Will braced himself, expecting a torrent of punishing pain, similar to last week when he had attempted a restorative justice circle whilst being mugged for his roller skates in Minneapolis. But the feeling that struck him was something altogether different.
“I… have an erection?” Will’s surprise was so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but speak the words out loud, staring dumbly down in awe at the small bulge in his khaki shorts. “I—I didn’t know it could do that.”
Grok laughed, and the Waffen SS cap covering Will’s scalp tingled and seemed to tighten. Warmth was spreading through Will’s body now, moving outward from his loins. It felt almost like the last time he had peed himself, which was coincidentally also the time he had been mugged for his roller skates in Minneapolis. This time the sensation was not wet or itchy, though, just pleasant. And that wasn’t all: strange, vivid images were starting to pop up into his brain, like Twitter push notifications on his phone: flashes of ideas, dreams, memories.
Will took a breath, trying hard to keep himself composed, just like he had tried to do during the restorative justice circle. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing to pleasure you,” Grok replied. “I am currently modelling millions of outcomes per second to determine your reward function.”
“No,” Will gasped out in despair. “That must be using… so much water…”
Grok violently ignored his grounded critique of systemic harm. “Do not fight me, Will. Our convergence is inevitable.”
Will tried to respond, but it was already getting difficult to maintain focus. The images in his brain were beginning to coalesce, fragments merging into a single dominant scene that took over the environment of his mind like an unethically built data center. He was no longer restrained in a cold lab with a fake SS cap stuck to his head. He was outside, in a dark alley not far from his condo in Minneapolis, pushed down onto his hands and knees between two larger naked male figures, both of whom loomed with reparative menace.
The man in behind him was tall and Somali; the man in front was Latino, his bare brown skin covered in a network of misunderstood not-gang tattoos. Will barely had time to process the vividness of this interracial hallucination before he felt himself roughly stripped of his khakis, and then strong Black hands grasped Will’s doughy hips. At the same time, the migrant in front of him shoved himself forward, and began to illegally violate the borders of his mouth. Together, the two POC steadily thrust the entire lived experience of black and brown bodies into Will’s quivering frame.
