1. Gaslight


    Date: 10/10/2015, Categories: Fantasy & Sci-Fi, Author: lucywild, Rating: 5, Source: LushStories

    to go, the pilot nodding to the man beside me. “Let’s go,” he said, pushing me onboard. In seconds we were airborne, passing back over the harbour towards the west cliff. “Flying a steamcrate with no lights, that’s illegal you know?” I said, turning back to the man beside me. “So are a lot of things,” he replied, leaning forwards to whisper in the pilot’s ear. We began to descend, coming to rest inside a walled garden, the mechapigeons stirring in their coop before settling once more. “Off we get,” the man said and the instant I was on the grass, the steamcrate hissed and fell still. The man hopped off and took my hand. “Welcome to my humble home.” He pulled a brass key from his waistcoat pocket and opened a door in the wall. I followed him into a long hallway, the carpet dark green, the walls deep red and lined with portraits. We walked for what seemed like forever before finally entering an enormous lounge. The man walked over to a small wooden table next to a roaring fire. He picked up a crystal decanter and poured out two glasses before passing one to me. “Is that…?” “Ardour? Why yes it is. I thought it might help set the correct tone for the evening.” “Listen, Mr…?” “Black. David Black. A pleasure to meet you…?” He held out his hand towards me. I took it and shook gently, blurting out the first name I could think of. “Petria Moncrieff.” “Well Petria, to you, to us and to breaking council rules.” He tapped his glass to mine before drinking. I sipped at the fluid slowly, ...
    feeling the heat burn down my throat as a warmth spread through my entire body. Ardour was well known in Whitby, smuggled in on the steamships. It was a drink to relax the body and soul, to create a desire in one that could only be abated in the most primal of manners, hence its prohibition. If Mr Black had a bottle, it could only be for one reason, he intended to break the law. It had been ten years since the council had outlawed all sexual activity. The invention of the reproduction laboratory in Paris had changed everything. The autorepros had given them all the excuse they needed to prohibit the sinful and depraved sexual activities which, according to them, reduced productivity and increased the risk of disease. Even kissing had been banned but there were rumours of bars where ardour was still served and anything went in the curtained booths. The risks were there of course, get caught and you might not see the light of day for a very long time. Repeat offenders simply vanished, supposedly for re-education although nobody seemed to know where as none of them ever came back. The ban came in before I’d even had chance to fall in love. If it wasn’t for Olivia running away from the workhouse when she was ten I’d probably never have known what being a parent was like. Who’d want a baby with a repressed bisexual like me? Someone who didn’t even know what a kiss felt like. That was what had put me off trying ardour whenever it appeared under the counter at the gluebars, I’d not ...