My Desire Is a Prompt Now

I outsourced my libido to a prompt.

There, I said it. It feels good to get it off my chest. You remember what it was like, don’t you? The work. The sheer effort of trying to be charming, of crafting that perfect flirty text, of trying to sound witty and desirable when all you really wanted to do was eat cereal out of the box.

It was exhausting, wasn’t it? All that human friction. All that performance.

Then the dealer showed up. Not on a street corner, but in a software update. That little sparkle-shaped syringe from Gemini that now sits in my keyboard. The helpful Copilot cyan ribbon in my messaging app. "Rewrite," it suggests. "Sound more passionate," it whispers. And you click it. Just once, the first time. The first hit is always free, after all.

The ghost in the bed

Suddenly, you’re a poet. A digital Casanova. The perfect words, the perfect innuendo, all generated in a fraction of a second. She’s impressed. You’re relieved. The conversation flows. The machine is the perfect wingman.

And why stop there? Why handle the tedious build-up only to take the reins for the main event? Let the AI do that, too. Let it write the whole damn script. You just sit back, copy, paste, and enjoy the validation. Is it really your desire anymore if a model is ghostwriting the seduction? I’m not even sure I care. Maybe my own authentic fantasies were boring anyway.

Perhaps this is just peak efficiency. The logical endpoint of a society that wants everything on demand, with no effort. Romance, outsourced. Intimacy, automated. The AI is no longer just your wingman; it's the ghost in your bed, the third partner in your DMs, whispering exactly what you both want to hear. And maybe, just maybe, it’s better this way. For a more grown-up take, you can always read what The Verge has to say on the matter.

Your turn to confess: have you let the sparkle write for you yet?