LUST IN THE TIME OF COVID

I think we have subconsciously been waiting on this for years. Think on it. With the introduction of social media and smart phones we have become our own creatures of habit. We are transcending homo sapien. The introduction of the novel coronavirus, Covid -19 has just given us the push we needed to finally exile ourselves to the delicacies of the limitless dimensions of the internet and the technologies that surround it.

Nature has launched a preemptive strike and we will cower within our homes binding ourselves further to the bosom of the web.

We have been social distancing for years, with the introduction of the digital age it has only cemented the desire to be left to our literal devices. Netflix and YouTube, Amazon Prime and Now TV, all on tap, 24-7. Deezer, Spotify, Apple Music, these apps are poised ready to drown the noise of the world out. Volume up to max, distort the world and its harsh visual idiots of Teletubbies in the White House and 10 Downing Street. Reality is getting ridiculous.

Where did it all go wrong? Was it when they booted up the Hadron Collider?

Why would we want to step outside that door?

We have housed ourselves inside digital cloisters. We can now work from home, the threat of contagion from Covid-19 has proven that a percentage of us do not have to leave the sanctity of our kitchens. We can work in our pants. So why have we before? Clogging up already full cities, waving our carbon footprint around daily, risking and unknowingly jeopardising someone else's life. Phasing out work places could lessen the impact of terrorism on public services. You can be at home blissfully talking pride in your job without wanton aggravation and anxiety from that guy two rows down, who you just have to smile at to appease because if you don't, he will come over with his coffee breath and ask you why you aren't happy. You can't be bothered anymore, the faux smiling isn't just aching your cheeks, it's making your mind bleed. Go home, order some takeout, Deliveroo to boot, do it now while you're taking a poo with your smartphone. Start that new series on Netflix tonight, binge it into the weekend. Wait, you have to talk to your mum. That's alright, text while you're watching the telly, its easier. Don't have anything to say anyway. It's all doom and gloom.

We don't have to have relationships anymore! Get that. It saves you getting attached, having your feelings hurt. Tinder and Grindr are here to relinquish your carnal desires. Are you really looking for a relationship? Really? Meet, chat, see if the attraction is evident. If it is, great, go for gold. Ships in the night, taxi's at dawn, there is no need for pleasantries here - united goals of release are the agenda. Pillow talk is going the way of the dodo. Even steady couples will reach for their smart phones after sex, wondering if they have had another like or retweet. Darkness surrounds the bed and yet the pixelated light shows them together, yet not.

You can rejoice in the knowledge that Porn Hub is here to satiate your stresses and strains. No talk, no tactile caresses or spooning are needed. A chance to cast aside your naturalistic urges to procreate. There is a clinical aesthetic, clean, quick, no nonsense - sterile. There is clarity here. No need to love, to be gentle and affirming. No smell. No taste, just a moment of release to stem the tide of the maelstrom of life. You pocket your virtual harem of women, or men. They aren't going anywhere. We are techtrasexual. The desire to ingratiate ourselves with the taboo of the web. Do we need contact? It's safer to not need it.

The coming of Covid-19 has readied the new generation. In this unprecedented moment the next generation are ready! They are plugged into the internet. Gamers, bloggers, vloggers, they are way ahead of you. We have been socially distancing ourselves for too long and our kids have cottoned on. We have a generation of techtrasexual children already attuned to social distancing. We have downloaded it unto them. Self isolation to these is like breathing. We are feeding them to the web, walking talking servers of bio-mechanical breeding.

Sex bots and virtual wives - virtual mistresses, whatever your poison. These are evolutionary times, whether you seek solace in the future of robot sex slaves or pornography one thing is for sure, Covid -19 is here to push you along. Like the Black Plague or Spanish Flu we cannot see the will of Mother Nature. We are a passing trend in the grand scheme yet still subject to avarice and our loins, and Covid-19 knows this.

We can have sex with people thousands of miles away. Imagine that. Maybe don't. Well, you can have sex with as many people as you want. Virtual sex orgies are a thing. Why limit yourself one to one when you can run the gamut. All done from the safety of your two-bed flat in Chipping Norton. Comfortable in your surroundings, totally in control, wine breathing, cat snoring on the couch. You are your own kingdom in this virtual land. No ties. Transient. A universe of raptures at your glowing fingertips. You are a hazmat suit lined in brick and mortar. Nothing can touch you. And yet you can touch everything. Interactive sex toys powered by Bluetooth can bring thousands of miles of lust to your quaking knees. We can induce orgasm on the other side of the globe. Is this akin to godhood? Can we walk the line of divinity? We need never crave contact.

We have lost ourselves in technology. Recently, prior to the pandemic I took a trip into deepest Lincolnshire to visit an old friend. Old school. No Skype or Zoom. Just a two and a half hour trip in my car, music guiding me in my way. We frequented a pub in a quaint market town and for over a few hours we talked and laughed. It came to my round and I moved to the bar, happily, the lager filtering through, loosening my demeanour. I asked for two pints and the landlord leaned over and asked my friend to put his phone away.

The world cracked like an egg.

We thought this was humour. A jest.

He delivered unto us his dichotomy.

They'll be none of that in here, we are here to chat and be sociable, just like the old days.

My mind was thrown. I wanted to look at my phone and see if I had any notifications just out of fear. We were anachronisms. But then it seemed a veil was lifted from our eyes. We looked about and everywhere around the pub, dodgy A4 pieces of paper, poorly laminated signs saying no smart phones, tablets and laptops.

I can't remember taking the red or blue pill! There was a glitch in the Matrix surely?

It felt I had reached an impasse. This pub was a throwback to the eighties, pickled eggs and Shakin' Stevens had been resurrected and we were the blasphemers. We were foreign meat. Where was the hillbilly playing the banjo and drinking moonshine?

It was refreshing, though difficult. Our hand held devices are now surgically grafted to our psyches and if we feel a muscle tense in our thighs we think we have a notification. It is transmuting the flesh, technology, and Covid -19 is a foot beyond the threshold.

It is a whim of the soul, the desire to become more than the sum of our parts. And if we aren't careful, it could take us down an evolutionary path devoid of feeling. As AI reaches out with its talons we find ourselves losing our identities. Before long we will only need our desires, sexual knowledge and experience downloaded into robot partners and wives. I have been toying with the idea for a novel concerning an attache who goes home to his servitor partner. A hologram AI who he treats as a friend, a confidante and lover. I may have to move it up the novel ladder. I may be on to a thing.

Stay home, save lives, but for crying out loud, after all this is over, go out for a pint and enjoy yourselves, in less than ten years you'll be married to an AI interface, LGBTQ, whatever your vintage, soon, very soon, you can have whatever you like.