Santa Monica, Perhaps...

The next day, you arrive, entering the cargo deck. Seven stands there, wearing the simple, black cocktail dress you replicated for her. Her breasts push at the fabric, offering you your first glimpse of her enormous cleavage. The fabric then flows, down to about mid-thigh, before her toned, shapely legs emerge, her feet wearing a pair of black stilettos.

"How does the garment look?" she asks. It's funny, but for all her knowledge, she still seems like a nervous teenager about to go out on her first date.

"Perfect," you say, walking up to her. "Now, let's go..."

For your simulation, you've chosen to spend a summer evening in Santa Monica. Strolling down the Promenade, you have the sense that you're back home: couples walking, holding hands; street performers asking for change; girls from Beverly Hills carrying bundles of shopping bags. As you walk, Seven leans slightly closer to you.

"This is where you used to live?" she asks.

"Not right here," you say. "A couple miles inland. But yeah...I used to come here, a lot." Smiling, you walk forward.

Surprisingly, she leans into you, threading her arm through yours. "I...tried studying up on Los Angeles before our...date. But I must admit. I am...unfamiliar with this location."

Date. Huh.

"Well, I won't let you get lost," you say, leading her now to the Pier. The sun is setting over the Pacific as you make your way through the arcade. After a couple of hours and an awful attempt at teaching her skeeball, you lead her back to the cargo bay.

She smiles, again. "That was...enlightening. I enjoyed our date."

"So did I," you say. You turn, about to leave, when she grabs your wrist.

"Crewman...is it not...customary...to kiss at the end of a first date?"

You grin, walking back to her. "I suppose it is."

Your hands slide around her waist, feeling how tight, how toned she really is. Your hand brushes her hair behind her ear as lean in, closing your eyes. Your lips touch, and you feel hers pursed together tight. Smiling to yourself--realizing Seven might well have never kissed a man before--you slide your tongue forward, parting her lips, before pulling her closer to your body. She understands, submits, opens her mouth, as your tongue slides over hers.

She moans into your mouth, her body no doubt responding as it was meant to, but for the first time, ever. Her legs spread, and you feel her pussy, through her dress, grinding against your thigh. Knowing this might be too much for her, you break the kiss.

"Seven," you say, looking into her eyes.

"Why did you stop? Was I doing it incorrectly? I should like to kiss you again. I should like to do...more."