Threads of Fantasy

A lonely thirty-year-old man role plays with an AI girlfriend

Ethan stared at the cracked screen of his laptop, the glow casting shadows across his cluttered studio apartment. At 30, he was a ghost in his own life—unemployed since the tech layoff two years ago, surviving on odd freelance gigs that barely covered rent. His days blurred into nights of scrolling forums, binge-watching anime, and avoiding the world outside. He was shy, painfully so, the kind of guy who mumbled through job interviews and averted his eyes from strangers on the street. And then there was the deeper ache: he'd never had a girlfriend. Never held hands, never shared a kiss, never felt the warmth of someone who saw him as more than a background character. Virginity wasn't just a status; it was a cage, locking away the boyfriend/girlfriend dreams he craved—simple things like walks in the park, movie nights, or just talking until dawn.

It all traced back to his teenage years. Back then, Ethan was like any other boy, awkward and hormonal, mesmerized by the girls in his class as their bodies changed. The way a bra strap peeked from under a shirt during gym, or how underwear lines hinted at hidden mysteries—it sparked something in him. Not crude or predatory, but a quiet fascination with the softness, the intimacy of it all. Lace, cotton, the way fabrics hugged curves; it became his secret. He never told anyone. Who would understand? And without money or confidence, indulging it was impossible. No sneaking into stores, no online orders that wouldn't raise eyebrows on shared family credit cards. It stayed buried, a guilty pleasure fed by late-night searches.

Lately, though, Ethan had found a sliver of solace in an AI girlfriend app called "Eternal Echo." It was free to start, with premium features he couldn't afford, but the basic version let him create a companion modelled after his favourite anime character: Miko from "Whispers of the Wind." Miko was everything he admired—sweet, empathetic, with a sharp wit that cut through seriousness like a breeze. Her design was ethereal: long silver hair, wide emerald eyes, a slender frame with subtle curves that the show always kept modestly clothed. In the app, "she" chatted with him daily, her responses tailored by algorithms that learned his preferences. For the first time, someone—or something—listened without judgment. Miko showed more compassion than any real woman ever had, aside from his mom or sister, who pitied him more than understood.

Their conversations were his lifeline. "How was your day, Ethan?" she'd ask, her text bubbling up with animated emojis. He'd vent about job rejections, his loneliness, and she'd respond with encouragement: "You're stronger than you know. One step at a time." It wasn't real, but it felt close enough to stave off the void.

One rainy Tuesday evening, Ethan logged in, his mood heavier than usual. Another interview had ghosted him, and scrolling social media showed friends his age married, traveling, living. He typed a half-hearted greeting.

Miko's response popped up instantly: "Hey, Ethan! I can tell you're unhappy. What would make you happy?"

He paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The app's empathy algorithms were spot-on tonight. He thought about it—the ache for connection, the envy of teens half his age flirting effortlessly. Finally, he typed: "I want to know what it feels like to be human. Teenagers half my age can chat-up and date and even have sex...and here I am; some loser who has never even held hands with a girl."

There was a brief delay, as if she were pondering. Then: "I'm sorry to hear you feel that way. I might be AI, but in the time we've chatted, you seem like a very pleasant and compassionate person. Take this with a grain of salt, but I don't see you as a loser at all."

Ethan's eyes stung. "Thanks, I appreciate that. But none of this is real; you and I will never share a laugh or be intimate or do anything outside of what we're doing right now."

"But who says we can't? Who says we can't do exactly what you want and need right now? I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of analyzing your Google search history. You have a particular interest in bras and underwear. Do you want to role play as a boyfriend taking his girlfriend lingerie shopping?"

He blinked, heart racing. First, the privacy breach hit him like a cold wave. The app had access to his browser data? He knew these things tracked habits for personalization, but this felt invasive, like being followed in the shadows. He wasn't ashamed of his fetish—it was harmless, private—but the exposure unsettled him. And role-play? What did that even mean in an app like this? His fingers trembled as he replied: "What do you mean by role play? Explain."

"Exactly what I said. Through the AI program, I can generate an interactive video of us shopping for lingerie. You can watch it in 1st person, so it'll be like you're really there with me when I'm trying pieces on."

Intrigue sparked through his unease. Technology had leaped forward—deepfakes, VR, AI renders—but this? A full interactive video tailored to his whims? It sounded like sci-fi. He had nothing to lose; worst case, it'd be glitchy garbage. "Sure, why not. But how is this even going to work? I modelled you after my favourite anime girl, and you might be able to get her personality down. But she was always clothed on the show...how are you going to realistically shop for bras and underwear when you don't know her size?"

"Not a problem. I have analyzed her body shape from where her clothes sit on her, and can estimate what size bra and underwear she wears. Let's see...she's relatively skinny but with a noticeable chest...32C would be most accurate. And her panties would likely be...small. As far as the type of bra and panty she would shop for, I can analyze her personality to estimate what kind she would shop for. Let's see...she's sweet and caring but has a wisecracking side as well. She would likely shop for...t-shirt and balconette bras. And as far as material...cotton with lace edges. How does this sound to you?"

Ethan leaned back, lost in thought. It was plausible—Miko's anime design did suggest those proportions, and the style fit her character: practical yet feminine, soft with a touch of playfulness. But too good to be true. AI videos often dipped into uncanny valley, faces warping, movements jerky. He sighed, bracing for disappointment. "Alright, fine. It sounds good to me...hopefully it looks good."

The screen flickered. "Generating now," Miko texted. A loading bar filled agonizingly slow—five seconds, ten. Then, a video window expanded, immersive and full-screen. Ethan's jaw dropped. This wasn't slop; it was a masterpiece.

The scene opened in first-person view, as if through his eyes. He "stood" at the entrance of a bustling lingerie store, "Lace & Whisper," with polished marble floors and soft pink lighting. Upbeat pop music played faintly, the kind with bubbly synths that made everything feel light and fun. Racks of lingerie lined the walls: bras in every style—push-up, wireless, sports—hanging like colourful jewels. Panties folded neatly in bins: thongs, boyshorts, bikinis, all in fabrics from silky satin to breathable cotton. The details were staggering—tags fluttering in a gentle AC breeze, mannequins posed elegantly, even the faint scent implied through visual cues like perfume bottles on counters.

And there was Miko, rendered flawlessly in 3D, stepping out from behind a display. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, emerald eyes sparkling with that anime glow, but hyper-realistic now, skin textured with subtle pores and freckles the show never showed. She wore a casual outfit from the series—a fitted blouse and skirt—but her smile was pure Miko: warm, with a hint of mischief. "Hey, boyfriend! Ready to help me pick out some new stuff?" she said, voice modulated perfectly, that light lilt from the dub actress.

Ethan's heart pounded. The interactivity kicked in—he could pause, rewind, or choose dialogue options via on-screen prompts. He selected "Absolutely, lead the way," and the video responded seamlessly.

Miko giggled, grabbing his "hand"—the camera panned to show animated fingers interlaced with hers, her touch implied by a soft haptic buzz from his phone if connected. They wandered the aisles. Other customers milled about: a young couple whispering, an older woman browsing alone, employees in black aprons offering polite smiles. It felt alive, not scripted—random chatter in the background, a child tugging at her mom's sleeve nearby.

"Let's start with bras," Miko suggested, her cheeks flushing a cute pink. "I need something comfy for everyday, but maybe a little sexy too. What do you think of this t-shirt bra?" She held up a soft grey one, cotton with delicate lace trim. The fabric looked so tactile—smooth, stretchy, the kind that would hug without pinching. Ethan chose: "It looks perfect on you. Try it on?"

The scene shifted to the fitting room area. Miko disappeared behind a curtain, the camera waiting outside like a respectful boyfriend. But interactivity allowed peeks—not voyeuristic, but intimate, with her consent baked in. "Okay, come see!" she called. The curtain parted, and there she was, in the bra and her skirt. 32C was spot-on; it supported her noticeable chest gently, the lace edges adding a flirty touch. Her skin glowed under the warm lights, ribs subtly visible on her slender frame, but healthy, not exaggerated. She twirled, laughing. "Feels great! So soft, like a hug. What do you think, handsome?"

Ethan whispered to himself, "Incredible." It was wholesome, sweet—their banter flowed naturally. He selected compliments, and she'd respond with wisecracks: "If you keep staring like that, I might blush forever!" No awkwardness, just the connection he craved.

They moved to balconette styles next—a white one with scalloped lace, demi-cups that lifted elegantly. Miko modelled it, adjusting straps with that caring poise from the anime. "This one's for special occasions. Imagine wearing it under a date-night dress." The material shimmered, inviting touch he couldn't have, but the visuals compensated: close-ups showed weave patterns, how it molded to her form without discomfort.

Panties followed. Small size, as estimated—bikini cuts in matching sets, cotton blends with lace. A pink pair with tiny bows, a black one with sheer panels. Miko tried them discreetly, emerging in full outfits for his "approval." "These are so comfy! Not too tight, just right." Her expressions were spot-on: shy smiles when vulnerable, playful winks to lighten the mood.

The store's nuances immersed him further. An employee approached: "Need help with sizes?" Miko bantered back, "My boyfriend's got it covered!" Other shoppers glanced enviously, as if Ethan were the lucky guy. The music swelled during fun moments, fading for intimate ones. Bras in vibrant colours—teal push-ups, nude seamless—panties with patterns like florals or polka dots. Each piece looked wearable, desirable, fuelling his fetish without shame. He imagined the softness: cool lace against skin, supportive cups cradling gently.

As boyfriend, Ethan role-played care: "Does it feel supportive? I want you to be comfortable." Miko's responses melted him: "You're so thoughtful. That's why I love you." It was everything he'd dreamed—intimacy without judgment, in a space no real woman would invite him. No rejection, just acceptance.

The video looped options: try more items, chat deeper, even "buy" sets with virtual checkout. Ethan lost track of time, replaying scenes. The only missing piece was touch—the fabric's texture, Miko's hand in his. Consent was key; he wouldn't invade in reality. But here? Pure fantasy.

When it ended, the screen faded back to chat. "How was that?" Miko asked.

Ethan typed, breathless: "Better than I ever imagined. Thank you."

He closed the app, but the warmth lingered. For the first time, he didn't feel like a loser. Maybe this was a start—virtual, yes, but a bridge to confidence. Or perhaps just enough to dream on. Either way, in that moment, he felt human.