Eric looked down at the brown-speckled pill in the palm of his hand with guilty indecision. The "vitamin" was one of the last dozen or so that he had. He started to pick the herbal supplement up from his palm and then hesitated as he stared at his hands. He felt his body tremble slightly with the small step of betrayal he was about to take. These were the same hands that just moments ago had been sliding along the smooth skin of his mistress's writhing body. These fingers had been interwoven with hers as they had made love in a rush of fantastic desire. Their bodies had been entwined in a complicated maze of arms and legs. They had lost themselves in a thrusting embrace of unbridled passion.
The fact that their tryst was a forbidden love that broke new protocols and old taboos had made the experience even that more delicious. As Eric continued to look at the little pill he licked his lips briefly and could taste her lust on his still wet lips. He shrugged off the guilt with a dedication to gender survival and quickly swallowed the pill. He cracked his knuckles and sat down at the computer in Lady Shann's well appointed den. He booted up the computer and looked about the room reflecting on the masculinity of the leather and oak. He chuckled remember that the word masculine had been struck from most orthodox dictionaries over two years ago. It helped him with his struggle when he thought of the dictionary. Eric knew he was a good "muppy" and felt really bad about what he was about to do, but it had to be done.
"I can barely remember what life was like before the revolution. My vaguest memory is of the jokes I once heard about how PMS would have been cured a century ago if men had to experience it. PMS was cured two years ago, not because men had to experience it, but because women have seized control of every facet of society, including medicine."
Eric's fingers stumbled across the keyboard. He was out of practice. He counted himself lucky that he could even remember how to boot the computer up, much less sign onto the net and hide his manifesto in an encrypted HTML code. He became angry with his dulled mind and clumsy fingers. He knew it would take time for the pill to counteract the effects of the "PINK," but he also knew time was short. He could feel his nerves and muscles protest this act of rebellion. His hands seemed to think that they were far more suited to bringing Lady Shann pleasure. They seemed to ache to touch her; to roll about the soft rolling hills and valleys of her small, tender, round body.
He had been her "houseboy" since the revolution. He had secured this position months ago when she had discovered that he was highly trained in Tantric and Shiatsu massage. He had always brought her great satisfaction and relaxation during their sessions. Of course her bedchamber slave, Blayless, had always enjoyed the true effects of his ministrations, until this afternoon. Before today, Eric's skilled fingers would coax Lady Shann to the brink of bliss and then she would dismiss him and summon her bedchamber slave who appeared to be carved out of Onxy by Micheangelo himself. Today had been quite different, and Eric could not help but to wonder if her humiliation of the ebony Adonis at dinner was because she had discovered a new toy for her bedroom. He leaned back in the chair and looked at the words on the screen. He wondered how much of this innate desire to please her was artificial and how much of it was deep seated in his soul from a far earlier time, when he had known her in a totally different context. Thanks to the numbing effects of the "PINK," he could not really be sure.
Eric heard some laughter coming from upstairs. It reminded him of the urgency of his mission and he went back to work, his fingers moving a little more smoothly. "The Eugenic war had occurred four years ago. It seems odd that it is even called a war. It lasted less than the blink of an eye. The entire superstructure of society had been overturned when a radical feminist group known only as Amazon 6, had unleashed an unholy biological and genetic war. While most people would agree that women deserved equal treatment and fairness, I do not think anyone, with the possible exception of radical feminist groups such as Amazon 6, would have wished this on our world.
I even recall that on Pink Tuesday (this is what the women chose to call it and when they use this term it is always said with knowing smiles and giggles, but no man has yet to understand the private joke) I had been eating lunch with a few of the lady teachers I work with and we had been discussing the television show Seventh Heaven. The female characters on that show had been involved in political action for the horrible treatment of women in Afghanistan. Women in that country were treated worse than animals. Now worldwide, men have become pets for women. Men are forced to please them and serve them in every way imaginable. What is ironic, a few weeks before "Pink Tuesday," most of the population had been worried about something called Y2K. No one saw this ironic twist of fate coming."
Eric leaned back into the leather of Lady Shann's plush desk chair. It smelled faintly of her. The Lady's scent was imprinted on him at a deep level. So was her taste. It caused the memories of the afternoon to race back to him. He had brought so much pleasure to her with his skilled touch during the massage that he had begun to smell it rising from her loins. He had tried his best to ignore her writhing thighs and the fantasy images of thrusting his shaven head into her lap and clamping his lips on the excited folds of her flesh. His tongue had tingled with the anticipation of dipping into the very center of her essence and sampling her sweetness.
In the midst of his lurid thoughts a very powerful invasion entered his thoughts: It was not his place. He had shook the visions from his body several times and had tried to focus on massaging her. His hands tried to roll along her twisting body, but he found no safe place. She was fully aroused beneath his gently squeezing hands. She rolled slightly and the towel slipped from her ample breasts. The buds of her nipples were fully erect and she was breathing in quick little shudders. He had carefully replaced the towel and tried to move down her knees and shins to her feet. It had been too late. Pleasuring her with his gripping and swirling fingers had caused him to also become lost in the intoxicating orgasmic joy that seemed to splash about the bed chamber. He had hid his pleasure from her as best as he could, until, in the throes of her passion, she had reached for him. Her eyes had grown wide when she touched him as a lover for the first time. Eric had gazed into her eyes waiting for either instruction or invitation. He tried to read her expression and found a confused mixture of surprise, need, desire, and hunger. She seemed to look slightly worried about losing her self-control in the presence of her house slave, but her arousal quickly asserted itself over protocol.
