There’s No Such Thing As A Secret

An artificial intelligence (AI) robotic voice begins talking to me as soon as I turn on my computer. I listen in shock and total confusion.

“It’s Wednesday, 9 November 1978 and you are heading to the nudist beach today,” the robot tells me.

What … how … why … where? It is 2023, not 1978.

I sit stunned as I watch the computer screen commence playing a video, in full screen, without any instructions from me.

Rushing past my eyes is a video of the azure blue water, the pristine white sand, naked tanned bodies and, oh no, that’s me. Me; naked, golden brown, slim with an hour-glass figure and only 18 years old.

My thoughts are scrambled but one thought echoes over and over again. I’m going out of my mind — or is this a dream?

I had turned my computer on to begin my work day, but instead of my log on screen, there is this video playing of me in my youth.

A video that shouldn’t be in existence!

Why?

Because there was never any such video taken … not ever.

Yes, I did go to a nudist beach on Wednesday, 9 November 1978, or thereabouts. Yes, the beach was as gorgeous as the one playing out in front of my eyes right now, on my computer screen, but no, there was never any video recorded of this day.

I leave my desk, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, still listening to the video noise in the background. I must be going out of my mind.

As I return to my desk, I freeze halfway to sitting on my office chair. A new video has just begun and the commentary of the AI explains this scene in great detail.

I listen in shock as the AI explains, “On Friday, 17 June 1981, you had a one night stand, or should I say — a one day stand — with a gorgeous male specimen whose career is that of a stripper. You attended your best friend’s hens party the night before, met the stripper hired for the bride-to-be, and arranged to meet him the next day for a hook up.”

I watch in horror as the video shows me opening my front door to this gorgeous man from my past.

“You enjoyed an afternoon of the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, including any sex you have experienced since this liaison, but you did so while your husband was at work,” the robotic voice continued.

“I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming,” I keep muttering under my breath. I pinch my arm to prove it.

“Ouch! That hurt,” I say out loud, as the shocked realisation hits me.

A new video begins, with that robotic voice — that’s becoming annoying I might add — narrating the show.

“In this clip, you are sitting in your car, parked in a gloriously scenic rainforest clearing, masturbating in private, or so you thought. It is Monday, 14 January 1985. You are remembering that young stripper and the great sex, when you feel a finger move next to yours, helping you to find that sweet spot. You open your eyes and look into the golden honey coloured eyes of a total stranger, as you spread your legs wider, to give him better access,” the robotic voice drones on, its tone one of sheer boredom.

Oh boy, what is happening?

You’re transfixed on the computer screen, watching video after video of all your dirtiest darkest secrets. Secrets that would destroy your world if anyone else was to ever see, hear or know about these forbidden liaisons.

Your mind is spinning, because not only have you pushed these memories to the very darkest part of your soul, but you also know, one hundred percent know, that these liaisons were never videoed in real time. So how?

Suddenly, the obvious solution jumps into your thoughts, in large blazing neon lights.

Reset your password — flash, flash — reset your password — flash, flash — reset your password — NOW!

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