Is this a pigeon?

A few months ago, I ditched X and swore off Meta. I briefly retrieved Instagram to message possible tattoo artists, but other than that and one Facebook post to say, “I’m still alive,” I’ve held to my (albeit modest) principles.

That said, I’ve been tempted. Facebook was my go-to for hivemind consultations—questions that don’t have a simple yes/no, or else have a technical yes/no that doesn’t feel quite right. I’m on Bluesky, but my network there talks about more serious things than whether an honor roll student earns “all As” or “all A’s.”

More than once, I’ve found myself wanting to say, “Hivemind, tell me—” and then realizing I cut off my own connection. (Boohoo, I know. Truly no one has given up as much as I have.)

Often when I try to write romantic or sexual tension, I think of what in my head is the “butterfly meme,” although cursory research will show the origin to be “Is this a pigeon?” You know the one, though, regardless; a man (the subject) holds out his hand to a butterfly (the actual thing) and muses, “Is this a [thing that it most certainly is not]?”

What I mean by this is that sometimes I just kind of write something and think, “I mean … that seems like how the allos probably do it, right?”

I used to get down on myself about it. “What, you can figure out how to write someone midway through a murder spree but not someone with a crush? Exactly how faulty is your wiring?”

Then I realized that it’s not that I’m good at the first and bad at the second; it’s just that it’s a lot easier to get away with being bad at the first. Even if we’re generous and say there are a full fifty active serial killers in the US right now, the chances of someone reading my novel while midway through a murder spree are spectacularly low.

Granted, given its unpublished status in combination with my near-debilitating inability to talk about it in any detail, the chances of someone with a crush reading it are also pretty low, but still. As far as potential angles for “Wait, does she really think that’s how it works?” scrutiny, that allosexual stuff is way more likely to get me in trouble.

This is all background for the real question at hand—which, incidentally, has to do with hands.

I have a character—let’s call her Jenny. (“But Alice,” you may be saying, “why are you making up a fake name for this person who is already fake, and who by now you should be very comfortable writing about directly?” And I would point you back to that thing I said four sentences ago about talking about the novel in any detail and how I’m bad at it.) Jenny has a partner, who we’ll call Greg. Jenny and Greg are consenting adults who are good friends and also have sex with each other.

Greg throws an ill-conceived punch and hurts his hand. Jenny expresses concern and says, “I like your fingers.” I move on with the story. Until, triggered by some chain of free associative ADHD cartwheeling, I think, “Oh, hmm.”

So, imaginary blog-reading hivemind, tell me—is it a pigeon? If it helps, here is a scale you can use:

1 – What about a pigeon?

2 – If you gave me a CAPTCHA with the prompt to click on all the suggestive lines, I might click this one, but I would save it for last.

3 – Ah, I see—because digital stimulation of the clitoris helps many people achieve orgasm.

4 – Sometimes an eggplant emoji is just an eggplant emoji, theoretically, but usually it’s not.

5 – You smut-peddling degenerate, are you really considering getting back on Facebook just to post this filth for review? You have neither ethical nor family values.

My Gen Z nephew just asked if I’m on Chat GPT, which I think means it’s time for me to stop tweaking this post and just publish it already.