An honest attempt

A hundred bucks?

I mean, a hundred of those app-bucks? To buy and... possibly own Jennifer's workplace?

How would that stuff even work? Did I just now own the place... Wait, wasn't it a franchise? Did I buy just the one store, or...

No, I shouldn't think about it now. It's not like it mattered, I didn't have anywhere close to that amount of app-bucks yet.

It was a problem for another Ron, a Ron with more money and a clearer head.

I pushed it down, burying it under the immediate, important task at hand.

Sandy.

The evening air was cooling against my neck. The sun was already going down.

I walked to Sandy's with a steady rhythm, my hands not shoved in my pockets but swinging loosely at my sides. No headphones on my head, I was actually enjoying the sounds of the street.

Everything felt so real. So… alive with possibilites.

The confidence from the woods hadn't vanished. It felt like I had tapped into a secret superpower, and it was still running through me.

I felt... capable.

Her apartment was on the second floor of a quiet complex.

I could hear the thumping, electronic bass of the game before I even reached her door.

I knocked, my knuckles feeling nervous despite all the positive energy inside me.

I was at the entrance to her sanctuary, after all.

There could be another charisma check before she actually let me in.

The door swung open and there she was.

Sandy.

Her blonde bob was slightly messy, framing a face that was all sweet cuteness and full, red, …infinitely kissable lips. She wore a grey tank top that was just loose enough to be maddening, and a pair of tiny black shorts that left miles of pale, toned leg on display.

She was a collection of perfect, accidental details.

Every part of her screamed “I have no idea how sexy I am without even trying”.

"You're late!" she grinned, grabbing my wrist and pulling me inside. "I've been getting my ass handed to me. I need your dark magic."

Her apartment wasn't just nerdy; it was a curated ecosystem of obsession. One entire wall was dominated by a towering shelf groaning under the weight of manga, their spines a rainbow of Japanese text. Interspersed between them were meticulously painted figurines: a grim-faced space marine in tactical armor, a sorceress with a staff that glowed with a faint, battery-powered light, and a trio of chibi-style girls from some gacha game, all posed with militant cuteness.

The other wall was a shrine to retro gaming. A pristine SNES sat next to a chunky original PlayStation, controllers coiled neatly beside them like sleeping serpents.

Framed posters of classic game box art—Silent Hill, Resident Evil 2, Metal Gear Solid—hung in mismatched frames.

It was the apartment of someone who didn't just like games, but who was devoting their life to the appreciation of the art.

In the middle of it all was a desk dominated by the dual monitors of her PC setup. The screen was a chaotic explosion of color and ****.

She flopped into her gaming chair, a high-tech throne that creaked under her. As she settled in, she leaned forward, giving me a clear, direct view down her tank top.

The soft, creamy curves of her breasts were pressed together, creating a valley that made my mouth go dry.

In her usual Sandy-like obliviousness, she somehow completely missed my lecherous eyes.

“Sorry about the mess. I meant to clean this morning, but the machine,” she pointed a thumb at her glowing PC tower, “had other plans. I think it’s trying to siphon my life **** to power its next-gen ray tracing.”

I let out a short, awkward chuckle. “Yeah… Ray tracing’ll do that to you.”

She grinned, a wide, genuine thing that made my chest feel tight. “Exactly! It’s like a vampire, but for frame rates. I think somebody needs to invent a garlic for it or something.”

"Uh, yeah," I managed, my brain fumbling for the right gear. "A garlic clove. For the... graphics card." I gave a short, sharp nod, as if agreeing to a very serious and technical proposal. "They should... get on that."

She gave a merciful smirk to my less-than-stellar comeback and handed me a controller.

We played for nearly an hour. The initial awkwardness of being alone together for the first time slowly dissolved in the familiar chaos of the game.

We fell into an easy rhythm of callouts and trash talk, our laughter filling the small space. It was getting easier and easier to teach her all the small mechanics that made you a top player, she was soaking up the knowledge like a sponge.

At one point, she hopped up to get us sodas from the fridge. As she bent over to grab them from the bottom shelf, her shorts rode up, giving me a brief, heart-stopping glimpse of the soft curve of her ass.

She stood up and turned around, and tossed me a can. "To the victor," she said, saluting me with her drink after I'd single-handedly cleared out the enemy team.

It was in that moment, watching her laugh, her face lit up by the glow of the screen, that I felt the shift.

The low, steady hum of confidence inside me grew warmer, stronger.

This wasn't just a friend thing.

This was something more.

"I still don’t get it," she said later, her frustration mounting. "They just keep rushing me. I can't get the timing down on the reload-cancel."

I brought my chair closer to hers, trying to focus on the screen and not the sliver of black lace from her panties I could see when she shifted in her chair.

"You're thinking about it too linearly," I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. "You're treating it like a puzzle. It's… It’s more like a dance. Let me show you."

I leaned in close, my shoulder brushing against hers, to take the controller. She gave it up without a fight.

"You slide, you pop, you reload. See? As you're coming out of the slide, you cancel the animation. It shaves off a full second." I executed the move flawlessly, my character gliding across the map, headshotting two enemies in rapid succession.

"Show-off," she teased, taking the controller back. She tried the move, her character fumbling and getting gunned down instantly. "Ugh! My fingers are dumb!"

"No… They’re plenty smart," I said, stupidly, my gaze dropping to her hands. They were elegant, with long, slender fingers currently wrapped around the plastic of the controller.

I imagined them wrapped around something else.

"You're just… tensing up. You need to loosen up."

To demonstrate, I put my hands on her shoulders.

Her skin was warm, impossibly soft.

I could feel the delicate bones beneath.

I started to gently knead the muscles there.

Couldn’t believe I was actually doing this.

Couldn’t believe she was actually letting me do this.

"Relax. Feel the rhythm. Don't fight the controller, become one with it."

She let out a soft sigh, her head lolling forward. "Oh, god, that's good. You're good at that. Are you using your dark magic again?"

The praise went straight to my head, a potent cocktail with the feel of her skin.

The part of my brains that reveled in pessimism had never been this quiet.

She tried the move again while I kept massaging her shoulders.

This time, it was almost perfect.

"Yes! Awesome!" she squealed in delight, twisting in her chair to look up at me.

Her face was inches from mine, her blue eyes wide and bright. Her lips were slightly parted.

In that moment, I felt like I could do anything.

I wasn't a fraud.

I was the guy who could tame any woman.

"Sandy," I said, my voice low. I didn't stop touching her.

"Yeah?" she breathed, her gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second.

"I... I really like this. Hanging out with you."

"I like it too," she said softly. "You're a good teacher."

"No, I mean... I really like you," I pushed on, the words feeling both terrifying and right. "I was wondering if you'd want to... I don't know, go out. With me. Not to play games. Just... us."

The shift was instantaneous. The bright energy in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a soft, apologetic warmth. Her smile didn't disappear, but it changed, becoming something gentle and sad.

It was the look you give a stray dog with a limp.

"Ron, dude", she said quietly.

Dude?

I was a ‘dude’ now?

Why did that single word feel like a punch in the gut?

She didn't pull away from my hands on her shoulders, which somehow made it worse. "That's... really sweet of you to say."

My heart began to sink, a heavy stone in a cold, dark well.

"You're a fun and a nice guy, you know that?" she continued, her gaze sincere and earnest.

"…But?" I heard myself ask, the word tasting like ash.

"But I just... you’re a friend," she said, the words landing with the finality of a judge's gavel. "And I wouldn't want to... ruin that. You know? So, so sorry."

The hands on her shoulders felt like they were burning me. I pulled them back.

Just like that… my small bubble of confidence had popped.

All the pessimistic voices in my head took over and all I could hear was their laughter again.

Was this how Tom and Jason had felt when she had rejected them?

And was I really… no better than Tom or Jason?

Those… fucking losers?

"Right," I said, standing up so fast I knocked over a stack of graphic novels. "Yeah. No. I get it. Friends. Cool. Totally cool."

“So, uh…” she continued, her voice small, twisting the hem of her tank top. The gesture, once so alluring, now just felt like a reminder of what I couldn't have. “I understand how you feel. You can go, if you want. Or… you know… we can just… continue the game? We can just hard-reset this conversation. Pretend it never happened. Load the last save point, you know?”

The offer was a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

A chance to crawl back into the comfortable shell of friendship and pretend I hadn't just tried to claw my way out.

The laughter in my head quieted, replaced by a cold, dead hum.

Tom. Jason. I was one of them. A fucking loser.

I couldn't look at her. "Yeah," I said, my voice flat, empty. "Let's... let's just play."

A wave of relief seemed to wash over her. "Okay," she said, a little too brightly. She turned back to her monitor, her hands already finding the controller. "Good. Cool. The last save point it is. We'll just... retcon this whole awkward social encounter. It's the only way to level up, right? Or something."

I nodded, forcing a smile.

Her nerdy references didn’t feel as cute and quirky as they might have one hour ago.

Instead of her cute face, all I could see was Jennifer’s.

All covered in my sticky cum.

In my domination.

Yes.

This felt like a branching point.

The natural way didn’t work. Was never gonna work.

I’d have to use artificial means to help Sandy to discover her true feelings for me.