, hence she had not volunteered.

“Next thing you know,” Darla continued as she fished in her purse and extracted a tube of lipstick, “we’re talking about other things, joking around, and get this: he said, ‘why don’t we continue this conversation over a drink?’ Can you believe that?”

“Unbelievable,” Connie said, deadpan, though her stomach fluttered. Certainly nothing she had done on Darla’s computer instigated these happenings. Mere coincidence, it had to be. Mere, spooky coincidence.

The theme from The Twilight Zone played in Connie’s head. She shook it away and blinked.

Darla’s voice raised an octave. “He doesn’t live but five minutes from here, we’re gonna meet at the Duck-In.” She looked at her bare wrist, then at the clock on wall opposite her. “Damn, I’m late. I gotta go.”

“Late?” Connie cried. “The Duck-In is across the street. You’re fine.”

But Darla was already hurrying to the front door. “I know, but if he’s early I don’t want him to see me sprinting across the boulevard like a madwoman. Wouldn’t be ladylike. Oh, can you go ahead and put those papers in my room so they don’t get mixed up? Good night, don’t stay up on my account.” The door slammed in goodbye.

“I won’t,” Connie called to the dead air before her, and hung her head. I would be staying up on my account.

She looked at the monitor. Her Min friends had cleared the screen, off to have a good time without her. In the time it took Connie to clear away Darla’s paperwork, she noticed the onscreen date continued. She, on the other hand, had nowhere to go but bed.

Sleep, however, did not appeal to her as much as wallowing in her own misery, gorging on the pint of Cherry Garcia Darla was hoarding behind a bag of frozen peas. Darla certainly wasn’t going to need it, Connie decided as she raided the freezer, grabbed a spoon, and returned to the computer.