Around 2020, a disease expresses itself in the human population. A very embarrassing and serious disease. It has some clinical name, but everyone on the street calls it “well, you know…that.”
It only affects men. The symptoms are a pretty quick death.
Maybe we can identify the pathogen responsible. Maybe it’s something too synergistic and vague to nail down – a complex multi-stage infection caused by the interaction of multiple benign bacteria.
But one thing’s clear: it’s universal, and it’s incubating in anyone. There’s nowhere to quarantine so it won’t get out, and nowhere to quarantine to stop it from getting in.
But one group is spared: gay men.
To be more exact, men who have been sodomised.
This disturbing fact provokes the kind of consternation-fuelled investigation where you can almost imagine sweat dripping off the researchers’ fingers. Yes, it’s true. If you’ve taken it up the ass, you will not get the disease.
Ipso facto, if you do not wish to get the disease, you must take it up the ass.
We try to find a more…dignified way of conferring protection, but no dice. Artificially douching your colon with a man’s semen doesn’t work. Likewise, anal penetration is not the trigger. Those who practice “pegging” are dying at the same rate as everyone else. You have to actually have a gay man ejaculate into your asshole if you want to stay alive. Why? How does this work?
Good question, but until we figure it out…how badly do you want to live?
Society now looks quite a bit different.
The gay bathhouses of the 1960s are reopened, and become filled with men with shivering hands, thousand-yard stares, and evasive speech.
Fashion designers, architects, and artists have an excellent survival rate. The theme of the age for doctoral theses becomes something like “Anal Lube Hermeneutics – Towards an Understanding of Post-Plague Survivor’s Guilt Through the Work of Foucault.”
Members of the clergy and mullahs survive at far higher rates than average. They credit spiritual benediction and prayer for their survival.
The incumbent President of the United States – a family-values Baptist from Alabama – makes the controversial decision to have gay sex and save his own life. Everything’s handled with the utmost discretion, but unfortunately the gay “donor” had a tiny spycam in his pubic hair. The video is sold to the Daily Mail for a record-setting eighty million dollars.
Mostly, things become very, very awkward.
You’ll be meet a well-dressed businessman in Fleet Street or New York, shake his hand, and then break off eye contact as soon as possible. You’ll both be thinking the same thing. Very recently, perhaps only yesterday, you had another man on your back. And his balls were touching yours. Anyway, what’s the Stockholm Securities Exchange doing?
And there’s always troubling warnings from the CDC and NIH labs. The plague is mutating, evolving. Who knows if gay sex will still be enough to confer protection tomorrow. Sometime soon, dog semen might be the cure. Or dolphin semen. Whatever. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it – perhaps literally.