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I had an idea for a novel in which one of the main characters engages in wishful projection onto his love interest. This is set in a near-future society in which sexbots are common, coloring some people’s perception of romantic relationships. The love interest complains that he has his own personality and is not a sexbot that can download personality apps to suit its owner.

I started thinking about other aspects. A coalition of Independent Fundamental Baptists Against Everything and Radical Feminist Separatists Against Everything (don’t worry; I plan to come up with more realistic names) demands that government regulate the sexbots. The federal government obliges, insisting on a back door to SexBotOS that allows spying and even getting rid of political opponents. This is how the conflict in the main plot arises.

The sexbots also have a process like Siri or Alexa, which allows for comic relief. When a character talks about capitalizing on technological progress, a sexbot in the room assumes that it is being asked about the capital of Tennessee and starts talking about Nashville before being told to shut up.

READER ADVISORY: Things start to heat up between Sam and Ernie. Certain body parts are mentioned.

 

About a month later, on a Friday night, Ernie decided to go out to the Bear Cave with Rob and Michael because every other weekend, when they had the weekend off, that was what was done.  They were in their usual location by the magazine rack, sharing war stories about their work weeks. They embellished their stories about police work to play “can you top this”; each of them knew that the others were at least partially bullshitting, but that just enhanced their camaraderie.

“Ernie,” said Rob, “that blond twink by the pinball machines is totally checking you out.”

“Oh, my God,” said Michael, “that’s that guy from the courthouse. Isn’t it?”

Ernie turned to look while trying not to be too obvious about it.  “That’s the one,” he said, grinning broadly. “What did I tell you about how some things are just meant to be?”

Michael said, “I wish I had blond twinks like that checking me out.”

“Well, I do ’cause I’m me, and you don’t ’cause you’re you,” responded Ernie. “That, and at least we now know he’s into me for me and doesn’t just have a cop fetish.”

“On second thought,” said Michael.  “I don’t see what’s so special about him. I’ll bet he has a real small dick.  Look at how he doesn’t fill out those jeans.”

“Sour grapes much?” asked Ernie.

“Um, good morning, Michael,” said Rob, “it’s Ernie.  When he gets together with someone, his dick is the only one that gets any action.  I doubt he notices the other guy even has a dick. Or so I’m told, of course.”

“That’s right,” said Ernie. “Now why don’t you two go run along and play?  I have serious business to attend to.”

 

Sam had decided that he needed to escape his apartment and live a little. He had fooled around sexually with classmates a bit and had even had a steady boyfriend for a while, but he figured that now that he was out of law school and building his own life, it was time to find a real man for real sex.

He had learned in Sunday school that God did not want him to have sex with a man, but his Sunday-school teachers were not there. As for what God wanted, whenever anyone asked five of God’s self-appointed publicists what God had meant to say, they gave seven answers, none of which differed appreciably from what the person giving it would have wanted to believe anyway.

He had decided to go to the Bear Cave, both because it seemed like a place to meet the sort of man whom he found attractive and because it often seemed that he did not even speak the same language as the twinks at the Esplanade or the campy queens at the Windermere. Besides, the fact that writers for The Georgeport Gayzetteso often railed against the “homomasculinity” of the Bear Cave’s patrons, which readers were apparently supposed to take as self-evidently bad, was a point in its favor. While he had a hookup application installed on his cell phone, the men who showed up on it seemed creepy and desperate, so he hardly ever checked it except out of morbid curiosity.

He showered, taking care to wash the pomade out of his hair, shaved, and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, figuring that it would be better to go commando, which he had just about never done before.  After checking the address for the Bear Cave, he headed out the door to the subway station.

The Bear Cave was on East 11th Street in Georgeport’s Near North Side, surrounded by derelict industrial buildings. After reaching the Bear Cave and spending the longest time waiting for the bouncer to scrutinize his driver’s license, he entered the bar.  It was still early, so the bar was largely empty.  After his eyes adjusted to the light, he mostly saw a few people standing singly. Faded images of masculine archetypes had been painted directly onto the cinderblock walls near a row of lockers. He wondered what the lockers were for until he saw someone start to undress and put his clothes into one. Much of the light came from two televisions, one showing sports news with closed captioning and the other showing porn. He heard someone say, “Hey, kid, this isn’t the Esplanade” but figured that it would be best not to acknowledge having heard.

To his initial astonishment, the three police officers from the courthouse were there, chatting with one another. Then again, the Georgeport metropolitan area’s LGBT community often seemed like a small town, so simple probability should have made their presence unsurprising. The tallest one, Ernie, the one who had spoken to him before, had clearly dressed to show off his physical attractiveness to maximum effect; he was wearing a dress shirt of thin white broadcloth that only nominally covered his built, hairy body and jeans tight enough to show the contours of his large penis.

Ernie appeared to be the most at ease of anyone in the bar.  At one point, when Ernie turned around, Sam could see that Ernie had a handkerchief in his back left pocket in some shade of blue; who could tell in that light just what shade? Ernie was clearly in his element, a king holding court.

The three police officers noticed Sam’s presence and exchanged words. Shortly thereafter, the two sidekicks left, and Ernie motioned Sam over.  When Sam approached, Ernie grabbed him, kissed him on the forehead, and asked, “So, kid, remember me from the courthouse?”

“Sure do. Nice to see you again.” Sam found Ernie’s forwardness unsettling and yet also arousing.

“Nice to see you again, too. You look even hotter like that than you did in a suit and with your hair slicked back; you look like a real person and not like some hotshot lawyer. I’m sure you look even better naked, though. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“This is my first time here.”

“New in town?”

“No: I’ve lived in the area all my life.  I grew up in Kingsbridge, but—”

“Oh, a blue-collar boy. You may have a fancy job now, and you may have mostly lost the accent, but once a blue-collar boy, always a blue-collar boy.  So you came from Kingsbridge to the wicked big city so you could come out, and now you’re here in this bar, looking for cock.”

Sam found it odd and not entirely pleasing that Ernie had just assumed that Sam was one of the ones looking for cock rather than offering it, but he was not going to argue the point.

Ernie hugged Sam tightly. Sam could feel that Ernie was already getting an erection.  Ernie whispered into Sam’s ear, “I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you at the courthouse, and you wanted me, too; I could tell right away. I’m not into big, hairy, muscular men.  I much prefer cute boys like you.”  Ernie pulled back and said, “I’m going to hit the john.  Don’t move from this spot.”

Sam watched as Ernie headed to the bathroom.  Ernie eventually emerged, with his shirt completely unbuttoned, and hugged Sam tightly again.  After a while of passionate kissing, Ernie asked, “How did you get here?”

“I took the subway,” Sam responded.

“I’m parked about two blocks from here.  You’re spending the night at my place.”

“What about your friends?”

“They’ll find their own way home; don’t worry. We have an agreement, in case any of us gets lucky. After all, nobody comes to a place like this to be a choir boy.”  Ernie buttoned up his shirt.  “Now c’mon.”  Ernie headed toward the exit and motioned to Sam to follow.

“So which of them is your boyfriend?”

“Neither. Don’t worry about that. If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have approached you; I want something with just one guy. Um, now that you’ve mentioned that, you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m looking for something with just one guy. I could get head all day, every day, and that’s just from the guys who say they’re ‘straight but curious,’ but that’s not what I want.”

Ernie led Sam out of the bar and to a pickup truck whose tailgate was plastered with bumper stickers for local political campaigns and law-and-order causes. The truck had vanity license plates reading DOMDAD9.

 

Since a large filing with numerous exhibits had to be filed in the state superior court by hard copy rather than electronically, since the paralegal who normally did such filings was out sick, and since the firm of Archer, Welland, & Olensky no longer trusted such filings to runners after a few mishaps, it fell to Sam, as a young associate at the firm and thus not in a position to weasel out of the task, to hand-carry it to the courthouse. It was a pleasant spring day and therefore as good a day as any to walk from the office to the courthouse, especially since the billing partner for that client had assured him that he could enter a reasonable amount of time to and from the courthouse as billable.“Just don’t go hog-wild,” she had said, “and spend all day or have an eight-martini lunch or anything.”

He had also recently bought a new suit and wanted to be seen in it. While on one level he found it odd that people treated him differently in accordance with what clothes he wore, he was not about to turn down the respect that a well made suit got him. At 5’6” and with a slim build, he could use all of the commanding physical presence that the suit could offer him. Since starting to work at the firm, he had carefully observed the dress, hair, and mannerisms of the businessmen around him to reinvent himself as one of them.

He made his way from his office to the courthouse complex. Behind the classical-revival historic courthouse lay the two buildings in which the state superior court for the City and County of Georgeport did most of its work: the Civil Courts Building, with its airy and fashion-driven postmodern architecture, in which the court’s civil and chancery departments sat; and the hulking, brutalist Hall of Criminal Justice. In a narrow strip of park in front of the latter building, three police officers, all apparently in their thirties or early forties, were lolling around together. Two of them were average-looking, but the third was noticeably taller and more physically fit than the other two. That one had heavy five-o’clock shadow even at that time of day, a mustache, and dark brown hair in a crew cut. As Sam saw them interact, it seemed to him that the tall one was the alpha male of the group; the other two seemed simply to react to whatever he said. The tall one, in addition to evidently being naturally dominant, was stunningly handsome. To Sam’s embarrassment, he started to become aroused.

The tall one and one of his acolytes looked at Sam for a moment and exchanged words. Sam had no idea of what they were saying but figured that he was probably happier not knowing. Since the client was not paying him check out cops, he entered the Civil Courts Building to do the filing.

 

Officers Ernest Butler, Michael Rogers, and Robert Franceschini of Georgeport’s finest were taking a break in front of the Hall of Criminal Justice, shooting the shit until they had to go back in and testify some more. Gay police officers, stuck between two mutually hostile worlds, tended to stick together, especially those who were on the same shift, and the three had become inseparable. Ernie loved Michael and Rob like younger brothers—and in no other way, since neither one was his type.

“Hey, Ernie,” Michael said, nudging Ernie, “see that blond twink with the glasses and the expensive-looking suit?”

“What?” Ernie asked. “Oh, him.” A young man carrying a briefcase and wearing a bright red tie, a designer suit that perfectly framed his slight figure, and gold wire-rimmed glasses had paused on his way to the Civil Courts Building. Ernie did see him and liked what he saw, except that he was sure that the boy would look better without the suit and the glasses and with his wavy blond hair not pomaded down like that. “Yeah, what about him?”

“I think he’s checking one of us out.”

“Must be me,” said Ernie. “You know it’s me.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” asked Michael, sounding hurt.

“Well, maybe he’s a chubby chaser,” said Ernie, poking Michael in the gut, “but don’t bet on it.”

Rob said, “You two can fight over him; he’s too much of a pretty boy for me.”

“Rob,” asked Ernie, “is this the part where you bore us to death with your fantasies about topping Sasquatch?”

“Very funny,” said Rob. “Anyway, he’s going into the Civil Courts Building, so get your cruising in while you can.”

 

As Sam stood in line and then waited for the clerk to verify that everything listed on the filing receipt was there, the memory of that police officer gave Sam something with which to distract himself, although Sam figured that that would most likely be the extent of his involvement with the officer. Not only was the police officer out of Sam’s league, but also, Sam knew that most men were not gay and had learned the hard way that wishful thinking often disguised itself as gaydar. Still, there was no harm in thinking about him.

After the clerk had paged through the filings, date-stamped the receipt, and handed it back to Sam, he decided that there had to be some excuse for him to stop by that park on the way back to the office. He left the Civil Courts Building and walked over the park, where the three police officers were still present. He walked along the edge of the park, pretending that he was simply admiring the flower beds, until he noticed someone standing next to him.

When he looked up, he saw that it was the tall police officer, apparently also pretending to admire the flower beds. The cop was well over six feet tall and was apparently starting to become aroused, although Sam tried not to be too obvious about looking. The officer’s name tag identified him as E. Butler.

“How ya doing?” E. Butler asked in a low-pitched voice.

“Um, fine, thanks, and you?”

“I’m doing good.” The cop extended his hand. “I’m Ernie.”

Sam shook his hand and noticed what a strong grip he had. “Hi, Ernie. I’m Sam.”

“Hey, Ernie,” one of the other police officers called out, “we have to go back in now.”

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” said Sam.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” said Ernie.

 

After the officers were done testifying, they met up again in the park before heading back. “You and blond boy,” said Michael, “were like two ships passing in the night.”

“More like two speedboats,” said Rob.

“Don’t worry,” Ernie said. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, and this is meant to be.”

“How do you know?” asked Rob.

“Don’t ask silly questions,” Ernie responded. “I just do. I’ll see him again, sooner or later.”

“What about all the other guys you said it was meant to be with?” asked Rob

“This time, it’s different,” said Ernie.

“Yeah, right,” said Rob

“We’ll see who’s right,” said Ernie.

 

As Ernie had said, he had every confidence that he would see Sam again. He could probably look up Sam from his first name, the monogram on his shirt, and the fact that he was most likely a lawyer, but it was unlikely that he and Sam moved in the same social circles. Ernie could always find an excuse to share social space with Sam, but he had tried that twice when younger, and doing so had blown up in his face both times. Besides, what was meant to be would be, and their paths would eventually cross again. In the meantime, he would not need his twink porn that evening or any time soon.

 

Sam, for his part, tried to concentrate at work while wondering what Ernie looked like nude. Even if nothing else would ever happen between them, and Sam had no reason to believe that anything else ever would, Sam still felt good about attracting the notice of someone like Ernie, and there would be no harm in fantasizing.

 

“Today’s Scripture reading,” said Pastor Mandeville, “says that ‘the end of all things is at hand.’ People back then thought they were living in the end times, but we know we are.  We know because we can discern it from the Bible, which is God’s inerrant Word.”

The congregation murmured approval.  Some sat with their hands folded in their laps, while others took notes.  If they had any reaction to Pastor Mandeville’s preaching other than passive acceptance, their faces did not betray it.

“And that’s what the life and ministry of this church have been leading up to since this denomination was founded,” continued the Pastor.  “Now, I see some new faces in the congregation today, so let me say for their benefit what the church members already know, so please bear with me. The Holy Spirit called certain men to found the United Church of the Saints in 1934 to restore the church originally founded by Our Lord Jesus Christ in the year 33 A.D. and to prepare for His second coming.”

If anyone wondered what had happened between the years 33 and 1934, no one let on.

Among the congregation was the Overton family, pillars of the church and of their working-class community in suburban Kingsbridge Township.  The Overtons were at first glance the picture-perfect evangelical Christian family.  The head of the family was Saul Overton, who had done well selling cars and ended up owning one of the metropolitan area’s largest car dealerships, on Route 1 in Elrod Township; the people of the church knew that the Lord had blessed him financially to reward him for his faith.  He had decided to keep the family in Kingsbridge rather than move to one of the more expensive suburbs west of the city because he preferred the traditional family atmosphere of Kingsbridge.

The Overtons’ second son, Sam, was in attendance, although he had not attended regularly since going away to college and then moving from Kingsbridge into the city.  The first son, Nathan, was not in attendance and was no longer welcome since having been disfellowshipped. He had asked enough difficult questions during Sunday school that he was eventually determined to have blasphemed against the Holy Spirit. He was also living in sin with his girlfriend, Tracy.

That week, Sam had brought his, um, “friend,” Ernie Butler, of whom no one was sure what to make, and of whom no one was quite sure what to say, at least to the face of anyone in one of the church’s most important families. Besides, neither Sam nor Ernie seemed like, well, you know, those people, at least as the media had portrayed them to be. For one thing, Ernie was a police officer, and what could be more respectable and upstanding than that? Rumor had it that they were having difficulty in their relationship, although no one felt like asking Sam or anyone else who would know for sure; besides, who wanted the details? Ernie had also grown up in a churchgoing environment, although Catholic rather than evangelical Protestant, and he had learned to avoid all but the most superficial discussions of theology, so he knew how to make small talk with the people in the congregation with few missteps. Some of the church members were cordial to him, while others were polite but cool, and still others avoided him. At least Nathan was living in sin in a heterosexual way. The churchgoers would certainly not have known what to make of the circumstances under which Sam and Ernie had first met.

Sam Overton is a young lawyer with a brilliant future at one of the city’s leading law firms. After he and older police officer Ernie Butler have chance meetings at the courthouse complex and then at a leather bar, the two become lovers, and Ernie, who is experienced in the local gay leather scene as a Dominant, guides Sam in exploring his submissive nature. They become inseparable and appear set to live happily and kinkily ever after, until a seemingly innocent event upends everything that they think they know about each other, the nature of their relationship, and themselves.

Written by a gay man who has lived the life, this book explores the psychology of Dominant/submissive relationships between men. At times sexy, snarky, and philosophical, it also explores the questions of how we know what we know, why we believe what we believe, and what happens when our most cherished beliefs turn out to be neither true nor faithful. Along the way, it examines the absurdities of contemporary gay life, not sparing the sacred cows.