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.His body crashes into me over and over.I think this must be what erosion feels like, a slow effacement, waves slapping against land, taking a little bit of earth with it each time it pulls away again.The Doctor’s face floats above me, his eyes wincing, his teeth gritted.Sweat beads on his forehead.I pull his face down and kiss him while he moves inside me.His dick throbs inside me, swelling, pushing my cunt apart as it grows even bigger, moving blindly, searching, trying to find me, the me he’s hidden.But the Doctor won’t find him under all this woman.Even though his body presses against me more desperately, even though he bites at my shoulder and squeezes my left breast hard enough to hurt, I feel protected.I’m usually the one who does the fucking.But here I am, on the bottom, raising my hips to meet his thrusting.In the end I even cry out, “Oh God,” as I’m coming.I haven’t said that word in years.God, I mean.And I notice now my voice has changed.I’ve heard my voice played back to me before, and it never sounded like the voice I heard inside my head, my secret voice, the one no one but I ever heard.It’s like that, but even more different.Isound like a girl, all soft and cottony.“Hello,” I say to the air.“Nice to meet you, dear.”The Doctor is asleep beside me, his chest rising and falling, his lips parted for breathing.I’m ready to go again, but he looks worn out already.I stick the tip of my index finger between his lips, just barely, and tap his two front teeth.He doesn’t wake up.I put my hands to my throat and—guess what—no Adam’s apple.We spend several days having sex and dozing.At one point I climb on top of him, knees straddling his waist, and lower myself onto him, taking him in slowly.Oh, what luck, what incredible luck this is.I put my hands on his chest and grind into him.He says, “I can see you in there, little boy blue.I know you’re in there.” He calls me little boy blue because of my eyes and the usual state of my emotions.He reaches up to clasp a hand around my mouth and chin, but I push his hand away.I ignore him.My hair falls over his face.I don’t even see him any longer.I’m concentrating on this body, how it feels and how it’s working.I’d grown so used to the old one, and the positions with which it was familiar.I feel like I’m alone here.The Doctor is just another piece of furniture.Or it’s more like it’s me and this body, this fabulous woman around me.The two of us are figuring things out together, laughing a little, because sex is funny when you think about it.Too many people, like the Doctor, think sex is embarrassing.They pay people like me to do the things they’re ashamed to ask of their lovers.I stay for a week before he grows bored with this fantasy and tells me, “All right.You can go now.” He jacks into my wrist node once more to tip me, but there aren’t any fingers lingering on mine afterwards.There isn’t any moment or shock of recognition.One week of work and I’m set for months.No worries.As he escorts me out, he gives me the other needle.“I suppose next time we meet, you’ll be a pretty boy again, Lucius.” He pats my back like a friend—like a father—and ushers me into the elevator.He wants me gone because he’s starting to feel guilty and he probably has a patient waiting to see him and he can’t concentrate on this patient or even himself when he’s feeling guilty.He’ll come for me again when he’s forgotten that feeling.Before the doors close, I take one long look at the women holding up the ceiling, their hair curling around their shoulders.Caryatids, he calls them.Tired but pretty.I don’t think I could carry all that weight by myself either.I walk down the avenue towards the Miro District.I’m wearing a silver evening gown that’ll make Petra salivate.High heels that match even.When I reach the square and see the girls gathered around the stone fountain, a few notice me.They look up and wave me over, so welcoming and they don’t even recognize me.I move towards them.I open my purse to make sure the needle is in there, is real and not imagined.Then I snap the purse shut and join the girls.For a while, at least.You know, safety in numbers.A Beginner’s Guide to Survival Before, During, and After the ApocalypseFirst, remember what it means to be human.Even when your country has turned against you, even when some other part of the world has been decimated (by bomb, by terrorist cells, by forcible entry and removal of dissidents to dark and forgotten chambers, by hurricane or tornado or tsunami), even then remember that you can retain your humanity if you continue to be humane.Despite that, you will have certain struggles, like finding work when you’re not the right sort (too young, too old, too female, too ethnic, too queer), or like that time you went to the grocery store and the cashier refused to touch your money because you were one of them: one of those Other People.Stay calm.If you are not a part of a normalized group, your chances of being strung up for giving the wrong look or replying with the wrong tone might be more than enough reason for a society gone wrong to cast you out even further, or perhaps kill you.Instead, say “Thank you.” Say, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.” Say, “You’re absolutely right, I’m sorry.I wasn’t thinking.I’m sorry.” Say it again: “I’m sorry.I’m sorry.I’m sorry.”Wear the requisite uniform.Brush the dust off your shoulders and polish your shoes.Look like you mean this pose you’re taking.You love this country more than you love life itself.Practice these phrases: “I am a patriot of the first order,” and, “God has shown me the light,” and, maybe the most important one, “If you don’t like it here, go somewhere else.” This last one is most effective in proving your loyalty.Do not hesitate to degrade your fellow man if it means your life or his is at stake.Go to underground meetings in the back rooms of bars and coffee shops.It will not be like the 1960s.There is no free love, just fear, fear, fear.Despair reigns over these conversations, and occasionally you find yourself trying to annihilate your desperation by taking other meeting-goers to bed after too many drinks
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