Connection
Author's note:
Dear readers, please be gentle with this, since this is my first ever attempt at erotic fiction. Indeed, when I started writing this, I wasn't even aware it was going to turn into an erotic story -- it just sort-of turned out that way.
Stylistically, you may notice that I use an awful lot of hyphens. This is something I've done for many years, which I think I first picked up from reading Emily Dickinson (although it's difficult to tell precisely).
***
1
London, the near future
As she tried to explain the narrative structure of
Jane Eyre
, Lucy Porter gazed into the vacant faces of her pupils. The public education system had recently been discontinued, so naturally all their parents paid fees to send them here. Yet that didn't seem to spur them into attitudes of concentration. As she well knew, rather than pondering the nuances of Mr. Rochester, instead her pupils were looking toward the next level of some computer game, or trivial gossip purveyed through one of the endless messaging platforms.
"Right", she said, masking her frustration behind a smile. "That's enough for today. See you all again on Friday; and please don't forget to read chapter 27 by then -- I will be testing you!"
And so they shuffled out -- nearly all with their heads turned down to their phones, checking to see if they'd missed anything. As Lucy well knew, most had already checked their phones discreetly during lesson -- but these days teenagers got anxious about 5 lost minutes of phone time.
Instead of packing up to leave, Lucy remained seated at her desk. Her frustration had passed, and been replaced with a kind of cynical despair. Why did she do this to herself? Why did she come in here every day, only to stand before another sea of soulless faces? There was nothing here except death. All her dreams of being a teacher -- of seeing a class inspired by her teaching -- had ended in this.
Of course, she knew full-well why she persisted with this fruitlessness. The truth was that she was lucky to have a job at all. So many people had been laid off due to automation. The remaining 50% or so remained in the jobs that were still too complex for AI to perform. Yet it was only a matter of time before these too were eliminated -- leaving a rump at the top of super-wealthy tech-magnates and investors. But for the present she was grateful for the respite that this job offered. As depressing as it was, at least it was better than unemployment.
Along with public education, practically the whole of the social security system had been phased out. With more and more people losing their jobs, the system simply buckled under the pressure, and there wasn't the social will to replace it with some kind of 'basic income' scheme (after all, who wanted to give people 'money for nothing'?). And so the unemployed were left to fend for themselves. Naturally, those that had too much pride for prostitution turned to crime in order to survive. And this was this nightmarish vision that forced her to come here every day, only to face the same disappointments again and again.
2
Eventually Lucy reached the end of her thoughts, and exited the classroom. She had been absorbed for so long that all the pupils had left, and only a few colleagues remained -- finishing up on bits of work before they began their journey home. She waved goodbye to Chris -- the maths teacher -- but he didn't seem to notice her. And so she carried on out of the school and started walking toward the underground station close by -- where she would catch the train home.
But then she heard a noise behind her -- something that sounded like a cry or shout. Turning quickly, she saw two men: one stylishly dressed, the other somewhat less so. Then she became shockingly aware that the shabbier man was attacking the other man -- wielding a knife and reaching for the man's phone.
"Hey! Get off him!" Lucy shouted.
"Fuck off bitch" the attacker spat, continuing to reach for the man's phone.
"Hey! I said leave him alone!" Lucy persisted.
At that point, the attacker turned his head towards her. Then he promptly broke off his assault and sprinted in her direction, shouting as he ran "OK bitch, I'll 'av your phone instead".
Instinct made Lucy run towards the underground station -- the more people the better. She hurried through the entrance and down the steps. But as she reached the entry-points she had to reach in her purse for her pass-card -- and it was here that the man caught up with her.
"Not so brave now, are we, bitch?", he snarled, as he held the knife to her throat. "Now give me everythin' you 'av, or I'll fucking slit you".
There wasn't time for reasoned thought -- only the frantic stabbing of fear. And so she fumbled with her things, and just gave him everything she could lay her hands on. "Thanks bitch" he said, and then, removing the knife from her throat, he sprinted out of the station.
Lucy could only stand there in shock. It had all happened so quickly -- and now it was over, just like that. What would she do now? How the hell would she get home?
3
Eventually the fog of shock cleared, and she realised that the only option was to walk home. It was a considerable distance, and it would be dark soon, but she really had no other choice. After all, she couldn't turn to a stranger for help, since kindness was scarce these days. Sure, she had tried to stop that man being attacked, but she was a very rare exception. After all, while the knife was at her throat, the people around her had simply looked on impotently -- with some even walking right on by, listening to music or sending messages.
And so Lucy exited the station and began her journey home. As she walked, she wondered how society had come to this. The affluent all indifference, the poor all degradation and violence. Where was the room for human connection? Where was even a place for the most basic humanity? Could there ever be a way back?
As she rounded a corner she was suddenly struck by a picture-book scene: the setting sun percolating through sparse clouds; a subtle play and gradation of colour, like the complexity of a narrative. And even though she had just experienced something terrible, her heart still rose in bliss to the beauty of it.
Yet, when the bliss subsided, how much worse the human world seemed in comparison. The city was a desert of rectilinear forms -- its people like shadows moving in the sand.
4
Night had fallen by the time Lucy arrived home. Once through her door, exhaustion and weariness led her straight to the bed, where, taking off her shoes, she lay down without getting undressed. Sleep captured her soon afterward.
It was an anxious sleep however, broken by nightmares. In one she was again in the station, and the attacker once more had his knife at her throat. This time, however, rather than simply running off, the attacker slit her throat with the knife. She impotently looked on as her life began to bleed away... only then for something within her to violently jolt her awake: the panic briefly remaining in her wakened awareness.
In the morning, the alarm clock woke her at the usual time -- intended to give her plenty of time to get ready for work. This morning, however, she didn't get out of bed at the usual time. Instead she simply lay on the bed -- frozen in thought.
She had long accepted that society was indifferent to her. Yesterday's attack, however, had introduced a new element into the mix -- positive hostility. Plus, with the ever-increasing unemployment rate, such attacks would only become more and more frequent. Did she really want to go out into a world that, at best, couldn't care less about her -- and at worst saw her as a legitimate target of robbery and violence? No -- not today.
And so she simply lay there for hours -- unable to rouse herself to move. Indeed, even when she did finally get up -- around midday -- it was only at the prodding of boredom; the depressive thoughts showed no sign of relenting.
Her hands managed to assemble some coffee and lunch, which she consumed while gazing out the window at the world beyond:
Why
was
human connection so hard to find? Were humans always this cruel, or had circumstances made them more so? Was there a way out of this morass? A way to feel the warmth of human touch again?
And it was then that a shocking vision filled her mind -- a vision of her kissing a man, of her making love to him...
