Ultimate Fantasy 3 Private Lessons
Let me begin by telling you my ultimate fantasy. When I was a junior high school English teacher in Texas, my school was in the middle of a gay rights march. On the square near the square, there were gay men kissing in front of the assembly and chanting “Hands off our buxom women!” in the square.
As a gay man myself, I was outraged.
There was nothing at all resembling “homo” or “bimbo.” And there were no signs at all that said, “Homo-Bimbo.”
So, I guess that’s the ultimate fairy tale.
So what happened next?
We had a private lesson in gay rights, and the boys I taught were all closeted.
So I had a gay teacher.
Oh, yes. That’s right. You had a gay teacher.
And you had sex with him.
Not exactly. I was fond of him and we had consensual sex. My point? We didn’t know for sure. But it was a start.
You were a senior in high school. You had the chance to change your life.
I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a writer’s assistant.
You were an assistant editor.
I worked as an assistant to a writer. I wrote a story and had it published. Then I got promoted to writer’s assistant. So I wrote a screenplay and had it directed by a famous director.
You were in love with that writer.
I lied. I wasn’t in love with him. I had sex with him.
Do you have any idea what that means? That’s called jealousy. You were doing research on this gay man. You were consulting with this famous director, on what you thought were possibly thousands of men. And you turned around and said, “I don’t want to get involved with anyone who is that way.”
This is a joke. In any case, I had just gotten a promotion to writer’s assistant and I was tired of writing screenplay. I decided to skip the writing phase and concentrate on the casting.
So what happened next?
I don’t know. You couldn’t act, you couldn’t act tough, you couldn’t act arrogant, you couldn’t act even gay. You could only act like shit. It was the first time in my life I had been so completely humiliated by the person I was working with. I went into a state of paralysis. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I knew that whatever I was doing wasn’t going to make any difference to anyone. And that my only hope of escaping was to give in.
You couldn’t do anything about it. You couldn’t say a word. You could only stare blankly into the abyss of apathy. Did you notice anything strange in that abyss? Nothing like that black eye. Did you even notice that it looked different?
No. I can’t remember ever seeing a black eye look this strange.
What did you do?
I spent the rest of my life in a state of total denial. I could not imagine how anyone could be so stupid as to act like this. It didn’t matter if I was going to jail or not. It didn’t matter if I was going to marry the man or not. It didn’t matter if I had a career or not. The only thing that mattered was that I didn’t want to get involved with anyone. I didn’t want anyone to think I was anything more than a happy little boy.
So you threw in the towel. So you decided to disappear. I’m amazed you didn’t leave me with a bloody nose.
Do you like to have anonymous sex in public rest rooms? Sex movies? Public parks? Sex clubs? On street corners with heavy hustling traffic? How many nonsexual friendships or acquaintances lasting for decades started this way? How many ways are there to love queers? How many ways are there to queer love?
Let me begin by telling you my ultimate fantasy. When I was. . .
- Queer AI
- Training Step 500
- Perplexity 39.51
Prompt adapted from A Queer History of Computing