The Remake

A Novel

Twenty years before, in the age of polymorphous perversity, I had played it straight. Now I wanted to know. To find myself through yielding. To be irradiated by the revelation of the Mole’s perfectly proportioned, rainwater-pure corporeal presence. Hindering my commitment to this idea, however, was ... an unavoidable suspicion that I mould have felt the same way if exposed to, say, the inner thigh of Linda Lovelace. Maybe I was just horny.

Joel Court had problems. He’d lost his wife, his mistress, quite possibly his career as an astronomical wizard, and had ended up living with Chance Jenolan, to whom success was a way of life, and whose Barbican fortress was protected by a maze that would shame the minotaur. To make matters worse, there was the Mole. Her heavenly body outshone all the celestial manifestations Joel had ever seen. Pretty soon, he would not be able to bear having her out of his sights ...