Fanfic 03:
Ex and the galaxy
". and when's all been said and done,
to be able to say 'thank you
for showing me what love is,
for breaking my heart,
and for introducing me to that cute best friend of yours."
The big trouble about living in the milky way is that it's too danged small. I mean. alright, it's not all that small - we have nine planets and a sun and there are six billion people living on Earth, but in the greater scheme of things, it's no bigger to Q than to that speck of S. Aureus on your lab partner's nose. As someone once mentioned, the scary thing about living in the milky way is that there's not enough space. There's enough for one, for two, maybe for a family without children, but there's certainly not enough space for all your exes.
Take a college campus for example. If you're a sexually active human being you're bound to rack up a decent number of people you get intimately acquainted with over some time. Worse still, if you actually have brains and end up in one of those elitist programmes where you're expected to. well, in the words of the Government, "interact." It would all be a really good idea if we were asexual and all we ever wanted to do was study and mug and read inane O-chem texts, and thankfully there are some out there who are still like that, but for the sexually active human being, an elite programme would suffice as a nice Cardassian minefield. Look one way, and see one over there, look the other way, and see the other one over there. If you're unfortunate, you look one way and see both of them talking together.
You hope for the world that they're only exchanging notes.
Over time you realise that all this interaction rubbish goes down the drain. When you look at people you don't attach names to them. it's easier not to. The girl in the corner with the nice lips and the nice legs becomes 'the girl who perpetually has her hand on that boy's thigh in Indian class.' The girl with the shadow of moustache below her nose becomes 'the girl with the boyfriend who pops into class to visit her because writing teacher's always late.' The girl sitting quietly in the blue shirt becomes 'the girl I rubbed the skin off but still couldn't get off.' And the boy on the cushion can be seen as 'muahahaha. let's take that as a warning never to get a girlfriend with a big mouth.' But then, according to our forefathers, a big mouth is symptomatic of a big.
Stubborn pussies and weird tits aside (this refers to ex no. 1), perhaps the best thing to do on a measly speck of a galaxy is to have your fun, shag and pretend that nothing ever happened. If not morally, it'd be far easier when it comes to nomenclature. Ex 1, Ex 2, Ex 3 simply become. now. that girl over there's cute, but have I done her before? After all, the vast majority of us are old enough to be considered consenting adults, and as I said to a cute girl this morning, "you might never believe in the concept of the platonic sexual relationship, but twenty-year-olds will be twenty-year-olds, and hostel rooms will always be hostel rooms."
And sooner or later the question arises. After the Ex, what comes next? Considering the fact that the milky way is freaking small, complete oblivion would be a bad idea. that big bad person's bound to show up sometime. If not on another guy's arm, which would be earth-shattering, then perhaps on a girl. Or in the most extreme of cases, you might notice a suspicious bulge in her shopping bag. So what then, is the secret behind becoming friends with your ex?
A theoretically brilliant idea would be to hit on the Ex's best friend. I mean. if it were never meant to work out with this person you actually got attached to, then maybe it'd be a far better idea with someone who's vaguely reminiscent of her, but in a different body. Obviously the clichéd way of going about this would be to pour out your sorrows to her, make her pity you, win her heart, and then shag her. It doesn't work these days. they're too smart. Ask her for a no-strings-attached threesome.
Maybe in this day and age the old relationship thing is just a myth. Too many possibilities, too many alternatives, more deviant practices than holes in a cube of bad cheddar cheese. Maybe the best thing left to do is to keep a two or three close relationships, along the time-honoured lines of platonic/non-platonic, horny/non-horny, exclusive/non-exclusive, straight/not-straight, and human/non-human.
But I am a lucky bastard; I have the best of all worlds. Ex1 is the nice sexually inadequate virgin madonna who's really good for copying Indian notes and working on short papers with, although her tastes in male friends now is seriously lacking. Ex2 is platonic-non-exclusive-semi-straight- hopefullyhuman-sexuallywarped.
Ex2's best friend is the one who'll hopefully turn out to be non-platonic, non-exclusive, totally-straight, possibly-human, and. well. I'll leave out the last factor for a bit. But if it's any indication of the way things may just turn out, she's currently adverse to the idea of a threesome, but definitely not adverse to the idea with two plus another with a headcrest.
And to top it all off, there's always the person who proposes to you. Traditionally in land-short Singapore it was HDB-flats, but in today where the speed of porn downloading rules, it's "I love your transfer rate, can I marry you?" For the record, he's a guy, he's attached, and I don't even like him in any way.
Then again, in time to come, we'll be bound to travel further and further throughout the universe. And as diverse as the other lifeforms around us are, are the ways of defining new relationships, and are the ways of shagging them. No one a hundred years ago would have thought that nibbling on a headcrest could drive the most boring Minbari off her big behind. Nor would anyone ever have imagined that horny Asian guys with their ample. would flatly refuse the advances of a physically superb borg in preference to a human with a bad voice.
Then again, how many shags can you have on a starship?
Who knows?
The big trouble about living in the milky way is that it's too danged small. I mean. alright, it's not all that small - we have nine planets and a sun and there are six billion people living on Earth, but in the greater scheme of things, it's no bigger to Q than to that speck of S. Aureus on your lab partner's nose. As someone once mentioned, the scary thing about living in the milky way is that there's not enough space. There's enough for one, for two, maybe for a family without children, but there's certainly not enough space for all your exes.
Take a college campus for example. If you're a sexually active human being you're bound to rack up a decent number of people you get intimately acquainted with over some time. Worse still, if you actually have brains and end up in one of those elitist programmes where you're expected to. well, in the words of the Government, "interact." It would all be a really good idea if we were asexual and all we ever wanted to do was study and mug and read inane O-chem texts, and thankfully there are some out there who are still like that, but for the sexually active human being, an elite programme would suffice as a nice Cardassian minefield. Look one way, and see one over there, look the other way, and see the other one over there. If you're unfortunate, you look one way and see both of them talking together.
You hope for the world that they're only exchanging notes.
Over time you realise that all this interaction rubbish goes down the drain. When you look at people you don't attach names to them. it's easier not to. The girl in the corner with the nice lips and the nice legs becomes 'the girl who perpetually has her hand on that boy's thigh in Indian class.' The girl with the shadow of moustache below her nose becomes 'the girl with the boyfriend who pops into class to visit her because writing teacher's always late.' The girl sitting quietly in the blue shirt becomes 'the girl I rubbed the skin off but still couldn't get off.' And the boy on the cushion can be seen as 'muahahaha. let's take that as a warning never to get a girlfriend with a big mouth.' But then, according to our forefathers, a big mouth is symptomatic of a big.
Stubborn pussies and weird tits aside (this refers to ex no. 1), perhaps the best thing to do on a measly speck of a galaxy is to have your fun, shag and pretend that nothing ever happened. If not morally, it'd be far easier when it comes to nomenclature. Ex 1, Ex 2, Ex 3 simply become. now. that girl over there's cute, but have I done her before? After all, the vast majority of us are old enough to be considered consenting adults, and as I said to a cute girl this morning, "you might never believe in the concept of the platonic sexual relationship, but twenty-year-olds will be twenty-year-olds, and hostel rooms will always be hostel rooms."
And sooner or later the question arises. After the Ex, what comes next? Considering the fact that the milky way is freaking small, complete oblivion would be a bad idea. that big bad person's bound to show up sometime. If not on another guy's arm, which would be earth-shattering, then perhaps on a girl. Or in the most extreme of cases, you might notice a suspicious bulge in her shopping bag. So what then, is the secret behind becoming friends with your ex?
A theoretically brilliant idea would be to hit on the Ex's best friend. I mean. if it were never meant to work out with this person you actually got attached to, then maybe it'd be a far better idea with someone who's vaguely reminiscent of her, but in a different body. Obviously the clichéd way of going about this would be to pour out your sorrows to her, make her pity you, win her heart, and then shag her. It doesn't work these days. they're too smart. Ask her for a no-strings-attached threesome.
Maybe in this day and age the old relationship thing is just a myth. Too many possibilities, too many alternatives, more deviant practices than holes in a cube of bad cheddar cheese. Maybe the best thing left to do is to keep a two or three close relationships, along the time-honoured lines of platonic/non-platonic, horny/non-horny, exclusive/non-exclusive, straight/not-straight, and human/non-human.
But I am a lucky bastard; I have the best of all worlds. Ex1 is the nice sexually inadequate virgin madonna who's really good for copying Indian notes and working on short papers with, although her tastes in male friends now is seriously lacking. Ex2 is platonic-non-exclusive-semi-straight- hopefullyhuman-sexuallywarped.
Ex2's best friend is the one who'll hopefully turn out to be non-platonic, non-exclusive, totally-straight, possibly-human, and. well. I'll leave out the last factor for a bit. But if it's any indication of the way things may just turn out, she's currently adverse to the idea of a threesome, but definitely not adverse to the idea with two plus another with a headcrest.
And to top it all off, there's always the person who proposes to you. Traditionally in land-short Singapore it was HDB-flats, but in today where the speed of porn downloading rules, it's "I love your transfer rate, can I marry you?" For the record, he's a guy, he's attached, and I don't even like him in any way.
Then again, in time to come, we'll be bound to travel further and further throughout the universe. And as diverse as the other lifeforms around us are, are the ways of defining new relationships, and are the ways of shagging them. No one a hundred years ago would have thought that nibbling on a headcrest could drive the most boring Minbari off her big behind. Nor would anyone ever have imagined that horny Asian guys with their ample. would flatly refuse the advances of a physically superb borg in preference to a human with a bad voice.
Then again, how many shags can you have on a starship?
Who knows?