Four Zero Five: Tabletop

 My friend Jill in New Zealand told me once that she couldn't imagine that I'd ever be too anxious or shy to tell a potential Young Companion exactly what it is I liked sexually or what I wanted. That was a long time ago, and back in, say, 2011 or 2012 it may well have been true. It's certainly not true now-- not in the blighted year 2026. 

These days, I can't imagine bringing up either of those things with a Young Companion. We live now in a world (see the latest Booktok scandal) where any hint of "spice" or "smut" or sexual attraction is considered unacceptable and probably criminal from the start. 

We now live in a world where people-- Gen Z, not even aging Boomers --demand that "spice" or "smut" be removed from romance novels. We live in a world where Zalman King would never be allowed to make films that merged romance, sex, and dreamy elegance. We live in a world where actresses are routinely derided (e.g., Margaret Qualley) for appearing naked in "erotic thrillers" (e.g., "The Stars at Noon"). It's impossible that a film like "9 Songs" could be made in the Year Twenty-Six, and it's unthinkable that "9 Songs" (or "Henry & June", or "A Woman, Her Men, and Her Futon") could be seen as a template for sex and romance. 

Right now I have no idea whatsoever how I'd tell a Young Companion that I was attracted to her. I cannot imagine ever, ever telling the girl sitting there with me in my flat about any things (sexual, romantic) that interested me, or that I'd like to try with her. We can take it as a given that I'd never offer any sort of physical compliments. The very idea that I might lean in to kiss someone-- let alone cross the distance between my chair and her place on the couch --is very much unthinkable. I'd be convinced that what I'd instantly see on her face would be a mixture of cold disdain and violent anger. I'd assume that I was seconds away from being struck with a wine bottle-- or threatened with an immediate phone call to 911 and/or her lawyer.

Right now I'm remembering nights-- first date nights, yes --where I'd reach across a café table and take a girl's hand for the first time. I do remember doing that-- brushing fingertips, then sliding my fingers between hers. I remember girls looking into my eyes and smiling when I did that. I remember girls who initiated that first touch themselves, who reached out and traced a long finger over the back of my hand. This is the Year Twenty-Six now, and girls don't do that. It would never occur to a Gen Z girl or even an older Millennial to do that. Myself, I have zero idea these days how to hold a girl's hand-- how to take hold of her hand, how to walk together with fingers interlinked. I won't say that such things don't happen anywhere in 2026, but I do say that they don't (and won't) happen in my world, or in my city. 

Let's go back to what I said a bit earlier. I would very much be too afraid to kiss a Young Companion for the first time. I'd never be able these days to tell a potential bedmate what I like or would like to explore with her. My mind's eye would be showing me her face set in contempt and hatred. I'm serious about that, mind you. I cannot imagine how I'd ask for (let alone initiate) a first kiss. 

This is a year and a decade where that few feet between where the girl and I are sitting can't be crossed without calling up anger and all sorts of dark possibilities. I really would be asking myself whether she was about to hit me or have me arrested. I don't want ever to become someone who assumes that all women are plotting evil; I don't want to be that kind of person. But I am terrified of showing any romantic or sexual interest. I'm terrified of being taken as the Bad Guy. I'm terrified of being told that I'm contemptible or predatory or just disgusting. 

I don't know how to phrase this, but...I've become physically afraid to be around any Young Companion to whom I'm attracted. It all seems too risky, too dangerous. I won't even make conversation that's any deeper than glancing exchanges of the names of films we've each seen or what we each thought about dinner. There's no way I can see to make a transition to flirtation or kissing. 

I do imagine something like the shields in "Dune"-- a pale blue flicker --forming between us. I know better than to try to cross that barrier. What's going on in my mind is the certainty that my date is looking for an opportunity to lash out at me. There is no possibility here in the Year Twenty-Six that any lovely, intelligent girl will be interested in romance or sex. Pleasure, adventure, exploration-- all those things are being rejected. 

Now I have no idea what the diameter of a standard café table is. But I do know that it's much, much further than I can reach my hand. The days when I could hold a Young Companion's hand while we waited for our drinks to arrive-- those days are gone. And that flickering blue shield really is impenetrable.