Updated Sep 18
Some people may say Option B, with the motivation of “virtue signalling”, to show how self-sacrificing and generous they are. But I have a different motivation.
For the past ten years, I have been enduring a constant, living nightmare.
I can’t trust anyone, and anytime I try to make friends, it turns out that their ulterior motive is to have passionate sex with me.
Extremely attractive people have dumped their long-time spouses and partners, in attempts to be available for passionate sex with me instead.
People have purchased full-page advertisements in the New York Times, with extremely attractive photos and descriptions of themselves, publicly offering me passionate sex.
There are a number of weekly podcasts and YouTube channels in which extremely attractive people stare into the camera, rambling on about how much they want to have passionate sex with me.
Two extremely attractive people have hired airplanes – one trailing a large banner, and the other skywriting – offering me passionate sex.
I have fan clubs in over 35 countries, consisting of extremely attractive people who dream of meeting me for passionate sex, and have posters of me on their bedroom walls. Whatever they do at night, in their bedrooms, staring at those posters, I have zero clue.
There are online “incel” discussion forums devoted to misogynistic, hateful posts about their seething envy of me, due the amount of attractive potential sex partners available to me.
People who were not only extremely attractive physically, but also fabulously wealthy have invited me stay at their mansions, or to accompany them on expensive, romantic vacations.
My email and voicemail are filled with communications from extremely attractive people asking me on dates that they hope will culminate in passionate sex.
My snailmail box receives sincere, charming, handwritten letters from extremely attractive people professing their love, in the hope that I will reciprocate and have passionate sex with them. Many of these letters have traces of the crying authors’ tears that fell as they were writing.
I order at a fast food restaurant, and the extremely attractive burger-flipper says, “Would you like some passionate sex with that?”
Whenever I even leave this apartment, I must jostle through a crowd of extremely attractive people, who gather outside my door, hoping to offer me passionate sex. Some of them camp out overnight, as if they were waiting to buy the latest mobile phone or something. Others have travelled hundreds of kilometres to get here.
It’s relentless.
So, if saving the 10,000 terminally ill children will finally bring an end to the constant barrage of sexual attention, then that sounds like a great option to choose.