He thought that if he kept thinking of her, her features would be etched forever in his mind and he would never forget how she looked or how she smelled. But memories are tricky companions and tend to betray one’s heart. Days and weeks passed. The guards had resumed their usual alertness. Cells were locked tightly and conversations were held away from the ventilation grids. He was asked to deposit his semen on a daily basis, and he complied as he always had over the years. Mauricio felt alone for the first time in his life. For twenty-two years he had longed for acceptance; he had dreamed impossible dreams, despising his position as a slave with privileges. He had learned how to dull the pain he felt after the worst beatings. He had learned to live like a pariah among the other slaves and had even come to terms with the fact that fathered women would probably hate him. Not any other slave, just him. He, as a semental, was the reason fathered women were considered lesser beings by the pure breeds.
