“Can I help you?” I ask, thankful my voice doesn’t waver.“Good morning, Natalie,” he says, holding out a perfect hand. His nails are trimmed... the cuticles neat. His fingers are long, warm as he clasps my hand. “I’m Lucian Martinus.”“Good morning, L. Martinus,” I say returning the greeting in a more socially acceptable form. We are all equal under the government’s benevolent eye. Titles and first names are impolite gender conventions.His voice is vaguely familiar, but my head is muzzy; too. “Yes.” “And what did you want to do tomorrow?” “More of the same,” I answered. “Precisely,” she said. “You’re a guy; you always want sex and we’ve fucked each other silly before, especially when we’ve had the opportunity to be alone in the house like tonight. I knew exactly what you were thinking.” “And?” I asked, sipping my wine, interested in where she was going with all this drama. “You either wanted to do what we did last time we had a few days alone. Or you wanted me to arrange another. More

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