Kant shakes his head. For him, sex is not play, and not sports, nor even work—sex will always be a trial, ending in a verdict.
And yet: Kant also wonders if his own reticence is a smokescreen to avoid admitting that he’s never been very physically attracted to Julian either. It’s not that Julian doesn’t take care of himself, with his thrice-weekly gym visits and flexitarianism; he is undeniably good-looking. But not perfec…
As much as he appreciates the support, he doesn’t actually want Julian to like him for his niceness or intelligence. He’d hoped that being in a relationship would somehow make his self-worth feel less concentrated around cartoonishly yucky sexual degradation; yet six months in, neither of them ha…
Kant realizes it sounds like he’s fishing for compliments, and that in doing so he might find the lake empty. He apologizes and stares at his stupid face in the sideview mirror, getting sucked into an emotional gravity well where he pities Julian for dating such a loser, and resents Julian for pity…
By the time Alison arrives at the lovely bucolic farmhouse she feels like a submarine at crush depth. She’s early, and awkwardly loiters at a distance, surrounded by tea lights and easels cheekily displaying the couple’s blown-up social media posts, to observe the ceremony she wasn’t invited to. De…
