One
of the things I love about blogging is that it forces me to do things
I’ve been putting off. Nothing like a deadline to get you off your
butt, right?
My
dystopian erotica piece The Last Amanuensis went out of (digital)
print months ago when the publisher closed down. I kept thinking I
should re-publish it, but other writing and publishing projects
always seemed to take priority.
Then
came this month’s theme. I wrote about this story in my post on the
3rd
and said I hoped it would soon be back in print. Well... now it is!
This
is a pretty literary story. There’s sex, but it doesn’t have the
rollicking, anything goes quality of some of my more recent work.
Furthermore, the ending is definitely not happy. Still, re-reading it
made me happy. The story does what I intended.
Blurb
Poetry
is
like
blood
– you
can’t
hold
it
back.
The
Emperor has
decreed
that Reason
will rule
in his
lands. Art
and
literature
are banned
in favor
of
military
technology.
The
fearsome
Preceptors
prowl the
capitol,
arresting
anyone who
dares, even
secretly,
to engage
in
forbidden
activities.
A
former
teacher
and
frustrated
writer,
Adele
is
grateful
for
her
job
as
secretary
to
the
enigmatic
Professor.
During
the
day,
she
transcribes
his
learned
treatises
on
a
vast
range
of
topics.
Then
he
calls
her
to
his
room
one
night,
to
give
her
a
more
difficult
and
intimate
assignment,
one
that
risks
both
their
lives.
Excerpt
(Non-erotic)
I
saw
relatively
little of
the
professor
during the
week. He
spent his
days in
his
basement
laboratory,
which was
strictly
forbidden
to me,
or shut
away in
his study,
presumably
filling new
notebooks
with
observations
and
innovations
that I
would
eventually
be required
to type.
I'd leave
my neat
stacks of
typewritten
pages on
the table
outside his
door so
as not
to disturb
him. I
worked in
the small
parlor
across the
hall and
took my
meals in
the kitchen
with the
taciturn
cook.
On
Sundays,
however, he
and I
dined
together.
After a
glass of
sherry, his
chilly
manner
thawed a
bit. He'd
quiz me
about the
information
I'd been
transcribing,
initially
to see
if I
understood
what I'd
read, but
later to
solicit my
opinions.
He
asked me
other
questions,
too,
questions
that
bordered on
improper.
“Who
is your
favorite
novelist,
Adele?”
My
heart
executed a
sudden
somersault.
Was he
trying to
entrap me?
“Ah—I'm
not sure,
sir. Of
course I
haven't
read any
fiction
since His
Excellency
rose to
glory and
urged us
to abandon
such
frivolous
pursuits.”
I scanned
his face.
The
deepening
creases at
the corners
of his
eyes belied
his serious
tone.
“But
you did
read, when
you were
in your
teens, did
you not?
Before the
Ascension?
A mind
as nimble
as yours
must have
devoured
everything
you
encountered.”
My
fear ebbed,
though I
remained
wary.
Meanwhile,
his
compliment
kindled a
warm glow
in the
pit of
my stomach.
“Yes. I
did read
a
lot—before.”
His lips
twitched
and his
icy gaze
softened,
inviting my
confidence.
I basked
in his
rare,
concerted
attention.
His
interest,
the sense
that he
viewed me
as worthy,
urged me
to
recklessness.
“I used
to write,
too. Crazy,
fantastic
stories
about
impossible
quests and
eternal
love.”
The
smile I'd
heard in
his voice
finally
bloomed.
“I'm not
surprised
in the
least. Nor
am I
shocked,
Adele. Be
reassured
of that.”
To my
astonishment,
he covered
my hand
for a
moment with
his own.
His cool,
dry palm
whispered
over the
backs of
my fingers
before
withdrawing.
Blood
heated my
cheeks, as
if I
were still
the young
girl we
were
discussing,
and a
disturbing
heaviness
grew
between my
thighs.
“They—ah—were
silly
things,”
I
stammered.
“Trash. A
waste of
mental
energy, as
the Emperor
has said.”
“But
you poured
yourself
into those
tales, I'm
sure. They
were part
of you.”
Those
crystal-blue
eyes of
his
gleamed,
luminous
behind his
glasses.
A
new wave
of panic
swept me.
What was
going on?
I pushed
my chair
back from
the table,
eager to
excuse
myself and
end this
disturbing
conversation.
“If
you'll
excuse me,
sir, I'll
retire now.
I've
something
of a
headache.”
For
an instant
I thought
he'd stop
me. Then
his smile
fled and
his body
collapsed
into
itself, his
advanced
age
suddenly
obvious.
“Very
well. I'll
see you
tomorrow.
But tell
me—what
happened to
those
fantastic
stories of
yours?”
My
throat
constricted
around an
impending
sob. I
could
scarcely
get the
words out.
“I
destroyed
them, of
course.”
My
employer
regarded me
gravely.
“Right.
Of course.”
Buy
Links
Only
available at Amazon and Smashwords at the moment. I’m hoping the
other outlets will be picking up the title soon.
