Would I fuck my own clone? Absolutely. I would have to. It would be fated. It would be a shame that one of us must die, but in the end there can only be one.

It would be understood by both, that we should immediately launch into fisticuffs—because when will you ever again find such a great chance for a gentlemanly fistfight, or such an equal, bloody close match?

The loser would bottom first, but really we’d flip fuck all night, because come on, that’s what sex with your own clone is all about. “So this is what I feel like, and look like. Alright, but let’s try it this way.”

We’d have to rob a bank too—to enable *passion* to continue to course through our sex sessions uninhibited and in the moment. Our intensive sexploration could never last long if either of us felt fear that our copy might decapitate us at any moment like a black widow spider, because there can only be one. It really is a shame.

So robbing the bank would be the thing we still have to do, before either of us has to die, but not till after we’re done flip fucking ourselves into a human wheel of man butter. Neither of us will be thinking about betraying the other, until we’ve scored some millions of dollars to make it all worth something. And meanwhile, bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang.

Then, finally, it would be the loser of the fistfight who’d perform the actual robbery, while the other established an alibi. If he is caught red-handed and arrested, he must stand trial, confess, be found guilty, and only then responsibly die. The winner could only emerge from hiding once protected by the double jeopardy rule, once the loser’s verdict is read. But then he’d be no richer from the robbery, and in fact much worse off for the hiding.

Alternatively, the loser could get away with it, return to the winner with the millions… and then what? Treachery.

It’s a super hot fantasy, but honestly I’d rather not go through all that, the more I think about it.