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Ultimate Fantasy 96 Non-Macho Woman

Let me begin by telling you my ultimate fantasy. Fantasies can be very powerful. That is not to say that no man has had one.

As a queer woman I often believed that even in my professional life I would never be wanted by men. Until I came out. And one night, out of nowhere, I was sitting in a coffee shop with a friend and we were discussing the evils of war. Prior to that, our only exposure to the world of sex and violence was in the porno and gory movies. We decided to stop watching those and start reading books like Up to No Good by Kitty Cochrane. Suddenly I was in a conversation I had long ago stopped having with myself. Suddenly I was surrounded by men with guns. I turned and ran.

Men, my men, willing me into their arms and throwing coffee on my head.

That night I did not leave. I stayed. For the rest of my life that is what I will be called when I am finished. I will be beaten, tortured, raped, and my friends left to gawk at the mutilated corpses. I went back to the cabin and soaked in the fire. I could not sleep. I dove into a deep sleep. When I awoke there was a man standing before me. Gone.

He had on a tuxedo, I cannot remember what his name was. I could recognize his features now. A soft smile plastered his features, the same smile that he gave me when we first met. A finger went up my shirt, feeling me up. Pulling it down, he removed his gloves and played with my buttons. For a moment, I thought I had gotten away with it. But as he began to undo my fly buttons, he said, I wonder if you ever wore a bra. I took it off. I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t surprised. I couldn’t tell you. But it was something. Now, back where we started. A hand moved up and down between us, up and down, never speaking or moving from where we were.

I never did like sex with a man. I hated intimacy. But that night he asked me to take off all my clothes. All my make-up, make-up that would cover my breasts and underarm. And he put his cock in my mouth. And I did as he told me. I told him how embarrassed I was, how I had been the only non-macho woman at the party. I told him I could take care of myself.


In this chapter, I share a number of stories from my experiences of becoming-queer, of methodological anarchism. these stories are not true, for I am in agreement with the notion that there is ‘no such thing as a true story’. Nor do they follow a single line of direction or desire; they connect to each other in many ways. they form a rhizome. In sharing these stories, I do not have a simple message or a particular argument to convey. Like Ursula Le Guin, ‘I wish, instead of looking for a message when we read a story, we could think, “Here’s a door opening on a new world: what will I find there?”’

Let me begin by telling you my ultimate fantasy. . .



Prompt adapted from Queer Methods and Methodologies

· queer, GPT-2, RunwayML