Dash understood from the very beginning. He always understood me, what I was going through, how my public life made having a private life so difficult. Unlike the other men I dated, I always felt that he was dating Cheri DuBois - not Ms. Hotbody.

I still can't believe I told him about being raped. Of course, he told me first, Still - it is not something I tell people. Only two other people know what happened: my therapist, and Darnell. I had known Darnell almost my whole life, and I didn't tell my therapist until I had been seeing her for almost a year, yet I told this escort I had only just met.

Not only that, but I agreed to go on a date with him! When he asked me, I was pleased. It was the first time I could remember being pleased when a man asked me out. Usually - always - I feel this flash of annoyance, because now I have to figure out how to turn him down without offending him. But when Dash asked me, I felt warm and smiley. Ugh, "Smiley?" I think I did smile. I actually joked with him.

That night when I got home, I was thinking about the date. I had almost forgotten about the encounter with Hampton. All I wanted to do when I got home was call a girlfriend and tell her all about Dash and our date, but I couldn't think of anyone to call. That was when I realized that I have no girlfriends. I don't really have any friends other than Darnell - and he's more a brother than a friend. Should I tell him? He gets so protective of me, I was afraid he would go off on Dash or tell me I was being stupid agreeing to go out on a date with a prostitute.

Without anyone to tell, I confided in my diary. When I started to dictate to Doris - that's what I named my diary - I realized that we hadn't made any actual plans. Where did he plan to take me? What time? What was I going to wear? Would I be recognized?

Why did I agree to this?

I spun off from that question into all the "What ifs" and was spiraling down a rabbit hole of panic when I received a message from him. It was a video message. I told my computer to play it, and immediately calmed down at the sight of him. He was sitting on a rooftop patio wearing a sweater and jeans. It looked like he had just showered, and he was smiling into the camera. "Hi Cheri," he said with a little wave, and I noticed he had a dimple in his left cheek and the way a piece of hair broke free at the part and waved in the air made him look almost like a little boy. It made me grin.

"I'm so sorry that I didn't make any actual plans before now," he said and rolled his eyes at himself. I chuckled. "I hope you haven't changed your mind about going out with me." Not a chance. "I made us a reservation at a little place called Lunaerie in the Upper East Side. I'm sending a Chopper to pick you up at seven." He had attached a link to the restaurant's website at the bottom of the video.

He said they had excellent vegan options as well as great meat dishes and one of his favorite bartenders in the City, and we could wear whatever we wanted. "I always dress up for a first date unless you order me not to," he said, and I thought about it.

"After dinner, we're going to my favorite jazz club downtown. Don't worry about being recognized here, either. It's very dark and I'm good friends with the owner. They'll bring us in the back and we'll have the VIP section all to ourselves. After that, the car will take you home. I hope you like the plan." A link to the jazz club's website appeared below the restaurant link. Very thoughtful.

After reviewing the websites, I decided to go ahead and dress up. The restaurant was small and very exclusive. It was built on the roof of a co-op between First and York, and each table was inside its own bubble. Dash had clearly thought of everything and designed the whole date to make me comfortable. All my questions and worries vanished, and I became more excited about the date than anything I could remember in a long time.

Still, it was a little scary. I was not a dater - never had been. Even before the rape, it had been hard to open myself up to anyone. I had dated, but never really got serious about anyone. There was a boy in high school I had liked, but I never felt anything strong about him. Since the rape, all my "dates" had been in furtherance of my career as Ms. Hotbody.

Since I had a few days away from professional obligations, I was able to focus completely on preparing for the date. It was exciting, but at the same time I was a little sad that I didn't have a girlfriend to share it with. I decided I was going to dress up and really knock him dead. Even though I had a closet bigger than the room I grew up in full of clothes, I had nothing I wanted to wear for Dash, so I went shopping in the Eurocouture Virtual Mall. Here I could let my Cheri avatar "stroll" from store to store without fear of being mobbed, and quickly "try on" different outfits. I told my shopping assistant - Marcie - that I wanted something "sexy and powerful."

"You have a big date?" Marcie asked in her bubbly voice. An image of Dash from the night before popped into my head. "Oh, how exciting," Marcie said. "He's very handsome." She showed me six potential outfits. I selected one to view. The computer dressed my avatar in the outfit, gave me a menu of modifications, and showed five similar outfits to try. "Perhaps you would like to try this one," Marcie suggested, highlighting one of the similar outfits. I agreed. We both really liked that outfit, and with a couple of accessories and the right shoes, Marcie said what I was thinking: "Your date is going to be captivated."

Dash sent me a message just after lunch that "I can't wait for tonight. I look forward to getting to know you better." I responded that I felt the same. He confirmed the plans and said he would see me soon. I thought about what I wanted to do for hair and makeup and decided that I wanted to show him a different side of myself. As Ms. Hotbody, I was always made up to emphasize my Asian features because market research showed that Asian beauty had a far wider acceptance and higher favorability rating than did Black. But I was proud of both sides of my heritage and wanted to show off my Blackness to Dash, so I decided to do my hair and makeup to highlight those features.

With the help of my beauty assistant - Bonnie - I finished in plenty of time to be waiting in my building’s heliport before 7:00. I was so pleased with the results. I kept checking myself out with my mirror app and imagining Dash's look when he saw me. He was not going to know what hit him!

The outfit Marcie and I had picked out was an asymmetrical one-shoulder blazer minidress in brilliant white with pure gold buttons. I accessorized it with a hammered platinum bracelet and necklace set. My hair was tightly curled and piled on top of my head. Sapphires tickled my neck from long platinum strands.

The shoes were an incredible find: Jenny Choos that appeared to be a gossamer web of gold threads cradling the foot and spiraling down from the heel ten centimetres to a single point on the floor. It didn't appear possible for them to hold my heel up, but rather than being actual gold they were a highly advanced polymer that looked like gold but had incredible strength and rigidity when fired.

I began to get nervous when the clock was ticking down the 6:59 minute and there was no sign of the helicopter. Then, right as the clock tipped over to 7:00, I saw a powerful light illuminate the landing pad outside of the lounge where I waited, and watched the Chopper descend. I was impressed: it was one of the new Whisperliners that were as quiet as cars.

Our heliport was not molecularly secure and lacked a Walktube from the terminal to the pad, but the Chopper was equipped with its own. Now I was even more impressed. Dash had thought of everything and spared no expense for me. I waited for the tube to unroll, seal to the terminal doorway and inflate. By the time the terminal door swished open and I took a step toward it, Dash had emerged from the helicopter and was striding boldly in my direction.

"Wow," he said as we met in the tube. He tried to say something else, then just shook his head and said, "Wow" again. It was intensely satisfying, because I was just about to say the same about him. He wore a suit that I could not decide if it was blue or grey because it seemed to change when he moved, over a white shirt with iridescent threads running through it. The shirt and slacks seemed to hug his shape and highlight his muscles without being skin tight. I couldn't help myself from glancing down where - oh my. I still remember the heat wave that flowed through me.

"You like it?" I asked and laughed with a confidence I was struggling to muster. I did a pirouette with my arms out so he could review the full 360. When I came back around, I could see all my work was having the desired effect.

"I love it," he responded. "You look amazing - different. It's stunning." He shook his head again. "Wow." He laughed. "I feel like an idiot teenager again." Then he held out his hand. When I lay mine in his, he placed it in the crook of his arm and walked with me back to the helicopter.

The flight to the restaurant was short, but I was still able to enjoy the luxury of the Chopper. Music played at a low, soothing volume and still you could hear almost no noise of our travel. We settled back into a plush couch with our legs crossed. I made sure to switch mine several times to draw his attention to them. I also leaned forward to "brush lint off my knee" because I knew it would give him the angle to see a breast. If he were lucky he might even catch a flash of nipple. I made sure when getting out of the Chopper during its brief touchdown on open roof next to the restaurant that the dress rode up my thigh enough to make him wonder if he could get a glimpse of my panties.

I was never like this except when one of my movie scripts called for it. Ms. Hotbody might be in command of her sexuality, but Cheri DuBois was uncomfortable with it and did not want the attention of men. I just felt so comfortable with this man, so at ease, and so aware of his masculinity - and it wasn't an Enhancement. If it were, my Detector would have let me know.

"Right this way, Mr. Spice," the host - who was actually the owner - said before we stopped in front of the host stand. He picked up a sheaf of menus and headed into the maze of tubes and bubbles. We walked quite a bit, passing servers with trays of food and bussers with tubs of dirty dishes. While most restaurants used service bots, the finest still employed humans. Our "aerie" was elevated and on the farthest spur. We had an unobstructed 360 view of the city. It was breathtaking.

"Pretty incredible, isn't it?" Dash asked when we were seated and the owner had taken his leave.

I nodded. "Oh yes. I love the city views. It never gets old, does it?" Something about the nighttime city filled me with a sense of peace and wonder.

"No, a beautiful view never gets old," he responded, and the way he said it drew my attention. From the way he was looking at me and the slight quirk of his mouth I could tell he was not talking about the city view. It pleased me. He was right, though. We spent a comfortable minute enjoying the sight of each other. I wonder how long it would have gone on if the server had not come to tell us about the specials and take our drink order.

"The American people have voted for strong leadership. We face grave threats to our way of life from internal and external enemies." The voice ripped through my reverie, shredding the wonderful memory the way he shredded my life on what should have been one of my most triumphant days. I looked up at the screen. He was centered in it, looking almost radiant, his face drawn into grave lines. There was no denying he was handsome, but in a way that made me sick. I glanced away, into the space directly in front of me where Dash was seated on a bar stool in one of our favorite places in Seattle.

"I'm sorry, Cee," Dash said when he noticed me looking at him. I wondered what he had been thinking. "You tried," he added.

It sparked a fire of anger inside me. "You didn't!" I snapped. "You stayed silent!"

His eyes were sad and I instantly regretted the outburst. "Nobody was going to listen to me, Cee," he said softly. "If they didn't listen to you, they weren't going to take the word of some manwhore."

"I know, I'm sorry, baby," I said quickly. I think he said something like "I wish I could be there with you" but I was already spinning back into the memories of that horrible time. It had been a speech very much like this one. I heard him speaking on a news broadcast last spring and they said he was running for President. I had never been a political person, and all politicians seemed dishonest and corrupt to me, but I knew how horrible Hampton was and I felt obligated to try and stop him, try and at least warn people. Dash encouraged me. "You have to honor conscience, Cee. You have a big following. Maybe you can make a difference."

Some difference. I held a press conference the day after his speech, told the world what he had done to me. My contract forbade me from getting involved in politics as Ms. Hotbody, but I could do what I liked under my own name so long as I did not violate the "Morals and Ethics" clause. Nothing stopped reporters from writing, "Cheri DuBois, famous in her role as Ms. Hotbody..." which they all did.

The very next day, he fired back, denying the accusation and boasting that it had been consensual sex and that I had enjoyed it so much I "begged for more." He implied that he had found my performance lacking.

Interview requests flooded in, and liberal women's groups supported me, calling demonstrations at his campaign stops and inviting me to attend. Over the next week, I attended three demonstrations and gave a dozen interviews. Commentators applauded my "courage" and "strength" in "coming forward" and women told me I was doing so much. It was all terribly fun and intoxicating and made me feel like I was "doing something."

Then came the lawsuit, the hashtag, and the public announcement. Hampton sued me for defamation, seeking $50 million in damages and an injunction against making any more statements against him. That same day, social media exploded with the hashtag #OnlyHer and people posting that since nobody else came forward in a week, surely I must be lying.

It made me mad at Dash and for several days I refused to talk to him. He got me into this then stayed silent while that horrid hashtag went wild. But deep down I knew he was right: nobody would believe a prostitute, and the people behind that hashtag would have created a different one. Him coming forward would only bring attention to our relationship without really adding to my credibility. Besides, the better people did support me.

The public announcement was the studio suspending me without pay from my duties as Ms. Hotbody pending an investigation into potential violations of the Morals and Ethics clause of my contract. Nobody from the studio would talk to me and all my agent could get out of them was that they were terrified of Hampton. She speculated that he had leaned on them. Somebody leaked to the press that my contract was going to be terminated. The news exploded around the world.

And all of this for what? Hampton's support among "conservative" Reds - meaning fascists, misogynists and White supremacists - jumped. Previously they had been suspicious of his Overclass, Establishment pedigree and "moderate" policy choices. Now he had "street cred" and apparently Red voters were more impressed that he had "bagged Ms. Hotbody" than bothered that he might have committed rape. In his nomination acceptance speech he thanked me for "endorsing" his candidacy.

The only good news during that whole month-long ordeal was the worldwide fan rebellion against the studio. Fans picketed studio offices and theatres showing studio films in major cities, boycotted studio productions in theatres and on streaming sites, signed petitions, bombarded the studio with calls and letters, and trended multiple hashtags - including taking over #OnlyHer with messages like "Cheri DuBois IS Ms. Hotbody, I will go see #OnlyHer!"

Women's groups issued statements condemning the studio for not supporting me, and other prominent female celebrities expressed chagrin. A massive sell-off of the studio’s stock on world markets slashed its value overnight right after the Empress Catherine, Mayor of Yangon in Myanmar and a much-admired Overclass leader, was broadcast saying "the studio has set the cause of women's rights back a hundred years with its appalling lack of support for one of the nicest, most brilliant, most moral people in entertainment. Cheri DuBois is a wonderful role model for young women and the studio has treated her appallingly".

I detected the work of a certain world-class escort in Empress Catherine's statement. She had a special Contract with Dash and their relationship was complicated. She was the only one of his clients who could make me feel jealous. That did not prevent me from liking and admiring her, and I was incredibly grateful for her public support.

The studio was forced to back down. They reinstated me with back pay and issued a public apology and statement of full support. I told them to donate the back pay to a rape victims advocacy organization that had been very supportive and empathetic toward me through the whole ordeal.

Incoming Transmission from Darnell

Accept

"How are you, little sister?" Darnell's voice boomed out of the holo projection in front of me. "Hey, Dash, how's tricks?" He took a closer look at the surroundings in Dash's transmission. "What are you doing at the Imperial, man? I haven't seen you at the Mansion in a while. You not working here?"

First of all, Darnell Cole was not literally my big brother, but we had grown up in the same foster home for six years, until he aged out, then he had come around often until I also aged out, just to check on me. He protected me, looked after me, everything a good big brother would do. In every way that counts, he IS my big brother, and I could not love him more if we shared biological parents.

As for his question to Dash, Darnell runs Thugz Mansion, the "vice tourism" resort and development he created. It competes with the Imperial Grand for Overclass tourism, and being known as "home base" for an elite escort like Dash would be an edge in the competition.

"Just finished a gig, man," Dash responded. "I've just been busy elsewhere lately, mostly out of town." He grinned. "Don't worry, D, the Mansion is still my favorite place."

“D” was what Darnell’s oldest friends called him, from his old hiphop name “D Cole”. Dash did not know him back in those days but had picked up the nickname from me.

That mollified Darnell and he returned to the reason he had called. "How are you, baby sister? Crazy the morons elected that bastard." D had been a pillar to me through the whole fiasco.

"I'm fine, except for hating the new President and missing my boyfriend," I replied with a hint of asperity. I loved that word. I had learned it a few months ago when Dash had used it about Empress Catherine.

"Well, if you would come back to Seattle and Dash would come back to the Mansion, we could all hang and everyone would be happier," Darnell said and laughed. He was always bugging me to move back to Seattle, as if I hadn't done everything in my power to escape that place. Still, with everything climate change was doing to New York, I admit to thinking about it occasionally. It's just I love this city and I don't have great memories of Seattle.

"I mean, if you wanted to grant concessions...." Dash hinted.

Darnell faked irritation. "Ok, fine! Twist my arm! You and any date you bring can have free drinks in The VIP Room." Dash grinned like I had just done his favorite thing to Luci (don't ask), and Darnell laughed again. "You drive a hard bargain my man." Then he turned serious. "But this Hampton is even worse than you know. I'm going to play a recording for you. This recording is hella illegal and just between the three of us."

He sent me a Key App coded to my CPU ID. It would only work with my computer, and the recording he sent right after it would only play with that Key. I assume he sent one like it to Dash. When the download was complete, the recording started playing. Darnell must be controlling it and synchronizing playback for us both.

"I'm going to be emperor of the fucking world," said Hampton. I would recognize that voice anywhere. It struck me cold and I started to shiver. Dash sent me a hug emoji. It helped.

"You always did say you were going to be President some day," another male voice said with humor. It sounded like another smug, middle-aged Overclass White guy.

"No, not some figurative emperor. I mean the literal crowned Emperor of the World who sits on a throne and rules over everybody. Kings and Presidents will come get on their knees before me."

The other man laughed. "Ok, War. Have another drink."

"You think I'm joking." The voice was harsh, dismissive. "I've never been more serious - or more sober." There was a pause, then Hampton started speaking in a lower voice. "It has to happen. It will be somebody. Man has always striven for great civilizations, and those great civilizations have always been created by emperors who strove to rule their whole known world. Rome. China. Alexander. Britain.

"I do agree with those Rainbow Party morons on one thing: it's a global society with global problems that needs a global authority. But we don't need some useless federation or democratic body to get gridlocked like every other. We need a strong authority. When people are scared and action is needed, they turn to a strong leader, one man who can make and enforce decisions - tough decisions.

"The world needs an emperor, and I am uniquely suited for the role."

There was another silence, then the other man asked, "How do you plan to get the world to make you emperor? You can't very well conquer the world as President of the United States."

I could almost hear that evil grin spread across Hampton's face. I'd seen it the night he raped me, and then again the night he cornered me in the women's room. "The world already has a global authority. It just needs to be ... 'reformed' ... and 'empowered'." There was a pause, then "the United Nations" in a voice dripping with condescension.

"The United Nations?!" The man laughed after that. "It has no power. Nobody pays any attention to it. And if you haven't noticed, it doesn't have a strong leader. He's a 'secretary'!" More laughing.

The laughter trailed away and there was a silence, then a voice dripping with ice said, "That's why I said it needed to be 'reformed and empowered,'" Hampton said as if to an imbecile.

"Oh, that's all," the other man retorted as if he had struck a point. "And do you have a plan?"

"Of course I have a plan. I always have a plan."

The other man chuckled. "And what's your plan?"

"You will find out with the rest of the idiots on this planet," Hampton snapped, and the recording ended.

We were all silent for a long moment, then Dash exhaled harshly and uttered, "Shit."

Darnell snorted. "Yep."

An unstoppable plume of anger flowered within me. "We have to stop him! He's crazy!" They both looked at me, first as if I had sprouted a second head, then with a growing agreement.

"Yes," Dash finally said. "Yes, we do."

"And you have a plan?" Darnell asked.

Dash laughed. "No," he said. "No, I don't."