Andrew - Preface

Andrew was alone in his bedroom, reading science-fiction and resenting the empty space on his double bed. He'd been dumped yet again and, the way his luck was turning out lately, he had a bleak prospect for his short-term sex life. He and books had always been good bedfellows, specially those books that took him away from the sameness of everyday life. Why read about people who lead normal, boring lives - he asked himself - What is the fun in that ?
Then he thought about his own sex life again, its ups and downs. The bleakness of those times when he'd lean on sci-fi to fill the empty nights. The sheer joy he'd get in those rare moments when he'd hit the perfect trifecta of great looks, great sex and great brains. He'd always fall in love with brains first. Were those rare, perfect moments less utopic than the writings of Asimov ? And most importantly, thought Andrew, were the downers less interesting than his favorite dystopic cyberpunks ? Was his worldview right now any less interesting than Sterling or Gibson ?
That's it - answered Andrew out loud - I'm gonna write, starting tomorrow! I'm going J. G. Ballard on my own sex life.
That night Andrew dreamt of a car crash. And he woke up aroused.