“Can we talk about your new app,” I asked as I adjusted myself in the chair. 

The billionaire laughed. He had been called the ‘Tony Stark’ of his time, a real world inventor genius who had made his fortune building Web 2.0 companies and was now involved in a series of headline grabbing stories about just what he was using his fortune for. Electric cars. Space exploration. Saving kids with submarines. Not much of it was successful, but it got him press and got him attention.

That was why this opportunity to interview him was amazing. He was, if nothing else, newsworthy and yet rarely gave interviews. That he had picked a small town newspaper to do his only public interview in two years meant that this story would be read all over the world. It was certainly a step-up from covering the local farmer’s market in my small California town.

“I still like to get in there and code sometimes. It’s a simple little thing,” he said.

“Right, but while it’s not as complicated as apps like Tinder and other options for finding romance online, you’ve pitched it as ‘Date a Billionaire’. This is, and correct me if I’m wrong, literally an application just for you to find a date,” I asked. Out of a series of weird things that he had done recently, this was one of the weirdest. Saturday Night Live had had a sketch on it the week before.

He shrugged, “I am a busy person. I need to vet who I date, and this allows interested women to provide me with the details I need to know if I want to date them. Then once I have found the one I want I can extend that relationship into the physical world.”

“But isn’t it, creepy?” I asked.

“I am a rich man. Many women want me just for my money, that is also creepy. This allows me to find someone suitable, who will be engaging and intellectually stimulating and hopefully avoid anyone whose sole interest is financial gain,” he said.

I nodded, “But how do you do that vetting? Most people lie on dating sites. I’ve dated men who use their college pictures and show up ten years older with twenty extra pounds.”

“Well you’ve tried the application, you know you can’t lie on it,” he said.

“What?” I asked. I had tried it, about two weeks ago when I was thinking of pitching the story to my editor on the slim chance we could get an interview. It had seemed impossible that we’d actually get to talk to him, but I figured anything was worth a try otherwise I’d be stuck covering issues like the new dog poop laws. Still, how did he know?

He nodded, hitting a few buttons on an iPad and bringing up my profile. Attached was a photo I didn’t recognize of myself in bra and panties, taking a selfie. 

How had he gotten that photo, and when did I take it?

Also on the iPad was an administrators panel, the backend of the application’s account management system. He hit another button there, one labelled “Entrance”.

In my purse my phone buzzed. Automatically I reached down and picked it up. The lock screen showed a notification from the dating app. Without thinking I opened it. My screen filled with a swirl of colors and the phrase ‘Trance Time;.

I felt a wave of relaxation, and kept staring at the swirls of color. It felt familiar, this detached feeling. 

“I go through the data the application provides me. Select the women I’m interested in and begin to program them. We respond in such a Pavolivian way to our phones, to social media. They’re already programming us, so it was easy to take it a step further. You used the app once that you remember, but kept coming back to see if your profile had been viewed. Each time you forgot you checked it, but were programmed more. You also answered more questions, honestly and openly. Even gave me that photo, and some others,” he explained. My mind wasn’t really listening, I was just floating waiting for my next command.

His hand brushed the back of my neck, “I decided to choose you. At least for awhile. It’ll be a great story, the genius inventor falls in love with a reporter. Of course you’ll be my sexual slave, I have needs. But don’t worry you’ll learn to enjoy all my kinks. I’ve been programming your mind with my tastes for days now.”

“Yes master,” I said in a monotone. 

“When you awaken you will love me, want only to please me. And you’ll submit the story that I’ve already had my PR department write for you. It’s very favorable,” he said. Hitting a button on his iPad he woke me up.

“Hi, sorry I sort of dozed off. Look this story is really not that interesting. Do you want to maybe, let me suck your cock instead?” I asked, sliding out of the chair and onto my knees, “Master.”

I don’t know why I called him Master, but he seemed to like it. I promised myself that I’d finish the interview later, but I never did. He fucked me, a lot and then I kind of married him.

Apps certainly have changed my life.