The Future Utopia Ch. 05

Chapter 5: That Time I Got to Feel the Twins Making Out with Each Other

Over the next few weeks of my visit to the future, the twins show me everything they think is necessary or interesting or just fun to do. When I first arrived after my accidental time-leap, I didn't see any futuristic traffic in the city, like flying cars or maglev trains. That's because people get to other areas within the city's vast canopy just by walking through certain doors or archways with the right kind of focused intention. (The twins' only explanation for this: "It's all connected.") Once I get the hang of it, we start ranging farther out from the city centre where the Timesync research lab is.

It turns out there are different terrains in each "borough" or "suburb" of the city. For instance, there are the famous showering groves that Sunni invited me to, which are in a section of the city that's more like a rainforest, with tall trees and a sky of gentle, misty clouds. We don't use any shampoo or soap to wash, but somehow I feel more refreshed than ever after playing in the showering groves. For the first time, I feel comfortable enough to take off all my clothes and go fully naked, delighting in the cool patter of droplets across my bared skin and the steamy tropical heat.

I also get more adventurous with food, trying things the twins offer me without having any idea what they are. Some things are clearly based on fruits or grains, like I'd been eating up to that point, but other things...well, I'll talk more about that in a bit. For now, I'll just say that after each meal, I feel satisfied and somehow healthier. One thing I notice is that I don't get heartburn from anything I eat, which is rare at home. Even bananas give me heartburn, so eating different food when I travel can be a trial. The food here makes me feel like a plant that's finally getting the right fertilizer; like I'm not just hanging on in my arid little pot but actively thriving in the landscape where I belong. I swear even my hair seems shinier, and my perpetually dry hands feel softer after bathing in the lush air of the tropical showering groves. I'd say I didn't ask for any of this...but in a way, I did. Standing there in that cold, barren park in Mississauga wishing to be anywhere but there in the middle of the fucking pandemic, somehow I reached out and grabbed onto exactly what I needed. Now, experiencing what the city has to offer in complete safety and freedom, I find my initial suspicions about it giving way to cautious gratitude, and then astonished, relieved joy.

So here I am, sitting contentedly with the twins on the roof of one of the arcades after a particularly fun day of exploring the city. From here we can see all the tiled and arched rooftops spreading around us like a formal garden, interspersed with open squares and little hills, natural groves and ponds. The sky is doing its evening dance of colours, fading from opal to emerald to sapphire blue. (Never pitch black, though, not even in the deepest part of the night.) The heat of day has faded to a pleasant coolness, just enough that I throw a light, silky blanket over my legs and the twins.' I just started going fully 'au naturel' all the time the day before, and I'm still getting used to it.

"Robyn," Raine says as we look up at the sky, "we'd like to ask you something."

Something in her tone tells me this is no casual query. I perk up.

"Yeah?"

"It's nice sharing this blanket, isn't it? Feeling the same silky sensation, all three of us at once." Sunni asks.

"Mm-hmm, really nice."

"We thought that perhaps you would like to share other sensations with us, too."

"We know you're asexual," Raine adds quickly. "And we aren't asking you to have sex with us. But on that first night, when you shared the way you do it, and every time since then," (I admit, I've let the city service me several more times) "we are always astonished by how well you craft the experiences of pleasure and pain that you want to have, and how clearly you convey it to others, even though it was taboo to admit you like that sort of thing in your time."

I flush with pride at their compliments.

"That means a lot, guys. I've really opened up lately. I have you to thank for getting me started."

"No, it's a gift to us, Robyn. It's something we cherish. It's the highest aspiration of this city, of this time, to discover what it is you truly desire and do it. And we want to share our own discovery with you. We think you would..."

The two look at each other in silent communication, then finish:

"...understand us better than most here."

I cock my head at that one.

"Why don't people understand you here? Aren't you part of the whole intimate empathy thing?"

"Yes, of course. But you probably don't realize that being a couple, the way we are, is a bit...unusual in this time."

"How so?"

"To be blunt, we're monogamous. Exclusively monogamous. We don't have sex with other people. And we don't share our sexual experiences with others, even empathically. We're very private that way."

"You know that's totally normal in my time, right? That's, like, practically the standard: the heterosexual monogamous couple who doesn't do anything naughty in public."

"In your time, yes. But in our time, monogamy is not the...how can I say it...not the most practical way to live. When it comes to long-term relationships, it's much more common, now, for small groups of say, four to seven people, to bond together like a family, but with no necessary blood relation."

"Or at least triads," Sunni puts in.

"Yes, small groups or triads. They're more stable bases."

"And let me guess, they're all queer," I suggest. "So being a straight couple is the new minority."

"Well..." the two look at each other a bit helplessly. "There's no real concept of 'queer' or 'straight' here, not like you know it. There are too many kinds of bodies, and bodies are very easily changed, as you've seen. So, the groupings can be made up of people with a mix of different...you would say 'genders,' or all the same gender if it happens to go that way. 'Gender' and 'sexual orientation' were important to people in your time, but they no longer matter so much as ways of making identity or connections. People just are who they are, and love who they want. What does still matter, in a way, is the number of people and their roles in the relationship."

"Why? That seems judgemental. I thought there was no judgement around sex here."

"It's not a judgement so much as a practicality," Raine explains. "Being in an exclusive couple puts a lot of pressure on one person to provide all the satisfaction the other could want. It can, and does, lead to break-ups, where one person ends the relationship and leaves the other broken-hearted. Even here, there can be unhappy endings to relationships. We're still human and we still feel fear, jealousy, sadness, and anger, which are all necessary emotions in their ways. We're just better supported by our community and by the city, so we can heal more easily from the emotional wounds life deals than in your time. And of course, the city also lets us see our partners' perspectives and empathize with them, so we don't often blame or hate our lovers even after we part ways."

"Even if there is hurt," Sunni adds, "it hurts less with a group dynamic. If one person leaves the group, or even dies, the remaining people still have the support of all the others to get through their grief together. New people can join the group as old ones leave. The sorrow of loss is minimized when you don't have to face it alone. The same goes for dealing with jealousy or anger. There is always someone from your inner group to help you through it--someone who understands."

Raine nods and continues Sunni's tale, saying, "In fact, some people don't even have a fixed relationship group. They just open themselves up to the whole populace and spend their time with whoever is most compatible for as long as it's convenient. You might call them 'pansexual' in your time. But it's about more than just sex. It's about the bonds these people help build in our society. Maybe they're more like what you used to call 'social media confluencers.'"

"You mean social media influencers?" I interrupt. They both nod, and Sunni jumps in enthusiastically.

"Yeah! Influencers. But really, for our time, confluencers would be a better word. They don't try to influence people do things, like watch a video or buy a product. They join them together in a confluence. A flowing together. People who can do that are the ideal city-dwellers because they're connected to the entire city, by being open to everyone. They're the most inclusive, and the most included in what happens here. They bring people together in harmony through their boundless love. They love everyone, just like the city does. They embody the best parts of life here."

"That sounds nice, I guess. But you two are different. You're an exclusive couple. Why?" I ask.

The twins look at each other. Raine speaks first.

"Because we're in love with each other and no one else. We fell in love while watching the film and television shows of your time. Especially those that show close, committed relationships between two people."

"We like the ones with happy endings."

I pause to let this sink in.

"Are you saying you got together because of rom-coms? That's actually...um..." I want to say it's terrible because most of those movies are in no way realistic models for actual relationships, but I don't want to hurt them when they've opened up to me.

"We know they weren't real," Raine says wryly. "Many people in our time point out that all the big 'problems' and 'obstacles' in those movies are absurd, because they could so easily be solved if the main characters only realized they can have more than one romantic partner at the same time. But we saw something different in their visions of devoted coupling. A kind of...you might say 'forbidden fruit.'"

"Not that monogamy is forbidden here," Sunni clarifies. "Free will is important to us and we celebrate all kinds of pleasure. So people can, and do, have monogamous relationships, both in the city and outside of it. Actually, you met some of them at the party, your first night here. They're fans of twentieth century media, like we are. They like the twentieth century style of romance. But there aren't that many of us, compared to the entire population. For us, being in a couple is..."

"Monogamy is your fetish!" I say, suddenly getting it. "It's kind of weird to everyone else, but you and a few of your friends like it anyways. You like it because it's weird and old and it's collected this aura of taboo eroticism, like people in 2021 getting off on Victorian corsets and elbow-length gloves. You like it because you've transformed it into something much deeper and stranger than it was originally. You've made it your own."

I think back on all those old romcoms and try to see them the way the twins do: not as stereotypical cliches or repressive formulas, but as a way to feel the dark, thrilling emotional twist of the kink: the pleasure of doing what you shouldn't do, or at least what most sensible people don't want to do. I imagine them pressed close to each other, watching those movies like they're sharing a secret. What could be more exciting than having a secret romance in a time when sex is completely public and open?

Catching the delicious sensations I'm imagining, they nod, relieved. Raine continues,

"Inspired by those old films and shows, we made ourselves this way: the perfect companions for each other. We can only be pleased by each other. We match in just the right ways, not identical--"

"--we're not genetically twins, you know--"

"--but together, a matched set, with pieces that match no other set, for as long as we both shall live."

"That's beautiful," I say honestly. "And it explains so much about you."

On impulse, I bow my head to them with my palms together and add,

"The kink in me honours the kink in you."

I mean it jokingly, but they seem awestruck, as if I've spoken a sacred truth. Again they start speaking together/just slightly apart.

"We knew you would get it! We aren't shunned/judged for being together, like maybe you were. But we can't be embraced here because we hold ourselves back. We want someone to understand/recognize us. You do that, more than anyone else from the city/our time!"

Catching their excitement, I reach out and take their hands.

"You know what? I thought I came to this time for myself. To discover who I am, and I guess to escape from my life back then. But maybe I came here for you, too. Maybe part of the reason I got timesynced with this era, and not any other time, was because as I was reaching out to the future, you two were also reaching out across time, looking for someone like me in the past."

The twins look at me with tears standing out in their dark, shining eyes.

"That's so romantic!"

"It's just like a movie!"

I hug them, because what else can I do? But even that much contact with their naked bodies makes me remember who, and what, I am. I sit back and ask,

"So if I'm not physically going to sleep with you, what do you want me to do? Will this be like what I do when I open myself up to the city, but in reverse?"

"Yeah, something like that. We would open ourselves to you, and if you like you can feel our pleasure along with us. If it bothers you to feel penetration, you can dial it back or close yourself off from that particular sensation."

"That sounds good. But...how do I 'dial it back'? I get the impression that people are doing it when they ride along with me, if the pain gets to be more than they can bear, but I don't know how to do it myself."

"Oh, we can show you how!" Sunni enthuses.

"Let's try it with something non-sexual first," Raine says more pragmatically. "How about food?"

As one, the twins stand up. I join them, gathering up the silken blanket that's covered us the whole time. It's warm with their body-heat, and for once that doesn't bother me.

I follow them down to a place I think of as a "cafeteria." Granted, there are no serving counters, kitchens, or staff in the cafeterias of the future, but it's still an area set up for convenient group dining. There are round tables of various sizes and heights, and comfortable chairs at different levels (or mats and cushions, for the lowest tables). All you have to do to get food is ask for something you'd like to eat, wait a few minutes, then open a door in one of the many columns flanking the tables. The dish will be on a little shelf inside, created by the city's energy-matter conversion, which runs through the columns like electricity--or, maybe more accurately, like blood through the vessels of its body. When you're done eating, you can put the plates and utensils back in, and the city will reconvert them back into energy that can be used again and again. (Human waste is recycled in the same way, so really it takes less energy than you'd think for the city to support its population.)

I should add that some people do like to cook in the future, so there are actual restaurants where you can eat things made by chefs with ingredients produced by the city, or even sourced from outside. They say the food there is better--or at least, more creative--but there's a wait-list because it's all free and the restaurants can't accommodate everyone who'd want to go each day. So, I haven't been able to get into one yet. But anyways, the regular cafeteria food is already more delicious than anything I've had at home, so I'm not complaining.

It's not the time of day we'd usually eat, being full night by now, but I gamely sit down with them and watch as they order something I've never heard of. When it comes, it doesn't look like anything I'd enjoy. It's basically a pile of orange jelly cubes, but it smells savoury and spicy, like curried Jell-O.

"This is one of our favourites," Raine says. "It doesn't fit your palette profile so we haven't offered it to you. But we'd like you to experience it as we do."

I nod.

"First, open yourself up, the way you do when you're..."

"Ok, I get it," I say. I lean back in my chair. It's actually kind of hard to do when I'm not in a state of ecstatic surrender. Erotic submission is normally what helps me let go of all my anxious, self-conscious defensiveness. But as I imagine that state of pure surrender, I can feel myself relax, letting down my barriers. It helps that I'm doing it with the twins, and we've just been having a close, personal conversation.

"Very good," Raine says softly.

"We can feel you!" Sunni adds.

"Now, we're going to open ourselves to you. Do you mind if we hold hands the first time? It will help you focus in just on us, and not pick up on anyone else here who may be sharing their meal with distant friends."

I take their hands, one in each. They instruct me on what to do next.

"Close your eyes. Focus only on what you can smell and taste."

I direct my attention to those senses. I can smell their favourite dish, which as I've mentioned has a smell kind of like curry, but with a more savoury mix of spices rather than sweet aromatic ones, and with an underlying funk of fermentation. Before I didn't like it much, but now it takes on a different quality. For a second, I feel like I'm smelling roast turkey at Christmas. It doesn't actually smell anything like turkey, but it has an emotional resonance of excitement and mouth-watering anticipation for a special treat. Now I'm picking it up as a rich and unctuous dish that you wouldn't want to have all the time, but eagerly look forward to during a holiday. This is how they feel about it, I realize. They don't eat this all the time, but when they do, they're excited for it.

They take the first bite together, and I get a phantom sensation of a texture exactly like Jell-O or very firm-set jelly. They giggle together suddenly and Sunni says,

"You expect this texture to be sweet! We're getting an echo of what you think it should taste like. It's ticklish!"

"Yeah, this is really weird!" I laugh. "It feels like a twentieth-century dish we call Jell-O, but it's not sweet at all. It's really savoury. Umami, that's the word. It's spicy too. Normally I don't like this kind of flavour so much, but for you two...you really like it! It's delicious!"

My mouth is watering now, and my stomach growls loudly.

"Can I try eating it? Like, with my own mouth?" I ask.

"Sure! Do you want to try eating it along with us, or totally on your own?" Raine asks.

"Both," I decide.

First, I try it with them. It tastes just as wonderful as it smelled. It's like the essences of turkey pot pie, miso soup, hot Thai curry, and a touch of fish sauce were distilled into a perfectly balanced gel-cube. It's craveable in every possible way. I wish people at home in my time could taste it.

The twins call in a round of drinks--a mild, neutral tea served room-temperature--and let go of my hands to sip them. I follow suit. As I do, I feel the empathic bond between us fade.

"Now have some tea and taste it again, without us." Raine suggests.

I take a sip of tea, then have another bite of the Umami Cube. That's all it takes before I'm gulping my tea like a carp.

"Hot! Hot! Ugh, it's spicyyyy!" I wrinkle up my nose. "And it tastes the way something rotten smells. No offense."

"None taken. As we said, this dish doesn't suit your palette at all."

"But does it ever suit yours! Seriously, my dudes, that was incredible! Does everyone in the future do this all the time?!"

"Oh, sometimes," Raine says. "Most of us still like to taste on our own. But it's very common in the restaurants to dine through the chef's palette. You wouldn't believe how some of them perceive flavours. The best are virtuosos, like the symphony conductors of your time, using ingredients as their musical tones and the diners as their instruments. Anyone can tune into a diner's taste experiences, of course, but it's better to be there yourself. Then you become part of the symphony, too."