“How many in your party?” the high school-aged hostess asked with fatigued friendliness.
“Six,” Leonard Shelstein replied without replying, staring down at the ground as if talking to himself.
“Right this way.” Leonard followed the hostess to a booth in the far corner of the 24-hour diner. The rest of his party had not arrived yet, but he expected they would shortly. They were always notoriously late, while he had always been notoriously early. Too early. He didn’t like wasting time, mindlessly checking his social media pages and the latest depressing newsreels, but he also didn’t like rushing places, and as long as he was early, he would never have to worry about rushing. The things that destroy our souls are often the very same things that save them.
Anyhow, the rest of the party arrived a mere two minutes late, so he did not have to wait too long in solitary confinement. They were all within a couple years of his age—26, to be precise, although he often felt like a displaced 90-year-old—and equally pretentious in their self-proclaimed wars against pretentiousness. They were as follows:
Cindy Gansen, an Instagram poet who looked exactly like what you’d expect an Instagram poet to look like and wasn’t ashamed to admit it; Eli Martin, a part-time barista who was not nearly half as flamboyant as his voice sounded when telling customers to have a nice day; Penny McCartney, an aspiring songwriter who hated the word “aspiring” and always insisted on replacing it with “inspiring”; Jack Henson, a Catholic seminarian who waged a private war against the Church’s celibacy rules; and Geena Thompson, a gentle nurse who had a bit of a fetish for being recognized by strangers in public (“Weren’t you the kind woman who bandaged my arm?”).
Each of them had become acquainted on set, which is the manner by which most people in Hollywood become acquainted, pretend to be friends for a little while, and then never see each other again. Except they were too sincere for that; they refused to be mere connections and tried their best to actually be friends. “Networking” was a filthy dirty word; any true anti-capitalist should have been absolutely ashamed to use it. What sort of set did they meet on, you might ask? A student film? The passion project of a wannabe auteur who wore a “Written and Directed by Quentin Tarantino” t-shirt to prove he was the real deal? Or perhaps something truly worthy of the San Fernando Valley…
Yep, you guessed it (well, assuming you have a dirty mind): they met on a porn set. An unusually large one, with six different short films being shot at the same time, each exploring a particular fetish. Leonard had a soft, whispery voice, so he was the star of the most innocent kind of deviancy: naked ASMR. Being the Instagram poet that she was, Cindy brought a new meaning to “Poetry Slam” as she engaged in rough sex while reciting her latest musings. Eli was skilled at delivering passive-aggressive comments since he was a manager at a coffee shop, so he naturally played a male dom in a gay submissive video. Penny used her inspiring songwriter experience to play a groupie in a backstage orgy. Jack portrayed a priest having an illicit affair with nuns in an ongoing series called Backstage at the Vatican. And Geena hooked into a vore fetish by playing the dinner victim of a hungry cannibal; it had nothing to do with her nursing profession, but she always believed in defying all expectations.
They all considered themselves to be sex-positive, so they weren’t too uncomfortable
with what they did to pay off their student loans and Better Help therapy sessions. Well, within
reason. As the ever conscience-tortured seminarian Jack once remarked, “It’s a slippery slope.
We say all fetishes are natural and healthy, but what about the man who’s attracted to children?
What makes him demonic while everyone else is supposedly normal?” He was undoubtedly a
rebellious Christian in his loose views on sexual morality, but he still sympathized with many Christians’ opposition to all sexual activity that didn’t involve something at least posing as genuine human love. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake could be dangerous.
Anyhow, that’s why they all met at the diner so frequently: to unburden their consciences. To find justification where they feared there may be no justification. They did not judge anyone who watched their porn; obviously not. There was nothing inherently wrong with feeling good down you-know-where; it was certainly a less destructive drug than most on the market. Then again, there was the perpetual question of turning a human being into an object, of temporarily sucking the soul out of the only creature who technically had a soul.
But today, they didn’t particularly feel like torturing themselves with philosophical theoreticals, at least initially. Today, they primarily felt like eating, ordering their food with unusual haste and receiving it even more hastily (it was probably all microwaved anyways).
“These pancakes taste better than usual,” Geena remarked in between bites.
“Crispier or softer?” Jack interjected.
“Softer. I think that’s how pancakes ought to be.”
“I’m on the crispy side myself.”
“Just like my grandpa. He wanted everything burnt.”
“Wise man.” Jack took a bite of his well-well-done waffle and nearly swooned. “Just
right.”
“I don’t know how you guys can just eat carbs all the time,” the ever health-conscious Cindy butted in. “You’re gonna destroy your hearts.”
Jack just shrugged his shoulders. “Well, we’ve all got to go somehow. Might as well be happy when we do.”
Geena was quick to come to Jack’s side. “Everything in moderation. Including moderation.”
“Whatever. It’s your funeral.” Cindy then removed a vape pen from her pocket and took a hit.
Meanwhile, Penny and Eli were arguing the pros and cons of politically correct vocabulary. “Name one person living on the streets who actually cares whether people call them ‘homeless’ instead of ‘unhoused,’” Eli trolled Penny.
“I don’t currently know anyone living on the streets, but…”
“Aha, exactly! So who are you to judge me for saying ‘homeless ’? Getting offended is a privilege of the over-privileged, you know.”
“I didn’t say I was offended. I just said other people might be.” This went on for another ten minutes, even though nothing new was actually said. Eli wasn’t Republican by any long stretch of the word, but compared to most other people in the queer community, he seemed like it. Then, whenever he went home to visit his ultra-conservative family in Connecticut, he seemed like the most flaming of flaming liberals. So it always felt like he didn’t really belong anywhere.
Penny, meanwhile, was a virtue-signaler to an extreme, which meant she had very little virtue at all. Well, that wasn’t entirely true – she gave a spare dollar to an unhoused individual every now and then—but she focused on others’ faults far more than she did her own. Didn’t everyone, though? People were terrified of mirrors, so they spent their days deflecting when they should have been reflecting instead.
Tired of overhearing such directionless bickering, Leonard finally tapped a spoon on his water glass in an effort to get everyone’s attention. “I thought we were supposed to be talking about fucking.”
“But we always talk about fucking,” Cindy complained. “Doesn’t our friendship go deeper than that?”
“Can you get any deeper than fucking?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
“I kid, of course. Although, to answer your question, I really don’t think our friendship goes any deeper than that. Sorry to disappoint you.”
Seminarian Jack shook his head. “Oh, Lenny. Always the cynic.”
“Says the man who’s written a whole fan fiction novel about the private sex life of John
Paul II.”
“There’s no way in hell that man was a virgin. Imagine him brainstorming Love and Responsibility to his fellow priests: ‘I’m tired of men and women not coming at the same time. We’re holiest when we work TOGETHER. I only speculate, of course.’ I’m sure his bros were like ‘Speculate my ASS!’ They knew what was up.”
Leonard chuckled. “Well, that was between him and God.”
“More like between him and a couple unholy nuns if you ask me.”
“Jesus Christ, Jack, are you sure you still want to become a priest?”
“Absolutely. I’m just gonna be a renegade one.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Don’t you know how evil the Catholic Church is?” Penny chimed in. “They, like, literally raped and murdered millions of people.”
“I wouldn’t say millions of people. That’s a gross exaggeration.”
“Even if it was just one person, it would still be pretty fucked up.”
“The Church hasn’t raped and killed anyone. It’s some of the people in the Church who are responsible for all the atrocities.”
“But isn’t the Church and the people the same thing? We are one body, one body in Christ…”
“You remember your Catholic schooling pretty well, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately.” Penny’s eyes wandered up to the ceiling in the manner of a soldier recalling a tortured memory from the war. It was a bit pretentious but sincere nonetheless; she had been genuinely scarred by the seemingly sadomasochistic philosophies she’d been taught by middle-aged virgins with rosary beads in their pockets. Whenever she cried out in pain without crying at all—a simple twitch of eyelids to convey inner turmoil—she would hear, “Just offer it up for the poor souls in Purgatory.” And that was that; her own personal purgatory was apparently invalid.
“Damn, I could go for another plate of pancakes,” Geena interjected in an attempt to steer the conversation in a less controversial direction.
“You would, vore queen,” Eli bantered. “Hope there isn’t any human meat in the batter.”
“Oh, shut up. Why do you always give me such a hard time? Don’t you like vore?”
“I used to. Kinda got old after a while. There’s only so much pleasure a man can get from another man doing a very bad impersonation of a turkey.”
“Fair. I’m kinda getting tired of it myself.”
“Wanna join me in the more boring, traditional dom world? No cooking skills required.”
“I’ll think about it.” Geena picked up a spoon and started collecting all the stray syrup on her empty pancake plate. She had been a sugar addict since childhood – with a brief cocaine phase in the middle that she got over fairly quickly – so she was grateful her metabolism hadn’t changed since she was six years old. Of course, she still regularly told patients at the doctor’s office that they needed to cut down on desserts and eradicate Pop-Tarts from their breakfast diet, but hypocrisy was the hallmark of humanity, right? A person who actually practiced what they preached was most definitely a robot. How many of these pictures depict a bridge? No point in even asking.
“Can I ever be in one of your videos, Geena?” Jack asked with some semblance of sincerity.
“Ooh, Jack, I didn’t know getting cooked turned you on.”
“It’s my best-kept secret.”
“I don’t know about best, but…”
“Oh whatever. I just read Hansel and Gretel too much as a child. My brain turned my fear into pleasure.”
“If you say so. Sure, you can be the victim in my next video. As long as you don’t mind holding an apple in your mouth for several takes.”
“Bring it on.”
A shy-looking young man suddenly approached Geena with a pen in his hand and a huge blush on his face. “A… Are you an actress?”
Geena smiled a sweet, slightly condescending smile like a golden-hearted cheerleader about to reject the class nerd. “Yes.”
“I… I… I thought I recognized you. C… Can I have your autograph?”
Geena’s condescending smile got even wider, now filling with unexpected pride. “Of course! What would you like me to sign?”
Blushing even further, the young man reached down and picked a napkin off the table. “H… How about this?”
“Perfect.” Geena planted a kiss on the napkin, getting her makeup all over it as a little souvenir, then proceeded to sign it with the young man’s pen before handing it back to him. “Here ya go.”
“Th… Thanks.” And without further ado, the young man practically ran away from Geena. She just laughed.
“Well that was sweet.”
“I guess you finally got your five seconds of fame. Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted,” Eli said with playful cynicism.
“You lucky bitch!” Cindy exclaimed while shaking her head. “I can’t even get one of my poetry fans to ask for my autograph.”
“Your time will come, my friend.”
“It’s all meaningless anyway,” Leonard concluded with his trademark old man wisdom.
“Fame is a poison. A little will strengthen you, a lot will kill you.”
“I think you stole that from someone,” Geena said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not that witty.”
“Okay, okay, I got it from Paul Simon. But I’m sure he stole it from someone, too. All the best things in life are stolen, aren’t they?”
“Perhaps. But from whom?”
“Indigenous people!” Penny said without really understanding the more existential nature of the conversation.
“Or from God,” Jack speculated, a bit more on the money. “Or Nature or the Universe or whatever you’d like to call it. Whoever The Great Originator is, we’ve been stealing from them since the moment we crawled onto this Earth.”
“What makes you so sure we crawled onto it?” Leonard jested. “Weren’t Adam and Eve created as adults?”
“That’s only an allegory, you know. Most Catholics don’t believe they actually existed.”
“Well, even so, the chicken-and-the-egg question is a pretty universal one, wouldn’t you say? If we evolved from apes, we probably walked before we crawled…”
“Now you’re just being pretentious.” The waiter suddenly arrived and asked if they were ready for the check, interrupting their directionless banter. Leonard was accustomed to paying the whole amount and having everyone else Venmo him—they didn’t want to torture the waiter by making him divide it into six pieces—so he took it and promptly handed over his credit card. But none of them had any intention of leaving just yet.
“Do you guys want to hear a poem?” Cindy had been waiting all day for her moment in the sun; her confidence on Instagram had always been stronger than it was irl. “I wrote it while you guys were busy talking about stupid things.”
Jack immediately felt the need to come to the defense of philosophy. “They’re not stupid!
But sure, would love to hear what you wrote.” Everyone else was in no mood to protest, so
Cindy went for it:
“Alright, here it goes: My body/aches/with tremors/of lost love/like an earthquake/in the San Fernando/Valley.”
“Wait, that was IT??” Eli exclaimed without any attempt to hide his disappointment.
“That was, like, one line.”
“No it wasn’t, it was seven lines! My body/aches/with/tremors/of lost love/like an earthquake/in the San Fernando/Valley.”
“Oh, c’mon, that’s cheating! You can’t make all those words separate lines! Especially San Fernando Valley, that’s just pathetic…”
“It’s called ENJAMBMENT!”
“Whoa, I didn’t think you knew that term! You must have really been paying attention in English Honors…”
“You’re so mean!”
“I’m just honest. Nice people are the real mean ones.”
“That’s, like, super toxic,” Penny interrupted.
“I’d rather be toxic than fake.”
“I’m not fake!!”
“I’m not saying you’re fake, I’m just saying that sometimes being toxic is the price of being your true self. And aren’t you always saying we should be our true selves?”
“Yes. But your true self isn’t toxic. Whatever you think is your true self is not actually your true self. You need to expand your perspective, Eli.”
“I’m too lazy to expand my perspective.”
“Then you’ll always be toxic.”
“Fine by me.” Eli turned back to his food, running out of his daily supply of witty replies and cynical remarks. Which was fine by everyone else there.
As the de facto leader, Leonard felt like he was failing his duty to guide the conversation in a fruitful direction, so he attempted to steer everyone back on track. “How have you all been feeling lately?”
“Whoa, going into full-out therapist mode, are we?” Eli was back in action.
“I thought that was the purpose of these meetups.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m just here because I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“I mean, I’m not charging anything; you might as well get free advice.”
“Why should we trust your advice?” Penny inquired with even more sassiness than usual.
“Because I do the most deep-thinking. And I’m slightly older than all of you.”
“But not necessarily more experienced,” Jack quipped.
“Much more experienced than you, Mr. Seminarian.”
“Hey!”
“You don’t fool me, I know you’re still a virgin at heart.”
“I’m as much a virgin as St. Augustine was. Or Pope John Paul II…”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I’ll take your advice,” Cindy finally said, wanting as always to be the peacemaker.
“Great. What would you like advice on?”
“If I’m a Virgo, what sort of place should I go to meet my future husband? A bar? A park? An ice cream shop?”
“You know I don’t do astrology.”
“Well, then I guess you’re useless.”
“Don’t go to a bar, you’ll just meet men who want to fuck you. A park risks making you a homewrecker; a lot of dads over there. I think you should go to an ice cream shop.”
“But I don’t even like ice cream.”
“Then why’d you suggest it?”
“I dunno, I was improvising. I guess I could just go to one and ask for a cup of water, then sit in a corner and wait for Mr. Right to come in.”
“How about a drag show?” Eli suggested. “A lot of straight guys secretly go to drag shows.”
“Nah, I’d still end up accidentally falling for one of the hot gay guys. Thanks for the suggestion, though.”
“You could come with me to my meditation club,” Penny said, feeling an omnipresent need to make a contribution. “There are a lot of nice guys there.”
“I don’t want a nice guy. Nice guys are always boring.”
“But you don’t want an asshole either.”
“No. So someone in between.”
“Whatever, Goldilocks.”
“How about you go to church,” Jack said just for the sake of pressing buttons. “There are a lot of assholes there posing as nice guys.”
“I’d sooner go to the Church of Scientology before I’d go to your church. No offense.”
“Whoa, harsh!”
“That’s why I said ‘No offense.’”
“Which usually just makes me feel even more offended than I otherwise would have been.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“With all due respect, you’re such a fake person.”
“I receive that. But I disagree.”
“Will you fuck off with the automated responses!!” Eli had had enough of this crap. “The more you try to respect each other, the more you disrespect each other.”
“No offense, Eli, but…”
“UGH!”
They all chuckled in unison, which was a rare occasion. As pretentious as they all were in their own ways, they tried not to take themselves TOO seriously. Life was supposed to be good, right? Otherwise, they would have killed themselves long ago.
“Who here almost always masturbates when they get drunk?” Eli had become known for
extremely abrupt subject changes.
“That’s the only way I can masturbate,” Jack affirmed.
“Why, are you still tortured by Catholic guilt?” Leonard jested.
“No, I’m just not in the mood otherwise. I’d rather have an actual person in bed with me.”
“The Holy Spirit just isn’t good enough company, is he?” Cindy teased.
“I’m afraid not. There’s not much there in the body department.”
“Then why don’t you go for Jesus instead?”
“Uh, no, I’m not gay.”
“Unless they’re under 12 years old.” Eli had no boundaries.
“Jesus Christ, that was uncalled for!”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Can we stop talking about religion?” Penny complained a bit later than they expected her to.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Why, are we offending you?”
“No, it’s just so irrelevant. Everyone knows it’s all a bunch of bullshit.”
“Speak for yourself. I might be going to hell, but I still don’t deny it exists.”
“If there’s a hell, then none of us would be going there.”
“Well, if there’s a heaven, I don’t think any of us would be going there either,” Eli said with shrugged shoulders.
“What does it matter if there’s a heaven or hell? All we can do is our best with the time and resources we’ve been given,” Leonard said while stroking an invisible beard, really pissing off Eli.
“Now you’re quoting Gandalf!”
“I’m paraphrasing Gandalf, there’s a difference. The copyright police aren’t gonna come for me.”
“Well, I still might come for you.”
“Go right ahead. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
The waiter returned with Leonard’s credit card and tossed them a barely-concealed dirty glance, as if to say, “Alright, now get the hell out of here!” They pretended not to notice, although Cindy became a little self-conscious:
“We should probably let someone else take our seats.”
“Why? It’s not even busy right now.”
“But we’ve already paid…”
“There’s no law saying we have to leave after we’ve paid.”
“There are unspoken laws, though…”
“Since when did you become so legalistic?”
“Since the Supreme Court went to shit.”
“Fair. They’ve probably stopped you from having what, like, four abortions by now?”
“Do you see any kids of mine crawling around?”
“They’re probably at daycare.”
“Jesus, Eli, you’re the worst.”
“You really shouldn’t joke about these things!” Penny chimed in. “Fascism in America is a serious problem.”
“You’re a serious problem.”
“Grow up, Eli!”
“Impossible.”
Leonard took a deep breath, preparing to get all philosophical again. “Can any of us really say we’ve grown up? I mean, the inner child remains…”
Penny suddenly held up her hand: “Stop before you embarrass yourself further. ‘Inner child’ is MY territory…”
“Will you just let me finish?”
“No.”
They had reached a standstill. All six of them. They had everything and nothing to talk about, myriads of reasons to be friends and no reasons at all. Why were they even there if they didn’t really like each other? Surely they were fooling themselves; porn was not that great of a thing to have in common. They hoped the waiter would give them another dirty glance; they truly needed an excuse to get the hell out of there.
“Do you guys ever think about quitting?” Geena wasn’t usually the leader type, but she figured her time had come.
“Why, do you think we’re BETTER than porn?” Eli said in his usual mocking style.
“A side hustle’s a side hustle,” Jack remarked matter-of-factly. “And I’ve got the quickest and easiest way in the world to get it off my conscience whenever I feel slightly guilty about it. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”
“It’s not THAT serious,” Penny said in the tone of a convict seeking a plea deal. “Why do you guys make it sound like we have something to be sorry for?”
“We’ve all got something to be sorry for,” Leonard mused in an intentional attempt to sound over-serious (although no attempt was necessary).
“You want me to write a poem about it?” Cindy inquired in vain.
“God, it’s not that complicated of a question!” Geena practically shouted in an effort to return to her original question (it was simply not in human nature to hear the original question asked). “I don’t care if you feel guilty about it or not. I’m just asking if you ever get bored of getting naked for strangers, that’s all.”
“Boredom is underrated,” Eli quipped. “Sure, it’s boring. But it’s also relatively stable. And I’d take stability over risk any day.”
“We’re all gonna get replaced by AI anyway,” Leonard reasoned. “Whenever I am bored and horny and in the mood for an incognito google search, half the stuff I come across is computer-generated. I guess it’s more ethical that way; there’s no risk of you accidentally watching something recorded by sex traffickers.”
“Jesus, I never thought about that,” Jack said with a slight shudder. “You think traffickers get free content out onto the internet?”
“Absolutely. I always triple-check the faces of the actors in the video to make sure they don’t look underage.”
“But it’s pretty easy for a 16-year-old to pass for an 18-year-old, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s why it’s better to just not watch porn at all. At least if it involves women.”
“Oh, c’mon, Lenny, you don’t mean that,” Eli challenged. “Traffickers aren’t gonna put anything on the internet you don’t have to pay for. If it’s free, it’s ethical.”
“It’s nice to see you being so optimistic for once. I wish I shared such a naive outlook.”
“I’m not naive, I’m just not paranoid. Or tortured by Catholic guilt.”
“I was never a Catholic.”
“Yeah, but you were raised Christian, weren’t you?”
“Protestant Guilt doesn’t hold a candle to Catholic Guilt,” Jack affirmed before Leonard could answer. “Lenny has always just been a very conscientious person.”
“You weren’t so conscientious when you secretly filmed the night you lost your virginity with your high school girlfriend,” Eli countered.
“Hey, that was only for myself so I could take notes on what I needed to improve on for the next time.”
“Did it help?”
“Not really.”
“Pervert.”
“I don’t know why I even told you about that video, Eli.”
“I think you were drunk.”
“Probably.”
Across the diner, they noticed a family holding hands and saying grace over their plates of pancakes. Jack blushed with a mixture of nostalgia and shame, which Penny immediately noticed: “You don’t miss it as much as you think you do, Jack.”
“How the hell would you know?”
“They’re brainwashed. Just like you once were. But now you finally have the chance to be free…”
“We’re all fucking brainwashed, Penny. You’re brainwashed by social media. Leonard’s brainwashed by TED Talks on how to be a good leader. Cindy’s brainwashed by Silk and Honey or whatever the fuck that poetry book is. Geena’s brainwashed by the idea of being the first porn star nurse to walk the face of this god-forsaken earth. And Eli’s brainwashed by his own ass.”
“Proudly and forever,” Eli confirmed. Jack just ignored him.
“There’s no such thing as an original thought. We’re all composites of the things we’ve been taught by others and what we’ve chosen to believe from among those things. But there’s not a single person who actually knows what the full Truth is. So we just have to do our best with our individual brands of brainwashed ideas.”
Eli started snapping. Penny and Cindy looked a little offended, while Geena stared blankly at the ceiling, and Leonard nodded his head. “Well said, my friend. I can’t think of a better way to end our little breakfast. It’s been fun as always…”
“Speak for yourself,” Geena said while shifting her eyes from the ceiling to the floor.
“Hey, you had someone ask for your goddamned autograph!”
“Yeah, that was the least the universe could give me as a reward for sitting here and listening to all your pretentious nonsense.”
“The universe doesn’t owe you shit, Geena. It doesn’t owe any of us anything.”
“I actually kinda agree,” Cindy said, much to Penny and Geena’s surprise and disappointment. “I mean, I’m very grateful to the universe for being here. But I also don’t take it personally if bad things happen to me. Way better people than me die every day of cancer and car crashes and all sorts of shit. I don’t think the universe is picking favorites or anything. It probably just knows that it’s moving towards something way better than Earth, so it’s telling us to be patient. Everything will turn out alright in the end.”
“So much evil and despair could be avoided if people were just a little more patient,” Jack mused. “We’re all too quick to assume that we’re screwed.”
“Aren’t we, though?” Eli countered. He just couldn’t help himself.
“No,” Leonard said while shaking his head profusely. “Maybe temporarily speaking. But I refuse to believe that life is a trick question.” And with that, he stood to leave, hoping that the others would follow suit. “See you guys next time. Or as my grandpa used to say: see you in the movies.”
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