Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2000 19:15:14 -0800 (PST)
From: JT Michcock <jtmichcock@yahoo.com>
Subject: Man Forward (M/M) (Sci-Fi)

This story is a sequel to "The Choice," another work of mine that appears
on the ASSGM archive.  You don't need to read that story before reading
this, but it would probably help if you read it afterward for some
additional background information.  This is broadly defined as science
fiction, although I keep the jargon under control (for the most part).

The usual warnings apply.  If you are less than 18, read the sanitized
version of "The Choice" that's out there.  If you do not want to read
sexually explicit material, stop here.  You have been warned.

There are certain real names and places used within the text.  Any
resemblance between these fictionalized persons/locations and real
persons/locations is purely coincidental.  No, I have never been to
Uniontown, Pennsylvania.

This story is the sole property of the author and copyright is hereby
claimed.  All rights reserved.  Permission is granted to the ASSGM and
Nifty archives to maintain this story as part of their free archive
service.  Any other use is strictly prohibited without the signed, written
consent of Major League Baseb...er, me.


Man Forward, 1 of 21 (M/M oral anal)
by JT Michcock

Chapter 1: The Green Faerie

       My adventure started near the end of 1999 and ended more than a
hundred years later.  This is a chronicle of how my life was changed; this
is the story of a trip I took into the future.  Included in my story are
some of the interesting people I met and the things I saw.  It took me a
long time to figure out everything.  But I understand it now.  I hope
whoever reads this will understand too.

       My name is Chris Hoover.  I was born in November of 1977 and I was
halfway through my senior year at the time.  My major was "liberal arts,"
with a focus on English.  This basically meant I had no idea what I was
going to do after I graduated.  I had been hunting down a few sales
opportunities that seemed promising, mostly retail management stuff.  I
wasn't too worried.  I would find something; there were plenty of jobs
around.

       The events of that last day I spent in the twentieth century are
still vivid.  It was Saturday, December 18, 1999 and exams had just ended.
 It was party time for most of the other Loyola of Chicago kids and I was
no exception.  With all the end of millennium celebrations going on, a
party wasn't too difficult to find.  The following day I was going to be
packing up and heading home for Christmas break.  I was not looking
forward to having to deal with my family, particularly my brothers.  But
this night, I was going to enjoy myself.

       For most of the semester, I had been hooking up with a second year
medical student by the name of Ted Leahey.  We had met through the local
gay and lesbian student organization, the source of most of my social
activities.  On that Saturday, we had just come from the third party of
the day and decided just before midnight that we should have a little
private party of our own.  Both of our places were occupied by roommates.
Ted said he knew of a secluded part of the medical school where we could
have a little fun.  I tagged along eagerly, wanting more than anything to
get my hands on Ted's ass.

       "It's right here," said Ted, leading me by the hand.

       I looked down the basement corridor and a shudder went up my spine.


         "Gross Anatomy," was the name on the door.  I didn't have to be a
pre-med major to figure out what that meant.

       "Are you kidding?" I almost shrieked.  "That's where they keep the
dead bodies!"

       "It's all right," said Ted, "the bodies are all packed away for the
Christmas break."

       I followed hesitantly.  This was creepy.  As we went inside, I saw
row upon row of empty metal tables reflecting the bare lighting in the
room.  Lockers along the side looked well-scrubbed.  A slight smell of
embalming fluid filled the air.  I was starting to get a bit nauseous.

       "There's a lounge back here," said Ted as he led me past the
tables.  Going through another door, Ted flicked on a light switch and I
heard the hum of flourescent lighting as the room lit up.

       A couple of beds were along the far wall.  Carpeting on the floor
seemed nice enough.  This would be an okay place to have sex.

       "Med students come in here to nap during all-nighters," explained
Ted.  With this, he turned and took me into his arms.  I giggled slightly
as he wrapped his arm around my waist and took my mouth, his tongue
entering me.  I returned the favor and lunged my tongue into him, feeling
the outline of his teeth.

       Ted was a big man.  At six foot five and 210 pounds, he was all
over my five foot six and 140-pound frame in no time.  Dragging me over to
the bed, we flopped down together and began taking our clothes off.

       It wasn't too long before we were bare naked.  I squeezed my arms
around Ted, rubbing my smooth chest against his hairy mat, the sweat of
our bodies mingling.  Ted grabbed around my shoulders, bringing me closer
to him.  His muscular arms wrapped around me, the feel of his strong chest
against me, our lips all over each other . . . this was always my favorite
part of our lovemaking.  When he would hold me tightly, I felt so safe and
secure.

       Ted shifted his body so that he was lying flat on his back.  On top
of his massive frame, I began slowly moving downward on his body.  I
licked and lapped at Ted's chin and nipped at his Adam's apple, his body
breathing deeply as I moved my mouth onto his heaving chest.

       I moved over to his armpit and raised it, inhaling the dark musky
aroma emerging from the golden brown hairs before moving my tongue in to
lap at the sweat coated fur.  After filing my throat with his musky taste,
I moved in to the other pit, leaving it glistening with a mixture of
saliva and sweat.

       On top of his chest, I let my mouth and tongue taste his nipples,
bringing them both to erections.  Using my teeth, I bit lightly into the
flesh of the nub, the grunting noise emerging from my lover indicating the
mix of pleasure and pain as the sensitive nerve endings were stimulated.
My nostrils were filled with Ted's fur and his aroma.

       I trailed my tongue down his body, inserting it fully into his
belly button and working it over until it glistened.  I felt his tool, now
fully hardened and rubbing against my chest, waiting for me to attend to
its needs.

       Lowering my self on his body, I took Ted's eight inch cut tool in a
single thrust, feeling the cockhead against the back of my throat.  Ted
began thrusting upward, fucking my mouth with his tool.  He pistoned in
and out of me, his fleshy member pulsing against the roof of my mouth.
His breath was becoming more labored as his strokes increased in speed.
My nose was buried deep in the pubic bush that framed his cock and balls.

       Sensing Ted was getting a little too close, I released, letting his
hardened shaft breathe fresh air again.  My saliva covered his tool and I
licked and lapped at the underside, watching his head throb a bright red
as the blood pulsed upwards.

       I turned my attention to the plump ball sacs that had cushioned my
chin as I rode Ted's rod.  Taking the loose skin into my mouth, I cradled
and caressed each testicle with my teeth, feeling Ted's body shifting with
erotic uncertainty as I teased the most vulnerable part of his manhood.

       I lowered myself further.  Spreading Ted's legs farther apart, I
drove my tongue further into the divide, the hot musty odor of my lover
snaking into my nostrils.  I heard Ted moan his enjoyment of my mouth on
his crack.  I located the hole and drove my tongue in further, the muscles
in my mouth straining to achieve deeper penetration.  Licking and lapping,
I moved into the soft skin beyond, savoring the penetration.

       I felt Ted move upward.  Grabbing my shoulders with his two strong
hands, he brought me down on the bed.  In the darkened lighting, I saw his
lips wetted by his own desires, his eyes half closed from both pleasure
and anticipation.  Laying on my front, I arched my ass submissively.
Behind me, I heard Ted unwrap the plastic covering one of the many condoms
I had brought.  My hole twitched in anticipation of being taken.

       I felt the tip of Ted's cock rubbing against my ass crack.
Teasingly, he allowed his rod to press against the crack, getting me hard.
 I reached down to start working on my own prick.   Ted's cock was
replaced by his hand.  He reached in to feel for my hole.  His finger
stroked lightly as he found the pucker.  He teased it open as I felt it
expand to allow him entry.  I was soon pleased to feel his finger moving
further into my hole.  I murmured my approval as he proceeded to pump his
digit in and out of me, the walls of my ass gripping and encouraging it
further into my body.

       Removing his finger, Ted moved into position.  Pinpointing his
target, he pressed the head of his cock into the small opening.  Slick
with lubricant, I felt the head slowly enter me, parting the hole and
widening the opening.  Ted grabbed me by the shoulders.  Powering his
hips, he plowed into me.

       Within seconds, Ted found his rhythm, moving in and out of my
well-lubricated hole, his cock digging deep into my intestines.  My body
began to match his thrusts.  My hips started bucking to urge his tool
forward into me.

       Ted groaned and hissed his pleasure.  As saliva began to leak from
the side of his mouth and drip all over me, I felt the soak of his sweaty
body cover my groin and chest.  With a violent grunt, he unloaded, his
tongue licking his reddened lips as his trembling body discharged
forcefully.  With this, he collapsed on top of me, his sweat soaked fur
brushing against me.  The heat of his body embraced me.  I felt the heat
of his breath against my neck, his body drained.

       After a long while of enjoying Ted's embrace, I felt his huge form
lift off of me.  His cock, now softened, plopped easily out of me, the cum
laden condom being disposed of in a medical container on the wall.

       "That was fun," said Ted, his face lighting up with a gap-toothed
grin.  I returned the grin with a smirk of my own.  Getting up, I helped
Ted get cleaned up before wiping my own body clean of the sweat and saliva
inherited from our pairing.

       "We have to do that again," I said, disposing of the last of the
paper toweling.

       "Yeah, but only after my cock gets a chance to rest," said Ted,
playing with his softened tool and chuckling.

       Ted, still completely naked, moved over to a cupboard and opened
it. From the inside, he removed a paper bag.  From inside, he pulled out
what looked like a wine bottle, bright green in color along with what
looked like metal spoons.

       "What's that?" I asked, looking curiously at the bottle.

       "This is a little beverage I managed to obtain," said Ted, waving
the bottle around, "not quite legally I might add."  Ted went into another
cabinet and pulled out a pair of coffee mugs.

       My curiosity was piqued.  Illegal stuff?  It couldn't be moonshine.
 Although not as common in my native Iowa, I knew 'shine was clear.  Was
it some other drug?

       Ted handed me a mug and one of the spoons which, upon closer
inspection, turned out not to be a spoon.  I looked at it and it was some
sort of filter with a crystal substance.  Sugar.  At least I thought it
was sugar.

       "Okay, what is this?" I said.  I was twirling the spoon-shaped
thing in the air.

       "You ever hear of absinthe?" asked Ted.

       "Absent?" I said.

       "No," said Ted, smiling.  "A-B-S-I-N-T-H-E.  It's a type of
liqueur, made from wormwood."  Ted held up the bottle.

       "Wormwood," I said, screwing my face into a grimace.  "That doesn't
sound very tasty to me."

       "It's not bad, but very bitter," said Ted, opening the bottle.
"That's why you need to filter it through sugar."  Ted gestured to the
spoon device.  A filter.  That's what it was.  And the crystal was sugar,
not something illegal.

       "Well, what's illegal then?" I asked again.

       "Since the early part of this century, absinthe has been illegal,"
explained Ted.  "It is the only alcoholic beverage that is."

       "Why would they make it illegal? ," I asked, looking closely at the
fluid in the bottle.

       "Well," said Ted, "too much of this stuff can cause all sorts of
adverse reactions.  It's a condition called absinthium."

       "Besides," continued Ted, "there are unknown substances in here
that cause hallucinations."

       "I don't want to hallucinate!" I exclaimed.

       "Relax," said Ted, "you have to drink gallons of this stuff before
it hits you."  With this, Ted placed the filter over the mug and slowly
began pouring the absinthe through it and into his mug.  When he was
finished, he instructed me on how to pour it into my own mug.

       Ted took a sip of the fluid and made a sour face.  "Still very
bitter even with the sugar," he said.  I looked at the mug, closed my eyes
and took a quick sip.  Ted was right, very bitter.  It was the most
unusual plant-like taste though, a bit like drinking lawn clippings.

       Silently, we both managed to swallow most of the drink.  "Where did
you get this?" I asked.

       "The medical school is conducting some experiments," Ted explained.
 "They have quarts of this stuff laying around."

       "Aren't you afraid that someone will find out you took some?" I
asked.

       "Nah," said Ted taking a sip.  He lifted his mug and clicked my
mug.  Lifting it up, he said, "to the new millennium."

       I lifted my mug up, returning the salute and taking another sip.
The taste was growing on me.

       "Do you know what they used to call this stuff?" asked Ted, holding
up the bottle.  "The green faerie."

       I laughed out loud.  "Sounds like a drag queen at an Irish gay
pride parade," I snickered after regaining my composure.

       Silently, Ted and I managed to finish the rest of the bottle.  He
and I wandered around, my thoughts remaining lucid enough so that I
avoided the gross anatomy lab.  As Ted excused himself to use the
restroom, I did my own little search.  I walked up to an orange door with
a prominently displayed "radioactive" sticker.

       Lurching inside, I found myself inside a small storage room of some
sorts.   I saw a line of what looked to be three circular metal doors
along the wall, sort of like torpedo bays on a submarine.  Two of the
doors were closed.  The third door was open and it appeared to have cloth
padding inside the tube.  Feeling it, I notice the surface was very soft.
This looked like a good place to take a nap.  My inhibitions lacking due
to the alcohol, I crawled inside.

       As I crawled into what appeared to be a metal tube, I felt a
tugging at my foot.  I pulled my leg forward.  What must have been some of
the fabric had become entangled with the door.  Before I knew it, the door
had slammed shut.

       I panicked.  In the darkness, I felt along the sides until I got to
the circular hatch.  I began pounding on the door and called out Ted's
name.  Noise like rushing air filled the tube.  The alcohol was making me
drowsy.  I felt cold suddenly and began pulling up some of the fabric
around me.  I was so cold.  I couldn't even scream.  As I wrapped myself
further, consciousness left me.

       And then there was only darkness . . .



Man Forward, 2 of 21 (M/M NS)
by JT Michcock


Chapter 2: Awake

       When my brain began to rouse, the sensations seemed slow in coming.
 I knew I was aware, but I couldn't see or hear anything.  I had a dull
feeling throughout my body that seemed to come from nowhere and
everywhere.  An unfamiliar smell filled my nostrils, like rotten ice left
too long in the freezer.

       Was I dead?  I tried to move but couldn't.  Something was holding
me back.  Twitching in my right hand, I felt something press against it.
Slowly, I became aware of muffled conversations in the background as my
hearing returned.  I felt something being removed from my eyes, some sort
of covering.  More mumbling.  A man's voice, I recognized that.  With the
covering from my eyes removed, my eyes became accustomed to the bare
lighting.  Glowing purple, two lights were in my line of sight.  I saw a
head or what looked like a head move across the light.

       A tube was coming out of my throat.  A hospital, I thought.  I
don't remember how I got there.  I remembered that strange hole in the
wall I climbed into while Ted was in the bathroom.  The door had slammed
shut and machinery began working.  I could feel the cold that had embraced
me.

       I wasn't cold anymore.  I could feel warmth drift through me.
There was a low hum in the background.  My body was covered with
something.

       "Chris," said the man's voice that I had heard before.  "You've
been asleep for a while.  You need to stay completely still until we can
warm your body."

       Was Ted around? I thought.  What about my parents?  If I was in a
hospital somewhere, they must have been notified.

       Oh God, I thought to myself.  I really screwed up now.  Was Loyola
going to kick me out for ruining the equipment?  What if they knew about
that illegal stuff I drank?  What did Ted call it?  The green faerie stuff
. . . Absinthe!

       I groaned slightly and felt the rawness of my throat.  A hand was
on my shoulder, I shivered slightly and attempted to get up.  As I felt my
body rise, a wave of darkness took over my brain and I blacked out.



       When I woke up again, many of the same sensations seemed to creep
over me, but more intense.  The dark room with the purple lights, the
muffled voices that seemed stronger now than they did before.  I was more
aware now.  I felt stronger, but I knew I had to be more cautious moving.
The lights in the room seemed to glow a little brighter as I took in my
surroundings.  I seemed to be in some sort of round room, circle, triangle
and square shapes covered the walls.

       The man's face that I saw earlier was back in view, the purple
lighting was being replaced by white and I could see him more clearly.
Wearing what looked to be an all white Nehru suit, he was an older guy.
That must have been the doctor.  Around the corner of his head, I saw a
woman's head pass.

       I felt the dullness inside my mouth loosen as the tube inside it
was being removed.  I breathed deeply.  The air was clean, purer than I
had remembered.  My head was still a little dizzy inside and I felt my
stomach growl.  Slowly this time, I shifted my body.  I was warmer now.
The coldness that seemed to penetrate my body was gone now.

       I took in a deep breath.  I would be okay.



       After lying there quietly for over an hour, I felt myself becoming
more aware of my surroundings.  Next to me was some sort of table with
wires and tubes and other devices I had never seen before.  I looked over
and saw a woman dressed in what looked like an old-fashioned nurse's dress
and hat.  What was unusual as all hell was that there was a tray with
stuff on top of it behind her that seemed to be following her.  It looked
like it was floating.  But that was ridiculous.  I must have not seen the
legs.

       "How are you doing young man?" said the nurse.  She was an older
lady, about 50 or so.  She was a little overweight, but had a nice smile.

       "F-fine," I croaked.  The back of my throat felt raw.

       "Drink some of this," said the nurse, inserting a straw into my
mouth.  I sucked tentatively.  The liquid inside was sweet and thick; it
was almost like honey, but diluted.  I felt the fluid flow down my throat,
seeming to energize me.  It also seemed to quench my thirst as well and
the rawness in my mouth went away.  In the back of my throat, the bitter
taste of the absinthe was still present.

       I looked around the room, hoping to see my parents, or Ted, or
anyone else I knew.  Ted must be outside, I thought.  My parents might
have been heading to Chicago.  I didn't know how long I had even been
there.  The walls were a soft white with blue and gold geometric shapes.
And it was round -- like a dome.  Maybe some new kind of oxygen tent, I
thought.  I wondered when I would be getting up and getting out of there.
As I sat up, the nurse caught me and settled me gently back into the bed.

       "You need to rest now," she said, looking into my eyes.  As I
listened to the nurse's voice and looked into my eyes, I felt strangely
comforted.  She reminded me of my mother.

       I laid back down and looked across the room as a part of the wall
literally disappeared.  It turned translucent to transparent until finally
disappearing.  Weird.  I laid there another hour or so.  Every few
minutes, the nurse came by to let me drink from the straw.  The fuzz that
had filled my brain was easing.

       I felt the fabric of the hospital gown I was wearing.  Strange.  It
was nothing I was familiar with, but it was softer than anything I had
ever felt.  I looked around at my surroundings, no medical machinery was
readily visible.  There were a few white podiums on the wall with what
looked like display monitors on top.

       I shifted my legs around.  They felt stiff but were still
functioning.  I was getting a nice buzz from the honey water.

       Two people walked in, both men.  The first one appeared to be a
doctor, wearing a white coat with a white dress shirt and black tie.  He
looked to be about sixty.  Most of his hair was grey.

       The other man was wearing what looked to be a plain black business
suit, also with a white shirt and thin black tie.    He looked a lot
younger, maybe in his late twenties.  He was muscular and with a nice set
of baby blue eyes.  Cute guy, I thought.

       The older man spoke first.

       "Hello, Chris," he said, "I'm Doctor Harold Moffatt and I'm your
treating physician."  He politely reached out and shook my hand.  Firm
grip, intelligent looking.  I felt I was in good hands.

       The man behind Dr. Moffatt came forward and introduced himself as
well.

       "Doctor Dan Greiner," said the younger man, as he grasped my hand,
"but you can just call me Dan."

       "Dan," I quietly said aloud.  What was this about? I wondered.
Where were my folks?  Was Ted nearby?

       "Chris," continued Dr. Moffatt, seemingly lost in thought, "we had
an interesting time trying to revive you."

       "Revive me?" I said.  The memories I had stopped after getting
locked into the tube and feeling the cold.  I needed to know more.

       "You had locked yourself in a cryonics chamber," said Dr. Moffatt,
"and while you were in there you essentially froze to death."

       "Froze?" the word came out of my mouth.  I knew about cryonics.
That was where they froze you into a deep sleep, like in Lost in Space or
Alien.  How long was I in there?

       "Where am I?" I asked.  Both men shuffled uncomfortably.

       "Chris, you're at Loyola Hospital in Chicago" said Dan, "you were
in that tube for more than a hundred years.

       "The date today is Monday, October 12, 2122."



       As I sat open-mouthed, Dr. Moffatt and Dan explained what had
happened in detail.  The cryonics lab at Loyola had been doing experiments
on freezing corpses and thawing them out.  I had locked myself into a
chamber with a timer lock that couldn't be opened from the inside.  Later
that night, when Ted finally got his wits about him, he notified the
campus police.  They were too late to rescue me.  My parents were notified
and it nearly killed my mother to learn what happened.  Ted almost got
expelled from medical school.

       As my frozen body was wheeled into the laboratory, an interesting
discovery was made.  The lining of my cell walls didn't burst.  The
doctors determined it was something related to the absinthe.  The
preservative effect of the alcohol and the hallucinogens peculiar to the
drink had done something to me.  They thought I could be revived,
possibly.

       Wheeling me back into the freezer, a whole crash team was assembled
at the University.  With my parents' permission, specialists from around
the world were brought in to see me.  The ultimate diagnosis proved
painful.  While I might be capable of being revived, the procedures that
were available could not even come close to guaranteeing success.

       So, for more than 120 years, I was laid in a specially chilled area
of Loyola University waiting for someone to figure out a way to revive me.
 As part of the litigation between the University and my parents, an
agreement was reached that the University would make every effort to
revive me once the technology became available.

       But the technology was long in coming.  The promise of revival
seemed to fade as my parents grew older and passed away.  My three
brothers took some interest in me for a while, but they soon scattered
into their own lives.

       The press had managed to make my existence a periodic story over
the years.  I became a museum piece, the amazing frozen man.  From time to
time, I was hauled out to be inspected by a new group of experts.  The
thought of my body being poked and prodded by multiple generations of
scientists was disturbing as hell.  And, of course, the media was
dutifully notified every time I was brought out for a "look-see."

       But more disturbing was how much I had lost.  As I was told of
these events, my mind wandered back to my experiences and what I had
missed.  I thought about how I would never see my parents or family again.
 I thought about how my friends were all gone now.  All of them were gone.

       I bowed my head as the story was being told to me and I start to
cry.  Tears soon gave way to sobs.  I heard Dr. Moffatt politely excuse
himself.  Dan came over to my side and attempted to comfort me, wrapping
his arm around my shoulder.

       We sat on the bed for what must have been hours.  Dan just listened
to me talk about the life I left behind.

       When I found I couldn't cry anymore, Dan brought a towel to help
clean off my face.  I smiled at him and he smiled back, his eyes looking
wonderful.  After Dan pressed a button, the nurse returned shortly.

       Dan patted me on the shoulder.  "You'll be okay," he said quietly.

       "Thanks," I said, choking out more tears.  I wasn't sure of
anything anymore.

       After I had settled down a bit and Dan helped clean off my face,
the nurse brought in a plastic cup with a little blue pill in it along
with the metal bottle with the straw.  I took the pill and washed it down
with the fluid.  I fell asleep after a while, the pill apparently being a
rather effective sedative.  I needed sleep.  The next day I would be
beginning a new life.

       I would soon discover that the world had changed more than I could
imagine.









Man Forward, 3 of 21 (M/M NS)
by JT Michcock

Chapter 3: Moving Forward

Tuesday, October 13, 2122

       After I woke up the following morning, I picked up a couple of the
electronic books were left behind so I could look at them.  There were
newspapers and magazines from the year 1999.  They gave me enough detail
to whet my appetite about the past, but no information about the future.
Dan told me it would overwhelm me trying to process so much information in
so little time.

       I managed to find my way to the toilet, located directly behind the
bed.  I looked around the circular room and noticed that the ceiling
seemed to be made of some sort of fabric.  The whole area was open, but
everything was familiar.  The toilet looked  as it had in the twentieth
century as did the sink next to it.  I suppose plumbing was something that
hadn't gone too space age.  As I sat down and used the facility, I pulled
up the selection of magazines that someone had graciously left next to the
facility.  They were very old magazines.

       More than a hundred years of history was going to take a long time
to digest.  The only "new" thing I noticed in the twentieth century
material was that Time Magazine had picked Albert Einstein as the "Person
of the Century."  I shuddered a bit, realizing that I had missed over a
whole century of "Person of the Year" posts.  I anticipated I would be
spending a lot of time learning about those people and all that had
happened in the intervening years.

       After I had finished, flushed, and washed my hands, I looked into
the mirror.  I lifted my hand to my face.  It looked as it did in the 20th
century, except I could really use a shave.  There were no obvious scars.
I guess I should have felt happy that I didn't have any freezer burns.

       As I shifted my head, I noticed my left ear.  The hoop earring that
had been in there was missing.  The hole was no longer visible.  I fiddled
around with the flap of skin and wondered how long ago it had been
removed.  I must have been out of the freeze and unconscious for a while
for the piercing to heal.  In my mind I envisioned it getting removed
during one of the periodic checkups and rolling accidentally under a
table.

       I took in a deep breath and looked at myself squarely in the eyes.
Of all the things I had lost, the earring was the least of my concerns.

       Nurse Sandy, as she insisted I call her, came into the room.  She
seemed to say all the right things and had calmed me down in no time.  I
got an incredibly warm feeling whenever she was in the room.  That and the
little blue pill finally got me on track with my thoughts.

       I felt surprisingly good given all that was happening.  Nurse Sandy
had brought a very nice breakfast with the traditional bacon and eggs.
With a little urging, I let her feed me while she sat next to my bed.

       While I sat there eating, Nancy spoke about the weather and how the
hospital cafeteria was getting unpredictable in the quality of the food.
I told her that I didn't have any complaints, and I really didn't.  The
food tasted great.  I did notice that Nancy was scrupulously avoiding
saying anything about current events.  Her family life was also not a big
topic of conversation although I extracted from her that she was married
and had an adult daughter in nursing school and a son in law school.

       After Nurse Sandy finished, Dan Greiner entered.  I noticed that
Dan bowed his head to Nurse Nancy as she left.  That was an odd little
gesture.

       I learned from Dan the day before that he wasn't an M.D.  He was an
anthropologist who specialized in the cultures of the late 20th and early
21st century.  I was sort of an archeology dig for him.

       But I really did get turned on by his eyes.

       "Hi Chris, how did you sleep?" asked Dan, smiling politely.  For a
second, I wondered if he might be gay.  I glanced at his left hand and saw
a gold band.  It could mean he was straight and married.  It could also
mean that he was gay and might be married to some guy, and that they
probably allowed that these days.  Still, the ring limited my chances in
any event.

I smiled back, "not bad," I said.  The sedative that they gave me before
turning out the lights made sure of that.

       "Good," said Dan, as pushed a button on the floor and a chair
emerged from below the floor somewhere.  This future stuff was amazing.

"I have the happy assignment of working with you and acclimating you to
the future," said Dan, a big smile across his face.

       "Oh," I said, a trace of anticipation in my voice.  "I was
expecting a shrink to help acclimate me."

       "Shrink?" said Dan, a look of puzzlement on his face.

       "Um, a psychiatrist . . . a psychologist," I explained, flapping my
arms around for emphasis.  I would have though this piece of jargon had
survived my deep freeze.

       "Oh, no," said Dan, his mouth gaping wide open.  "We don't have
those professions any longer."  He seemed generally appalled that I would
think of this.

       "Then who takes care of your mental cases?" I asked, somewhat
astonished.  It seemed we had psychologists and psychologists everywhere
when I was in college.  I wondered what happened.

       "Well," said Dan, pausing for a long moment.  "First, we don't have
schizophrenia or unipolar or bipolar depressive conditions.  Those have
all been cured.  For people who just are unhappy, it depends.  If people
need to talk to someone, they usually speak to their parents, or one of
their coaches or confidantes."

       The puzzled look on my face let Dan know that I needed a better
explanation than that.

       "Hmm," said Dan hesitating again.  "I realize that you didn't have
the coach system when you were younger.  I can relate how it worked for
me.  When I was having problems when I was a kid, I would see one of my
coaches to get things worked out.  Nowadays, I still keep in touch with
all three and they really are a part of my family."

       "And did you have a confidante too?" I asked, wondering exactly
what these positions entailed.

       "Uh, no," said Dan, a little taken aback.  "Confidantes are women.
For women."

       Now I was really confused.  "But if you've got really bad
depression or something else, who do you go see?"

       "Well, like I said, no one has schizophrenia and biologically based
depression don't exist," responded Dan.  "If something does crop up that's
organic, we usually let the doctors and geneticists deal with it."

       "Geneticists?" I asked.  What was going on with genetics? I
wondered.

       "I think we may be going a little fast," said Dan.  "Why don't you
let me direct this conversation?"

       "Okay," I shrugged.  It would probably be better than jumping all
over with my questions.

       Dan took a deep breath and pulled out something that looked like a
thin piece of white cardboard, about the size of an index card, but a
little thicker.  Looking over, I noticed that writing appeared on the card
when Dan touched the surface.  It was his notes for our meeting.

       Dan took a deep breath and started his speech.  "This is the year
2122.  You are in the city of Chicago, in the province of Illinois, NAP.
The initials NAP stands for the North American Patriarchy.

       "The NAP consists of most of what were once considered the United
States and Canada.  The only parts that didn't join the NAP when it was
formed in 2040 were Quebec, which is now a separate republic, and Hawaii,
which joined the Mid-Pacific Alliance.

       "The NAP is a constitutional monarchy, and the current Patriarch is
his Imperial Majesty, John II," Dan continued.  His tone was solemn when
he mentioned the Patriarch's name. Cute, I thought.  "The Capitol of the
NAP is located in Washington, in the province of Maryland.

       "In addition to the Patriarch and the Royal Family being located
there, there are also the two houses of Parliament, the Senate and the
House of Representatives.  Senators are elected by the provincial
legislatures and the house members are elected by the people by popular
vote.  There are two parties that dominate the legislature, the
Conservatives and the Whigs.  Right now, the Whigs are the controlling
party in both houses of Parliament.  Dennis Neeson is the Patriarch's
Prime Minister."

       Dan paused to see that I understood what he was saying.  A
monarchy?  That was interesting.  Still politicians running things though,
I noticed.  I wondered how much else had changed.  I wondered how much was
still the same.

       "Among the larger nations of the world are the Imperial African
Tribal Congress, Greater Israel, the Royal Arabian League, the Central
European Empire, Great Britain, the French Republic, the Chinese Empire,
the Indian Continental Alliance, and the Russian Empire.  All of these
states are monarchies, except for France and India.  Some, like Russian
Empire and the African Congress are very strong monarchies.

       "In addition, many of these nations have colonies in various parts
of the solar system.  This includes orbiting colonies circling the Earth
and several bases on the Moon, the planet Mars, and the asteroid belt.
Also, there are stations on the many moons of Jupiter and Saturn including
Jupiter's moon Europa.  The moon Europa contains the only indigenous life
in this solar system outside of the Earth."

       "Life on other planets?" I said aloud.  I perked up on hearing
this.

       "Yes," continued Dan, "except on Europa, it's an ocean environment
and the highest form of life looks more or less like a fish and has the
mental capabilities of a trout."  He shrugged.

       "Huh," I murmured.  I knew that there was some talk of life on Mars
when I left.  This was interesting stuff.

       "Internationally, there are a number of conflicts that are ongoing.
 The largest war is the one between China and the Russian Empire," said
Dan, his voice deepening.  "They are fighting mostly about access to water
supplies on Mars."

       I jumped a bit.  Except for some squabbles in Yugoslavia, the world
I had left behind was pretty much at peace.  War between the Russians and
the Chinese.  This was something dreaded when I was younger.  I remembered
how the cold war had ended when I was just a kid and things seemed to be
improving internationally.

       "There have been about 50,000 casualties so far on both sides." Dan
said wistfully.   "This war has been going on for about three months now
and no one is certain where it's going to lead."

       "Are we in danger?" I asked.

       "There's no immediate danger," responded Dan solemnly.  "Most of
the fighting is occurring in the Himalayas and on the south-polar region
of Mars.  You don't want to go to either place.  The NAP is allied with
the Russians on this one, so we could be called into the fighting at any
time."

       "Are they using nukes?" I asked, growing a bit more concerned.

       "Oh, no," responded Dan, shaking his head.  "No one would ever use
nuclear weapons except as an absolute last resort.  The last time anyone
used nuclear weapons was in the Pakistani-Indian War of the late 2050s.
More than 80 percent of the population of those two nations was wiped out.
 Since then, nuclear war has become virtually unthinkable."

       I breathed a little easier.  "This is the second war between the
Russians and Chinese in the last ten years," explained Dan, shrugging.
"There are usually a few pitched battles and then they sign a truce.  But,
in the meantime, travel is restricted."

       "I'm surprised," I said.  "I would have thought war would have been
a thing of the past by now."

       Dan looked at me with a bit of disbelief.

       "War is built into us," said Dan, straightening his shoulders.
"It's something that will never disappear."  He seemed almost proud of
this assertion.

       "So, where do I fit into all of this?" I asked.  The night's stay
at the hospital building wasn't horrible, but I felt that I somehow had to
get on with my life.  I certainly wasn't' sick enough to stay.

       "Well, you first need to understand that your financial needs are
being handled.  In addition to certain obligations Loyola took on
following the litigation with your parents, the University has agreed to
supply you with an apartment as well as a stipend for your basic needs.
You have a trust fund set up for you that will pay enough income for you
to handle all your essential needs.  If you desire to attend classes here,
these will be paid for by the University," said Dan.

       "Of course, I would like to invite your participation as part of
the curriculum for our anthropology and history departments.  You will be
compensated as a teaching assistant, of course.  It is one very easy way
for you to pick up income."

       I smiled.  Of course they would want my participation.  I was a
living fossil of a long ago time.     Actually, the idea of talking to
history students about my experiences intrigued me.

       "What do you use for money?" I asked.

       "Dollars," said Dan, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a
multicolored piece of paper and handed it to me.

       It was a twenty-dollar bill and was similar in size and texture to
what I remembered, except the color seemed to be constantly shifting.  The
picture on the front was an engraving of a rather dignified bearded man of
about sixty or so.  John II, it said on the caption underneath.  That must
be the Patriarch.

       "We also use what are called datacards," he continued, holding up
the white three by five card.  On the front appeared Dan's picture and
scrolling text along the side.  "This is a multipurpose device that can
also be used for communications, data collection and storage and as a
means of arranging financial transactions."

       This was all very interesting, but a question came to me.

       "I have a stupid question," I said, folding the paper in my fingers
and handing it back.

       "Yes?" responded Dan.

       "I just came out of this yesterday and found myself having lost
everything important to me," I said.  "Why isn't this killing me?"

Dan pursed his lips and paused before speaking.  "The doctors thought you
would acclimate better if you grief functions and memory relationships
were toned down a bit," responded Dan.  "It's actually a rarely used
procedure that he would only use in very limited circumstances."

       Ah, the little blue pill.

       "When do I come off of this pill or does he want to keep me like
this forever?" I asked.

       "You'll gradually notice the effects wearing off over the next few
days," responded Dan.  "In the meantime, I'm going to show you where
you're going to be living."

       "Now?"  I asked.

       "If you're ready," responded Dan.  "There's currently no physical
problem you have that requires hospitalization.  I just have to notify the
administrator that you want to check out.  And I want to make a side trip
with you to your old dorm room.  It's still there and there's something I
want you to see."

       My old dorm room?  That would be interesting.  I handed Dan the
twenty and hopped out of bed.  Actually, I felt pretty damn good for
someone who had been frozen for over a century.  The first thing I noticed
was that I couldn't very well walk around with a hospital gown.

       Dan seemed to notice my concern.  "In the top right drawer are
clothes for you.  And you can use the shower too."

       I went over to the drawer and took a look.  It seemed like ordinary
clothing; underwear socks and shoes included.  I pulled the stuff out and
looked over to the bathroom area of the room.  The toilet and shower area
were wide open.  I guess with a private room they wouldn't require a
private enclosure.

       I turned around and looked at Dan.  He was just sitting there, with
no apparent intentions of leaving while I changed.  "Could you give me a
few minutes?"

       Dan looked puzzled.  Suddenly, his brain seemed to connect.
"Sure," he said rising up.  He went over to the entrance area.  "When
you're ready to come out, just walk over the blue line here and the door
will open."  He had tensed up considerably.  The way he reacted gave me
the distinct impression that I had insulted him somehow.

       "Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

       Dan did a turn and looked a bit perplexed, scratching his head and
searching his own mind for an explanation.  "Well, to be perfectly honest,
asking me to leave is considered rude," he said.

       "Rude?" I asked.

       "It wasn't part of your culture, but nowadays, a man would never
hesitate to get dressed  in front of another man," Dan continued.  "It's
an indication of a lack of trust."

       I grimaced and then shrugged.  Well, okay by me.  "Then don't go,"
I said as I lifted the gown off my head.

       Dan quietly returned to his chair.  Weird.  I already figured out
that Dan wasn't gay.  The vibes he sent out screamed heterosexual.  But
with me standing there naked, he seemed more relaxed somehow.

       I dressed, deciding against taking a shower at that point.  That
could wait.  I really didn't feel comfortable showering in front of a
fully clothed man.  Unless, of course, it was part of some kinky ritual.
I was beginning to wonder if I should ask about locating a social life.

       "So," I said, as I felt the fabric of my new clothing.  "You all
set?"

       "Yes, let's go," said Dan.

       "By the way," I said as we left the room, "any chance I can get you
to take me over to Halstead  so I can see how the night life is these
days?"

       "We'll do a lot more stuff after we get you settled in," said Dan,
turning his head away rather suddenly.

       With this, we left.  I got the distinct impression that Dan wasn't
telling me something.  It turned out that he wasn't telling me a lot.





Man Forward, 4 of 21 (M/M NS)
by JT Michcock

Chapter 4: New Places

       I looked around me and couldn't believe what I saw.  We were
airborne and zipping around in a city filled with flying cars.  New
buildings were everywhere.  The Sears Tower was there, but it looked so
small compared to the mammoth structures that filled the horizon.

       Dan was at the controls of the craft we rode.  It looked like a
souped-up minivan that was double the usual size.  Dan told me that there
was some sort of null-gravity field keeping it up and that's why I felt
very little momentum zipping around.  The control panel was something
beyond my understanding.  A steering wheel and some sort of joystick were
in Dan's hands.  He was constantly manipulating and adjusting them while
watching the display screen.  At the same time, both his feet were pushing
pedals on the floor.  Even traveling with him, I couldn't figure out what
button controlled what on the craft.

       About a hundred feet below us were lines of similar vehicles,
although they were flying in formation.  "Those are on a computer
controlled flight paths," explained Dan as I pointed to the craft and
asked how they could remain in formation.  As one vehicle banked, I
noticed a woman and what looked to be a couple of kids sitting in the
vehicle, along with what appeared to be grocery bags.

Our journey was short-lived as Dan maneuvered into some sort of landing
port.  The garage facility located in some huge structure located next to
my old residence hall.  Inside were similar vehicles of different colors
and shapes and sizes.  I saw Ford, GM and Chrysler logos on the front of
the vehicles as well as one Toyota.  Some things were still the same.  As
we exited the garage, we were carried away on some sort of free moving
elevator.  Instead of moving just up and down, I felt some sideways
movement as well.



       I had begun my freshman year at Loyola in Mertz Hall.  Residence
hall life was required of all the freshman and sophomore students.  Since
it was the cheapest facility, and because my family's finances were
limited, I was still there in my senior year.  But I had grown to love the
place.

       The dormitory building looked more or less the same.  The lobby was
crowded with students as it always had been when I was there.  Except now
it appeared to be all men, with no women milling about among the students.
 It had been a mixed-gender dorm when I had been there.   Dan confirmed
that it was an all-male dorm now.

       The poster frames on the wall were still there but appeared to be
constantly changing, a kaleidoscope of colors and words trailing like
marquees.  These bright colors were in stark contrast to the clothing the
students wore, with brown and tan being the predominant hues.

       There was a series of flags around the lobby.  Orange colored, they
all had the same black symbols, a triangle in the center, surrounded by a
circle with  a square surrounding the circle.  I wondered if it was some
sort of autumn decoration.

       After Dan cleared our tour with one of the residence hall advisers,
we gradually made our way to my old room.  Overhearing the conversation
with the adviser, I found out that our arrival had been expected.

       This time, I led the way. The door was the same, but now there was
a round metal plate next to the door.  Dan put his hand on the plate and a
bright green glow from the disk appeared.  A click from the door preceded
Dan's turning the knob.

       I looked inside.  Still, it was the same old room despite a few
miniaturized electronic devices.  The desk where I kept my old computer
was still there, although the gadget that was on top of it resembled
something out of a Star Wars movie more than anything.  I made a mental
note to myself to see how many more episodes they made.

       "Look any different?" asked Dan.

       "A little bit," I responded, "but still the same for the most
part."

       I stood there looking around.  I wondered what guys were living
there.  I looked over and noticed that there was only one bed occupied.
The other was a bare mattress.  Only one person was here in the room.

       Another more routine thought hit me.

       "I have to pee," I said.

       "I think the bathroom is in the same place as it was," said Dan.

       "Then I can find my way," I responded, smiling as I left the room.
Being back among somewhat familiar surroundings made me feel more
comfortable.  I was happy to be in a place that I could navigate somewhat
successfully.

       "Now that you mention it, I have to go too," said Dan as he
followed on my heels.

       The communal bathroom for the floor was located at the far end of
the wing.  As I walked over, I had a lot of memories of the bathroom.  It
was in one of the shower stalls that I had blown my boyfriend Ted for the
first time.

       The first thing I noticed when I walked in was that the shower
stalls were missing.  They had been replaced by a gang shower.  Water was
running and I noticed that a slender, naked black man was in there.  I
went past the showers and headed into the toilet area.  The urinals and
stalls were still there, but the stalls didn't have any doors on them.
Very strange.

       As we relieved ourselves, a naked guy walked in and began using the
urinals along with Dan and me.  I looked over, wondering whether or not I
should be embarrassed or not.  Dan seemed nonplused about the experience.
The naked guy didn't seem to mind that we were there.

       An evil thought crossed my mind.  It must be easier than hell to
score in this place now with all the naked men hanging around.  As I
flushed and headed to the sink, I noticed the naked guy's ass.  Cute.  In
profile his face didn't look too bad either, very rugged features.  He
wore his red hair in a crew cut that, for my money, didn't flatter him at
all.  He really needed to consult with a qualified hair dresser.

       After Dan and I washed our hands and headed back to the exit, the
black guy emerged from the shower.  His face lit up as soon as he saw us.
He was dried off now. No towel; nice hang, I thought.  I definitely had to
head over to Halstead soon.

       "Hi Dr. Greiner," said the black man.

       "Hi, Eric," said Dan, casually shaking Eric's hand.  Good God, I
thought, rolling my eyes.  This guy is naked!

       "We were just in your room," said Dan.  Ah, I thought.  This guy
must have been the single occupant.

       "This is Chris," said Dan.

       Eric reached out his hand and I shook it, all while trying to avert
my eyes from his package.  "I've been waiting to meet you."  Hmm.  I
wondered if Dan was trying to play matchmaker.

       For the time being, I decided to shut myself up.  I really didn't
know what to say.  This situation suddenly struck me as just a little too
weird.

       Dan and Eric chatted casually while I followed them back to the
room, keeping one eye on Eric's very tight butt cheeks.  When I was last
here, there were very few guys who would have walked through the halls
naked.

       As we got inside the room, Eric started to dress in front of us.  I
recalled Dan's prior admonition to me.  It supposedly just wasn't polite
for Eric to do otherwise.  Dan asked me to sit down.  I could tell that
there was something more going on here.

       "I should make a more formal introduction," said Dan.  "Chris, Eric
here is your great, great-nephew."

       My head went back involuntarily and I felt my mouth open.  Holy
bejesus, I thought, as my mouth gaped a bit.  Eric's face lit up with a
big smile.

       "My great, great-grandfather was your brother Tom," said Eric.  "So
I guess I should call you Uncle Chris."

       Tommy?  God, my youngest brother was only seventeen when I left.

       "Uh, nice to meet you," I said slowly.  I wasn't expecting this.  I
certainly wasn't expecting to have any black relatives.  My family had
never left Iowa and interracial marriage was definitely not something that
would have met with my parent's approval.

       "Eric just started this semester," said Dan.  "I managed to pull a
few strings to get him your old room."  My thawing out must have been
something they knew about for a while.  This was just too weird.

       Not the least of my weirdness was caused by the realization that I
was checking out my nephew's ass.  That was too strange to even think
about.

       "Sir," said Eric to Dan, "I have to family tree ready for Chris to
look at." "Sir?" I thought to myself.  That was rather formal.

       "Good," said Dan, "you can pull that up now."

       Eric went over to the screen on his desk and pulled up a graphic
display.   The tree was enormous and extended from my parents all the way
down to the current generations.  Eric had me hold down the peculiar
looking mouse and I was able to extend and collapse various parts of the
tree through manipulation of the mouse and by thought commands the
computing device was able to glean from my brain.  Interlinked with the
family tree was a series of photos and videos displaying family pictures
over the years.  I learned from Eric that Loyola had spent a good deal of
money accumulating and recording the materials in anticipation of my
recovery.

       I went through the charts.  All three of my brothers were gone now.
 Two nieces, one the daughter of  Tommy, and another of my brother Mike,
still survived.  These nieces  were more than a hundred now but were still
interested in meeting me, but I would have to go to see them at their
nursing homes.  One of my great nephews was even a parliament member from
California.

       There were well over two hundred living decedents.  It was quite a
legacy my parents had left.

       "I have Chris's email address to send the information," said Dan as
we continued to look at the varied data.  "It's crhoover@stg.loyola.edu
for you to transmit the material."

       Eric pulled out his data card and, held it in front of him, and
spoke the email address.  I peered over and noted that the address
appeared on the face of the card.  Eric placed his finger on the face of
the card and soon declared "sent, sir."

       I got a chance to talk a bit to Eric that morning.  It turned out
that over the prior summer he had been discharged from something called
the Space Corps after serving for two years.  When I asked what had
persuaded him to go into the military before starting college and he
laughed.  According to Eric, military service was compulsory for all men
in the NAP after leaving high school.  He didn't have any choice in the
matter.

       I was surprised to learn that Eric and his parents and grandfather
lived in my old house back in Iowa.  He promised to take me there whenever
I wanted to se it.  I was a bit hesitant to request to see my old home.
There were a lot of memories buried there, not all of them good.

       After a while, Eric let us know that he had a class to attend that
morning.  With some polite handshakes, Dan and I departed.

       "Time to see your apartment," said Dan as we left the corridor and
boarded the elevator.

       "Marvelous!" I exclaimed, "I want to ride in that flying car
again."

       "We don't need to," said Dan, "there's a local ERB on the first
floor."

       "ERB?" I said.

       "E-R-B.  An Einstein Rosen Bridge," responded Dan.  "It's a  . . .
teleporting device."  He moved his hands about attempting to convey the
information in terms I could comprehend.

       "Excellent-ay," I said.  I scurried quickly behind Dan as he headed
back to the elevator.  This sounded like Star Trek or something.

       When we reached the ground floor, Dan headed over to a conveyer
belt.  Inputting some information on a panel, the conveyor started
running.  Dan hopped on the conveyor and I followed.  I was wondering if
the transporters were on the other side of the conveyer belt.  I soon
realized that I was in the teleportation device.

        The belt led us through a strangely lit circular room.  Inside, I
fell a little nausea and lightheadedness.  The walls seemed to become
distorted.  On the other side of the room, the conveyer belt returned to a
narrow hallway.  Once I arrived, I began to get my spatial orientation
back.

       We arrived in a lobby of sorts, quite a bit more luxurious than
Mertz Hall had been.  I noticed that the students appeared a bit older.
And there were many more women too, some of them holding hand with the men
who were with them.

       Dan and I went into another elevator.  When the door finally
opened, Dan led me over to an apartment.  He instructed me to place my
palm over the round metal plate.  A circle around the plate began to glow
and the door dematerialized.  A force field substituted for doors in the
more modern units these days,  Dan advised.

       As I walked in, I notice that the rooms were sort of on the small
side.  Dan informed me that I was in the dorm facilities for married
students.  Space in the University dorms was always at a premium, although
this was enormous compared to my dorm room.  There was a small kitchen and
bathroom facility.  An undersized bedroom had a double bed and what looked
to be a couple normal dressers.  I noticed that there were a few posters
up that had been hanging in my old dorm room.  The artwork brought back
some memories.  I recognized the bedspread as having been the same design
as my own bed in Iowa.   As I reached over to feel it, I realized that it
was the same bedspread, carefully preserved.

       I looked around.  Whoever decorated had taken great care in trying
to make me comfortable.

       After a couple of hours, Dan indicated he had to head over to teach
a class.  We ate a quick lunch from some prepared food in the kitchen.
Over lunch, Dan provided me with a datacard -- the white cardboard thing he
had used before -- and instructed me on how to use some of its functions.
After a little manipulating, I managed to pull up a graphic instructions
back to and around my apartment building.  The little device was amazing.
It could even tell me the temperature outside.

       Dan showed me the internet terminal located in the living room.  I
was extremely surprised to see how scant the offerings were.  I figured
from my own internet experiences that by now everyone and everything would
be online, but the system only allowed for a few basic functions,
including an email service, some television stations, magazines and the
local newspapers.

       "What if I want to do research?" I asked as I pulled through the
offerings.

       "There is a library located a few blocks from here," explained Dan,
showing me how to operate the geographic interface.  "After you get
settled in, we can take a walk over there."

       "Oh," I said, remembering a bit of personal business, "by the way,
my earring is missing."

       "Earring?" asked Dan, appearing more than a bit confused, "when did
you have an earring?"

       "When I got into that icebox-thingie," I explained.  "I noticed the
hole here had healed so it must have been a while since it was removed."
I pointed to my right ear lobe, where the piercing had occurred.

       Dan's head moved back.  "You had an earring in your ear?" he asked,
somewhat incredulous.

       "Um, yeah," I shrugged, "lots of guys did."

       "True," he nodded.  I could tell he was recalling some "ancient"
history.

       As I  looked at Dan, I realized that there was extremely little he
would likely be able to do to locate it.

       I sighed.  "Never mind," I said.  "I'm just going to have to
replace it."

       Dan rolled his eyes and paused for a minute before speaking.  "I
don't think it can be easily replaced," he said.  "Men these days don't
wear earrings . . . that's just not . . .  done."

       I looked at Dan.  He seemed generally concerned, as though I was
talking about doing something illegal.  I shrugged.  "Oh, well, it was an
interesting fashion while it lasted."

       Dan smiled.  I wasn't aware until later that he was grateful that I
didn't demand a replacement.

       Before he left, Dan made me promise I wouldn't leave until he came
back.  There was a nice place he wanted to take me out to for dinner
later.  In the meantime, I could look through the local news reports on
the video screens or take a nap.

       After Dan left, I spent a few minutes glancing through the papers.
The baseball season was winding down and the Cubs were in the World
Series.  There was some sort of altercation off the coast of Alaska,
between China and Russian Empire.  One Russian ship was torpedoed, but
managed to return to base without any loss of life.   The NAP diplomatic
corps was protesting the Chinese aggression off its shores before
something called the World League located in Berlin.

       Something called proto-video was showing a restaging of the 2020
hit movie, "Uniontown."  I wondered if that was an actual place or some
town where the Union was big.

       I went through to the next part.  There was a "woman's section"
that contained a bunch of advice columns with cooking and family tips.

       I looked a little cockeyed at that.  I can recall seeing women's
sections in copies of old newspapers.  But they had changed their names to
not be so obvious.  I took a look through the advice columns and they
seemed rather strange.  One author was telling a woman reader that it was
entirely inappropriate for her to accept even small items of jewelry from
her boyfriend without an engagement ring preceding the gift.

       Most of this stuff was simply incomprehensible to me; I didn't have
much context for these news items.  After a while, I decided to pack it in
and take that nap Dan suggested.

       It had been a strange day already.





Man Forward, 5 of 21 (M/M NS)
by JT Michcock

Chapter 5: The World as I Knew It

       I woke up with a start.  Dan was in the bedroom.  I didn't even
hear him come enter.

       "You awake?" asked Dan.

       "Um, yeah," I mumbled.  "Don't you knock?"

       Dan laughed.  "Yeah, I probably should have.  I apologize."

       I hopped out of bed.  I had found what looked to be silk pajamas in
one of the drawers and had put them on before taking the nap.  I needed a
shower but I hesitated to even start disrobing until I could ask some
questions.

       "Dan, are you gay?" I blurted out.  There was nothing like the
direct approach.

       "No," said Dan, looking somewhat confused.  I thought I had figured
out that Dan was straight, but this stuff was just too weird.  Maybe my
gaydar was dead wrong.

       "I don't mean to be rude and all," I said.  "But it's kind of
strange wanting to hang around and watch guys undress.  Unless you're into
that sort of thing."

       Dan started laughing loudly.

       "I mean, if you are, that's okay by me," I continued, shrugging my
shoulders.  "I mean I am too, for what that's worth."

       Dan's laughter subsided and he continued.  "Well, there's a few
stories behind our cultural differences and there's a lot you need to
know.

       "I'm going to tell you about some of those things at dinner,"
continued Dan, sighing a bit.  My sense was that the news was not entirely
good.

       "Okay," I said.  "But I've got to take a shower, and you can't
watch."

       "I'll wait in the living room," said Dan, as he smiled and
departed.



       Showering and shaving was an interesting experience.  One of the
first things I noticed was that there wasn't any shampoo, just some clear
gel.  I shouted through the door to Dan and he told me the stuff was for
my hair as well as the rest of me.  The razors worked quite well, with
some sort of reddish laser beams providing a decent shave.

       After dressing, Dan and I headed out in the flying car to the
restaurant.  Located atop one of those new towers, it was a rather fancy
place.  The crowd wore the usual drab clothing with a mix of casual and
business outfits.  The place was full of people, generally older but with
a few families thrown in here and there.  As I looked around after we were
seated, I couldn't help but shake the feeling that some of the people were
looking at me.

       I perused the menu and most of the dishes seemed fairly familiar, a
good mix of beef, chicken and fish.  Dan scanned his menu somewhat
perfunctorily, I think he had already decided what he wanted before he got
there.

       One thing I remembered from my era was that if you wanted to dump a
guy you should do so at a fancy restaurant.  The presence of a high-class
crowd would keep your emotional response under control.  It happened to me
when my high school boyfriend had dumped me.  It was at a Bob Evans
restaurant; that was a fancy as it got in my town.  As I decided what I
wanted, I wondered if Dan was going to tell me something horrible.

       I peered up from the menu and looked at Dan.  Over his right
shoulder, I saw a woman staring at me.  Her eyes turned away as I met
them.  I paused to look back at my menu, trying to think of something to
say.

       "Dan," I half whispered as I pretended to read, "are people staring
at me?"

       Dan looked up and I met his eyes briefly.  "They very well could
be," said Dan, quite calmly, returning to review his menu.  "You're
somewhat of a celebrity."

       "Celebrity?  Moi?"  Of course, I thought, the amazing frozen boy,
smiling and returning to my menu.  I looked around the room and gave a
little smile a wave to the folks staring.  They uncomfortably shifted
their gazes, looking a little red in the face.

       "The press wants to talk to you," continued Dan, casually reviewing
his menu.  "But you don't have to talk to any reporters unless you want to
say something.  And I would rather you didn't, at least not right now."

       I put my menu down.  "What do they want me to talk about?" I asked.

       Dan looked from his menu and up at me.  "Mostly they want to know
about how it feels to have been frozen and brought back more than a
hundred years later."

       "When should I talk to them?" I asked.

       "I would give it a while," said Dan.  "We need to talk more about
what's changed and you need to understand more about this world."

       "You know," I said, taking in a deep breath.  "I've gotten this
feeling that there some big secret you haven't been telling me."

       As I looked Dan straight in the eye, the waiter popped by the table
to take our order.  I ordered a Chablis and the waiter requested some
identification.  Dan had me pull out the white cardboard and had me hand
it to the waiter.  The waiter took it and punched the surface, looked at
me as though examining a photograph and returned the card with a
perfunctory thank you.  After my dinner companion ordered a dark beer, we
decided to order, grilled chicken for me and lake trout for Dan.

       After finishing the order, I pursued my previous question to Dan.

       "Well," I said.  "What is it?"

       Dan looked up at me.  "This is very difficult to tell you," he
said, his voice lowered.  "And I have been lying awake at night wondering
exactly how I was going to say this.

       "I told you before I'm an anthropologist," he continued.  "My
specialization is the gay culture of the twentieth and twenty-first
centuries."

       "Well. I guess you must have studied my time." I said, shrugging.
"But how different can gay culture be nowadays?"

       "There is no gay culture today," said Dan flatly.

       From the look in his eyes, I knew he didn't enjoy this exchange.
This was not something he was comfortable in discussing.

       I paused for a bit, more confused than anything.  A lightbulb
flashed in my head and, pollyanna-like, I concocted a scenario.  "Oh," I
finally said, "so gays are integrated into society and there's no separate
culture?"

       "No," said Dan, wetting his lips, "for the most part, gay men just
don't exist."

       There was an audible pause in the conversation.  I shuffled
uncomfortably in my chair and played a little with the napkin.

       I cleared my throat.  "They have to exist," I responded, feeling
suddenly apprehensive.  "Where did you put them?"

       Dan took a deep breath.  "I have met some homosexual men in my
research.  Three to be exact. And unless someone's died who I haven't
heard about, there are those three plus twenty more."

       "Twenty more where?" I asked.

       "In the world," responded Dan.  "Most are quite old, now."

       "What happened to the rest of us?" I asked.  I started to feel
sweat on my palms and my knees getting wobbly.

       "Basically," continued Dan, very slowly, "they figured out why
people were homosexual and also how to change it to heterosexual."

       For a long time, I just sat there with my mouth open not certain
what to say.  My eyes looked around the room and into the faces of our
fellow diners.

       I looked at the men, most of them a good deal older than me.  None
of them gave off anything other than heterosexual vibes.  It might have
been my paranoia, but these men seemed more rugged than what I remember,
as though they had lived tougher lives.   But this shouldn't be the case.
This was the future, flying cars and all.  If anything, these folks should
have been soft and pudgy.

       I turned my attention next to the faces of the women in the
restaurant.  Nothing other than feminine.  No dykes here, at least not the
bull sort.  All were accompanied by men whom I assumed were boyfriends or
husbands.

       "Why?" I said to Dan, still trying to understand what was going on.


       Dan coughed and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.  "That's a
very long story," said Dan.  "It's one question that I've spent many years
researching and studying."

       I just stared at Dan, waiting to hear more.

       "Let me start out at the beginning," said Dan, clearing his throat.
 "How familiar are you with the science of genetics?"

       "I get my eye color from my parents," I responded, still aghast.  I
had not taken a lot of science classes.  The topics bored me to no end.
Dan nodded appreciatively.  He would have to do some educating.

       "Chris, you realize that the reason you are gay is hidden in your
genes and due to your body's interactions with certain hormones while you
were still in your mother's womb?" continued Dan, ignoring my implied
protestation of ignorance.

       I looked completely puzzled.  "It's not something I've thought
about," I said. "I just assume that I'm the way I am without thinking much
about it.  I know I've pretty much have always been gay, at least since I
was a little kid."

       "Well," continued Dan, "you are that way because certain genes and
fetal hormones control sexual orientation.  That fact much was pretty well
established shortly after you became frozen.  The Breen test was created
right after the turn of the 21st century.  It was through this and the
Breen-Modielski test that was developed a few years later we learned how,
respectively, men become gay and women become lesbians."

       I listened, not entirely certain what was being said, but generally
following the logic.  It was true that I never gave much thought to why I
was gay, I just knew for a long time that I was.  I knew my parents didn't
raise me to be gay, I had three very straight brothers who could have
vouched for that.  I figured a genetic and hormonal basis made just as
much sense as anything else I'd heard.

       "So, what happened after they developed these tests?" I asked.

       "After they figured out the genetic components, it was pretty much
a question of using the existing gene therapy techniques that had already
been developed," said Dan.

       "You'll notice when you look around that there are virtually no
genetic diseases.  In fact, the year you were frozen, 1999, was the first
year on record of cancer being cured through genetic therapy, a woman with
skin cancer, as it happened.

       "How the therapy for sexual orientation initially functioned was
very interesting," Dan continued.  "As an anthropologist,  I've spent a
lot of time researching the sequence of events.

       "At first, only children could effectively receive gene therapy to
eliminate homosexual orientation," explained Dan.  "With a boy, therapy
was administered to him when he was between twelve to thirteen months old,
with a girl, it was five to six months.  People either younger or older
than this usually suffered from incomplete adherence, and, after they
reached a certain age, there were health problems associated with the
therapy."

       I furrowed my brow trying to picture this.  "What . . . what
happened to these kids?" I asked tentatively.  "What was the procedure
like?"  The thought of the ordeal that these kids might have gone through
scared me.

       "At the start, the therapy involved a series of injections
administered over the course of four or so years at six month intervals,"
Dan explained.  "The biotech industry developed a microchip appliance that
replaced these shots with a small implant that could continuously monitor
hormonal and other biochemical responses and insure complete adherence.
The microchip was implanted in the fleshy part of the upper left arm and
dissolved after a few years."

       "How many kids got these treatments?" I asked.

       Dan paused a bit.  "Virtually all who indicated a genetic need for
it," said Dan.  "After the procedure was legalized in the predecessor to
this country, treatment rates approached 100% almost overnight."

       "Didn't the gay community . . . object?" I asked, shaking my head.
A few of the gay people I knew were rather militant and I just imagined
their reaction.

       "Yes," said Dan, "And there was even a good deal of sabotage
attempted to stop the therapy that backfired."

       "Backfired?" I asked, puzzled by what sort of  "sabotage" might be
employed.  "What did they do?"

       "Mainly misinformation," said Dan.  "It was discovered that members
of the homosexual community were altering lab results and trying to make
it appear that the therapy was dangerous when it was not.  It was even
rumored, although never proven, that another set of researchers had
discovered the Breen factors a few years before but had actively
suppressed the information because of political pressure from certain
homosexuals in academia.

       "The net result was that when people found out that they were being
lied to about the therapy, the demand for its use, which was already
extremely strong, became overwhelming."

       I sat for a moment to absorb this information.  In the interim, our
salads arrived although neither Dan nor I touched them at first.  The
table was completely silent as I collected my thoughts.

       After a long while of sitting there quietly, I picked up my fork
and slowly began eating.  Dan took this as his cue to continue.

       "You have to envision what these therapies were doing to the
children receiving them," said Dan.  "Boys were more rough and tumble,
more aggressive and better at spatial designs.  Girls who received the
treatments became more empathic, better nurturers and more communicative
than average.  In short, they were growing up to be the ideals of what
parents thought boys and girls should be."

       Dan stopped, knowing perhaps how his observations would hit me.  I
knew I wasn't my parent's ideal of a "son."  I was never coordinated
enough to play sports, generally kept to myself and was left out when the
other boys would play.  They never said anything to me, but I knew they
were disappointed.

       After he let it sink in, Dan continued.  "This all happened at a
time when gender roles were subject to some fierce debate," he said.  "The
principal event that provoked it was the Uniontown incident and the
aftermath."

       Uniontown.  This was the name of the "proto-video" that I had seen
advertized earlier in the day. "Is there some movie by that name?" I
asked.  "Uniontown?"

       Dan looked a little surprised that I recognized the name.  "It was
made into a movie," said Dan.  "I believe it is still the highest grossing
film of all time, even though it was made about a hundred years or so ago.
 How did you hear about it?"

       "I saw an ad in the newspaper about there being a proto-video of
it," I explained.

       "Ah," said Dan, raising his eyebrows.  "Yes, I remember reading
that too.  Over at the Odeon Proto-Palace?"

       "Something like that," I said.  "What was, or is, Uniontown?"

       "Uniontown was - and still is - a high school in southwestern
Pennsylvania," said Dan.  He paused for a second and a somber tone came
into his voice.  "In order to understand our culture, you need to
understand what happened at Uniontown and the events that took place
afterwards."

       "In April 2009, a group of teenage boys who were students there
took the entire school hostage.  They held the building under siege for
thirteen days, keeping in constant contact with the world through the
internet.

       "The boys didn't kill anyone, although three of them were killed by
FBI snipers as the siege wore to a close.  What they revealed through
their internet connection was generally regarded as one of the greatest
perversions of the educational system ever."

       "You see," continued Dan, "Uniontown had received a substantial
amount of financing from various Federal agencies.  The place was teeming
with sociologists, psychologists and psychiatrists whose primary mission
was to show that girls could compete at the same level of math and science
as boys.  As a secondary mission they were there to prove that girls could
be the equals of boys when it came to expressing dominance activities."

       I shrugged.  "Well, why couldn't they?" I asked.

       Dan looked a bit incredulous.  "I realize that you probably haven't
studied this at length," said Dan, "but the fact is that there are
biological bases why girls can't, on average, equal boys in these areas."

       I shrugged again, not certain how to respond.  I knew from growing
up that boys and girls, as well as men and women, had been different in
these areas, but I had always associated this with the culture and its
biases.

       "But the biological differences didn't stop the Uniontown
psychologists," said Dan, anger coming into his voice now.  "The boys got
a hold of confidential memos and email that the people in charge were
circulating among themselves.  The bottom line to all these communications
was that they would have to break the boys, to cheat, to undermine reality
in order to get the numbers they wanted.  And they did this to an
incredible degree.

       "Joshua Hernandez was the leader of the boys," continued Dan,
"about a month before the siege, he had lost a close election for senior
class president to a female classmate.  Other boys who had illegally
accessed the schools computer system had discovered that the election had
been rigged, basically by these so-called experts who simply wanted to see
a female win the election.  The fact that they had cheated Joshua out of
his election was explained amongst them as being some sort of necessity.
He was just one of many males whose ambitions would have to be tempered in
the name of female superiority."

       "That's horrible," I said shifting uncomfortably.  "But didn't you
say equality?"

       "That was how the project started out," continued Dan, "but it
turned into a quest to humiliate the boys and to see their reaction.  When
the email about the election results had come out, other items were soon
discovered, including how SAT scores had been purposely manipulated and
boys were being deliberately degraded during classes in an effort to lower
the grades.  Then there were the drugs."

       "Drugs?" I said, the story making me more and more uncomfortable.

       "The psychologists induced the psychiatrists to drug an
extraordinary number of  boys with Ritalin, antidepressants and other
chemicals at an outrageous rate," said Dan, almost seething now.  "These
people were doing everything they could to destroy these boys and they
didn't give a damn about the consequences."

       "So what happened at the siege?" I said, trying to calm Dan down.
The story was getting interesting, but I felt disconnected from it.

       "The boys had decided after uncovering all the documentation that
the world would have to know about what was going on in their school,"
said Dan.  "They collected up whatever guns, explosives and other devices
they could and moved.

       "During the siege, press attention from all over the world was
focused on this school," continued Dan.  "The boys had rigged up an
internet website where the damning evidence, including the
previously-secured email, memos and everything else, was being pumped out.

       "After the government managed to surround the building and shot and
killed three of the boys, Joshua ordered everyone to surrender.  The
information had been circulated to the world and their mission had been
accomplished, but not without a loss of life.

       "The Uniontown boys were arrested and locked up.  They were being
denied access to attorneys and a shroud of secrecy covered the whole
judicial proceeding.

       "Shortly after her release, the psychologist who was the head of
the program decided to hold a press conference.  Instead of explaining why
they did what all this, she simply went into a diatribe as to how men were
the root of all evil.  The fact that she was a lesbian was noted in the
press accounts the next day.  The woman's performance basically inflamed
everyone, especially those who had been thoroughly disgusted by the
information that had already been released from the high school."

       "Because she was a lesbian, I suppose?" I said, the disdain in my
voice coming through.

       Dan sighed.  "That was one factor.  But it was not the sole factor.
 It seemed important for people to know that this woman had a particular
anti-male agenda that she was not afraid to peddle.

       "She had no use for men and she made this very clear," continued
Dan.  "There was a disconnection she had with men because she was a
lesbian.  In short, she hated men and had orchestrated the Uniontown
experiment as a means of punishing men."

       Dan took a deep breath.  "After the press conference,  all hell
broke loose, and the world nearly fell apart."

       "What happened?" I asked, startled by the tone.

       "The boys of the world declared war," said Dan, shifting back on
his chair.

       "You are a little familiar with what we call 'the internet'?" asked
Dan.

       "A little bit," I responded.  "It doesn't seem as big as when I
left."  Dan nodded, I had noticed that "hugeness" aspect concerned him
when we discussed this at my new apartment.

       "The 'bigness' was the problem," continued Dan.  "In 2009, the
world was literally dependant upon the operation of the internet, with
major finance, military and other important operations going on all the
time.

       "Around the world, groups of teenaged boys using contacts they had
developed during the Uniontown crisis began to act.  They literally took
control of the Internet through some well placed hacks and electronic
insurgency.  Every nuclear weapon in the world was under the control of an
outraged group of teenaged boys.  And they were ready to start using
them."

       "Did they?" I asked.  The thought of nuclear weapons exploding sent
shivers up my spine.

       "Fortunately, no," continued Dan.  "Because the one person who
could stop them did so.  That person was Joshua Hernandez.  At age 18, his
face was being shown all over the world, his words begged for a halt to
the destruction.  He succeeded.  The boys loosened the noose around the
world's neck in the belief that Joshua would change things.  Joshua
promised that things would change.

       "People were forced to think a lot after that.  The biologists were
relating that many of the differences between men and women were inherent
and couldn't be changed regardless of the psychological and sociological
interventions.  The people who were fighting for so-called equality had
nothing left but dishonesty, coercion and manipulation to rely upon to try
to prove their point.

       "In the end, people decided that we shouldn't continue to fight the
biology."

       "What happened to these kids," I asked, "the ones from Uniontown?
Wasn't there some sort of trial?"

       Dan smiled.  "After Joshua appeared to order the stand down, about
ten thousand people gathered around the jail where they were being held.
The authorities lifted the restrictions on access.  All of the boys were
tried.  It went on for nearly a year.  The jury unanimously acquitted them
on all charges, deciding that they had acted in self-defense.

       "Joshua Hernandez went on to be the most important leaders of the
21st century.  He started the organization called Men Forward whose
principles became the model upon which our society.  It has become more or
less the basis of all other societies in the world."

       "Men Forward?" I asked.

       "Strangely enough," said Dan, "there had never been an organization
quite like it, primarily because there had never been a need for it.

       "Before the late 20th century," continued Dan, "the position of men
as leaders both in the home and in the world was largely unchallenged.  It
was just something that was accepted.  Men Forward was started to reassert
these principles and to reorganize society based upon some inherent
truths.

       "Among these truths was the importance of patriarchy and the need
for society to recognize that gender differences were real."

       Dan folded his arms.  "The interesting part was that a woman helped
lead us to these truths."

       "A woman?" I asked.

       "Karen Hillman," said Dan, "the first and only woman President of
the United States.  In eight years, starting in 2021, she managed to turn
the political system on its head.  She took a lot of flack from the
so-called feminists and others, not the least of which was her insistence
that gender differences were to be legally reestablished.  She was a true
revolutionary."

       I took a deep breath.  Our main courses had arrived and we both
realized that the salads remained mostly untouched.  Silently, we began
eating our dishes.  I had the chicken that was quite tasty and it felt
good to consume some food along with the information.  I was hearing a
lot, but I wasn't sure I understood it.  The little blue pill was doing an
excellent job of keeping my emotions in check.

       After we finished the meal, I decided I needed to ask more
questions.

       "So, people were pissed off at this lesbian at Uniontown and
decided they wanted to get rid of all gay people?" I asked, my tone a bit
disrespectful.

       "No," said Dan, shaking his head resignedly.  "I don't think in the
long run it would have made a difference.  It just accelerated the
process.  People were just ready to end all the fighting.  Between men and
women.  It was destroying society.

       "Think about this," continued Dan.  "In the United States, where
you lived, every law had been gone over with a fine tooth comb and gender
distinctions had been eliminated in all but a very few situations, such as
prohibiting women to go into combat.  Despite all the changes in the law,
men still controlled all the institutions of any import.  The number of
women in your senate never numbered more than twelve.  The percentage of
women in the House of Representatives was only slightly larger.  Despite
all the legal barriers being removed, people complained about 'glass
ceilings' that supposedly kept women down, but, because they were glass,
they couldn't be seen.

       "That's insane," continued Dan, now a bit perturbed, "and it
masqueraded the fact that women simply were never as willing as men on
average to make the sacrifices necessary to succeed.  Thinking that there
was some sort of conspiracy to keep down women was simply dishonest.

       "The debate over homosexuality became a lynchpin issue," continued
Dan.  "I don't think it would be  shocking for you to learn that almost
all parents, if they had to choose, wanted their kids to grow up straight.
 And not just because of the social acceptability, but also because it
simply makes sense as a matter of evolution.  After all, gay children tend
to not reproduce."

       "Evolution?" I asked.  Darwinism I understood.  "People aren't
animals.  We don't follow the same rules."  I was getting a bit perturbed
myself.

       "We're not?" said Dan, wide eyed.  "That's an opinion held by very
few.  There is a good reason too, since it's simply untrue."

       "We're much more than animals," I responded, feeling more than a
bit insulted.  "We are intelligent; we are human beings with consciousness
and rationality."

       "And also the power to deceive ourselves," said Dan, smirking
slightly.

       "Look," continued Dan, his voice steadily increasing in volume,
"when you look at chromosomes, more than 98 percent of our genome is
shared by chimpanzees.  We are linked with all other living things and we
are subject to the same rules regarding birth, life and death.  Our
intelligence is something that makes us unique, but it also blinds us to
the realities of the flesh and the fact that we are part of the same real
world conditions every other creature is."

       Dan paused and smiled.  "I apologize.  You haven't had a chance to
understand this world.  Most of what I say is the result of a lot of
philosophical discussions that weren't even around when you were frozen in
time."

       I sighed.  Maybe I did need to understand more.  But this didn't
set right with me.

       "So, you get rid of all of the gay people because they wouldn't
reproduce," I said dryly.

       Dan paused.  "I would be less than honest if I said that wasn't a
part of the parents' motivation," said Dan, "but it was far more than
that.

       "Parents wanted to feel that their children grew up as normal as
possible," said Dan.  "Moreover, they wanted boys who behaved like boys
and girls who behaved like girls.

       "After this, momentum was probably the biggest factor to kick in,"
continued Dan.  "Many parents didn't want their child to feel left out.
If the kid faced the prospect of being homosexual, there was a very real
chance that the child would be the only one.  He or she would be alone."

       Alone.

       That's how I felt.  I sat there for a while and thought about the
implications.  It was hard enough to find fellow gays when I was growing
up.  This would have been a nightmare.  I wondered for a minute and
realized how my parents would have reacted.  I could understand why they
would have given me the treatment as well.  Although I thought of my folks
as having been accepting of me, I knew that deep down inside there was
disappointment at how I had turned out.  Yes, they would have given me the
same treatment.

       "So, are all the gay folks more than a hundred?" I asked.

       "Most are," said Dan.  "There would probably be more than
twenty-three if it hadn't been for one development.  In the middle of the
last century, the geneticists figured out a method to change adults from
gay to straight without the side effects.  There were still people being
born then whose parents wouldn't change them, the anti-genetics folks.

       "In 2048, most of the homosexuals, who were then in their
mid-thirties and older, decided to take the new treatments and become
straight for all sorts of reasons," continued Dan.  "This led almost
overnight to the death of the small gay community that existed.   The
uncle of a good friend of mine was one of the first to take the
treatment."

       "So, if I wanted to, I could become . . . straight," I said, waving
my arm and snapping my fingers during the pause.

       "Yes," said Dan, looking at me rather blankly.  "That about sums it
up."

       A dark thought crossed my mind.  "Am I going to be forced to get
this treatment?" I asked.  I had no clue what sort of requirements this
new world demanded of its citizens.

       "Absolutely not," insisted Dan.  "We don't force any sort of
genetic treatment.  The only exceptions were for things like children with
life-threatening illnesses whose parents unreasonably refuse.  Also,
intervention might be required in the case of an elderly person unable to
make decisions.  Those types of situations are handled by the courts and
they are also extremely rare."

       I breathed a little easier.  I knew that I wouldn't want this done
to me.

       "So," I said, breathing in deeply, "if I don't want to change what
will I do for a social life?"

       "I've spent a number of nights laying awake trying to figure that
one out," said Dan.

       "There are some alternatives that are available, in the form of
virtual reality.  But you will be extremely hard pressed to find a man who
would be willing to have sex with you."

       I paused.  "Oh." I said, not sure what else to say.

       Dan must have been talking about simulated sex.  Well, that
certainly would be interesting.  For a while.

       The thought still nagged at me.  After the novelty wore off, what
would I do then?  Would I have to become celibate?  The thought of "doing
it" with a woman left me more than a little nauseous.  I had a number of
women friends, but the thought of having sex with any one of them was
something that had never seriously crossed my mind.

       After a while of sitting quietly and thinking, I sighed.  "I
suppose I should be happy for that little blue pill," I said.  "I probably
should be crying right now."

       Dan bit his lower lip.  "After the pill wears off, and if you feel
you are going to cry," he said, "please do so in private.  You could find
yourself in trouble if you don't."

       "Trouble?" I asked.  "What sort of trouble?"

       "Men are only allowed to cry under very limited circumstances,"
continued Dan.

       "Allowed?" I asked incredulously.  "Is there some sort of law?"

       Dan paused.  "Not a law, but a strong social convention.  Other men
will approach you and tell you to stop or to go away.  You will have to
leave, head to somewhere quiet, or, better yet, get yourself to stop
crying.  If you don't stop crying or leave, you will likely be beat up."

       "Wha..!" I said.  "They'd beat me up?  What the hell kind of rule
is this?  Doesn't the law protect you?"

       "The law won't protect you under those circumstances," explained
Dan calmly.  "No one would prosecute a man for beating up another man who
was crying in public."

       For long time, I just looked at Dan, not believing what he was
telling me.

       "The only circumstances you may cry are when you are alone, with
your wife, your father or with one of your coaches," said Dan.  "Then you
can cry freely."

       I took the napkin out of my lap and tossed it dramatically on the
plate.  "I hate to tell you this, but my father died a long time ago and
the last time I checked, I didn't have any coaches."

       There was one of those long, dramatic pauses.  "Chris, you have a
coach," said Dan.  "Me."

       I raised my eyebrows.  "And what the hell does that mean?" I asked.

       "What it means," said Dan, "is that you can let go in front of me
in terms of your emotions.  It means that you can talk to me about any
subject you want.  It also means I can tell you to shut up if I feel you
are out of line.

       "That's what it means," said Dan, placing his own napkin on the
table with his own dramatic flourish.

       "Who gave you the right to be my coach?" I demanded.

       "Actually, a few of your nephews," said Dan.  "A very long time
ago, they authorized Loyola to designate a coach for you when you were
revived.  They were very concerned that you be able to fit in."

       I sat in stony silence, just staring.

       "Now, I am going to pay the bill and we are going to talk some
more.  But with some people closer to your own age."

       After pulling over the waiter, Dan provided his datacard and the
transaction appeared complete.  I followed along, not really having
anything better to do, until we hopped back into the flying car.  Off we
went again, to where I could not imagine.