Love Me, Love My Clone

Saw Oblivion on Saturday and was not impressed. Neither was Mr. Tungsten. He made dead-crab hands as we left the theater and wished for one, no two chances to redraft that script into something great. I rolled my eyes and wished that all the macho-posturing bullshit could have been omitted. Was there a single unused trope? Stealing Earth’s water? Flying a bomb up to the mothership? Even the design was a pastiche of Monsieur Z’s midcentury mockups and J.J. Abrams’ iBridge.

We continued to bitch about this all the way home. Bad movies are so much better when you have someone to share them with.

Despite the not-even-okayness of this film, one scene did grab and hold my kinky attention. It was the one where Tom’s character Jack met his clone. I thought about that later, while blasting deathclaws in the Mojave wasteland. What would it be like to meet a copy of yourself? And by “meet” I don’t mean the part where you and your doppelgänger time-share your job or plot to make millions. I’m talking the moment when sexual curiosity just overwhelms the pair of you and you go from the awkward “what ifs” to just humping madly.

The proceedings would depend on whether the clone was an exact copy — with the same experiences and memories — or a fresh out of the test-tube kind of deal. If the latter, I might enjoy teaching her a few things. It would be neat to experience a newer version of my body, without all that sun damage or those little white scars from when I had chicken pox. I’d explore all over. Maybe I’d hate her for being less blemished than me. Maybe I’d feel compassion for someone who hadn’t had a chance to experience life. Perhaps she’d react differently to certain stimuli. Maybe she wouldn’t be kinky at all.

More interesting, though, is the first scenario where the clone is an exact replica, right down to shortly before we met. Given our mutual proclivities, I fancy we’d get down to business quite soon. We’d have vanilla sex first, in part to get over the mutual weirdness of being with an exact replica. We’d tell ourselves to go slow, but would most likely overindulge and have to back off because of the aforementioned weirdness. After slow sex, fast sex, epic discussions of sexual fantasies, and a lot of squeeing about how this was so cool, we would proceed to kink.

Kinky sex with myself would be great. We’d do rock-paper-scissors to see who had to top. We’d gather blindfolds, restraints, and a number of toys for penetration because no matter now awesome the experience of being with myself, the experience of being with someone who knows to the letter which kind of which role plays turned me on would ten times hotter. Every depraved thing that has ever crossed our minds would be explored because it wouldn’t be as if either one of us was in a position to judge.

However, sooner than either one of us expected it, we would become bored. This was the first thing Mr. Tungsten said when I mentioned it and he’s right. With a clone there’s no mystery, no surprise, no separate entity with his or her own needs. The very things that keep a partner interesting would be missing.

And thus the Double D’s (for we could scarce avoid the nickname)  might even swear off sex altogether. Maybe we’d just try to just be friends or at the very least accomplices trying to take over the world.

P.S. Daniel O’Brien has already written about this and it’s funnier than what I wrote.

Featured image via Huffington Post

2 responses to “Love Me, Love My Clone

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