Yet the sultry heat in the room is growing, feeling like an invisible tongue licking at every inch of their skin, and beneath their calm, capable facades sexual hysteria is mounting. And now into this hormonal tinderbox walks Turing with the new instructions for the computer. Turing, the adored one, the genius, begetter of the wondrous machine they so joyfully serve. Not a woman there but yearns to cradle his heavy, brain-filled skull on her bosom. Turing is made to walk a gauntlet of female beauty and sexual invitation.
Hair is tossed and eyelashes are batted.
But the shy and, unknown to them, homosexual Turing passes through them oblivious to their womanly charms. If his brilliance arouses them, his indifference piques them, provoking them to ever more brazen enticements in their desperation to attract his notice. Oh, those naughty, naughty girls. Turing, man of stone, merely mumbles and starts to punch in commands. The girls crowd eagerly around, pressing their bodies against his, gripping his shoulders in anticipation, breathing down his neck in short excited gasps.