Voyeurism

“Guilty on all counts, your honor,” I said.

“You understand the nature of your plea, right?” asked the judge, his plain but not unkind countenance fixed upon me piercingly.

“I do, your honor.”

Did I?

“I want to hear in your own words, sir, so that I can be sure.” The judge was certainly giving me every opportunity to sidestep and take a different route, but I was committed.

“Your honor, I appreciate what you are doing. I do. But I am guilty. I went into their world and was initially intoxicated by what I found. I don’t say that as an excuse, just a reason, an anchor, if you’ll allow the metaphor, for how and why I stayed. I didn’t think I was going to like it as much as I did, but, months later, there I was, still there. I never understood it fully, to be honest. The fervor, the passion, the reason for the level of pathological commitment, and maybe trying to understand that was part of what kept me there too.” I paused, unsure if I was ready to say the ugly things about myself that were fighting for control of my tongue.

“Go on,” said the judge.

“They got into the most insane battles over ships and AU’s and I never really understood the meaning of coffee shop, not the way they used it, not the way they kept invoking that term. It never alluded to the same thing twice.”

The judge nodded.

“I wanted to know, to understand how these fires could burn like magnesium, to learn the dynamics behind antis and anti-antis, and anti-anti-antis and the proxy wars to which each of them gave birth. And the whole alpha/beta/omega thing, your honor, it was like turning over a rock just to enjoy being grossed out by what you found underneath. But…” And here was the truth. “… I was only ever a voyeur, and worse, my voyeurism was judgie and condescending and dismissive. I mean, seriously though, how does one whip oneself into a murderous rage over het ships vs gay ships? How does that result in arson? Multiple arson? I’m not really asking you to answer that, your honor. Obviously it’s rhetorical. But I saw it time and time again. And you couldn’t ask about these things without actually invoking the very things you were asking about. It would be as if talking about electricity created it, or talking about ice caused things to freeze. And there was a certain voyeuristic pleasure in that too, your honor. I know that doesn’t paint me as the nicest person, but it’s true.”

The judge tapped his chin contemplatively with the end if a pen. “If you’re released, do you plan on returning?”

I released a heavy breath through flapping lips. “Probably. Despite all the insanity, the rage, and the colossally sensitive nature of the denizens, there’s also a charm there that I can’t resist. So, yeah. If I’m honest, yes.”

“You understand that if I release you, if I forgive these charges, and you go back there and get the brickbats, you won’t be allowed to form a complaint against them. You’ll have gone of your own free will, and whatever happens is on you. Understand?”

“I do, your honor.”

“Fine. I appreciate your honesty, but, as I’ve already stated, you’re on your own after this.” The judge banged his gavel. “Charges dismissed. You’re free to go.”

I thought he was done, but his bright little eyes flicked up at me and he said, “One more question for you. Did you write that smutty little Expanse slashfic called [redacted]?”

“Yes, your honor. That was me.”

“It wasn’t half bad, but sex between two guys doesn’t work like that in zero-g. A little more research and it would have been a better story.”