Anyhoo, here are 7 paragraphs from the book nobody buys:
A mistress never plans for the holidays. There’s no one to kiss at the stroke of midnight, that mystical juncture between New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. She’s never treated to dinner on her birthday. Forget Valentine’s, too; utterly out of the question. Her heart is not warmed by fuzzy pyjamas and turkey at Christmas, unless she has friends or family to take her in.
But rarely does a mistress maintain close friendships, and often does she splinter from her family. Families like for their girls to grow into respectable women who marry and spawn. Not vixens. Not thieves. Families have no place of worth allocated to those of us who consort with the husbands of the respectable wives-and-mothers we ought to be. The image held of us as the good little girls, good little women, respectable members of society, is all at once destroyed. Disappointment infuses the gazes cast upon us. We are not what they wished for us to be…
Ah, but this is all becoming a touch too philosophical for my liking. At this rate, I may never begin my tale. And it’s a good one, too. You would be loath to miss it. As you are likely aware, if you are a reader of my work, I am far more interested in sex than philosophy. And that is precisely what this story will contain, as soon as I stop rambling about nonsense.
In fact, this is not just one story, but many stories, many little fictions fastened together by a larger fiction. The key element making this such a fascinating tale is that, while the little fictions are just that—thrilling little stories I wrote one Christmas as a special gift for my lover—the larger fiction is true. It is the tale of my lover’s gift to me, mine to him, and the gift we shared between us.
The aforementioned ‘little stories’ are what we refer to as ‘flash fiction’ in the trade. They are very short, like little flashes. I don’t like to think of them in relation to flashers; that is far too obscene for my taste. Flash fiction is like a splash of sunlight across a grey winter sky. It doesn’t last for long, but it cheers away that sadness we begin to feel as the days become shorter and the dark nights expand, along with our waistlines.
The flash, because of its conservancy of words, leaves a lasting impression on our hearts and minds. On our bodies too, I should hope, since the material flowing from my fountain pen is essentially pornography.
Before I begin my tale—and you see now how I am procrastinating, most likely out of fear that you will judge me harshly for consorting with a married person—I would like to share with you an example of a flash. This was the first in the compilation I mentioned earlier, the gift I gave to my brilliant lover. One always hesitates to give one’s writing to a man one considers brilliant, for fear he will laugh at its innocent stupidity, but it was for this reason my gift had such impact. It was something I created from my body, my heart and my mind, exclusively for him. And now I share it with you.
(...if you buy a copy mwahahahaha...)
Now Available from:
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00PGS5U06
Coming soon to other retailers