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|"Mr. Johnson, it seems you got a little carried away by our fantasies."
I opened my eyes and realized that everybody was looking at me. "Let me repeat my question, Mr. Johnson. Why do you think that most protagonists panic when their erotic fantasies suddenly seem to become true?"
"Well, ahm, it probably has to... I think that it might be because they are afraid that the division between reality and fiction might become blurred, and that they won't be able to distinguish between what's real and what's not anymore."
Professor Smith nodded approvingly: "Excellent point, Mr. Johnson. It is not that they do not want their fantasies to become true. What bothers them is the element of uncertainty, of unpredictability. Let us focus on the passage we have just read, where this young man was sitting in class when his muscles suddenly started to grow."
At this point, I almost fell of my chair, but somehow managed to regain my composure. I looked at the text in front of me and realized that I had never seen it before. The story was called "Invasion, Part I".
My mind was spinning. I could still feel the excitement and the confusion, could still feel the panic. I remembered how I had fled to the bathroom, and that I had locked myself up in one of the stalls. The next thing I remembered was Professor Smith's question. In between - nothing.
I was absent-mindedly rubbing my forehead with my right hand when I realized that I wasn't wearing the burgundy shirt my boyfriend had given me for my birthday anymore, and that my t-shirt was stretched tightly against my considerably buff frame. I wasn't as big as in my... daydream. But I hadn't been this big before. Had I? Somewhat desperate, I decided that I was probably coming down with a fever, and that all this confusion would be resolved soon.
"It is interesting to note the open-ended structure of the text we are dealing with today. At the end of the story, we don't know what will happen to the protagonist, or indeed why it is happening. Furthermore, the phrase 'Part I' in the title of the story heightens this impression that there must be more to come. Which perhaps is the essence of any erotic fantasy: that there must be more to come, that, just as there is no end to the erotic longing, to desire itself, there is no end to its fulfillment."
I was hardly paying attention to what Professor Smith was saying, because I noticed that all my classmates had changed. I looked at Jaleb, who was still more or less making out in public with Sandra, and who sported the perfectly delicious body of a well-built fitness model. I looked at Chad, the nerdiest guy on campus, who flashed a brilliant smile at me while rubbing one hand across his considerably protruding pecs. Ashok, Daniel, Phillip - all the guys looked as if they had just leaped of the pages of some gay men's magazine, with gorgeous faces and beautifully toned bodies.
"Hey, my love," somebody whispered in my ear. I turned around to face the guy who was sitting behind me (but hadn't I been sitting in the back row...?), and it turned out to be Luke, my boyfriend, whom I knew to be at a conference some eight hundred miles away, and who hadn't had such a great body before, and who would definitely never turn up in one of my classes wearing only a pair of bathing trunks and nothing more. He leaned forward and gave me a long kiss, his tongue tenderly greeting mine, caressing it slowly for a few seconds.
" 'I was speechless,' said one of our protagonists when he was overwhelmed by his erotic fantasies, and indeed we often face the problem that a text simply cannot convey the intensity of passion that the protagonist must feel when he realizes that his deepest desires are becoming part of his present reality." Professor Smith paused, then continued: "This moment is such an interesting part of erotic literature because it implies that, in a medium where reality is made up solely and entirely of words, the protagonists can no longer express themselves. It is as if, for a moment, they cease to exist on a textual level. The only thing that keeps them alive during this moment of absence is their presence in the mind of the readers."
Luke broke off the kiss, then gently brushed a lock of hair out of my face and leaned back in his chair: "So, what's up?"
I reached out for him, pulled him closer and kissed him one more time, but then suddenly remembered that I was sitting in class and that I wasn't supposed to be doing this. I started back, shook my head and felt almost angry at Luke for doing this. I was trying to make up my mind about whether to tell him off or to kiss him once again when he got up, climbed over the desk and sat down next to me. I decided that he was definitely going to far, that he had no right to barge in like this, and so I grabbed his neck and pulled him close and kissed him, and I couldn't stop myself, I was so glad to see him, I realized how much I had missed him although he had only been gone for two days, I ran my fingers through his hair and traced the outline of the muscles on his back, I pulled him closer still and felt my hard-on throb against his. I heard Professor Smith continue his lecture while we were making out, feeling our bodies, more muscular and yet still so familiar, push against each other, and just when I thought that this was perfect bliss, I could hear that faint, cracking-crunching noise again, and I realized that, slowly but surely, our muscles were beginning to grow.
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