Traverse Fantasy

( Previous chapter ) “I, Matteu, take you, Alessandra”—Matteu sighed with galaxies in his eyes—“to be my wife. I vow to be faithful to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. You,” he broke, “are the light of my life. I will love and honor you all the days of my life. I love you, my dear Sandra.” “I love you too. And I, Alessandra, take you, Matteau, to be my husband. I’m sorry”—no apologies now; he would not accept it—“No. I vow to be faithful to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I vow to be as good a wife as I can be for you. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.” “May Jieu strengthen the consent you have declared before the assembly. What Jieu hath joined together, let no one put asunder. Bless the name of Jieu.” “Thanks be to Jieu,” the assembly said. The ceremony proceeded from the altar to the reception dinner, and we found ourselves each with a cocktail in hand. I managed to pull myself away from dear Matteu, and began maki...

My name is Anh. I’m a state-employed service worker. The conversation usually stops there. It’s not that I’m embarrassed of my line of work, but most don’t assume I’m anything other than a low-level bureaucrat: the kind of job that exists so people feel like they’ve earned their keep. Who likes a freeloader? But I know I earn my keep, and my clients tend to agree. One was inside me right then. He knew me as Hannah. I knew him as John. His hands gripped my waist, and his hips slammed rhythmically against my behind. His dick slid in and out, in and out, in and out of me. I moaned and arched my back for him. You like that, baby? Fuck, yeah. Give it to me. He pulled me by my hair and held me up with one hand on my breast and the other between my legs, his fingers circling my clit. He kissed me from my neck to my ear and then pushed me back down onto the bed. Grunting. You might be wondering: why is the state playing pimp? Spread open your history textbook. Prostitution is the world’s old...

“What distinguishes man from beast?” “I know this one.” Matteu gestured towards the bird, plucked clean of its bones, on the table. “Behold!” he glanced at me, and smiled at himself. “A man!” I smiled at him. “Of course.” Francu humored him. “But I mean, we are not communists. Yes? We are not naïve animals driven by material need or carnal pleasure. We live not to suckle on the bolshevik nanny state. We are men. We strive for existence beyond our bodies, for significance beyond eating, sleeping, fucking. What good is a life that exists solely to reproduce itself? What good is survival if not to live for something greater?” “And, I suppose, a life cut short in pursuit of the Good is better spent than one fully lived in the shallow, material prison of our bodies.” “Precisely, Matteu. Carmelu bequeathed unto you this this fertile land, on which he entrusted you to feed the army of Rumë, to start a family with his lovely granddaughter”—he tipped his wine my way—“and to ponder thus what...