Chapter 3: That Time I Went to a Low-Key Party in the Future and Talked to People about Life, the City, and Pop Culture Trivia
So, there's no sex in this chapter. Sorry about that. If you're mainly here to get off on the sexy bits (which is totally fine and good), then maybe skip this chapter and come back for the hot and kinky scenes in Chapter 4. But if you want to hear more about how this future utopian city actually works, then by all means come along with me!
As the scene opens, I'm lost in thought, contemplating the nature of individuality and its relation to suffering. (I mentioned I went to grad school, right? You do that a lot there. It's easy to get into the habit.) As a result, I hardly notice as we pass from a smaller courtyard into a large arcade. I'm jolted back into the present world of the future when we spill out into a really massive arena-like place: a round, wide-open area with enough space for a thousand people or more to gather. It's shaded by what seem to be massive trees, but each leaf is the size of a normal tree's entire canopy, and each one is intricately patterned with netlike traceries, like the veins in leaves or the alveoli in lungs. The stalks of these plants, or lungs, or whatever they are, look like flying buttresses the size of redwoods.
There's a big crowd gathered here. I remember the twins saying a lot of people wanted to hear about my life in the 2020s. I felt flattered then, but now I'm absolutely terrified by the thought of giving an impromptu public lecture to a thousand people from the future. I have no clue how much they already know or what they think of our time period. Maybe they hate us for destroying the environment and breaking the world. Actually, that seems very likely to me. My mind goes blank and my palms start to sweat as I try to think about what I'll say to them, given all the terrible things were happening in my time when I left. A number of people seem startled by me, suddenly; there's a ripple in the crowd like a school of fish sensing a predator. People move back to give me space, leaving a ring in the crowd around me. Thankfully, Raine comes over and lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. Sunni does the same on the other side. I explain my stage fright to them.
"Don't worry, you won't have to make a speech." Raine assures me.
"Only a few people will talk to you at any time, just one on one. It's like a...call it a low-key party." Sunni adds.
The touch of their hands on my shoulders feels indescribably good. The tension that had gripped my shoulders seems to melt away.
"Low-key. That's good. We said that a lot in 2021. That and 'vibe.' A nice low-key vibe."
The twins look so absolutely delighted to be using the right period-specific slang that I want to hug them. The euphoric effect of the city laps at me again.
As they promised, I don't have to give a speech. In fact, no one even leads the discussion or hosts the event. The exotic citizens of the future just circulate, in a kind of human Brownian motion, and those who want to talk to me come over and talk. It's like they're all hearing my answers to every question, though, because no one asks the same question twice.
They want to know where I lived, what kind of structure: a house? An apartment building? Or did I live in a "condom," as one charming youth mispronounces, to my amusement and, when I explain, their hilarity. It seems no one in the future has to pay rent or buy property in order to have somewhere to live, and they don't accumulate a lot of stuff they need to store, either. They sleep where they like, and have all they need wherever they are. (I'll show you how this works later on, when I get my own place.)
At about this point, some drinks and snacks show up courtesy of the city: something like a cold sparkling fruit juice (though I can't tell if it's alcoholic over the buzz I've already got from the city) and some crunchy-fried dough strips with a variety of sweet, salty, savoury, and spicy flavours. As we partake, they want to know what I ate in my time. They express some admiration for my attempts to grow tomatoes and herbs and flowers for the pollinators in pots on the patio of my rental house, but show distaste for farmed meat. I gather that everything they eat, whether it seems meat-like or plant-like, is generated without the death of other living things.
They want to know where I went in my life and how I traveled, though they murmur sadly when I describe exhaust-spewing cars, trucks, ships, and airplanes.
They do not want to know much about my degrees or my job. They don't seem to consider work important, beyond whether I enjoyed it or not. They also don't want to hear much about the parts of life that I didn't enjoy, like being overworked, stressed, and isolated during the pandemic, or about what I considered to be the defining economic problems, cultural issues, and natural catastrophes of my time.
"We know that," they say gently whenever I stray into troubling topics. "We learn about those parts of the past so we can make sure they won't happen again. Right now, we want to know about your life, and what you liked about it."
With the city making me feel so good, I find I don't much want to think much about the bad times, either. But I do have lots of questions to ask them back. Relaxed or not, I'm still having trouble believing that this place is a perfect as it looks. So, I try to engage them in some friendly debate.
"This place definitely seems like a utopia," I say, "but every story about supposed utopias I've ever heard of has gone horribly wrong in the end, or it's based in some kind of deception or social control. All this pleasure and indulgence...isn't it just like
Brave New World
? Do you know that book by Aldous Huxley?"
"We have records of that work, yes," a muscular figure with an enormous cock and equally enormous breasts answers.
"So, you know there's always a catch to utopias. What's the catch here, in this city?"
"The catch?" An elfin albino child pipes up sweetly.
"Well, ok, I haven't read
Brave New World
since undergrad, but what I remember of it is that the people in this futuristic utopia use a drug called 'soma' to feel good all the time and they have huge orgies, but it's just a kind of social engineering to keep them under control. And the main character, he won't be controlled. He'd rather destroy himself first. So, it's actually a dystopia because it's conformist and it drives free-thinking men to suicide. What about here? What kind of government is there? And what happens to people who disagree with it?"
The twins reappear to answer my questions in language I can understand. I'm grateful for their familiar faces in the swirl of strangers.
"We see what you mean." Raine says. "When you lived, and I guess when Huxley lived too, there was distrust of authority because it was so often misused. There was also distrust of sexual and sensual pleasure because..." the two lean their heads together for a moment, going briefly glassy-eyed, then finish: "...lots of reasons. Religion made pleasure a sin of the flesh. Patriarchy made pleasure a man's right at the expense of others. Capitalism made pleasure a commodity, like in the old saying 'sex sells.' Or so the historians say. Was it really that way?"
"Yeah. There's more, but that was part of it."
"So, that's what shows up in your stories. Distrust of authority. Fear of pleasure. Sex shown as something immoral or something that weakens the will."
"Except if it followed certain patterns, like in a monogamous romantic relationship. Then it can be good." Sunni adds. Raine nods and something else passes between them, a flash of emotion so fast I'm barely sure it's there. The crowd stirs slightly. Then Raine continues,
"You were raised on stories like that, so of course you expect the same patterns to hold here and now. You think that you shouldn't trust the city or accept the pleasure it gives you. You should resist it to the death to maintain your individuality, like this man in the story..." another quick conference passes between them before they finish: "...John."
"I guess that's probably true. That's how a lot of the narratives in my time went, so I feel like this place might be the same way. Even in a movie like
The Matrix
, it's all one big allegory for getting out of the seductive simulation that controls you with comfort, and getting back into your real body and the real world. The truth is about fighting for your freedom and finding love through suffering. But you're saying it's not actually like that, here in the future?"
"Oh, you can find pleasure through suffering here if you want to. We think you do."
I blush again. This is the second time they've mentioned it. It's like they know me too well already. I'm not ready for that yet. I direct the conversation away deliberately.
