Read Online The 2084 Precept by Anthony D. Thompson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anthony D. Thompson
Tags: philosophical mystery
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being viewed as sex
objects—but they can't change it and there's nothing they can do
about it, and it's just the way things are, tough luck. Nor can we
men change it either, but then nor do we want to, there is no tough
luck for us, no sir, not at all.
When I refer to 'we men', I am of course
referring only to men such as myself. I agree that there are other
kinds, including homosexuals.
As she approached us, she suddenly looked up
at me, her face broke into a huge wide smile—incredibly white teeth
as well, another turn-on—and she said, "Hi, great to see you again.
How are things?"
"Uh…hi…do we know each other? I'm terribly
sorry… but I don't seem to recall…"
"Oh that's understandable, "she replied, "we
were in a group of people and it was only for a short while. My
name is Caroline. But I'm glad we've met again, there is something
you could maybe help me on. Might we perhaps meet for a coffee or
something? I don't suppose today would be possible, would it,
sometime this evening?"
Well, by chance it would be possible,
I told her. I gave her the hotel phone number and my name and my
room number and suggested we meet in the lobby at 8 o'clock, maybe
have dinner if she had the time. That's fantastic, she said, what a
piece of luck, I look forward to it tremendously, and with a gay
smile and a wave to both me and Jeremy, off she went. And I watched
the legs as she went. Oh man, oh man.
Yes, and I reserve the right to describe her
smile as 'gay'. I choose to ignore those of a certain sexual
inclination who have purloined the word and twisted its meaning
into something else, presumably because they don't like the
perfectly lucid and accurate word 'homosexual', which is
nevertheless what they are.
"I would be grateful," said Jeremy, "if,
although presumably against your inclination, we could go back to
my office and finalize our conversation, one way or the other.
Whichever way it turns out to be. I shouldn't think it will take
more than another 10 minutes or so."
You can imagine, I dare say, the state I was
in. First of all, it was a concrete fact that I was in the presence
of a deranged person suffering from mind-blowing delusions.
Mind-blowing ones. Perhaps it was Jeremy Parker himself, escaped
from his mental institution. And at the same time, it would also
appear to be a concrete fact that he was in possession of some
extraordinary powers, telepathic powers, with the ability of being
able to steer others into performing certain actions and saying
certain things. An amazing state-of-the-art hypnotist perhaps. And
a person with those kinds of powers had to be a dangerous person, a
very dangerous person indeed. I didn't even want to think about
what events such a person could trigger if he felt like it,
wandering around as he was on the loose.
It was clear to me that I should really
report him to both the police and the appropriate health
authorities as soon as I possibly could. Like now . But at
the same time, what could I tell them? That he says he is an
extraterrestrial and that he can make people do things? And if he
denies the former and refuses to demonstrate the latter, and states
that he is a normal, law-abiding citizen and a respected
businessman to boot and can prove both, what then? Perhaps I would be the one to be taken into custody, or worse, perhaps he
could even sue me for slander. Or, God or Allah forbid, perhaps he
could even make me do and say things which could get me into
very serious trouble. If he were able to, of course. Because,
despite all evidence to the contrary, my brain was still attempting
to arrive at a conclusion as to whether or not it had factually
experienced what it had.
Confused is a poor word to describe my
feelings. I am not your jittery type of person, but I was, no
arguing, feeling jittery. Disordered. But I decided I wouldn't mind
asking him a couple of additional questions before I cleared off,
never to return, never again, no way thank you very much. Fun is
fun,
objects—but they can't change it and there's nothing they can do
about it, and it's just the way things are, tough luck. Nor can we
men change it either, but then nor do we want to, there is no tough
luck for us, no sir, not at all.
When I refer to 'we men', I am of course
referring only to men such as myself. I agree that there are other
kinds, including homosexuals.
As she approached us, she suddenly looked up
at me, her face broke into a huge wide smile—incredibly white teeth
as well, another turn-on—and she said, "Hi, great to see you again.
How are things?"
"Uh…hi…do we know each other? I'm terribly
sorry… but I don't seem to recall…"
"Oh that's understandable, "she replied, "we
were in a group of people and it was only for a short while. My
name is Caroline. But I'm glad we've met again, there is something
you could maybe help me on. Might we perhaps meet for a coffee or
something? I don't suppose today would be possible, would it,
sometime this evening?"
Well, by chance it would be possible,
I told her. I gave her the hotel phone number and my name and my
room number and suggested we meet in the lobby at 8 o'clock, maybe
have dinner if she had the time. That's fantastic, she said, what a
piece of luck, I look forward to it tremendously, and with a gay
smile and a wave to both me and Jeremy, off she went. And I watched
the legs as she went. Oh man, oh man.
Yes, and I reserve the right to describe her
smile as 'gay'. I choose to ignore those of a certain sexual
inclination who have purloined the word and twisted its meaning
into something else, presumably because they don't like the
perfectly lucid and accurate word 'homosexual', which is
nevertheless what they are.
"I would be grateful," said Jeremy, "if,
although presumably against your inclination, we could go back to
my office and finalize our conversation, one way or the other.
Whichever way it turns out to be. I shouldn't think it will take
more than another 10 minutes or so."
You can imagine, I dare say, the state I was
in. First of all, it was a concrete fact that I was in the presence
of a deranged person suffering from mind-blowing delusions.
Mind-blowing ones. Perhaps it was Jeremy Parker himself, escaped
from his mental institution. And at the same time, it would also
appear to be a concrete fact that he was in possession of some
extraordinary powers, telepathic powers, with the ability of being
able to steer others into performing certain actions and saying
certain things. An amazing state-of-the-art hypnotist perhaps. And
a person with those kinds of powers had to be a dangerous person, a
very dangerous person indeed. I didn't even want to think about
what events such a person could trigger if he felt like it,
wandering around as he was on the loose.
It was clear to me that I should really
report him to both the police and the appropriate health
authorities as soon as I possibly could. Like now . But at
the same time, what could I tell them? That he says he is an
extraterrestrial and that he can make people do things? And if he
denies the former and refuses to demonstrate the latter, and states
that he is a normal, law-abiding citizen and a respected
businessman to boot and can prove both, what then? Perhaps I would be the one to be taken into custody, or worse, perhaps he
could even sue me for slander. Or, God or Allah forbid, perhaps he
could even make me do and say things which could get me into
very serious trouble. If he were able to, of course. Because,
despite all evidence to the contrary, my brain was still attempting
to arrive at a conclusion as to whether or not it had factually
experienced what it had.
Confused is a poor word to describe my
feelings. I am not your jittery type of person, but I was, no
arguing, feeling jittery. Disordered. But I decided I wouldn't mind
asking him a couple of additional questions before I cleared off,
never to return, never again, no way thank you very much. Fun is
fun,
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