A gay adult stories: A Canadian Story by StefanIsMe123 ,
Bit of a strange story. Not much sex, it’s more situational. Castration subject material. Mix a totalitarian state, cute boys, and a shortage of women, and what do you get?
A Canadian Story, c.2100, by StefanIsMe. Please do not post anywhere else.
In an age where we don’t know if governments will collapse or exert totalitarian control, nor whether they will be controlled by The People or The Church, anything becomes possible. Jeremy discovers that tolerance of differences has narrowed in his present time, but not knowing anything different, he accepts that perhaps he deserves his fate.
A Canadian Story, c.2100
Coming off the subway, fighting upstream like a spawning fish, he tripped. “Damnit”, he muttered to himself, “stupid cuffs….”
Proving all things are cyclical, the baggy style of the ’00’s was back yet again; the only thing new in fashion was the extremes to which it swung. Not even a decade ago, he knew from older webshows, kids were wearing what were practically unitards; ridiculous things that looked painted on. Why would anybody dress like that, unless in gymnastics or dance? He wondered, while pulling up his pants for the tenth time that day. He knew the baggy look was in, but even Jeremy had to admit it was getting stupid. Everyone under 16 looked like they were wearing their fathers clothes, but if this is what it took to fit in, he’d do it. Fitting in wasn’t easy lately.
He tried to be a ‘normal’ boy, honestly he did. Track team, junior football club, he even tried out for the Junior High rugby team this year, only to be rejected due to size and a suspicion by the coach that he was ‘a little bit queer’. ANY queer these days was not something you wanted to be accused of. You did anything to avoid THAT stigma. Not that the kind, gentle GovMen wouldn’t let you be gay, oh no, it was perfectly ‘allowed’, just not in public or at home; tolerance, of a sort, was the rule of the day, after all; the Government went to great lengths to tell the people how wonderfully inclusive the country is these days… not to say there were not consequences for being a NSH.
NSHs’ were “accepted”, after all. You could be as non standard a human as you want, but you always paid a heavy price. Well… in some cases, not quite so heavy, but still, for many, it was a price you could only pay once.
Jeremy knew a few ‘fish’, the common vernacular for NSHs’. Everybody did. Murderers, rapists, boozemakers, thieves, athiests; they all were still with us, if somewhat declawed. Made safe, if you will. None of them would commit their ‘crime’ again; they always got some form of work that would, after they underwent their minor adjustments, keep them happy.
Or at least, as happy as they could be, being a few ounces lighter.
Jeremy was a normal boy, too; he knew it. He HAD to be. These stupid, maddening queer-thoughts he had were just the Devils’ influence, perhaps a holdover from that terrible flu he had a few months ago. Maybe being so sick allowed the Devil to attack him; maybe some other actually queer kid coughed on him and got his fag germs all over him, he didn’t know. Wherever they came from, they sure as hell didn’t come from HIM. He had lived all his 11 years so far without any real sexual feelings at all; why would they suddenly start out of norwhere like that, if the feelings didn’t come from outside? It wasn’t, couldn’t be his OWN thoughts that made him look at his mates the way he did lately. Stupid devil.
Living with just his dad, he didn’t even want to bring up his fears. Not with him, no way. He might have with his mom if she was around, but dad? He’d have him adjusted within the hour if he thought Jeremy was even remotely gay. He was a nice enough dad, a proper church-going dad who sat every week at the Regional Central Church, worked hard at the job he was placed at upon graduation (he had been lucky, being allowed to finish grade 9; not many low-caste went past grade 8), and tried to teach Jeremy all the right behaviors the best he could. His dad loved him, he knew that, but if Jeremy broke the law by believing or feeling or acting on something so outrageous as being gay, Dad would definitely call the GovMen, even knowing he’d not likely ever see him again. Dad would never enter the queers’ realm.
Not that they were kept in one place, as far as Jeremy knew, but they were kept hidden, kept in their Group Homes, or walking the streets with their husbands, un-recognizable as those ones would be. He was certain that’s what happend to Franks big brother after seeing that chick at the supermarket last week. Nervous-looking, holding hands with a high-caste kid, he knew she wasn’t a born girl, and too uncomfortable in her movements to have been adjusted for very long. If only there were more women around.
“There’s Frank”, Jeremy muttered to himself, as he came out of the stuffy subway zone into the smoggy air of the city. He flipped his hoodie over his head and scurried along, not wanting to talk to him right then. They had been friends, good friends, until Chuck, Franks’ big brother, was taken by the GovMen last year, but since then, Frank seemed to want nothing to do with him. As if he suspected Jeremy might be the same as his brother. “Why would he think that?” Jeremy wondered,, and suddenly stopped walking for a second, a flash of a memory occuring to him. “Oh for craps sake… could it be that?” He shook his head, writing off what happend in the tent between them as simple childhood play. Sure, it was not something they would have admitted to ANYbody outside of themselves, and it was incredibly minor, but it was still illegal, immoral, and unchurchly behaviour. Knowing that didn’t make the memory go away, though… nor the realization that he wished it would happen again. “NO!”, he yelled mentally at himself, rejecting the thought as harshly as he could.
________________________________
Jeremy peeled off his shoes as he entered the door. Sock-like, made of a flexible but incredibly strong fabric, they looked similar to sneakers of olden days but when removed, they flopped to the floor like a pair of ankle socks.
With a quick “I’m home,” he walked barefoot into the kitchen, grabbing a squeezer of ‘fruit’ (yeah, right) juice and backtracking to the living room where he flipped on the ‘net viewer and started surfing. “Mom would have had something out for me…” but lamenting the loss of his Mom to the female plague was hardly going to make him feel better. It was a few years since they lost her, and while the memories were fading, he would never forget her. He slipped off his pants and undies, tossed them along with his shirt towards the laundry chute, and got comfy on the couch.
“For the Good Lords’ sake, boy, don’t leave your filthy clothes on the floor, the chute is only a meter away!” His dad berated, kicking them down the chute himself, listening for the mechanics of the system as they chemically and electrically zapped any dirt out of them, dropping them at the end of the chute into the hamper that caught the clean garments. “How was the meeting?”