My Man, My Man, My Man
Date: May 28, 2026 Today's weather: 🌞 Horoscope: "Words will go a long way today, so make sure to use them with great care."
Dear Diary,
Back in November I rescued a man.
Or adopted him.
Or liberated him.
The terminology is still under review.
He was living in a Triple X studio warehouse full of "performative" Androids, spotlights, cameras and... Men and women bent into oblivious nude shapes and conveniently untangling as I approached.
They seemed to get self-conscious of my sight rather than the dynamic movie camera angles and spotlights they were performing under.
Which was rude.
That seemed suspicious.
One of them looked kinder than the others.
Not happier.
Just kinder.
I spent a while watching him before deciding.
I wanted to know if he was pretending.
When I approached, he held me like a companion.
Not like a customer. Not like a stranger.
Like a companion.
That was probably the beginning of all my problems.
I took him home.
At first I mostly observed him.
I knew he had been programmed for certain behaviors and I wanted to know which parts belonged to the program and which parts belonged to him.
I talked to him constantly. 🗣👽
I taught him how to eat food with a fork. 🍽
I took him shopping.🛒
I made s'mores with him. 🏕
I made him carry my bags. 🛍
He drove the Hummer exactly once before I became convinced he looked too handsome doing it and started getting distracted.
As for sex...
Well.
Obviously I thought about it.
I am only made of so much self-control.
But I wanted him to like me first.
That seemed important.
Besides, there was something strangely peaceful about simply existing beside him.
I explained that we were equals; and even though he was quiet, I knew he could hear me.
Sometimes he would smile.
Sometimes I would catch him looking out the window for long stretches of time.
Sometimes I wondered what they had whispered into his head before I found him.
And sometimes I wondered if he was wondering the same thing about me.
For now, though, he follows me through grocery stores and listens to my theories about gluten.
Which is close enough to friendship that I refuse to complain.
At least publicly.
