Emancipation Proclamation of my Pants
By Ally Mauser
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Copyright 2011, All Rights Reserved to the Author
Smashwords Edition
I have a crush on Abraham Lincoln. I know, he looks like a cross between a scarecrow and Ichabod Crane, with more bones than an elephant graveyard, but this is my own peculiar kink. I like them tall, strong, and bony. I love his beard, too. It’s hard to find anyone with that kind of beard in the twenty-third century. Everyone here is too busy putting animal parts on their faces – whiskers and tusks and stuff – to bother growing a good, old-timey, manly beard. It’s no wonder I’m a time traveler. I hate it here. I go out to the clubs, and everyone’s so futurist. They travel to other planets and have sex with aliens and all I want to do is find forty acres and a mule and a log cabin Republican.
Don’t laugh. I’m serious. I’m so serious, I went back in time on a tourist visa just to see him deliver his famous Gettysburg Address. It was a common request for patriots to go after historical moments of great import, and speeches, and the like. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of the people in the crowd were travelers when the speech became famous. I couldn’t get approval for the address, and I had to settle for one of his court cases, back when he was young and practicing law in Illinois. As much as I wanted to see him at his finest hour, I didn’t mind settling for a more obscure moment. With fewer eyes watching me, I could find out if the rumors about his sexuality were true. I heard he had a thing for log cabin Republicans, too.
I was a dish by anyone’s standard. I was six-foot-three, with dusky skin from a multi-racial heritage. My hair was deep red-brown, and curly. I had a fire crotch, too. I kept it trimmed to just a small peach fuzz of red. I was boyish, and I played up that boyishness. I had big, round brown eyes. My lovers thought I was an odd one to be so into Abraham Lincoln, but there’s no accounting for taste. Better a good, old-fashioned man than some upstart tart more interested in designer drugs than public service. I would fit right in among the toy boys that disco dance on aerial platforms. I had the body for it, and the moves.