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June 29 Vanishing Manhood: Part 15
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 15
Israel Jenkins and the Last Real Man on Earth.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Your
mind is your arsenal, fortress, and armory. Your words are potential weapons
you give to your enemies to assault the citadel of your soul.
In a final act of feminine superiority, Dimples had
destroyed Western Civilization. She had to share credit with the T2 virus for
the rest of the global catastrophe and I was sure she was okay with that. For
me, it was the start of my flight to freedom. I could do no more damage there.
That wasn't really important because at this stage of the disaster, Capri had
been willing to use her stun gun on me and drag my ass to the elevators if I
hadn't cooperated.
"Ladies, I have to run. Take care and be good to one
another. I wish you all the best of luck," I signed off. "The Final
Word for today is 'Resilience.’" The presidential staff cut her
connection. Maribel nodded good-bye and returned to her job. She was telling
the audience that GNN would start running continuous updates on plague
outbreaks and work toward a cure.
What else could she say? No one chased Capri and me to the
elevators. No one on this floor was jumping ship. In a sad reversal of fate,
they were the ones realizing there was nowhere for them to run while I had finally
found a way out. Special Agents Fraklos and Vabishi met us at the elevator.
They must have made it up seconds ago.
"Time to go, Israel," Fraklos gave me a weary
half-smile. "We are going to try and bluff our way out the back. For some
reason there are over a thousand young ladies gathered out front."
"What?" I gasped.
"Less impressive sex, Bitch," Capri muttered. Her
phone rang. She saw the number and groaned.
"Hi, Mom," Capri plastered on a happy face.
"Honey, did you overnight that shipment?" Mom got
straight to the point.
"Oh, I tried Mom, but he fountained so much into me
that I gagged. I ran to the bathroom, threw up and accidently hit the sensor,
it all got flushed down the drain, all three loads," Capri sniffled.
"You What!" her mother snapped.
"I know Mom, I've let you down again. I know I'm a
failure, but I promise to try harder. I can go down on Israel right now,"
she turned the phone my way for a second. "I'll suck him off before the
elevator makes it to the ground floor and, I don't know, spit it into my purse
and send that to you," Capri pleaded.
"Ah, I'll call you back," Capri's Mom stammered
and the connection went dead.
"Whore," Capri griped. Her phone rang again.
"Damn it," Capri growled. "This is new," her tone changed
when a video of an ambulance appeared. It took Capri a second to figure out who
the driver was.
"We need to get here," Capri showed the screen to
Fraklos and Vabishi.
"That's straight through the mob," Vabishi looked
at her dubiously. "We won't make it." I was paralyzed by the thought
of me in a sea of female bodies tightly packed together. I had done this. Since
Monday, I had done all this to myself.
I was an emotional masochist. I hurled my fractured psyche
at the very things that I knew would tear me up inside and chisel away at what
little mental reserves I had left.
Angel.
Angel's eyes, her smell and the way her lips parted slightly
before she spoke. How her eyebrows came close together before she unleashed her
anger at me, often deserved.
The way my heart felt when I cried while she held me, the
absence of my shame and her lack of condemnation, or pity. She wouldn't always
like me. She did love me. I couldn't give up my faith in that belief. Not now.
"Angel is with Roni," I spoke up. "We are
going to the ambulance."
"Israel, I'm not sure we can get you there,"
Fraklos observed.
"That's okay, you are not coming," I grinned at
her. "Capri and I have a better chance on our own and quite frankly, if I
don't go for Angel, she'll come for me. I might as well make it easy on her for
once in our relationship."
"Israel,” Vabishi started to try and talk some sense
into me.
"Give it up," Capri sighed. "He loves her.
He's going. I'm following along because I have jack-all for job opportunities
now." Capri really liked me, or maybe she was remembering her promise to
kill me once we survived all this chaos. I preferred to think she liked me.
"We'll run interference with the police and reservists
while you two make a break for it," Fraklos shrugged. "It hasn't been
a pleasure in the slightest and thank you for making my life long dreams and
ambitions totally irrelevant, Israel Jensen."
"Stick with Dimples. She'll see you through," was
my only advice.
The elevator doors opened and a half dozen female faces were
looking our way. Barring strict protocol or routine, if someone acts like they
know what they are doing, people tend to accept that they know what they are
doing. That was the scenario Fraklos and Vabishi were playing out. The
Metropolitan Police and the Army Reservists had orders concerning me.
To the police, "this was a Federation matter.” To the
Army, "the President had just been arrested for treason so they had to go
back up their chain of command to figure out if they had valid orders or not.”
They were FBI, they were elite FBI. Could they be mistaken? Could they be
helping a male fugitive from responsibility make his escape through a mob of
girls?
That was crazy talk. Besides, I didn't look like a man about
to make his bid for freedom. I looked almost catatonic. That was because I was
nearly catatonic from fear. Less we forget, I was gang-raped by a bunch of
girls close to the age and social make-up of the ladies outside, right down to
them being interested in me because of the sexual favors I had willingly given
to another.
I had no internal hero to call upon. I never viewed myself
as heroic. I was a victim and an exceptionally unfortunate one at that. There
was no shard of my psyche that could do this.
'You are free to do whatever you want', bunny hop with a
smile, 'you were that man before you came here', holding hands, 'thank you.’
I had not given up the will to live for 87 days. I had
exited that sorority to graduate at the top of my class. I walked into a sea of
policewomen to save the life of a boy I had never seen and would, most likely,
never know. I was not a coward. I was a survivor and a good man, a good human
being.
I was a survivor. Survivors were rarely respected. I wasn't
a hero, but I could pretend to be one for as long as it took to make it into
Angel's arms. They only tore heroes apart after the fact. We walked out into
the light downpour. Capri opened my umbrella. I didn't need it. I needed to be
seen and I was. They called out my name and pushed forward against the line of
patrolwomen.
The reservists had an answer for that. Those hexagonal
devices I had noticed coming in were sonic crowd suppression devices. They
ruined your equilibrium and made you vomit. From both ends, the women at the
controls began working over the mob of young women. Two ranks beyond the cops,
women began going down in droves.
The soldier closest to us operating the device was suddenly
showered with shrapnel. She received a few painful lacerations to her upper
arms, but was okay. She was still trying to figure out what had happened to
cause the near-total destruction of her weapon when the device on the other end
of the column shut down.
The rotator assembly had exploded, fortunately sending
slivers of composite away from the woman operating that weapon. That soldier
was going 'what the fuck,' when the
first one figured it out.
"Sniper!" she shouted over her com-net and ducked
down into her vehicle. The reservist sergeant in charge of this detail didn't
panic.
She starting figuring out what kind of casualties she was
looking at, none, and where the fire was coming from. The first sonic
technician was doing those physics herself. It took her a few seconds to work
the trajectories and she didn't like what she came up with. She should be dead,
as should her comrade controlling the other device.
That sniper hadn't missed. She'd hit exactly what she was
aiming at without killing any of the soldiers involved.
"Sergeant, rounds coming from the south, down Marlowe
Avenue. She must have at least five meters of elevation, if not more," she
said. That was only a few acres of real estate.
Right about then, the fifteen seconds those sonic devices
effected someone after they had been subjected to the attack wore off. The
policewomen had easily held back the closest two ranks of girls the devices had
not affected. Now those girls behind those two ranks were getting back on their
feet, covered in their own vomit. Those girls were very, very angry. They
surged forward.
The policewoman in charge gave the order to use tasers while
calling all units to rush to the scene. Patrol cars had been coming this way
since the growing number of girls was detected. They had been moving in
cautiously so as to not incite an incident. It was a slow escalation of force.
Now they turned on their sirens and came running.
More cops would have come running if not for another
calamity a few kilometers away. Keverich mobsters had attacked and killed the
Mayor and most of her entourage. That was what the reports were saying anyway.
Beyond that, the police were still rounding up and detaining thousands of men.
They were stretched thin.
The police went to tasers, a few girls went down, and then
one girl countered with wasp spray. In many ways, it is worse than pepper
spray. For starters, it has a longer range. This girl dowsed the cop who just
tasered her friend. This woman closed her eyes and got an arm somewhat in the
way, she was partially incapacitated.
The girl then turned the stream on the cop to the left with
the same results. The patrolwoman on the right had her eyes wide open when the
spray hit her face and went down screaming. The police cordon collapsed. This
was not the Arena. The ladies wanted their plight to be recognized, or their
support of me to be known.
There was anger, not bloodlust. The blinded policewoman was
picked up by a group of girls, carried forward to one of the light transport
vehicles and told to stay put. Cops were taken down fighting. A few tasers were
stolen, no firearms. They wanted GNN to come out and record their voices and
witness their defiance.
The reservists were putting a second, smaller, line together
when I shouldered past them from behind and ran into the press of girls. Even
those who weren't here to support me recognized me. Capri and I were quickly
engulfed. I could feel the last sands of my resolve falling through the
hourglass. I had to hold on just a little more.
I scanned the group of girls closest to me, seeking the lead
lioness.
"I have to get to that ambulance," I shouted my
appeal. She seemed worried and confused. "My girlfriend is there," I
explained. There was that tinge of jealousy. There was also that spark of
romance, a modern day 'Tale of Two Cities.’
This lead lioness began shoving other girls, getting their
attention and forming a protective knot around me. My words came back to haunt
me.
"We have to save one life, just one life, His!"
she pointed at me. "Come on ladies, let's go." This group of total
strangers forced a path against the tide, working toward the rear of the mob.
I never let go of Capri's hand. I couldn't have made it this
far without her and I wouldn't have been worthy of continuing on if I let her
go. An eternity later, the pressure eased and we emerged on the far side of the
mass of humanity to see Roni and Angel outside the ambulance, waiting for me.
Angel took two steps toward me, I took a few steps toward
her, I was losing the ability to count.
"She seems awful old," the lead lioness remarked
boldly. I doubted Angel cared.
"Love is timeless," I turned and told my unknown
saviors. "Thank you."
"Come on, Ladies," that girl laughed. "Let's
go get them," and she led that dozen young ladies back to their chance to
be famous.
"Come on, gang," Roni shouted over the noise. The
reservists were using their middle vehicle's grenade launcher to bounce tear
gas grenades off the surrounding buildings thus disrupting the crowd.
"Capri, you and Israel get in the back," Roni helped me along. I saw
Angel get in the driver's seat.
We were hustled into the rear of the ambulance, Roni shut
the doors and ran back to the front passenger side. The vehicle rolled away,
only accelerating when we were clear of the chaos. For a second, I thought of
Doyle Crane. I wondered if he was finally living the life he'd always wanted,
upholding the long tradition of investigative journalism and unrelenting social
commentary.
"You did it, Israel. You made a difference," Capri
comforted me. "I think a vacation is in order." Mouth agaip, I stared
at her then I started laughing. It was my crippling hysteria; it was a deep
vibrant echo of a former life. "What's so funny?" Capri studied me.
"I haven't had a vacation since I was ten and my Mom
and I spent a few days at a rustic little bed and breakfast in upper
Minnesota," I enlightened her.
"After that, it was all summer camps, therapy, college
and finally here," I shook my head. "I've never had 'nothing' to do
since 'that night'," referring to the night the Aurora Slasher took me.
"Nothing?" Capri chuckled. "Can you take a
sexual joke?"
"I'll do my best," I sighed.
"When you get tired of sitting around 'doing
nothing'," she 'quoted' with her fingers, "I think there will be a
few women around who can help you with that." I wanted to joke back with
Capri. She was fun. Those mental reserves? Those last grains were slipping
past. I couldn't muster the strength to do anything more than keep my eyes open
and my mind receptive.
Angel drove the ambulance to an abandoned, pre-Plague
warehouse west of the city. We switched to a passenger van that Angel had
liberated from Police Impound. As the women were transferring the medical equipment
from the ambulance to our new ride, I overheard their quiet discussion.
Someone had to retrieve Venus and Samantha. Roni had
contacted Samantha and those two were going to the Farmer's Market and wait to
be picked up. They were coming to the conclusion, with Capri's urging, that
Capri take Angel's personal vehicle. Roni was a paramedic with a skill set our
group desperately required. I needed Angel to be there when I mentally returned
to the world.
Capri joked that she was a lawyer; a profession that was
about to be rendered useless. I wanted to say something except their logic was
unassailable. Capri was right, Roni and Angel were correct in agreeing with her
and I couldn't volunteer myself. I was in no shape to make the drive even if
the other three would let me go. I knew they wouldn't.
I wasn't going to make a false declaration when I knew the
outcome and the sacrifices being made on my behalf. Venus had rubbed everyone
the wrong way at least once. Samantha, Samantha was the Quiet One. She didn't stand
out, sparkle, or shine. She was steady and unspectacular. They were also part
of us and the tribe had decided to not leave anyone behind.
Capri left in the car, going south. Angel, Roni and I headed
west for a few more kilometers. We came across a home off the beaten path,
decent acreage, mostly wood covered with the dwelling not clearly visible from
the road. As we turned down the gravel driveway we saw a sign; 'Trespassers
will be', with white tape over the bottom word(s) and the addendum 'use your imagination'
finishing the warning.
The house was a sprawling one-story affair that didn't look
fabricated. It looked woman-made, except that woman had an incomplete knowledge
of architecture and home construction. Angel pulled around to the side of the
house. It appeared we had been told to park there.
"Where are we?" I murmured.
"Kuiko and Aniqua's co-worker's home," Angel
informed me. "I understand he's disreputable, if not downright
criminal."
"We figure people won't know to look for you
here," Roni added. We piled out of the van, gathered, then approached the
door.
There were two hand-made, woodcarvings on either side of the
main, side door. One was 'Jethro McFarlane' and the other was 'If the cunt
ain't fresh, I ain't interested.’ Kuiko's information came flooding back.
Still, who said shit like that? Angel drew her sidearm, put it behind her back
and knocked on the door. Aniqua answered fifteen seconds later.
"Hey," she smiled with some relief, "you made
it. Where is Capri?" My mind was rattling along as best it could. Aniqua
didn't know about Capri because they were keeping their phone chatter to a
minimum, that made sense.
"Israel, Israel?" Aniqua repeated.
"Huh?" I managed.
"Why don't you come in and take a nap?" she
offered. "Get a bite to eat maybe?"
"Going down the home stretch," I muttered while
trying to sound upbeat. That was it for me. My mind informed me I was out of
gas by shutting down. My demons would always exact their toll and I was all out
of the 'soul' currency they craved.
The End of the Day
I woke up in a strange bed with no recollection of how I got
there. It stank. I was putting definitions to what smelled as I raised my head
and looked around. Whoever lived in this place liked to kill animals, as
witnessed by the stuffed animals and animal head wall ornaments, and had an
all-consuming aversion to housework in any of its forms. There were clothes on
the floor, every piece of furniture was stacked up with something.
On the wall the bed was pushed up against were animal horns
of various kinds of creatures and every prong had a pair of women's panties
dangling from them. I could almost touch them. When I moved I realized the
ceiling above the bed was covered with a huge circular mirror. This made sense
because the bed was circular too. Where the fuck
was I?
I almost missed the eyes at the 'foot' of the bed. They were
big brown eyes, slender eyebrows, a smallish nose bridge and bangs over the top
quarter of the light brown or yellowish forehead with the rest of the hair
pulled back.
"Hey, Kuiko," I smiled and breathed a sigh of
relief.
The entirety of her head popped up.
"Hello Israel, are you feeling okay?" she asked
compassionately.
"So-so, I guess," I shrugged. I had pushed myself
up on my elbows. "How long have you been there?"
"About twenty minutes," she grinned. "I had
to wait until everyone else was pre-occupied."
"Did everyone get here okay?" I maneuvered up to
waist level.
"Yeah. Capri came in with Venus and Samantha a few
hours ago. They brought most of your clothes," she related. "Jethro's
bimbos made it too. They have some stupid names, Paisley and Lavender." I
reached out and gingerly tapped the walls of my mental collage.
"Is Mistress Sano displeased?" I teased her. Kuiko
rose higher. I imagined she was on her knees. She was also really happy. I was
playing a game with her which suggested I was recovering from this morning's
psychic marathon. She shook her head. "I'd really like a hug if it isn't
too much trouble, Kuiko Sano."
Her teeth shined white-bright. Kuiko crawled up the bed. I
thought she was trying to be non-threatening, so she slithered up the bed to be
level with my lap. She placed the side of her head to my stomach and slowly,
tenderly hugged me.
"Can I ask a favor?" she whispered.
"I'll do my best," I offered.
"Please stop trying to hurt yourself so often. Make an
effort to avoid danger instead of running straight at it," s
1 hr 12 min
June 28 Vanishing Manhood: Part 14
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 14
Israel Jenkins and the Last Real Man on Earth.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Your
mind is your arsenal, fortress, and armory. Your words are potential weapons
you give to your enemies to assault the citadel of your soul.
At the Sentinel Eloise gave me the plan for the day. Doyle
was in the 'bull pen' with the other journalists. The President of the
Federation was going to make a personal appeal for me to join the National
Government in dealing with this crisis. In case I was feeling 'uppity', there
was going to be a special taskforce of the FBI around to make me behave.
"Do you know who is in charge of this Watch Dog
group?" I inquired.
"Some hot shot out of the Capital named Enola
Treyvon," Eloise studied me. "I think you've met her." How did
Eloise know all this shit?
"Yeah, we've met. She opted not to keep me in custody
at the time," I replied in the least informative way I could think of.
"There has to be a story in there somewhere,"
Eloise pressed.
"Which you are not going to get," Capri
intervened. "Did you miss Israel nearly getting killed in the shootout
yesterday with your favorite mobster and the cops?"
"Since neither you, nor Mr. Jensen were questioned, I
would discern you both made it out before things got too bad," Miss Granger
smirked.
"So, are you going to GNN this morning, Israel?"
Eloise turned to me.
"Sure, why not?" I shrugged.
"What's your exit strategy this time? I don't think
'running down the stairs' will work out all that way with the FBI standing
around waiting for you," she prodded.
How in the hell was I going to get out? Dimples would give
me a head start, but what then? I needed something, a big distraction, that
didn't involve people dying.
'Never be ashamed, of my best, efforts?'
The chaos that had haunted my life had me leaving multiple
things undone, like laundry, and the Sexbook account Troy Berry had created for
me.
Flash mobs had expired during the Gender Plague. A
generation later, women rediscovered the spontaneity or activism of their
parent(s). I had never participated in one. I had been invited to a few, but
anything associated with women and the word 'mob' was a nonstarter for me. This
morning, I was relying on a piece of social media I'd never used to do
something I had avoided like death itself.
Here was hoping I still had fans.
I had to borrow Capri's tablet and off I went. I had over
32,000 'friends.’ There were 1,754 unanswered requests.
"Israel?" Capri asked gently. Both she and Eloise
looked over my shoulder.
"Wow, you are a rock star," Eloise mused.
"I didn't know Sexbook had a Fan Fiction page,"
Capri noted. I was back to wanting to die of embarrassment. I didn't deserve
this, as in I wasn't worthy of this level of attention.
"What's the plan?" Eloise prodded.
I began referencing locations and ages of my 'friends',
created a list and launched this appeal.
I am the
real Israel Jensen. I'm not promising anyone any sexual favors whatsoever. The
last 48 hours have been a mess and I've done things you must all view as
questionable. I regret only that I cannot do more for more people.
I have
always been drawn to passion and I've been lucky to share that love with
several women close to me. I am sick to my soul that I let my wounds keep me
from the thing that turns out to have healed me the most. I owe Angel and
Kuiko, whom you may know, and Freya and Venus whom you do not. Debra, I
apologize I couldn't be more. M.
In an
hour, I am about to do what I've done every other morning this week, something
colossally stupid and definitely something that is going to piss people off.
This is going to be my last hurrah, for some time, if not forever. Odds are I'm
going to end up in either Metropolitan or Federation custody. I'm going to make
a run for it anyway.
That's
where all of you come in. I need your help. I have nothing to offer in return.
If any of you are crazy enough to help, gather in front of the GNN building at
8:15 this morning. If you don't show up, never be afraid to say you had a
chance to do something asinine and pointless then wised up in time. May whatever
face of the Divine gives you comfort be with you.
Israel
Jensen
I was hoping to hear something in ten minutes, or so. I had
barely handed the tablet back when a message popped up.
“What is your favorite color?” GoldenDoe34 sent. Huh?
Kelly
Green. My Mother had a recreation battle flag of the Irish Brigade in our
living room at home I answered.
“That's not what your page says” she pressed.
That's
because Troy Berry set up the page without consulting me I replied.
“Where did you and Venus have sex?” PandorSweets sent.
I'm not
sure I should say. That was between us I countered.
“She said in her review of you” PandorSweets stated. What
the?
My
bracelet is broken. I didn't think women could post reviews I
wondered.
“Hold on” GoldenDoe34 posted. Then,
Freya posted;
Thank
you, Israel, for saving my life and the life of my Son. Remember, you were the
man who cares deeply before you ever came to be at my side.
Venus added;
I
should hardly need to say that the sex was wonderful. It was. As any woman who
has ever had intercourse with him has said, Israel gave his all as if I was the
only woman in the world that mattered. What was special to me was what came
after we made love in the shower. As we dried off, he reached out and held my
hand.
He
took me to his bedroom then asked me to close my eyes as he dressed because at
his core, he is a shy, gentle soul. This may not make sense to many of you, but
at that moment I felt I was important to him. He let me inside his fractured
world, told me I could stay by his side as long as I liked and I'm grateful.
"Less impressive sex, you dummy," Capri whispered.
She was smiling. "I would have never guessed Venus could be so
eloquent."
Thank
you GoldenDoe34. I don't normally read my reviews. I don't engage in sex for
the words that come after I am gone, but for the sight, sound, taste, touch and
smell of that one woman at that one place and time.
I don't
like being graded, or rated. I would certainly never degrade a woman by
boasting to the world our deeply personal experience. I know it is common,
accepted practice for women, I wish it was not so.
God! It is you! PandorSweets exclaimed.
“I agree. No one could be so enchanting, yet irritating at
the same time” Verbena Queen joined in. “I'll contact my clubs”
“I'm texting my senior class” GoldenDoe34 added.
"Oh hell," Eloise snickered, "what have you
done?" I had no clue what I'd done. Seriously, why would anyone assume I
knew jack-all about a dating site? Why would I think I would know what I was
doing? I'd avoided, or been kept isolated from, sexual encounters for most of
my adult life.
I would not claim ignorance. I knew the basics of social
media. I knew that I had an odd appeal and that Troy had preyed upon for his
own sick desires. Now I was using the affections aimed my way for my own ends.
The best I could say about my plan was that I'd told the truth about what I
wanted and the total lack of reciprocity on my part.
I was using their sexual fantasies to urge them toward
rebellion. I was walking into a feminine nightmare of my own creation. A horde
of women (I hoped) was going to engulf Capri and I, shield us from our pursuers
and then be abandoned to their fates. I would do my best to warn them before I
ran. I didn't know what else I could do.
Yesterday had been a splash of water to the face. Today, the
oceans were boiling. In New York City, a construction worker with a steel pipe
went berserk. He killed two policewomen at a food truck, critically injuring
two more and one bystander. Only after two other officers confronted and shot
him fatally in the neck did they realize he'd added body armor and enough
padding to negate the effect of tasers.
Yesterday, fewer than five thousand men threw themselves at
the barricades. Today it was fifty thousand and counting. We only detected the
rumblings at this early hour about what was coming. In Atlanta, men all over
that city walked off the job at ten a.m. Thirty percent of the men walked. In
Hawaii, the governor ordered that all gatherings of more than two men were
banned.
The backlash was overwhelming. Eighty percent of all men on
the islands boycotted, everything. Middle School and High School boys walked
out of their classrooms. Local G E D departments 'detained' the organizers.
That also backfired. Protestors swarmed G E D stations, staging sit-ins and
getting arrested. Jails were flooded. Men and women signed a petition demanding
the governor step down.
In Managua, sixteen male college students gathered in front
of the Ministry of Justice building with two bolt cutters. Publically, they cut
off each other's wrist bands. They made no attempt to flee and were promptly
arrested. In Phoenix, college and high school boys attacked the metro system
with stink bombs.
In Boston, men of all ages pelted Federation, State and
local office buildings with Red, Green and Blue paint balloons; the colors of
the Federation. In Calgary, they parked trucks in intersections, disabled the
ignitions and abandoned their vehicles. Except for Hawaii, there was no rhyme,
reason, or organization to it, beyond things at the very local level.
The gem of it all was that, outside of that one incident in
New York, my brothers were taking my lesson to heart. It wasn't 'get the
women.’ It was 'we will no longer sit silently by and be ignored.’ Things were
about to get much worse. Congress had passed the 2nd Amendment to the Gender
Inequality Act, to take effect in 90 days. Marriage was gone.
The women in Congress weren't morons, but they weren't men
either. Even those who were wives didn't truly understand because they weren't
husbands. The greatest burden to fall would be, again, on the men. On Sunday,
the ex-husbands would have wept. On this Wednesday, they were fighting mad.
Whether you call it a Cyclone, Typhoon, or Hurricane, there
was a forgotten element to this storm. Forgotten by almost everyone, even me.
They were the daughters. Specifically, daughters with fathers who were now
seeing their papas being ripped away and they weren't happy about this at all.
Only a small number of marriages had children of an
'effective' age, say, over the age of 12. The average family in this group had,
on average, four daughters. If you also had a son, well, he was already working
out his 'man' issues. These daughters, they understood. They had been
marginalized and neglected. Their society had just pooped on them in a big way.
Their parental structure had been severed in twain. The
parent they saw the most of, and in most cases, were closer to, was being
forced out the door. No one had consulted with them in any God-damned way,
shape, or form. With the bang of a gavel, their primary caregiver was told to
vacate in 90 days, or else.
The law was very clear, men had to permanently abandon their
shared dwelling and maintain their own domicile so they could be 'accessible.’
That's right, little girl. We are throwing Daddy into some sleazy bachelor pad
where any skanky whore can use and abuse him. Oh, and lest we forget, Dad
probably has a few 'nieces' as well, with Aunts Suzy and Karen coming by so
often it should be of no surprise.
These young women were traumatized by the destruction being
levied on their lives. They weren't sure about what to do, until the boys stood
up and marched off to fight their little, hopeless war. Then the girls knew
exactly what to do. It started with a trickle of support but quickly became a
torrent.
There were still fewer daughters or nieces with Daddy or
Uncles than the total number of men. The difference? Women felt entitled. They
were not afraid of the cops, or repercussions. Yes, the Hammer of Justice was
about to fall on their heads too. They just didn't see it coming so they
swarmed into the streets in far greater numbers.
Yes, this meant the police and military reserves were about
to use tasers, rubber bullets, tear gas and stun grenades on 14 and 15 year old
girls on streaming video. Do you want to make things worse? Remember, the
majority of marriages are in the top tier of society. No, that's not Josephine
the electrician's little girl.
That's Augustine on the Board of Directors of your Bank who
just saw her baby take a tear gas canister to the gut. Then you had Patty, the
friend. She was watching Carmella heading downtown because they are turning
Carmella's Dad, a nice guy, she's met him several times, into a man-whore (whom
she couldn't possibly afford on her allowance).
She probably had some teenage fantasies about him too,
though she'd never tell Carmella. The more she thought about it, the more Patty
decided that she was not going to let some wacky old bitches, who didn't
understand today's modern woman (like Patty), tell her how the world should
work. She imagined Carmella's dad would be grateful, maybe really grateful.
The more she thought about it, the more Patty was sure he'd
scoped her out a few times. Suddenly, joining Carmella and sticking it to some
cops sounded like tons of fun with a 'real' possible pay-off at the end.
Carmella's dad was going to see her as a grownup woman now. Yep. Patty gathered
up two of her pals who were bored anyway and talked them into helping Carmella.
She showed them a picture of Carmella's dad working out in
his home gym to seal the deal. Carmella was happy to have three of her buddies
joining her. 'Do they think her Daddy will be happy with their protest?' 'Yes',
Carmella assures them, 'her Daddy will be very happy she has such good
friends.’ The three girls smiled.
In twenty minutes, one of those friends was thinking that
calling a rubber bullet 'non-lethal' was patently deceptive. Dialing this all
back to me, I had told all my fans where they could gather to do 'something.’
Somewhere along the line, they informed a pissed off daughter. Suddenly, all
those pissed off girls whose sperm donor had hung around had a focal point for
their frustrations.
They knew I would be at GNN. It stood to reason the cops
would come and get me, it was my thing. The girls no longer had to storm a
police station, or government building to get their message across. There were
going to be plenty of police sitting out in the middle of the street with no
walls to hide behind. This was about to give a whole new meaning to the phrase
'Daddy Time.’
With the coffin so full of nails, there was one more to go
in. Even after forty yours of the Gender Inequality Act, men were still
essentially men, especially teenage 'men.’ A hundred years ago women took to the
streets in parts of the Federation, stood up for their equal rights, cultural
liberty, took birth control pills and burnt their bras.
Men marched with them. I was sure a few actually believed in
the cause, equal rights. Most believed in something else. Women had for
centuries clung to a mythical virginal status. During the sexual revolution,
women were giving it away. No ring, payment, religious conversion, or promise
required. Hell, sometimes you weren't even required to say anything at all.
In high schools and colleges all across the country,
hormone-racked boys were watching girls stand up and walk out of class. In many
cases, the rich girls. These guys didn't care about marriage. If they only had
sex once in a 14 day period, something was seriously wrong with them. They
could get girls all the time, walk alone anywhere for fifteen minutes and
they'll find you.
So why would they join these privileged young woman?
Passion. These young women were passionate about an issue that didn't involve
bondage of some kind for the boys down the line. Men, men who are not like me,
liked passion. They liked it a lot. Now, my high school and college brethren
weren't stupid. They weren't marching alone.
That's how you ended up naked, God-knows-where with fifteen
different phone numbers and 'Call Me' scrawled over your body in lipstick. They
did the socially conscious thing; my brothers called all of the brothers in
their group and they traveled as a pack to join the girls. This became a
twofold problem if you were a law enforcement official on the street outside of
GNN.
Last night you gunned down, or otherwise eased into a
terminal state nearly a thousand 30, 40, and 50 year old males. Now you are
staring down bands of teenage boys interspersed in a sea of hostile girls. Using
non-lethal dispersal means would 'normally' break up these children except,
what would happen when the girls saw young men dropping next to them?
Fear would become fury. Shock would become rage. Why? If
women had been part of the crowd at the M A L Rally, something very
different would have happened. Women would have died in droves because women
defended men. They'd been doing it for forty years, in their cultural minds
anyway. It was why they felt entitled.
Male economic input to the world was negligible. It was a
woman's world. The provided for us, kept us safe (mostly) and if they took
advantage of us a tidbit, well, they were doing all the work, right? These
small knots of teenage boys had joined this female protest. The boys had become
'their' boys.
Sure, that meant many of them were going to be 'asked' later
to perform, but that's pretty much why most of them were there in the first
place. That also meant when a cop put one of 'their' boys down, the women got
protective. It was what their culture had been beating into their skulls for
forty years.
This did not mean the young women respected the boys, it
meant they wanted to get fucked just
as much as the boys did. Twenty girls see one boy go down and they suddenly
realize he's going to the jail, or the hospital (no one dares think 'morgue').
That means no cock for them. Back to that passion those guys came sniffing
after like the horny dogs they were.
Hormones don't play favorites. They erase reason and common
sense in both genders equally, especially when you are young. That young lady
knows that the boy those nasty evil bitch cops just knocked down was going to fuck her to the stars in a few hours. Sure,
they'd never actually made eye contact, but she knew, she knew.
Now, you Evil Cop, you are about to experience why this
frustrated teenage girl burned out her last two vibrators with her unrequited
lust. If you are the cop in question, you realize that this teenager had
nineteen friends in the same basic mind frame and they are all coming for you. If
you are a Metropolitan Policewomen, the past 12 hours have been tough for you
and it's getting tougher by the second.
Most likely you haven't gotten much sleep. Worse, you've
seen the respect for your career start to plummet in the eyes of your fellow
(female) citizens. 178 of your sister officers died, a few quite horribly.
Nearly a thousand males died. There was no way to look at this in a positive
light.
Yesterday's male demonstration had been an annoyance; so
comical that she probably joked about it with fellow officers. Today there had
been too many to hold back. As she knew it would, chaos had ensued. Allowed to
their own devices, men had inflicted their own brand of discipline on the ride
to work. Foreheads were getting wacked all over the city.
Women were learning some
1 hr 6 min
June 27 Vanishing Manhood: Part 13
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 13
The final hours of normalcy.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

In
Peace, daughters bury their mothers. In War, mothers bury their daughters. The
death of sons is too painful to recount.
"What does this mean?" I inquired gently. Brandi
looked up at me and smiled.
"It means we are not all going to die," she
breathed deeply for the first time since this experiment began.
"Israel is too nice and shell-shocked to ask you what
the hell is going on, but why don't you enlighten me?" Capri stood on the
sofa, on her knees, looking over the three Vanishers.
"The Plague has broken out in China and made its way to
the West Coast. We have operatives and men we'd like to rescue in threatened
areas. We were hoping to inoculate our people so that they don't get infected.
Infected people have to be left behind," Jen explained.
"How many men are going to die?" Aniqua groaned.
"Wait, you said 'our people'," Capri's eyes
narrowed. "Why would you need to inoculate woman against the Plague?"
"This is a new plague," Zara finally spoke.
"It is killing everybody." How exactly does a person respond to that?
I wanted to erase the last five seconds of my memory and trundle along like
nothing was wrong.
Well, more wrong than was normally wrong for me.
"Israel, you have to vanish, now!" Capri insisted.
"No more screwing around. Let them take you out of here to someplace
safe." I did not want to deal with the logic or emotion behind that
statement. Capri wanted me to go, knowing she was going to die in some unpleasant
manner.
"Why did you call me Frank?" I turned to Brandi.
She was setting up another machine that had tubing and a really sharp needle.
"Inside joke," Brandi's smile tried to be
comforting. "See, I'm Brandi the Veterinarian, Jen works for Nasa and you're
Frank the Duck."
"I don't get it," I mused.
"Are you really a vet, as opposed to an honest to God
doctor, or paramedic?" Kuiko wondered. Aniqua groaned once more.
"Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, courtesy of the
University of Minnesota and Uncle Sam," she confirmed.
"I thought I'd work with K-9 units, but after my
initial evaluations, they informed me I had another valuable skill set that I'd
been overlooking," she added.
"What would that be?" Capri muttered.
"I'm really good at blowing things up," Brandi
chatted while setting me up for the blood withdrawal.
"Oh God," Venus gulped. "Were you girls
behind the Arena bombing?"
"Yes," Jen replied.
"You killed all those people," Aniqua stood up
angrily.
"Wake up," Jen growled. "What did you think
was going to happen when society crumbled?"
"Billions are going to die. We can't save them. We, the
movement, have to bring the government down before we can move to stage 2 of
the plan. If you ladies can't deal with that, you are hanging around with the
wrong man," Jen continued.
"Israel?" Samantha called out.
"I figured it out, Samantha. I didn't know at the
start, but I figured it out. Everyone you know, who is not Angel, or Roni that
is not in this room will be dead in two months," I sighed.
"Oh, you are trying to save as many as you can,"
Venus murmured. Had I a cohesive plan, or an iron will, maybe I would have
understood that enough to save more.
"Do you know why Frank is so willingly giving up his
blood right now?" Jen asked the group.
"He's got hot-sexy eyes for Zara?" Kuiko offered.
Jen snorted. Zara's back was to me.
"Well, that and, look around the room," Jen told
them. "Do you know how many women are on the list of those to be taken to
safety?"
"None," Capri responded.
"Precisely, and he's trying to change that. Of the
nearly twenty-six hundred men we have 'vanished', less than twenty asked for
another woman to be saved, every one of those asked for their mothers,"
Jen stated.
"Israel asked you to save us?" Kuiko sounded
surprised.
"Asks the woman who was fuck-stunned
for thirty minutes," Jen joked. "He hasn't asked. He didn't have to.
That first Sunday, he was on the list. The following Saturday morning, he was
off it because he had a female attachment. We kept an eye on him, just in
case."
"Saturday night he took a beating you cannot imagine
because he wouldn't betray Angel Kristi," Jen explained. "Men don't
do that. We never give them the chance, but Frank did. We didn't know what
Carabolix, 37 was yet. All he had to do was tell another woman that he loved her
and treat her the way he treated Angel. He wouldn't do it. He was back on the
list."
"Since then, somewhat inadvertently, Frank has been
working his ass off to help us with our plans," Jen mused. "We didn't
think he knew about our background until today, but he put all of the pieces
together, seconds after freaking out and walking into a wall. If he hadn't been
screwed-up in college, and wasn't a man, he would be on the fast track to
academic recognition, political office, or the head of some conglomerate."
"Instead, he's a mess, but he's a mess that gets to
live as the world dies," Jen finished. My mind was still in the kitchen.
Brandi's equipment wasn't powerful enough to see either the T1I1 or T2 viruses,
but it was clear that my guys had cleaned house. It also meant,
"You brought a sample of the T2 to the city," I
whispered to Brandi. She nodded.
"It was risky, but we had to know if we had to write
off dozens of our people. Now," she sighed happily, "thanks to you,
we don't. Some of those people I've known for years."
"Until Frank," Jen continued, "we weren't
planning to save anyone but the chosen men, despite their disadvantages. Now,
your small crew might make it."
"You'll save us because he loves Angel?" Kuiko
inquired sadly.
"Love conquers all," Capri murmured.
"Basically yes," Jen nodded. "Because he
loves all of you, you might just make it."
"That means I get to have sex with him again!"
Kuiko exulted.
Yeah, the world was going down the crapper, billions dying,
civilization as we'd come to know it was fading into darkness, but having sex
with me again made it all okay with Kuiko. She was wonderful.
"Me first," muttered Venus.
Things calmed down after that. I was given a pillow for my
head and two for my feet as I lay on the floor giving up two pints of my blood.
Brandi was going to replenish me with two fresh pints of blood plasma to keep
me going. Somewhere along the process, Brandi left for a spell and Zara came
in.
She took my free hand and held it tight. Our eyes met. She
had some comforting glow about her. I was woozy and very tired, barely awake.
"How did I get so lucky?" I whispered. Her eyes
grew brighter and her glow warmer.
"Get some sleep," she advised and off I went.
(Wednesday)
"Wake up," Capri was calling out quietly while
shaking me by my shins. With no feminine face over me as I awoke, I didn't have
to worry about freaking out. "Eloise called Kuiko and asked her to come
back in and be re-interviewed." That was pretty sad code for me and Capri
to come to the Sentinel offices. The cloak and dagger ratcheted up my worry.
I sat up. The other girls were all awake now too. I came to
a sad realization. I was a whore by necessity. I was trading my body for
services. There was also no misunderstanding in the relationship either,
except, maybe for Capri, and Kuiko, and Angel. Maybe I was simply a morose
bastard filled with self-loathing and self-pity. I was being a jerk.
"I'm going to take a shower now," I stood up and
announced. "Venus, can I convince you to join me?" I wasn't going to
have my sex life become a matter of 'turns', or a rotation. Monogamy wasn't
going to happen. It was a selfish fantasy on my part and totally unfair to my
friends, my female friends. Thank you, Kuiko.
For a second, Venus froze. She was up and removing her shirt
so fast it tore; she was trying to steal back that second.
"Sure!" she declared. Venus rushed past me on the
way to the bathroom. I could hear the shower coming on as I finished
undressing, placing my clothes in my bedroom hamper.
Damn, laundry day was overdue. That was a problem I'd have
to save for later. At the moment, I had to make my way to the bathroom where a
terribly frightening, and terrifically sexy, naked Venus was waiting for me
with a burning hunger. I had faced the black depths of Flame's gun, a wall of
angry cops and the threat of that unknown cop in the arena, so I could do this.
"There are going to be some ground rules," Venus
held up her hand. Uh-oh. "Whenever I do something that is starting to
weird you out, you let me know, right away."
"Uh, yea, wait, why do you get to set the ground
rules?" It came out more as a plea than the strong voice I wanted to
project.
"I want to have sex with you again. I want you to want
to have sex with me again. You don't have to treat me the same way you treat
Kuiko, unless you want to," Venus grinned wickedly. "Now let's get in
the shower before all the hot water runs out."
"Trust me, that doesn't happen," I reminded her.
Angel and I had a real, time in the shower.
I followed Venus into the shower then began shifting around.
I couldn't get her rhythm. It was like,
"Are you a virgin?" I whispered. Venus gasped and
her eyes widened.
"What makes you think that?" she countered with
bravado.
"Let me rephrase, you are a virgin," I said
softly. Another denial formed on her lips, but then she nodded. I quickly
cupped her jaw and kissed her. I kissed her again then French kissed her. Her
tongue was ready and willing. Venus had no idea what to do with it. I inched
back.
"Let your tongue follow mine. I won't bite," I
soothed her.
Her smile went from uncertain to aggressive. She wasn't
Kuiko, Venus was unskilled but confident. She initiated the next kiss and took
my advice. I had to break the embrace because I was not prepared for a tongue
wrestling match.
"Next: French kissing is not a contest finished with a
three count," I joked.
"You do know if you tell any of the girls about this
I'll, I'll, I'll nipple twist Kuiko until she cries," Venus threatened. I
was willing to bet the first idea in her mind was 'punch me.’ She was not
Kuiko, not Kuiko, not Kuiko, I spanked Venus' ass.
"No you don't," I challenged her. I was gaining
solace in my mentorship and that let me wash myself clean of the corrosive
toxicity that threatened my joy of life and take delight in Venus' body.
"You hit me," she smiled.
"I spanked you," I corrected, "and nipple
punishment is my teaching technique. Find your own."
Venus snickered, tried to stare me down then relented with a
kiss.
"Deal," she panted when the kiss broke once more.
"I think I like being spanked." Oh, God.
I dodged our next connection, going for her jawline instead.
Her hands fumbled to redirect me, but I slipped past her efforts to her neck. I
lightly kissed my way down to her left nipple, tickled it with my tongue then
nipped it with my teeth. Venus' hiccupped, her teat flared and her body
spasmed. Her hands insistently held my head in place.
My hand drummed against her hip, giving her a gentle
reminder of where the 'freaky' began for me. It took a few seconds, but Venus
did relent, though she groaned as she did so. I switched to the right nipple,
sucked the whole, half-dollar sized areola into my mouth then worried it
briskly with my teeth while suckling like a starving infant.
I could feel her muscles ripple around me. She pushed her
breast forward, doing with her chest what she couldn't do with her hands. Her
arms were flexing, her fists clenching and unclenching, her calves and feet
pushing up so she could tilt farther forward. Venus was hissing her extreme
arousal through her grinding teeth.
My hand went straight to her nethers, my thumb hunted for a
button while two fingers found a cave.
"Ai, ai, ai, ai," Venus chirped. She was nice,
juicy, warm and ready to go. I kept this up for over a minute.
Her button came out to play and I began to tap on it like a
telegraph signal.
"Oh, fuck me
Israel," she pleaded. "If I've been good, stick it in me, if I've
been bad, forgive me, but please, please fuck
me. I don't want my first orgasm with you to be from your damn fingers."
"If that's what you want," I murmured to her with
true affection. Venus was aggressive, but she didn't know what to do. Her
hormones had to be racing. She couldn't order her thoughts through the storm
clouds of her emotions. I was telling her that she was on the right course while
she took control. I knew that would make Venus more comfortable and happy.
I leaned against the back of the shower. Venus put one foot
on the quarter meter lip between the tile floor or lip and the glass door and
wall. She pushed up, balanced her hand on the far wall and poised crotch on my
stomach. I wedged my left hand between our bodies. I straightened up and rubbed
back and forth before Venus trapped it and slid down.
It was easy for me to see women as leering, lustful villains
wanting to take from me. That was not a far-fetched picture based on my
experiences. I had let that caricature stop me from reaching out. It had
stopped me from really seeing women for what they were, past their prejudice of
my gender and their perceived place for me in their world view.
They were confident yet fearful, emotional and confused,
practical dreamers and romantic pragmatists. The fascist proletariat, good one
Capri. We were blessed by our differences, not divided by them, we complemented
one another. Nature never intended for us to be at each other's throats until
one or the other was dead or subjugated.
Crap, the Vanishers kept getting smarter and smarter in my
estimations. If you reduced the equation down to raw survival all the
extraneous shit went out the window, pure democracy. You couldn't emotional, or
physically, wreck another member because the group needed everyone working at
their best so that the group could survive.
The gender ratio would still favor the women, but even that
was purely practical. It would take time to train the men to be equal
contributors to the group. Men would have to earn the right to be considered an
equal. This wasn't a carrot at the end of a stick. It was a goal with set
mileposts and a graduation date. We would seize equality by our own efforts,
free of doubt and the fear it could be taken away.
And some of us would end up being devoured by tigers, or
chipmunks, or whatever other ravenous monsters roamed the Federation
wilderness. Things weren't going to be easy.
"Oh God," Venus moaned loud enough to be heard
across the hall, "this is so much better." I imagine she meant
'better' than artificial aids.
She placed her palms against the wall on either side of my
head, grinning triumphantly, while trying to leverage her hip gyrations with
her limited mobility. I rested my hands on her ample, muscular ass cheeks,
Kuiko's were smaller, but firmer. Venus' and Angel's were very much alike.
I took over Venus' revolutions, lifting her free of her
footholds.
I could tell she was mildly surprised at my strength. Since
I buckled under so often, it was normal to see my social weakness mirrored in
physical under-development. It was too easy for women to ignore the enforced
workout regimen of men meant we were indeed tougher than we looked.
"Oh, shit-damn, that feels great," Venus purred as
she added her thigh compressions to my lifting to keep control of her sensual
stimulations. Debra had been nice, but it had been 'work.’ I didn't want to
think about Magdalena at that moment. Angel was love, Kuiko was fun and Venus
was, easy.
She was easy in that she knew what she wanted, and once I
opened the portal and showed her the correct pathway, she gladly took the lead.
True to her word, she was experimenting in the things she could do to bring me
pleasure, but it was all her.
I could have sat back and made all the proper noises and
she'd have been happy. I didn't cheat Venus. Once she had established her
mistress-ness of the situation, I tuned up my own game. I began chewing on her
breasts and teats, spanked her ass and played with her anus, kissed her with
enough tongue to excite her sense of domination and bit her lips.
My fount of cream first caught me by surprise. Normally I
was more in control. I attributed it to the blood transfusion earlier as well
as a lack of sleep.
"Oh my God," Venus growled victoriously, "you
came inside of me, you came." She struggled on with that sense of
accomplishment for thirty more seconds.
"Ah, Shit!" she screamed. Her wet cave clamped
down on my slowly deflated cock. Then
the waterworks began, both top and bottom. Venus began sobbing tears of joy.
She coated me with thick, creamy fluids. Her body shook through an intense
orgasm for nearly half a minute before her forehead fell on my collarbone.
Slowly her head turned so that her mouth was puffing her
breaths on my neck.
"When are we going to do this again?" she panted.
There was a pause as I was putting my own mind back in order. "If you say
next month, I'm going out there and paddling Aniqua's bottom. I've caught you
sneaking peeks at it when you think no one is looking."
I was starting to think that I didn't need an Alpha female,
I needed a God-damned referee. There was also another way to approach this, I
discovered.
"When do you want to make love again, Venus?" I
murmured playfully. I saw the pleasure in her eyes. That was more than she
hoped for.
We hadn't graduated from mentor and student. It was
wonderful seeing the dawning realization in her eyes. I wasn't going to be the
problem, her female cohorts were. She'd 'won' me. She now had to face the wrath
of her peers over that deed. Sure, she could say 'let's do it at lunch', but
then she'd have to face down the other six women.
With that came the understanding that Angel and Kuiko had
convinced me to be available too. Monogamy wasn't going to happen so she would
have to work it out with the other women. This was a totally different outcome
than she'd expected. Having the upper hand in our relationship was a bitch.
She couldn't even be angry with me because this was what she
wanted. Welcome to equality. I could refuse to choose. There was no longer a
power structure that required me to do anything sexual so I could freely
concede the initiative to the ladies without giving up a thing.
"Are you smarter than Capri?" Venus studied me,
face to face and eye to eye.
"Please God, tell me you are the smartest person I
know," she teased me. "Please tell me you are smarter than that
red-haired witch, because if she can trick me as easily as you just did, I'm
never going to live it down."
"Venus, I am happy to be with you here, right
now," I replied. "That's all that matters to me."
Venus kissed me deeply, pulled back and gave me several slow
pecks on the nose and lips.
"That was very sweet of you to say," she purred.
She gave me another passionate French kiss.
"You aren't going to answer my question, are you?"
she glared.
"Not in this lifetime," I grinned.
We cleaned up and exited the shower. Venus gathered up her
torn shirt, shorts, bra and underwear. I reache
1 hr 1 min
June 26 Vanishing Manhood: Part 12
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 12
The race to apocalypse.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The
Persians marshalled all the nations under the Sun and Stars yet they were
defeated by a single idea: Sacrifice, and their inability to appreciate it.
Final Curtain Call
What no one in the Federation knew at that moment was that
we were racing for the final curtain call. The W H O knew that something was
very wrong, but they were still digging, and desperately hoping they were wrong
with what they were looking at. The U N was only learning of the footsteps of
doom. They too were praying.
The moment Judas took his thirty pieces of silver he had a
date with the end of a rope, he just didn't know it. This time it wasn't the
fault of those doctors, jurists and politicians from forty years ago. They had
never intended for the extreme efforts of the different societies they were
creating to go on forever. They were buying time.
The problem was men stopped publically dying. The next
generation of women would never know the flush sexual possibilities of their
mothers, but they became comfortable with the system they had inherited. The
men who knew what gender equality felt like; were too old to cause many
problems and could be safely ignored.
They were still searching for a cure, but no one was hopping
mad about it anymore. Infant boys were still dying at an abysmal rate, but in
the collective memory of womankind, we always had. They became complacent. The
male voice diminished then fell silent. Twenty years ago, when key world
leaders learned that the male side of the species was dying out, they had a
choice.
If they told the people of the Earth the bad news, the women
feared that anarchy would ensue. The world economy would collapse. The
civilization their predecessors had fought so hard to keep afloat would go
under. It would be the End.
Or, they could make the men soldier on in futility while
women waited for a miracle.
They had made a deal with the Devil, but the Devil doesn't
deal in Salvation. He gave them twenty years. Old Nick was smiling behind his
polite façade. He'd also provided them with the means of killing themselves. I
was born a year before the Big Lie was concocted. Another boy, half a world
away, was born a year later.
Like me, he had his innocence torn away at an early age.
Born on Java in Indonesia, he was kidnapped and sold to the slave trade. He
could have ended up anywhere, but fate landed him in the Chinese port of
Shanghai. By the age of twenty, prodigious amounts of performance drugs and
continuous sex had rendered his mind a shell, a few memories still bouncing
around.
Outside of a small family circle in his native land, no one
cared about the boy and no one would have known about him if he hadn't died. In
the end, they didn't even care about his body or his name. The W H O named him
Patient T2 Zero because by the time they found out about him, the only person
who might have remembered his name was dead also.
It would be poetic to say he struck back at his tormentors
from the grave. In fact, women had stolen away any ability to know what he had
done. The fact was that on the Saturday before I moved into my condo, his long
laboring T1 antibodies, his reward for surviving infancy, lost their struggle
to produce more guardians than naturally degraded.
In those seconds, sometime after the lunchtime clientele
returned to work, the most mutated version of the T1 virus ever seen 'woke up.’
The cluster of antivirals that encased it crumbled away. It attacked the first
cell it came across. In minutes, that cell became a factory. Inside an hour,
the antiviral or viral battle became a rout.
Under normal conditions, the T1 Gender Plague manifested in
three days and the male was dead in four more, max. The boy from Indonesia
wasn't normal. He was fighting off some influenza that a few patrons had
coughed on him. The housekeeper gave him something for that. He was
'profitable' after all. He had been given an injection at the start of flu
season, as well.
The boy's blood was a soup of medicinal drugs, aphrodisiacs
and performance enhancers. Both his red and white blood cell counts were a
wreck from long exposure to these substances. He was fed regularly, they only
chained one of his legs to the bed when he was 'working' or sleeping. His
throat had hurt so much that he hadn't been eating enough. Besides, his will to
continue on was already gone.
He was a prostitute, a sex trade worker, a slab of meat. If
you get told that enough times, treated like that enough, it becomes all you
know. When was the last time you saw a slab of meat fight to stay in one piece?
Around four in the afternoon, the housekeeper came by, allowed him to go to the
bathroom and gave him some food to eat.
She wasn't overly concerned about him barely eating. The boy
had a good run. He'd much more than made up the cost the 'providers' extorted
from her 'community.’ She mused it was a pity they didn't have more Asian boys.
They fetched more money. They couldn't be Chinese, of course. The police put
you against a wall and shot you for that, so mainly they were Indonesians,
Malay, and Africans.
When she shackled the boy back to his pallet for the evening
rush, she noticed his pelvic region and cock were enflamed. She checked, the
boy was still feverish. She gave him something for the fever and doused his
crotch with powder so as not to disturb the clients. Had she been forty-five or
older, she might have recognized the onset of the Plague, but she wasn't.
Even then, she could hardly be blamed for not understanding.
No adult had died from the Plague in forty years. It was a childhood disease.
In a final irony, two kilometers away was a very fine hospital. They would have
recognized the ailment and quarantined the boy. He would have died, but the
Human Race would not have, yet.
The housekeeper was indifferent to his suffering. She had
other boys to take care of before the working class women began flocking in
with their hard-earned Yuan. In a final sad reaction to the impending crisis,
she dimmed the light in his room so as to not upset the clients with the condition
of his genitals.
On Tuesday, as I struggled through the last few hours of my
normal life, the boy's was clearly failing. The housekeeper was seeing the
local patrolwoman off, with a freebie and the monthly 'allowance' money for the
precinct when a junior attendant came running. The Indonesian boy the
policewoman had just visited wasn't performing and the client was being noisy.
She was feeling irritable and ill, so she went straight for
the 'electrical stimulation aid.’ She soothed the client, jolted the boy's anus
until his cock finally responded then
left the room. She told the assistant to help her move the boy to the storeroom
after the latest patron left. The dying boy was no longer profitable.
She wasn't going to waste the drugs to simply put him down.
One day without food or water would do the trick. Besides, she was angry, she
felt like crap and her cunt itched. Inside that boy on that Saturday, the T1
inside the boy had become what was known as the T2 and it had made that last,
great leap. It was no longer gender specific.
The housekeeper wasn't even Patient T2 One. That distinction
fell to a worker at a large electronics factory close by. On Tuesday night, she
and some co-workers went out for some drinks after their shift ended. A good
friend was heading out into the countryside for a wedding. A man from a nearby
village was marrying into her village and she wanted to attend, much to the
ribald teasing of her comrades.
On Wednesday morning, a stewardess with Air China stopped by
to see her sister who was home sick with the flu. The woman teased her ill
sister about going to 'those places.’ The stewardess wanted to make sure her
sibling had enough food because the stewardess was going to be gone a while.
She had a short hop to Nagasaki, Japan, and then a long one to San Francisco.
There was much she wanted to do in the Federation city, not
the least of was spending time with the boyfriend of one of her girlfriends.
The first few patients wandered into the doctors' offices and emergency rooms
Thursday afternoon and evening. They were treated for the flu outbreak that was
currently running its course in the city and sent home.
On Saturday morning, as I was being beaten by Flame at
Isobel's party, the first terminal patient was rolled in by ambulance to that
very fine hospital. It took them an hour to figure out what was wrong with her.
They didn't panic. They called the W H O and Beijing. They went into full
quarantine.
As I was plotting out my little 'dowel rebellion', Chinese
authorities were hot on the trail of the outbreak. The W H O had just flown a
team out of Geneva. The 'community' that ran the brothel was figuring out that
the trail led back to them. The housekeeper was dying in her room, alone.
Patient T2 Zero had already died and been consumed by the flames per the
criminals' protocols.
His ashes went into the river. Along with them went the only
known antivirals that had ever killed a T2. That evening, the local precinct
raided the brothel and began rounding up the criminal 'communities' members. A
third of the policewomen were so sick they wouldn't have come into work if it
wasn't for the emergency. In Beijing, the Central government met to discuss the
crisis. Containing the outbreak in Shanghai was a pipe dream.
Multiple international ships sailed into and out of the port
every hour. There was the river traffic every night and day. Train service
linked the entire country with round the clock service. It had an international
airport, two regional airports and one military airport. It had a naval base
and over a division worth of troops in barracks around the city. Military
personnel were always being transferred around.
Their decision was totally logical. They would start
shifting 'key personnel' to distant governmental bases slowly as to not attract
attention. They would lean on the W H O not make its findings known until they
were 'absolutely' certain of what was going on. Once the governmental,
restructuring, was underway, they would notify other key communities so they
could do like-wise. The word went out of the Security net where one woman saw
it then decided to go see her brother.
If you were a poor assembly line worker in Hangchow, you
were boned. Not that it mattered too much. As I was making my spastic
declaration on Monday morning, my time, they rolled in the first reported male
case. He was definitely terminal. His community had done everything within
their power, and budget, to keep him alive. Only in the final hour did they
relent and bring him in for help. Such was the fear that the government would
'take' their man.
The Chief of Staff at the hospital was 66. Across the dying
man from her was the head of the W H O mission who was only 52. The Chinese
physician started crying inside her protective suit. She'd been a medical
student and later a doctor when the Gender Plague first struck. There was no
doubt in her heart. The Reaper had come back for them all.
The W H O doctor had lived through the Gender Plague, but
only as a child. Her iron-willed Chinese counterpart was losing it and that
vanished all her doubts. She raced as quickly as possible to exit the
quarantine area. She had to call Geneva. She had to contact the U N. If drastic
measures weren't taken right now, she ran into her Chinese 'Communications'
officer.
"The government needed a few hours to 'assess' her data
before allowing a general announcement," she told the doctor. The W H O
doctor was an expert in her field. So, the Communications officer repeated the
same statement. This was a global pandemic. Same statement. Millions were going
to die. Same statement. The W H O doctor tried to push by then saw the two
soldiers calmly waiting for her.
That 'few hours' turned out to be twenty-four. Tuesday, as
valiant, delusional men were getting pummeled all over the Federation, the U N
began to meet on the matter. Discreet inquiries were made to the Federation's U
N Ambassador about Carabolix-37. An hour after those four men in San Francisco
got their asses handed to them over a collection of sticks, six women and one
man arrived at a hospital with flu-like symptoms.
All but one knew a certain Chinese stewardess. The last one
would later recall she had served the woman at a restaurant. Just over an hour
later, the police and paramedics located her in her hotel room. She was too
feverish to get out of bed. It wasn't until nightfall in the city that the
Federation got the true picture.
The Chinese government was bugging out, jumping ship,
getting the hell out of Dodge before the Great Wall fell on their heads. Then
the panic in the Capital set in. It wasn't just the Plague. China was a huge
'X' amount of the global economy and in a matter of days they were going
belly-up.
Fuck the Plague; dead people didn't eat, work, or vote.
Millions of Americans were about to lose their jobs. Any kind of public
assistance at this level was a lost cause. Soon there were going to be lots of
lonely, hungry, pissed off women looking to lynch somebody. They wouldn't kill
doctors and engineers. Doctors were their best hope for staying alive.
Engineers kept the lights on.
Lawyers and politicians they could do without, or so it was
believed. Pulling a 'China' was no longer possible. Not only would people
suspect it after the crowd in Beijing bolted, the Federation didn't have a
'Bunker' strategy anyway. The fact that no one had told the 'little' nations of
the Doom on the horizon didn't seem to bother anyone there.
Virtually as an afterthought, the Press Secretary turned to
the Presidential Chief of Staff and said, "What about that lunatic on TV
this morning?"
It was a clear indicator in the room how bad things were
that any of them would consider a man to be the answer to anything that didn't
involve stress relief and impregnation.
The President looked to the Attorney General who was
thanking her lucky stars that this male idiot had stuck around after making an
ass of himself to the Nation.
"I have a team on him right now," she stated
confidently.
"Why isn't he in custody?" the Minister of Defense
questioned.
"We had him in custody, but let him go," she
responded. She was leagues above the city's old Police Commissioner.
"There was nothing to hold him on at the time and he's under round the
clock surveillance. He's ours when we want him." She looked to the
President for the order.
That woman thought about it for a second.
"Ask him," she ordered. "Ask him to come in
and help his countrymen and women out in this time of crisis. Be nice."
"If he refuses?" the AG wanted clarification.
"Snatch him, of course," the President directed.
"Have Congress declare him a National Treasure as a legal pretext if you
must, but bring him in."
"What if this is all a hoax of some kind?" Health
and Human Services chimed in.
"Then we claim he is a promising lead, wave him in
front of the Europeans so they don't panic too," she smiled. "In two
or three days we will have something in place for when the dam bursts, but
right now we need calm."
As they were filing out of the room, the AG put the plan in
motion. No one liked what they heard.
"Riot? What riot?" the AG blurted out.
"What explosion?"
"Oh my God! Is he among the dead?"
"What do you mean you don't know? Check his
bracelet!" The AG gave the President a worried look. "It gave its
emergency signal then cut off, did it?" Everyone was looking at the
President once more. She was the team's lead striker.
"Well, find him, damn it!" the President snapped.
"Find him before his body decomposes, or whatever it is that dead bodies
do."
"Madam President," the AG said solemnly. "The
men are rioting in the city, hundreds dead including many police officers."
"Hundreds of men? We killed hundreds of men? Oh, shit.
Tell me it was a bomb that did it. Please tell me it was the MRA," the
President groaned. "How did this happen anyway? How did so many get in one
place?"
"It was the M A L rally, Madam President,"
the National Security Advisor delivered the crushing news.
The M A L was the President's baby. Congress was going
to crucify her. Now she started hoping for the Plague to break out soon. That
would distract her critics long enough to do, something.
"Madam President, I can have two battalions of air
mobile and one battalion of Rangers in the city in three hours," the
Minister of Defense pledged.
"We could use this as a pretext to round up the men in
the city," the Minister of the Interior suggested. Several voices yelled
'No!.’
"There are 300,000 men in the city. Where do you plan
to hold them?" the National Security Advisor reminded them.
"We use Army troops to round them up with support from
the police," the DM stated. "We train for this kind of mission all
the time."
"There are also 3.8 million women in the city,"
the National Security Advisor asked. "What do you plan to do about
them?"
"We will call out the reserves," the Defense
Minister answered confidently.
"Should we call out the reserves in all the M A L
cities, just in case?" the NSA persisted.
"Do it," the President said. "This can be a
good deception plan for preparing for the Plague outbreaks when they hit."
The NSA took a quiet, deep breath. It had taken her twenty long years of
crawling through the grime and slime of capital politics to get to this place
and time, but with the help of her co-conspirators, she'd made it.
The noose was closing on her. They couldn't put her in the
room with that initial research group, but they could put her sister there. She
had been a naïve congressional staffer when her sister sat her down and gave
the bad news. It had taken her weeks to agree. Once she had, there was no
looking back. It was treason without an exit plan.
Putting the Reserves on the streets wasn't to maintain
order. It was meant to put as many guns in as many hands as possible when the
Big Lie came tumbling down. The NSA was guilty of treason, but the rest of the
Cabinet was guilty of genocide. In a way, the genocide bothered her less than
the callous disregard it was approached with by the guardians of the public
welfare.
Why had it taken weeks for her to decide to join? It wasn't
the risk to her career, or the thought of the punishment upon getting caught.
It was that they weren't planning to save everyone, or even the majority. No,
from the outset, the plan was to save a tiny few. They weren't elitist or
supremacist; they were brutally practical.
At a critical point in a population, people stopped being
doers and became 'consumers' and in the 'Vanisher' model, they couldn't afford
anyone who couldn't pull their own weight. They predicted the world economy
would collapse violently without hope of recovery. All their needs and
requirement would be met by the group alone.
There were no bulging bank accounts or massive stockpiles of
goods and food. Cash would be useless and neither food nor goods in the amount
to be useful could be hidden for long. They were avoiding as many traditional
human and fugitive models as possible. That being said, they knew this was a
long shot. A mythical gamble, but the only shot mankind had left.
Twenty years ago, they had been called romantic idealists
and their science ignored. Twenty years ago boys born of husband or wife duos
had an infinitesimal greater chance of surviving than boys born of convict
(drugged) fathers. It was a tiny enough fraction to ignore. In twenty years of
study since then, that fraction had grown noticeably.
Capri had called it a 'love conquers all' plan. It was and
it wasn't. The conspirators had gone over all the data, even the W H O study in
Kwaziristan. They had found nothing to explain it. Nothing at all. Yet men were
living despite all the science that said they shouldn't. At that moment, it
became an act of faith.
1 hr 5 min
June 25 Vanishing Manhood: Part 11
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 11
Men’s Rally And Riot
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The
Persians marshalled all the nations under the Sun and Stars yet they were
defeated by a single idea: Sacrifice, and their inability to appreciate it.
After tonight, we would become a democracy because I could
trust the group to see beyond gender and into the ideas and ideals of the
speaker. True democracy was not about the tyranny of numbers, but consensus.
Consensus was the result of the belief that everyone in the group, even the
opposition, had worth, they counted.
How in the Hell, after all the wrong turns my life had
taken, could I still believe I was an idealist? It was simple. I had not let
them win. In a very crude, sexual way it was that I had the confidence in one
girl, my first date, to ask her to hold off on true intercourse and she
respected my wishes. In the kaleidoscope of my fractured mind, that memory
burned through.
Listening to the women in my living room talking while I
dressed in the bedroom, a tiny shiver of one memory collided and melded with another.
No women I had ever known had not betrayed me in one way or another. That was
the terror of distrust for me, but, no woman, or man, was perfect. They would
all betray me, sooner or later.
I now understood this wasn't bad. It was human nature. We
all let people down around us, even the ones we cared about. Pain had led me to
hunt for perfection. That was a pointless quest and a pursuit that led to
madness. What I should have been looking for was restitution. Did that person
know they had wronged me and were they trying to make it up to me?
The same held true for me. Was I a true friend, looking
after those I had wronged and balancing accounts with them as well? Honesty,
Truth and Love, the harshest bitches on the block. I meditated for twenty
minutes before heading back to my assembled friends.
"You look nice," Kuiko beamed. "Really
nice."
"Thank you," I blushed slightly. More Bethany
clothes.
"That wasn't a compliment, you jerk," Capri
glared. "Last chance. This is stupid."
"Noted and acknowledged, Miss O'Hara," I nodded.
"I need a taxi." I pulled out my phone and began looking up taxi
services. My phone rang.
“FBI across the street” it read. I shuddered. I wasn't
upset. I was peeved.
“Do you like my new underwear you Pervs?” I hung up. I
didn't care if they liked my underwear.
"Them?" Capri asked softly.
"Yeah."
"Damn it, you just took a shower, shaved and got
dressed. Can't they leave you alone for an hour?" she griped.
"Who?" Roni got out first.
"Santa's Little Helpers," Capri grumbled. "I
really ought to do something about them."
"Let us not revisit the whole 'you dismembered in the
morgue' thing, shall we," I requested. "Besides, I gave them a piece
of my mind this time."
"Not the sexy part!" Kuiko blurted out.
"What did you do?" Capri studied me.
"I called them pervs," I declared. "No, I did
not, Kuiko. The sexy is all for you." She smiled.
"Oh yeah, that will do it," Capri pressed her
wrist to her forehead and announced dramatically.
"What do I want to do more," Venus mumbled,
"fight over the sexy or find out what the hell is going on?"
"Perverted Santa's Little Helpers who leave dismembered
bodies in the morgue and have an apparent issue with Israel naked or
semi-naked," Roni mused. "Capri, after he leaves, you are going to do
some explaining."
"I think this is my cue to leave," I told the room
then headed for the door.
"Aren't you going to call a taxi?" Aniqua reminded
me.
"The FBI is going to drive me there," I grinned.
"What makes you say that?" Samantha gulped.
"When the alternative is letting me flag down a cabby
that may, or may not, be homicidal, my bet is they'll drop me off at the
arena," I explained.
"Makes sense to me," Kuiko nodded. "If I had
a car, I'd give him a ride."
"Kuiko, for once I agree with you," Venus
muttered.
"I'm not as dumb as I look," Kuiko turned that
1000 watt smile on Venus.
"Of course you are not," Roni chortled.
"Otherwise you couldn't walk and talk at the same time."
I went around and kissed each one of them, on the lips.
Normally that should have made them happy, but they kept looking at me like
they'd never see me again. Clever girls. I left the complex and scanned the
streets. There was the car, at the edge of a car park down the street. It
wasn't as if there were many car owners in this part of town.
I hurried across the street and I was whistling. Special
Agent Sosa lowered the window as I approached. Across from her was S A Saris,
also with Dimple's team.
"Yes?" Sosa sighed. "When staking out a place
it sort of blows our cover if you walk right up to us, by the way."
"That's cool," I grinned. "We aren't staying
here anyway. I need a ride to the Arena."
"Do we look like a taxi service?" Sosa smirked.
"I'm going, you are following. We might as well make it
easy on us, save a few volts," I reasoned.
"Get in," Saris grumbled. I gladly did so and off
we went.
"Planning to get arrested?" Saris asked.
"Planning? No. Expecting it to be a possibility,
yes," I admitted. "Any news?"
"Dr. Fremont is still missing, but her company hired a
GlobeMaster to haul a whole lot of something to Bolivia," Sosa answered.
Seeing my confusion, Saris added.
"A GlobeMaster is a really big aircraft, used for
hauling freight, not passengers."
My impulse was to say 'can you shoot it down,' but the
illegality of the action was stunning.
"Anything on your front?" Sosa inquired.
"Let me see, my Capri's Mom wants her to be a
cum-dumpster, seven girls stopped by my place today to drag me out of my home
and make me their bitch. My tribe made them back down, this time. Now my ladies
are camped out at my place, murdering my AC unit and praying I make it back
home in some sort of working order," I outlined.
"Why did they let you go? Are they some kind of
pansies?" Sosa mocked.
"I'd hit you upside your head for that comment, but you
are driving, armed and most likely a much better fighter than me," I
replied. "They are not pansies. They risked harm for me today."
"What happened at the firefight today, anyway?"
Saris asked.
"Not really sure," I lied. "Bullets were
flying and I was running for my life."
"You didn't see anything?" she persisted. Damn her
interrogation abilities.
"Wait, with guns going off I thought you would be happy
I was running away," I evaded.
"Why didn't you wait for Agents Vabishi and Fraklos to
get there?"
"Capri and I got across the street so we ran for
it," I shrugged.
"Next time, lay flat and we'll come get you,"
Saris told me.
"Thanks, G I Jane," was my snarky comeback.
"Maybe if you let me have some sort of combat training I'd know what to do
next time." I was making light of things, but in the back of my mind, like
a cornered badger in the dark, I knew I was in a vehicle with two women I
didn't know.
It wasn't like I could tell myself they were law enforcement
agents and feel better. Kwan, Riga, Seger and Somerset had all be cruel to me in
some way. Dimples' crew had tackled me on the ground, intimidated me, deceived
me, torn away my rights and played upon my feeble psyche. Trust hadn't placed
me in this car, expediency had.
The FBI was the best chance I had to get to the Arena
intact. I doubted they would have appreciated me defining their actions as our
evolving tribalism. I was their investment, so it behooved them to take me
safely to my destination. I didn't believe they yet understood that they had
stopped working for the Director of the FBI, or the Attorney General and had
become self-employed.
They may have had this delusion that this would end up with
criminal indictments against the people behind the Big Lie and Carabolix-37,
but that was an unsustainable fantasy. Once the system betrayed them, as it had
betrayed me so often, Dimples' crew would know that escape was the only option
left. It was obvious to me the moment I saw Dimples.
She would never let them win. She was the only one allowed
to win. I didn't count the freebie she threw my way. That was a draw at best.
The ride to the Arena turned out to be nothing much. I was dropped off. Men,
and cops, were all around. I dutifully showed my I D to Arena Security, they
triple checked it and then brought a coordinator to check it one more time.
They realized I was in the front third of the arena floor
seating. I had a nice folding chair on the outer aisle. The coordinator decided
that was a bad idea so she had me exchange seats with a guy in the middle of my
row. I knew why this was, though I only had theoretical knowledge how a rally
would work.
When the authorities left, having neutralized me, I politely
went to the man I had exchanged seats with and asked him to switch back. He
seemed dubious, but when I explained that all the blame would be foisted on me,
he relented. See, here is how it worked. First your Talking Heads would get up
and make their speeches.
Then would come the long question and answer portion of this
farce. Women would walk up and down the aisles, men would raise their hands,
wave and asked if they could present a question. In a totally democratic
process, these women on the aisles would provide a sound system for the men to
ask the speaker their question.
The speaker answers, on to the next man. As you might guess,
men sitting on the aisle seats had the best chances of being heard. Men stuck
in the middle were out of luck, men like me and my 'new' assigned seat. Men
like me in my original seat, were potentially dangerous. Still, things went
along very smoothly until the tenth question.
Up to that point, the speakers had done their thing with the
basic theme being 'all you men are appreciated, doing your part, and we love
you.’ Not that they were going to do a damn thing to help us beyond patting us
on the head, but they loved us. They loved us because we were doing what we
were told. The men in the audience ate it up. It was what they wanted to hear.
I imagined that handing us all 'little lamb' outfits to wear
would have been counter-productive to their agenda, though it certainly would
have been more appropriate to how these women viewed the situation. It was
clear to me that all the questions the men in the audience were asking were
scripted. Some had to actually look down at their phones when reading off their
instructions.
Most adults don't like being treated like six-year olds, so
they ignored this mounting stupidity until Man 10 stood up, was recognized and
read off his question. He was around fifty and clearly in a prosperous
profession, positive he was a member of the winning (female) team.
"Is it true that at this very moment Congress is voting
on increasing the cycle from 28 days to 14, and abolishing marriage?" he
asked.
There was a hush. By the dumbstruck expression of the woman
on stage, this was not the prepared question. The problem wasn't moving the
cycle to 14 days. Men were prepared to knuckle under and do their part for the
Human species. But marriage? Men loved marriage. They didn't love the idea of
finding love, getting married and living happily ever after.
That was idiotic. No, men loved marriage as our last refuge
from a women's world. Gaining 'attachments' was a warning flag we could wave at
other women, telling them 'hey, we are doing our part, so please, leave us
alone.' Marriage was your shield and armor. It was 'Don't touch. I'm with
somebody!'
The hope was that if someone did do something to you, your
wife would scream bloody murder and things would get done. She was a woman
after all. Marriage had been preserved in the Gender Inequality Act because
most of the signers were either married or had been recently married and lost a
loved one to the Plague.
I imagine they thought it was a quaint institution that
would gradually fall to the wayside as society progressed. At the start, it
looked that way. The number of marriages did slowly decline for thirty years,
but about ten years ago, the trend began reversing. When a man is in his late
teens, early and mid-twenties, going out with lots of girls sounds nice.
Women pay for everything, they take you to nice places and
if you end up in the three- or four-way occasionally, well, you've got the
stamina for it. When you hit your late twenties and early thirties, men start
slowing down. Pulling a train on a Saturday night, all night, becomes a burden
you could do without.
About that time, marriage starts looking good. You've
probably been in a few attachments. You pick the one you can live the best with
and who has the best financial status and you keep dropping hints until she
realizes what you really want and she pops the question. Congratulations, you
only have to screw one women for the rest of your life.
Okay, maybe her sisters, your mother-in-law and her boss,
but still, that's not too bad. Ten years ago, that generation of men who grew
up after the plague were hitting their thirties and they were taking a renewed
interest in the dying institution of marriage. Men got interested, women got
real interested. For women, it meant no more desperate hunting every weekend.
You wanted cock? Call your husband, tell him to be home by
six and wear something sexy and it got done. Best of all, you could make that
call, look around your office and see all your female co-workers dripping with
jealousy. If you truly wanted to turn the screws, during that call, you told your
hubby to take some enhancement drugs because you wanted it deep and hard all
night long.
By this time in our social evolution, men didn't mind being
treated like that too much. We had safety. As married men started to bask in
their safe status, their unmarried brethren began wondering if marriage would
be a good idea for them, too. More took the plunge and most of them were
marrying up social and financially.
As I keep repeating, women aren't stupid. When rich,
successful bankers began marrying sales clerks and custodians, the social
stigma of marrying beneath your station evaporated in the burning reality that
they had their genetic future waiting at home, willing to do his duty. The
floodgates were open.
More married men meant fewer men in the fishing pool. That
meant greater pressure on the remaining men, who were now opting into marriage
to relieve that pressure. That meant even greater pressure on the fewer and
fewer remaining men. Last year the marriage rate began its climb toward 30%.
From the gender quota point of view, this was a disaster.
To put that in perspective, that's thirty percent of all
men. Then you have to drop out every male below the age of 16. Then you have to
consider that once men are over 59, they need a yearly physical. If something
is wrong, you get a limited deferment. That means you don't have to have sex as
often.
You never get to 'not have sex' unless you are on life
support, or a rape victim. There are waiting lists for kidneys, livers and
hearts, if you are a woman. If you are a man, they'll slap an artificial heart
in you if they have to. Men must perform for the general female population,
unless they are married.
Back to the question at the Arena. Men had been quietly
bleating, nodding our heads, and smiling without real passion until that point.
Sudden, like scenting a wolf for the first time, they were very attentive. If
you were a twenty-something guy, this wasn't 'good.’ If you were a forty-two
year old husband, with a wife, three kids and twelve years of marital bliss,
this was disastrous.
The government was about to shove you back into the deep end
were packs of starving women were going to devour you because your avoidance
skills were rusty. You were about to be waking up wondering if the pain coming
from your groin was worse than the headache you had from whatever the hell
those women drugged you with.
Oh, and by the way, you were about to lose your parental
rights to your offspring and most of your shared property. Effectively you were
being forced to divorce. The magnitude of this was amplified by the speaker. If
she had a pat lie handy, she could have defused things because men wanted
comforting words more than unforgiving reality.
But she stammered. She could have said yes, and that might
have been better. By stammering, she told the men that 'Yes, you are boned, but
we are going to lie to you about it.’ In my opinion, she did the worst possible
thing.
"Next question?"
That was the equivalent of 'Yes, but you don't deserve to be
told about your fates.’ There was no riot over that. No, it was something far,
far worse. Before that moment, the 20,000 men in the arena thought they were
part of this society. They were deluded into thinking they were equals. They
thought I was a lunatic. Now?
As a group they came to a consensus and it wasn't a pleasant
one. 'They think we are sheep, Mother-fuckers!'
This wasn't the crowd that carried dowels this morning but they were starting
to wish they had some now. The shift was subtle. Men had been sitting back in
their seats. Now they were leaning forward.
There had been polite whispered banter. Now there were grim
faces and quiet. I jumped up and waved my hands around. The communications girl
came my way, was offering me her microphone when she suddenly realized who I
was, I wasn't the man they had reassigned to that seat. She back-pedaled and
another questioner was immediately tapped to speak.
"Let him speak," the man pointed my way. There was
a hush. His comm girl backed up as well. Another man was found. He started
asking his state-sanctioned question but then the hissing and boos began. The
speaker's response was barely audible over the racket. I jumped up again. The
next man repeated the plea, though it was more insistent now.
"Let him speak!"
I wasn't sure what they expected me to say. I wanted some
sort of redress to our legal plight, something to defend us against the G E D
and the most egregious insults to our dignity. An arena security guard, neat
and prim in her freshly pressed uniform, moved from the wall nearby and was clearly
coming for me.
The world cracked a little more.
Five men jumped up around me and they looked angry.
"Don't," one of them menaced the guard. Cops would
have kept coming. It is what they do, but this was a security guard. She wasn't
armed and she certainly didn't like the mood presented to her.
She suddenly realized she was down on the floor of the
arena, back to a wall with a sea of angry faces looking her way. She stepped
back then ran, calling for back-up. It was the most horrible thing she could
have done. Two cops were already advancing my way from the front of the arena.
The ripple of the men's successful defiance moved through the crowd.
The majority of men kept their seats. They had not come to
get in a fight. They were not rowdy. In fact, they were becoming afraid as most
sane people do when violence approaches. Two patrolwomen came my way. Men rose
as they passed by, but they held firm. Courage was the important thing. The
belief was if they held firm, the men would back down because they always backed
down.
I saw Officer Passey and her partner as they closed. They
didn't have weapons drawn because they didn't want to spook us. There must have
been sixty men standing around me. I was still standing at my aisle seat and no
men had left their seats to pour into the aisle so the cops had unimpeded
access to me.
"Come with us," Passey beckoned.
"I haven't done anything wrong," I begged. She
grabbed my arm, and then two men hit her. Passe
1 hr 5 min
June 24 Vanishing Manhood: Part 10
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 10
Dining with Mobsters.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Had my life been a comedy, I would have bumped my noise,
looked sheepishly over my shoulder and given a weak smile. I had experienced an
infantile urge to run away from the shame, violation and the pain Zara's
information brought. My hands had instinctively come up to save my face from
impact. My fingers were trying to dig into the stone until my tips felt as if I
was tearing the skin off.
I loved sex. I loved the pleasure it let me share. What I
didn't love was the romantic mystique I tried to weave around that act being
torn away, shredded for the entertainment of people I didn't know. How could I
protect myself if any woman looking at me had seen me naked, in coquitos? How
could I tell who was really a threat if I couldn't see behind their eyes?
Step, Capri and Zara were not talking. They were not closing
in on me.
Step, people passed by. The scuff of their footfalls told me
they were looking my way, but not stopping.
Step, I had to get out of here. The authorities would come
looking and we all had to leave.
Gears contacted gears and the machine that was my mind
lurched forward once more. I had things to do. People were taking incredible
risks on my behalf. Capri and Zara understood what had happened and let me
heal, just enough to get my feet back under me.
"Let's go," I muttered and we moved down the
sidewalk once more.
We covered two blocks in silence.
"Zara, you are with the government, aren't you?" I
began. She gave me a quick look, but didn't respond. "Let me rephrase: you
are still an active duty soldier, aren't you?" Now Capri stumbled.
"Yes," Zara whispered.
"Shit," Capri groaned.
"Okay, I understand now," I nodded. We traversed
another block.
"Fine, what do you understand?" Capri nudged me.
"I know who the Vanishers are," I leaned in and
replied quietly. Zara's eyes flickered my way again.
"You do, don't you?" Zara's eyes blazed with pride
in me and wonder.
"Either one of you care to enlighten me?" Capri
grumbled.
"I need to get you off the street," Zara
intervened. "The FBI is on its way. I can deal with the cameras and your
phones, but not the bracelet." She steered us into a café where the early
lunch crowd as only starting to come in.
"How do you know he's right?" Capri prodded Zara.
"The last two questions he asked," she seemed
almost sad to leave us, me.
"Zara, take off and stay safe," I told her.
"I don't think I would want to do this without you." Zara had a
twinkle in her eye, nodded then left. Capri and I moved to a nice corner table.
I took the seat that would allow me to watch the door and most of the café.
"Okay, what's going on?" Capri leaned in.
"You start off with two guiding principles. No large
organization creates only one plan to choose from. Bureaucracies throw away
nothing. So, twenty years ago, when the Federation and or the U N figured that
the current system wasn't working, they planned out various
contingencies."
"One of those proposals was the 'Vanisher' conspiracy.
It was most likely advanced by a small cadre of mid- and low-level
functionaries brought in to work on the forecasted collapse. Their idea was
obviously rejected because we stayed the course and are now in the fucked up situation we are in now."
"The thing was, those planners didn't die and didn't
give up on their plan. At the start, they were powerless to do anything.
Besides, they had to believe all their idea was doing was postponing the end,
not solving the extinction problem. So, they worked on that dilemma,” I said.
"And that's you?" Capri doubted.
"No. They didn't know about me until five years ago at
the earliest and that's highly unlikely. Odds are they found about what
Carabolix-37 did to me when everyone else did," I replied. "What
happened, happened eight years ago while the W H O was combing over Central
Asia building a genetic database."
"What they found was the Warlord of Kwaziristan, the
last bastion of male rule on the planet." No, the Warlord wasn't some kind
of John Carter of Mars. By all accounts he was a castrated, obese, mostly bald
and very old man. During the collapse that Plague engendered, Central Asia went
under, their political systems, economies and infrastructures broke down.
In those last few, chaotic years, a recovering soldier and a
small detachment of troops found themselves guarding an orphanage. With the
city burning down around them, this man was ordered to take the boys and flee.
He went to the only place he figured they could hide out until the fighting
died down and the authorities could come rescue him.
He went to an old 17th century palace or fortress complex
outside his home town in remote Kwaziristan and there he held up while his
nation died. Eventually, hope faded and the 'Warlord' began to raid the
recovering female tribes for supplies. He had to feed his people. Somewhere
along the way, the female tribal leaders figured out he had a large number of
young men under his charge.
They struck a deal. The Warlord was worried that the women
would steal his men. The women wouldn't storm the place because all those men
had guns and killing them all would accomplish nothing, except to stop the
raiding. The agreement they reached changed everything, though it wasn't
immediately obvious.
The tribal leaders would send young women up to the
fortress. In exchange for making the young women pregnant (or one year to
pass), the tribes would pay tribute to the Warlord. The catch? The men inside
the fortress chose which woman they would mate with and by mate, they meant
live together in the same dwelling for months at a time.
It was courtship. It wasn't a plastic romance; it was
practical. The men needed the goodwill of the tribeswomen that inhabited the
land in all directions. Building up affections and bonds with their female
mates was necessary for the survival of the male community. Conversely, the
women lived in a mostly male world, from the beginning, the Warlord did have a
few female soldiers.
Men were lovers, providers, protectors and housemates. They
shared in chores, but compared to what the women had to do in their own tribe,
it was nearly paradise. Men still had their military duty, but when you had a
mate, you were given quarters in the dungeon of the fortress. Carved out from
the depths of the hill the fortress sat on, it was much cooler than the baking
heat above during the summers and warmer in the winters.
Enter the W H O eight years ago doing their survey. They ran
across a serious problem. Waziristan’s population was 24% above projections
(they were supposed to be dying out) and 2% over their previous level.
Waziristan was 'surviving.’ Sure, their tiny population was one Black Death away
from annihilation, but their numbers where slowly growing, very slowly.
This was great news right up until they found out about the
Warlord and his contract with the local towns and tribes. Was the U N really
going to say that some old fat eunuch in a clay fortress on a dusty hill in the
middle of nowhere was the savior of all mankind? The answer was obvious.
The U N sent in advisors and film crews to show the world
how barbaric and primitive the Warlord was. He certainly wasn't photogenic. The
men seemed enthusiastic enough. They even slept with some of the film crew.
They also became very irate when the women picked up and left. After all,
hadn't the women agreed to mate with them?
Why else would women come to the fortress if not to mate?
The local women were a bit peeved too, those were their men those floozies were
poaching. The U N began fishing around, seeking to convince some of the local
leaders to call in the U N to deal with the Warlord. When the Kwaziri women
figured that out they got really pissed.
They may have herded goats and sheep, woven wool into fabric
and scratched some crops out of the semi-arid soil for a living, but they also
knew they had more daughters in this generation than last. They couldn't fight
off the U N, there were only a few thousand of them and they lived in
near-desert conditions, but they did everything to let those foreign women know
they were unwelcome.
In one antidotal tale, a U N soldier guarding the mission
found a lost lamb and brought it to a local tribeswoman. The woman promptly
beat the lamb to death with a stone, explaining to the horrified soldier that
the lamb had been contaminated. In the end, the Kwaziri got what they wanted,
the outside world left them alone.
The W H O took gene, blood, air, water, and soil samples and
found absolutely nothing that explained this abnormality. The Big Lie was only
starting to sink in. Discovery World devoted a portion of a documentary to the
Warlord. A fourteen year old boy saw it and regurgitated that memory to a
twenty-one year old man in search of understanding.
"I know you are not advocating male rule," Capri
studied me. "So what is it?"
"A colossal gamble," I sighed. "I am a
freaking liberal arts major. I'm not a scientist, certainly not a doctor and
definitely not a virologist, but what if, if stress strengthens the Plague,
what if the reverse is also true?" Capri mulled that over.
"You mean, what if love, compassion and respect, as
viewed by the male, weakens the Plague?" Capri mused. "Damn right you
are not a scientist."
"It was the word Zara used and I believe it was
intentional," I persisted. "She said 'courtship.’ She also mentioned
men choosing their mates. That's what clicked in my mind."
"So this cockamamie
scheme of the Vanishers is based on 'love conquering all'? Crap, we are all
going to die," Capri muttered.
"Hey, I'm not saying I'm a convert, but it is the
current idea I'm running with. I'm willing to bet Zara's people studied the
Kwaziri for some time too," I countered.
"With no cure looming on the horizon, they began
recruiting young women from various agencies and branches of service into their
plan. Heck, some of the 'Vanishers' may still be thinking this is a sanctioned
covert operation. Even those women will want onboard when they understand this
society is going down the toilet."
"One of the saddest parts of all this is that the women
who set this all in motion won't take advantage of it," I bleakly
assessed. "The government will be closing in on them now."
"I wish I could disagree, but I think you are right,"
Capri nodded. "If you figured it out, someone who does this kind of
detective work for a living has put the pieces together as well."
There was no way to hide an operation this big once various
intelligence agencies started looking. They would figure out the key military
and civilian players. The only thing they could do was to totally detach from
the program. Now their baby was out there, running on its own power, directed
by people who had already vanished themselves long before any investigation started.
"FBI," I warned Capri. Special Agents Fraklos and
Vabishi had come in to our hideaway. Vabishi was showing I D to the girl at the
counter while Fraklos was coming our way.
"How did you get away?" Fraklos seemed truly
curious. There was a host of good answers and the truth wasn't one of them.
"Come on now," I leaned forward, "Princess
Leia didn't beat Darth Ventress, the Empire and the Dark Empress with the help
Ewoks alone. She had the help of Admiral Squid."
"Gial Ackbar; a Mon Calamari," Fraklos corrected
me.
"Who?" I questioned.
"Gial Ackbar, that was the Admiral's name,"
Fraklos clarified.
"Is that really important right now?" I asked.
"Having a bad day?" Fraklos turned to Capri. She
was asking if I was having a bad day.
"Yeah, pretty much," Capri nodded. "He walked
right into a wall about ten minutes ago."
"We need to get him out of here," Fraklos shook
her head. "Get him somewhere safe. The Capital is screaming bloody murder
over his latest stunt." Vabishi had finished making a quick call and joined
us.
"I can't do it," I stood. "I have a date with
a V I M at 12:30."
Fraklos stared at me.
"Very Important Mobster," I explained. "If I
don't show up they will probably do really bad things to Kuiko and I'm not
going to let that happen."
"What is he talking about?" Vabishi worried.
"I am attracted to violent psychopaths and for the love
of God, I don't know why," I sighed. "Worse, to hang out with me you
have to be insane or prone to fits of brutality. It is how I roll."
"There has to be something we can give Israel to keep
him on an even keel," Vabishi asked Fraklos.
"I'm not good enough at that sort of thing to take the
chance," Fraklos then looked to Capri.
"Fuck you both," she stood, "I'm a
lawyer."
My phone rang. 'G E D' it read. I typed back 'ty' and cut
the connection.
"Time to go," I announced and headed for the
kitchen. My guardian angels were working overtime.
There are few things as beautiful as competence under
stress. Not me. The three women tagging along with a lunatic didn't question
me; they divined my intentions and moved to cushion me from the world. By the
time we exited the back of the café, Fraklos was in the lead, then me, Capri
and Vabishi looking back from signs of pursuit.
"Ewoks," Fraklos guffawed. "We need better
code words." Ewoks meant Vanishers and Admiral Squid meant I didn't need
to be brought in. Next time we would use different words. Dimples said it was a
book cipher, essentially unbreakable if you didn't know the material.
"Be happy I didn't fall over laughing," Capri snickered.
"Israel, you play crazy really well," she added.
"I'd feel better about it if you weren't actually crazy."
"Who are we evading?" Vabishi spoke up.
"G E D," I answered.
The problem facing me and Dimples' crew was that we weren't
the Vanishers. We couldn't manipulate phone and surveillance feeds. Slipping
down alleyways while avoiding loading areas left us in the 'digital dark.’ We
were going to reemerge soon.
"We are trying to shift through the chatter and figure
out who is really trying to get their hands on you," Fraklos clued me in.
"Montanyard is building such an air-tight case against
you she could patch the Hindenburg," Vabishi stated. "She thinks she
can hold them off a week." Shelia could hold off the full weight of the
Federation Government for a week, one week. I needed a fucking miracle.
(Magdalena, Round Two)
My two FBI ladies delivered me as close to the Prometheus
Club as they dared. Mobsters had eyes too, though this was actually a pointless
exercise since the moment 'Little M' asked me what I was up to I would bury her
in the minutia of truth instead of the real deal. Capri would stick with me.
Mainly because the FBI would have to taser her to keep her from my side.
As I entered the restaurant, I was getting a whole new look.
It was the 'what in the hell is this guy still doing walking around?'
expression. Either I was a maniac or a national resource, or maybe both, not
all of them could decide. The maître de pointed me toward the semi-curtained
off area. A second later he motioned Capri to the bar. We knew this was going
to happen.
On my side of the curtain were two women; one sitting, one
standing. They didn't look like, well, what I though mobsters would look like.
They looked normal. The standing one ran a 'wand' over me then ran her free
hand over my frame quickly.
"Are you hiding anything?" she finally spoke.
I have a love affair with pain. That was all I could think
of when I opened my mouth.
"I had my knee caps replaced with high explosives. Does
that count?" I stated resolutely. She stared at me for a second then this
smile crept over her intimidating countenance.
"Damn, you really are a nut," she snickered.
"This way." She put a hand on my shoulder, I trembled and she led me
into the V I P area.
Three of the tables were occupied. The closest had Flame and
this woman whose face looked like it had lost a head-on collision with a truck.
She also looked to be around 250 pounds. The second table, close to an exit,
had two Hispanic women who had to be sisters, and pissed that they were missing
out on their 'killing kittens' time.
I was dealing with being manhandled, near terror, proximity
issues, and being in the company of yet more casual killers. Somehow, all of
this had to be my fault. Regular men stay locked in their homes. I needed help.
I shrugged off the hand on my shoulder and made a bee-line for Flame.
There was a 'whiff' behind me as my guide tried to corral me
back in, but failed. Flame and her 'buddy' (I was pretty sure it was a woman,
or a man with huge pecs) stood up. I extended my hands forward and just above
my hips. Flame and I collided. Her hands went to my ass. My right cupped her
leather clad left ass cheek while my left wrapped fully around her lower back,
touching something big and hard.
We did more than kiss. Flame discovered that I had my wisdom
teeth removed and I learned that she still had her tonsils. It was also
revealed to me that during a French kiss, Flame likes to bite tongue, my
tongue, her tongue, it doesn't seem to matter. We were both healthy adults with
the experience to know that breathing through your nose is a must.
It took us a while to come up for air. I had pulled her up
until she was on her toes. Her eyes were boring holes into mine.
"I need some strength," I whispered to her. Now,
there is no great Gestalt among the insane. There is no shared universe,
psychosis, or delusion.
What we do share is the fear and pain that comes from being
trapped in our own minds. The greatest creation of man, our brains, had
betrayed us. We were living a lie because our truths would destroy us. And,
worst of all, we were alone. That is why crazy people lash out. It isn't to
hurt others, it is to make others stop hurting us, with a reality that we see
as a lie.
I breached that inky bubble that shrouded Flame's mind. It didn't
make her my friend. It didn't stop her from being a beast and a sadist. We were
alone together. Each alone, but knowing that the other was in the same
condition. It wasn't understanding, it was kinship. Flame reached up with her
right hand, made a fist, and lightly tapped me on the forehead.
"There you go," she smiled. I returned the smile
and let her down. As I turned to walk away, she spanked my ass hard. I kept
walking, but half-turned so I could shake a finger at her.
"Just for that, no tongue penetration during our next
cunnilingus session," I threatened her.
"Oh, you love it, Bitch," she laughed. Turning to
her buddy, "That guy is loads of fun."
Belatedly, I came to Magdalena's table. It was a round
table, two-thirds wrapped up in a booth. To my right was this weightlifting
scumbag, oily, arrogant and stupid. Sometimes people don't try to hide their
ignorance. I wasn't sure this guy even knew what ignorance was, much less how
to spell it.
He had too much time in a tanning booth, too much chest hair
and a cultivated five o'clock shadow. He was also in a chair which suggested he
wasn't someone important. Next were two women, dressed nicely, Francesca-nice,
not Isobel-nice. They weren't likely to be putting any ships into orbit anytime
soon, but they were clever enough to observe before commenting from their booth
seats.
In the center was Magdalena in a dark blue Kashmir shirt
with a plunging neckline. Damn that woman was proud of her big mammaries. Her
jewelry was understated, her hair nicely done and her eyes
1 hr 14 min
June 23 Vanishing Manhood: Part 9
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 9
Israel’s Network Debut.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

If you save a thousand, you are
soon forgotten. If you save one, you are always remembered.
I picked up the phone and made the call.
"Eloise, you still want your comment?" I said
bitterly.
"Of course, Israel," she responded calmly.
"A cop in China murdered six men today," I told
her.
"It looks more like assisted suicide," Eloise
countered.
"No, absolutely not," my voice shook. "Had
those men been able to defend themselves, they would not have been there in the
first place. They would have never agreed to go. They wouldn't have even
plotted this tragedy out."
"They were utterly defenseless. Society rendered them
this way. That cop was only the last in a long line of aggressors they couldn't
fend off," I was clearly shaking now. "Saying they were suicides
implies they had a choice in the matter, they didn't. Her brother had no chance
of doing something like this, none."
"She found out what he wished for and she made the only
real choice to be made, to live or die and she chose from them to die. Those
men had a final word alright, it was 'Help!' It is the worst kind of cruelty to
blame the victims for the crime. Tomorrow the press is going to say it was
suicide because they sat there and were slaughtered like sheep."
"Well, duh! You raised us to be sheep. How dare you
blame us for acting like sheep when it was suddenly inconvenient for you!"
I was screaming. "Their choices were to sit there or fight back but you
don't want us fighting back, so they did what you trained them to do. They sat
there, exactly like you taught them to."
"This time it was a murderess with a knife, instead of
a grabby co-worker, a horny cop, or a gang of women looking to party. You
certainly didn't want them saying 'no' those last three times, so why are you
surprised they couldn't say 'no' to the former? It isn't a matter of scale. It
is a matter of learning to make choices and men aren't given that luxury."
"Is that all?" Eloise said after a long pause.
"Yeah, that's me venting," I sighed.
"'Chinese Policewoman murders brother, five
others'," she stated. "That is the headline I'm showing my editor. I
like the sheep metaphor. I'll use it. Thank you, Israel."
"Well, shit," Seneca mumbled. "Tomorrow is
going to be ten kinds of messed up. I had better get going."
"Yeah," Angel said as she stood to see Seneca to
the door. I tagged along until we were all out in the public walkway.
"Sorry about that, Seneca," I apologized.
"Israel, the public is already unhappy with the
police's handling of this Vanisher controversy. Now you want them to think that
cops are murdering men too," Seneca stated wearily.
"Did we watch the same video?" I grumbled.
"She killed all of them, then herself."
"They wanted to die," Seneca countered. I held
Angel back. Seneca was her partner.
"Seneca, were they clinically depressed men off their
meds, all of them?" I pointed out.
"What about the daycare in Denver? They committed
suicide," Seneca reposed.
"Exactly!" I declared. "They struck back.
What did those Chinese men do? How did they strike back?"
"Enough," Angel separated us. "Tomorrow is
probably going to be a long day for us, so let's get some sleep." Seneca
nodded, doubled-back to hug Angel, then offered to shake my hand.
"You make her happy," Seneca explained as I did
so.
"It is accidental, believe me," I grinned. Seneca
snickered, shook her head then left.
"Everyone, time to go," Angel announced as we
stepped back into my condo. It was my place, but Angel was my girlfriend so it
was normal for her to make decisions like this. For all the battles I had won
during this long day, I would let this one go. Angel was Angel, I wanted my
company to go, and I'd get revenge on her in the bedroom.
"Kuiko, you and I are going to have a chat during lunch
tomorrow," Angel slipped in there. Oh, hell no, that wasn't going to
happen. After people left, I tapped Angel.
"Have you thought about getting some of your things and
bringing them over here? Toothbrush and stuff like that, maybe a change of
clothes," I suggested.
"Are you sure?" Angel studied me.
"Last time you had to run back to your place I was tuned
up by your buddy's buddy," I pointed out. Angel didn't like my explanation
but she couldn't deny its validity.
"I'll get some things and tell Roni," Angel
struggled to sound upbeat.
The second Angel was across the hall, I called Kuiko and
begged her to come back over. She arrived a minute before Angel returned with
an armful of things.
"Hey,” Angel began then caught sight of Kuiko.
"Put your things in our bedroom and then we can all
talk," I directed.
Now I was making the calls and was daring Angel to be pissy
about my rights in my own home. She returned a minute later. Kuiko was in the
comfy chair, I was on the floor with my back to the TV screen so Angel took the
sofa.
"So, what do you want to talk to Kuiko about?" I
dove in.
"Something I think two women need to discuss, just
between us," Angel evaded. I was not having that. I knew women very well.
Angel would steamroll over Kuiko out of instinct, not reason. I wasn't angry
with Angel as much as determined to put my stamp on our relationship.
"Has Kuiko insulted you?" I started.
"No, that's not,” Angel got out.
"Has she left her hallway a mess?" I persisted.
"No,” she grumbled.
"Has she failed to put away her trash properly in the
bins?" I glared.
"I get it, Israel. You are no Kinsey Millhone, so you can
stop now," Angel allowed. "I want to talk to Kuiko about you."
This was not a revelation to Kuiko or me. I had no clue who Kinsey Millhone
was, but I had to assume whoever she was, she was a better interrogator than
me.
"Let's talk then," I breathed a sigh of relief.
"It is still girl-talk," Angel insisted. I was
screwed by her intransience. I wasn't going to hold our affection hostage. That
would cheapen what we had. I couldn't give in, that would undercut what little
bliss I had accumulated. I had the worst option of all, trust.
"Angel, what can I tell you to convince you to accept
Kuiko's place in my life?" I pleaded.
That wasn't what either expected. Angel mulled over her
response. Kuiko eyed the door.
"Have less impressive sex!" Capri screamed from the
back bedroom. That cut through some of the tension.
"Israel, I become upset when any woman talks about
having sex with you, when they trumpet to the World how much they liked it, and
want more," Angel confessed.
"Sorry," Kuiko meeped.
"It is not just you," Angel turned on Kuiko.
"It is going to be the next girl and the next. God, I hate sounding like
some whiney, selfish cunt."
"You are not," I comforted her. "I love you
and I think you love me, but that doesn't mean I am going to surrender myself
to you."
"No attachments, no marriage on their terms. For me,
your declaration is all I need," I said.
"Israel, how often are you going to have sex with other
women?" Angel groaned. The emotional shoe was really on the other foot.
"Inside, or outside the coterie?" I responded.
Angel mulled that over.
"Israel, I really, really want to ask you to not have
sex with anyone else but me," Angel murmured. Kuiko nearly burst into
tears. "But I'm not. I have to trust you as much as you've trusted me.
Considering how much I've betrayed that trust, I'm glad you've been
patient."
"Love, it does not make your life better," I
sighed.
"It is easier for me," I added, "because I
already have so many other psychoses to deal with, this is nothing new."
"Not funny, Israel," Angel looked me over.
"Argh," she growled as she stood up. She did her best venting when
she stood, I was discovering.
"I'm trying to give you permission to sleep around,
wait," she held up her hand, "but I know it is not my permission to
give. I'm struggling to accept this, helplessness."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Kuiko threw
herself on her knees and hugged Angel's waist. "I would have given him up,
but I truly didn't want to."
For a second, I was afraid Angel was going to yank Kuiko up
by the hair and whirl her around the room like some archaic weapon. Angel
feigned anger well, she wasn't as out of control as she would lead people to
believe.
"Kuiko," Angel sighed, "couldn't you have
simply typed 'he was good' and left it at that?"
Angel hesitantly reached down and patted Kuiko's head.
"Angel, I apologize, but it really was the best sex
I've ever had, or even read about. I've been such a disaster until Israel. It
wasn't just good sex, it was unbelievably good sex," she bubbled. "He
made it fun and he made me feel I gave good sex as well."
"I, know," Angel reluctantly nodded. "We had
sex too."
"Damn right," Kuiko smiled up at Angel. "You
got five hours. I only got one." Then Kuiko stuck her tongue out at Angel
and gave her a raspberry. Angel drank in that defiant display.
"You stay right there," she told Kuiko. "I'm
going to get my taser and light up your little ass."
"He likes my little ass!" Kuiko declared proudly.
"You are not helping your case," I muttered.
"Kuiko, you do realize when you stood up to those two
police officers to protect Israel, you could have been tazed?" she asked
her kneeling compatriot.
"Yes. You would have too," Kuiko stated. If only
she knew. On second thought, being closely acquainted with violence wasn't
doing me any good at all.
"I'm a police officer," Angel reminded her.
"I've been tased, it is part of our training. It is not a pleasant
experience, believe me."
"I'd still do it," Kuiko pledged.
"I know you would, Crazy K. Now that nickname makes
sense," Angel smirked. "Still, I think Israel's battle plan has as
few of us getting tased as possible."
"Are we going to fucking
bed?" Capri yelled out from the back again.
"Give us a second," Angel yelled back.
"Kuiko, what is this about nipple torture?" Whoops.
"Oh," Kuiko replied gleefully. "Since I'm
naughty, Israel punishes me by suckling on my whole breast whenever we are
alone or with our group. I think I'm supposed to learn a lesson."
"What lesson would that be?" Angel regarded me
suspiciously.
"Don't know, don't care," Kuiko beamed. "All
I know is his lips, mouth and tongue feel fantastic."
"Trust me, I know how good they feel," Angel
sighed. "Go home, Kuiko. Just go home."
"Okay," Kuiko hopped up. "See you tomorrow,
Israel." Off she went.
"What am I going to do with you?" Angel regarded
me. At least she wasn't angry.
"Have less impressive sex!" Capri chimed in.
"Can we go to bed now?" Angel looked back toward the bedrooms then
padded that way quietly. I stood and followed. We found Capri in pajama shorts,
face down on my bed. She had brought her own pillow.
There were a host of problems. For starters, my bed was a
double. It held two people without too much difficulty. Angel and I were above
average sized people, if not overly so. Capri was small, in stature. There was
nothing wrong with the width of her hips. Capri was in the middle of the bed so
Angel and I couldn't have casual, flirtatious contact.
We'd have to reach over her. Angel had just grappled with
her 'sharing' issues with Kuiko. Capri's position had no forewarning for either
of us, but I was shocked that I was shocked. After all, I had invited a girl
into my house. Of course she was going to end up having intercourse with me. I
had been so fatigued that I had missed this. It was a scary revelation.
Angel took her taser off the top of the dresser.
"This one I am going to shoot," Angel announced.
"Capri, what are you doing in my bed?" I
intervened.
"Oh? Am I annoying you two?" Capri muttered from
her pillow. "Forgive me. The continents drifted so much while I was
waiting, I thought this was now my bedroom."
"God, give me one good reason not to spark her snarky
ass up?" Angel half-joked.
"I, I can't do this," I muttered then slumped
against the door. Capri's head immediately popped up.
"Israel, I'm sorry," Capri murmured. She sat up,
got off the bed and slipped over to Angel.
If Angel had any animosity toward Capri, it evaporated.
Angel did that for me, put aside her own emotions when I needed her the most.
Capri had seen me collapse before, but she associated that with some kind of
pressure. Like most people, she associated mental trauma with its physical
counterpart. If the person began acting healthier, he or she was getting
better, recovering.
I didn't have a single knife wound, I had not been thrown
under a lawnmower. Figuring out what would flip me out was a nightmare my
friends were now sharing in. I had surrendered my safeguards for hope. Even as
I was starting to trust others once more, I was trusting myself less and less.
I felt those lifeless eyes staring at me, crying out for help and it all felt
like too much.
(Tuesday Morning)
"Wake up, Israel," Capri said through my closed
door. "Eloise Granger called and she wants you to stop by the Sentinel
offices at eight. I'm coming along because I have jack-all job
opportunities."
"I'm on the floor," Angel called out from the
space between the bed and dresser. She probably been afraid that me waking up
next to her in bed would send my mind tumbling again, but hadn't wanted to
totally abandon my space.
She let that warning sink in before she sat up. I didn't
even know how any of this had worked out. The last thing I recalled was leaning
against my door. Here I was trying to make a statement about male dignity and I
had to be put to bed like an infant.
"I'm okay, Angel," I told my lover. "Capri,
let me slap some clothes on. Any idea what Granger wanted?"
"Yeah, I went to law school so I could be a personal
assistant, you jerk," Capri chuckled. "She wouldn't tell me so it
must be something subversive. That's another reason I want to come along."
"Cop listening," Angel grunted. "Israel, good
dreams?"
"No dreams," I responded. "None I can recall
anyway."
"Ah, I don't have a pet name for you," Angel
realized.
"Jerk works for me," Capri intruded.
"Shut up!" Angel snapped. "Israel, take a shower."
"When do you have to go in?" I asked Angel as I
stood, worked around her and began picking out something to wear. She whipped
out her phone and dialed her workplace.
"Regular time in, but I'm working late, there is an
M A L rally tonight at Blazer Arena," she informed me.
"That's bizarrely fast," I worried. Angel met my
gaze and nodded. I had no clue if the Blazer Arena was scheduled for something
that night, but the Federation could easily wield the pressure to make the
owner give up the slot. Getting men to show up wasn't too difficult. They
simply downloaded the invitations to our phones, along with the metro routes to
take from home or work.
With my clothes laid out, I trundled off to take my shower.
Had I not kept one fearful eye, and ear, on the door, I would have been
happier. I dried off, got dressed and went to the kitchen where Angel and Capri
were standing around, not talking. I checked my messages. There was my M
A L invitation along with the date for my Civilian Affairs review, my termination
hearing.
After several agonizing minutes in silence, Capri finally
spoke up.
"What's the plan?" she asked.
"For starters," Angel broke in, "always
assume they are listening in."
"As Angel said and right now, we wait," I
answered.
"I'm hardly the guy who is going to bring society
crashing down. Our goal remains the same, escape. Escape implies there not
being enough resources around to run us down."
"This is so wonderful," Capri remarked
sarcastically. "Last week I could happily consider all of this a paranoid
fantasy. Yesterday I saw a Writ of Exclusion and I have to admit, it scared the
hell out of me."
A Writ of Exclusion was the legal vehicle that voided all of
a person's civil rights. It was normally used in cases of Treason and
Espionage, but in the heyday of the Male Retribution Army, the government had
used it broadly to break that terrorist organization. In the decade following
the Great Die-out, there had been a small number of men around with police and
military training who were now denied their chosen profession.
They organized; the government countered with a plethora of
legal means to break those groups then some of those frustrated men went
underground. The second time around, the men used all sort of legal means to
stymie investigations and being former law enforcement, they knew so many
tricks of the trade.
I doubted I would ever know what really happened, whether
the proto-MRA turned militant first, or if the introduction of the Writs of
Exclusion turned them that way. What few people remember is that over half of
the first sheaf of Writs were against women. They were supporting the proto-MRA
legally, morally and financially, mothers, sisters, friends and wives.
Eventually, the women were released because the purpose had
been to remove them from the equation until the Federation could deal with the
men. A whole new regimen of drugs were introduced and the men were 'corrected.’
A few of the survivors lashed out violently against Federation agents and
buildings and most fell horribly, or were rounded up.
Had the MRA ever been right, that's when it went off the
rails. In Spokane Washington, a (girl's) soccer team was coming back from a
match when its bus blew up. The footage of firewomen pulling the burnt bodies
of high school athletes out of the wreckage is what would forever be in the
forefront of women's minds when they thought of men resisting.
"Israel has had that happen to him twice," Angel
sighed.
"What, oh, the whole court-required therapy,"
Capri noted. During that time, I was always treated with respect, but I could
never say 'no' to any part of my schedule. Drugs, therapy, or education, I
never had a choice, reprieve, or recourse. I had been a ward of the state.
I cleaned my bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher, I'd run it
tomorrow. After that, I quietly gathered a few more dowels and my satchel and
stopped to stare at the door.
"I'm with you, Israel," Capri assured me from my
side.
"Israel, I could," Angel started.
"Get some sleep. Tonight is likely to suck and Seneca
will need you at your best," I said. I turned and kissed Angel good-bye,
took a deep breath, and started whistling. I kept it up all the way to the
metro station. I knew they would be waiting for me, my fellow commuters, but I
did have an unexpected surprise.
As I went from the sidewalk to the metro station itself, two
men joined me, complete with some sort of carrying device and a handle-wrapped
dowel. I had no idea who they were. I couldn't. Had we communicated, the cops
most likely would have pree
1 hr 14 min
June 22 Vanishing Manhood: Part 8
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 8
A Human Vaccine Factory, in Israel’s body.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"You Bitches!" Angel hopped up. To clarify my
often-used refrain, she took up her jacket and rolled up her sleeve. She had a
nice little cotton ball secured by medical tape.
They had taken Angel's blood, she had the anti-bodies which
must have been earned the old fashion way, through injection. Four times on
Saturday straight into her womb. I didn't believe it could be possible but I
had been lowered to the status of an STD.
"I'm not an MD, but how in the hell are anti-bodies
getting from him into her bloodstream," Capri intervened.
"We aren't talking about an anti-body," I blinked.
"We are talking about a virus and since my daughters and Angel and every
other woman I've slept with aren't dead, or even ill,”
"We need to know where the other doses are,"
Shelia insisted. Everyone in this room knew that there was only one disease
that differentiated gender that we hadn't cured long ago.
"Special Agent Fraklos," I pleaded. She was the
closest to a medical professional we had, or so I believed. I hadn't known how
I would get here when I asked for Dimple's team, Angel, Seneca and Capri to
join this little party, but I knew this moment was coming. Fraklos looked
scared and there were two great reason for being so.
"Oh, God," Fraklos' Mediterranean features
noticeably paled. "Carabolix 37 is a form of the Gender Plague. They
genetically altered the plague then gave it to those men to see what would
happen. Oh, God."
"Shelia," I turned the lead woman. "I was
injected twenty times with Carabolix 37. If Dr. Fremont destroyed her batch,
there is no more." She wanted to know so I told her.
"She could have killed us all," Sosa jumped up.
"We need to arrest her immediately."
"On what evidence?" Dimples replied calmly. It was
nice of her to keep this conversation at a level we could all hear. It implied
to me that we were now useful to her in some way. "She is rich,
well-respected and has scores of pharmaceutical contracts in the Federation and
abroad."
"We have a weird mutation of the Gender Plague, a crazy
old ex-cop serial killer and, Israel Jensen, a man whose sanity is always in
question. The only leverage we do have is an abnormal number of males surviving
their first year," she stated.
"If Israel has some sort of cure," Angel asked,
"why did any of his boys die?"
"He was being raped," Fraklos instantly replied. "His plague
still reacts in most ways as the normal plague, so it was weakened by the
stress he was under."
"Hold on," Seneca spoke up. "You mean Israel
is right? Stressing males is killing us off?"
"Please correct me if I'm wrong, but are we saying that
Carabolix 37, the correct application of Carabolix 37, creates a virus that
kills the Gender Plague in males during their first year of life?" Capri
requested to know.
"We would need to study it, but it looks that
way," Fraklos took the leap.
"Where do we put him?" Agent Vabishi murmured.
"Oh, I have no idea what time it is, but I need to help
Miss O'Hara move into my place before my date with Miss Sano at six," I
declared as I stood up.
"You can't possibly believe we will let you just walk
out of here," a different agent regarded me with disbelief.
"I got this one," Capri stood by my side.
"When did you learn for a fact that we were dying out as a species?"
she addressed the feds.
"We were read in this afternoon," Dimples replied.
By 'read in' she meant told about the Big Lie the government was involved in
concerning our collapsing population.
"Where are you going to put him where he is safer than
in the public eye?" Capri stated. "Any secret installation you put
him in is the end of the line for the rest of us. Right Shelia?"
She was looking at her tablet, unresponsive.
"But he is our best bet to end the curse of the Gender
Plague," Fraklos begged.
"We don't know that," Dimples interrupted Capri.
"All we know is that he can save his own offspring, that's all. We know
that if there are any doses of Carabolix 37 left, Dr. Fremont is hiding them,
along with the research. Can anyone think of a reason we can legally hold Mr.
Jensen? Does anyone believe he hasn't fully cooperated with the National
Security inquiry?"
"Mr. Jensen, Israel, have you fully cooperated with my
investigation?" Shelia Montanyard asked me. It was a formality. I could
lie and they wouldn't call me on it. They had no real choice. I knew the
feeling and I would be damned if I perpetuated it.
"No. I haven't told you everything," I said
calmly. Capri grunted.
"When Dr. Fremont told me about Carabolix 37 she made
me relive that memory with the Aurora Slasher, at her mercy, down in her
basement. Between that and the beating Magdalena had inflicted on me, it broke
me. I'm never going to get my mind back." I looked at them. They didn't
know what to make of my little confession.
"But, it showed me the memories of what the Slasher did
to me are still inside and when I can, I'll try to go back to them and figure
out each and every thing she did to me that might have influenced why the
Carabolix didn't kill me. Maybe we can save a few others," I trembled.
"It most likely won't make a difference," Shelia
pierced me.
"If I fight, they win. If I don't fight, they win. All
I can do is take the best course of action that I can live with," I tried
to explain. It was strange to watch them soak in those words. They were
winners. Even among women, they were the ones who always came out on top. They
were also smart and the enormity of the task ahead gave them pause. Except
Dimples.
"I'm satisfied," Shelia announced. "We'll be
in touch if we need any more information, Mr. Jensen."
"Thanks, Shelia," I mumbled. Then my mind flipped.
"Shelia, get Miss Silverhorn and her team their jobs back. I don't care if
you have to send Dimples down and personally kick some heads in or shove Isobel
into a dirigible heading for the Artic, just do it."
"Any other suggestions on how I should accomplish that,
such as ways that don't break the law?" Shelia smirked. That was it. We
were all in it now.
"Tell the Mayor I'm coming back to work tomorrow,"
I grinned weakly. "Tell her if she agrees to pardon Francesca, you'll stop
me." She nodded. Words weren't necessary.
(Moving In and Later)
To keep all those plates spinning in the air, we all had to
go back to our lives. For Capri and me, that meant being unemployed
(technically we were both suspended without pay until a review was performed).
For me it was obvious, I had pulled a 'Prophet of Doom' on the world stage. I
was curious as to Capri's final sin. She made it easy.
"I told my boss that I prayed to God she was
transgender because if she (her boss) was born a woman, I was seeking out
gender-reassignment out of shame," Capri informed me, "with my
outdoor voice and her door open." Yeah, that would have done it.
"Do you think she is a tranny?" I inquired. Women
occasionally attempted to outwardly look like men for reasons I couldn't
explain.
"Nah," Capri snickered. "She's self-conscious
about her narrow hips looking too masculine."
We were on the metro; I with three large bins stacked one on
top of another in front of me. Capri had two over-stuffed dress bags hanging
from one of the metro handholds. The car wasn't crowded, but circumstance
wouldn't allow us to move if things looked bad.
"You are that nut from the TV this morning," a
strange women pushed my shoulder. I had learned long ago to avoid women having
a bad day. You couldn't win dealing with one if you were a guy. It was unlikely
you could make her happy in a conventional manner so you sucked up the abuse
and prayed she became bored or had an appointment somewhere else.
Capri didn't know about this behavior, or how female-male
interactions worked.
"I bet your eye-care provider is pleased that you can
recognize people from two meters away," Capri snapped back. The problem
was one of numbers and Capri hadn't developed the awareness to understand that
Grumpy wasn't alone in her dislike of me.
"Step off, you Cunt," the pissed off women
snarled. She pushed Capri who clipped the crates and fell down. Had I my dowel,
access to my hard-pressed courage and my back to anything other than more
women, I would have shoved back. Instead, I did my best by shielding Capri's
body so hopefully she could rise. I could attest to how painful having high
heels stomp on your hands could be.
The woman having a bad day lost her fight with her anger.
She hauled back and punched me. Or, she would have, but the blow never fell. I
heard an 'ugh' and peeked back at my attacker.
"Have you donated blood recently?" a spooky calm
voice requested of my attacker. I couldn't see the woman defending me, but she
was holding the fist of my attacker a few centimeters from impact.
I knew that tone of voice though the speaker appeared a
mystery. It was how the Aurora Slasher sounded whenever she was talking to
herself. Totally ice calm.
"What?" the angry one blurted out.
"You never know when you might end up in intensive
care, so it is always wise to donate blood under your name, so they have it in
your type when you need it," my defender continued.
"Let go of her," a new woman chimed in. My
defender let go, but at least I had Capri back on her feet and my hand over her
mouth, stifling her curses.
"I can't believe they let a vicious, stupid bastard
like you talk on the air," the first woman continued. I struggled for the
words.
"I had to do what I thought was right," I
responded.
"I can't believe they let you out of jail," she
snapped. "Someone should correct you." My defender pushed forward so
that her back was to me, but I had caught a look at her face. I felt terrified
all over again. It was my first minder from Isobel's party. The one who talked
to me.
"I need you to state your intentions at this
time," my defender spoke loudly. "I will not let you hurt this man or
his companion. If you plan to do so, you will need to get past me first."
There were women behind us too, but the declaration was clear.
"Who are you?" a fourth woman demanded.
"You are not behaving in a civil manner so I chose not
treat you civilly," my defender replied.
"Do you have a clue what is going on?" Capri
hissed.
"I know her as one of Isobel Diaz's guards," I
mumbled back. The woman took a second to quickly turn and face me. Her icy
façade evaporated into a warm, comforting glow.
"It will be okay, Israel," she winked.
"Bravo," and she turned back to face the mob alone. What the hell was
I supposed to make of that? Isobel, Vanishers, FBI catchphrases, my lunch was
trying to make an acidic comeback. The last bit was anti-climactic. Pre-rush
hour commuters don't like getting into fights with someone who acts like they
would gladly uses your polished skull as a decoration for Halloween.
They got pissy, they called the cops and nothing happened.
Not 'nothing' as in the cops refused to show up. No, it was 'nothing' as in 'no
service detected' on their phones. Dimples and Company and the G E D were
wondering why they couldn't find the Vanishers, the Vanishers were jacking
their tech.
They had jobs that allowed them access to critical
information. They were walking around in plain sight. They weren't the
Illuminati, they were next door neighbor Jill. Getting away from them was going
to be a whole lot tougher than I thought, because they weren't hiding. They
could simply walk up and take me with no one being the wiser. Oh, Shit.
She escorted Capri and me off at our metro stop. Before
heading off her separate way, the protector introduced herself.
"I'm Zara," she shook Capri's hand. She took me by
the elbow and pulled me slightly away.
"I'm glad you were chosen, Israel," she smiled.
"We know what is going on and we are working hard to make sure you will be
fine. Take care."
I nodded good-bye. What else could I do? My tax dollars, had
I ever actually paid taxes, had turned that woman into a killing machine. I
wouldn't put money on Zara being her real name either. Until a few minutes
earlier, I thought my life was making progress. Now this.
"Man, she really likes you," Capri surprised me.
"What!" I gasped.
"Oh yeah," Capri watched Zara's retreating form.
"I was afraid I would have to mop up the drool around the corners of her
lips. She is definitely hot for you."
"You are not helping!" I yelled.
"Is there anything else I need to know about this
woman?" Capri nudged me.
"Since I would be really upset having to identify your
dismembered body at the morgue, no, there is nothing you need to know about
Zara," I declared.
"You and your curse, God, I'm glad I'm not you,"
Capri remarked. "Being your friend is tough enough."
We moved Capri into her tiny room. She jokingly bitched
about the size until she saw mine was no bigger. Capri had been lulled into a
false sense of economic space by her status as a lawyer and the resultant
apartment space Housing Authority had granted her. Since her living
arrangements were courtesy of her job with the Public Defender's Office, she
was days from eviction.
My position was secure because I was assigned my condo as a
gender quota, not as a city employee. I reminded Capri of this gross
unfairness.
"If I have to massage your testicles so we can make
rent, well, let's leave it with my mom being more disappointed in me than
normal," she laughed.
"Tell her you are living with a guy," I suggested.
"That has to mean something."
"Good point. That's something my two perfect older
sisters haven't managed to do," she conceded. "I know what she'll
say, where are my grandchildren? With your poor decision making, I'm sure you
picked a dud."
My whole body shook nervously. Capri looked at me with
concern.
"I have an idea," I exhaled. I told her what it
was and Capri nearly fell over, it was so irreverent. She called her mother and
related her most recent tale of woe while her mother looked on in rapt
attention.
"I love you, Mom," Capri ended the conversation.
"Keep in touch, Capri," her mother, Charlotte,
murmured. "It was nice to meet you, Israel." The older woman was
clearly floored as the connection died. See, the entire time Capri and her
mother chatted, she was standing, her top half naked, facing the main screen
with her lower body shielded by my sofa.
I stood behind Capri, my hands cupping and massaging Capri's
breasts and nipples and masking them from view, this wasn't technically porn.
Capri's flowing russet hair was pulled over her right shoulder so that I could
continuously kiss her from the tip of her shoulder to her earlobe. Capri
wiggled around. All I had on were gym shorts, and she extended her hand into
the small space between us for me to shake.
"Thank you," she beamed. "We are even. I've
waited my whole life to shove any accomplishment in my mother's face.
Everything I've ever done, my older sisters did better. Every, single, time.
Hey, up for doing my sisters?" I shook the hand.
"We'll have to create something new, in case they
compare notes," I insisted.
It was liberating in a way that was nearly impossible to put
into words. Sex wasn't fun with Capri, it was funny. It was jovial, nonsensical
and teasing with a purpose toward comedy, not foreplay. I could display my body
in a way that didn't leave me feeling vulnerable and afraid. I was a joke
because I wanted to be a joke, not because I knew the world would see me that
way.
We set up her oldest sister in the bathroom, complete with
steamy condensation. Capri, dressed in frilly peach colored bra and panties was
laying out her story of misfortune to her sister when the older sibling started
lecturing Capri on God knows what. I walked in behind Capri. She was holding up
her phone so that it caught me from jawline to mid-thigh.
I had a shirt and slacks on this time, so it wasn't overtly
sexual. I rubbed behind her, giving the impression that bathroom was smaller
than it was.
"Cologne, Babe," I 'informed' Capri of what I was
reaching around her for. The sister grew silent. I kissed Capri on the top of
her head. "Capri, we have some time," I hinted.
"Again?" Capri muttered in despair. "We just
did it."
"I really need you," I purred. I took her left
hand in my left and brought it to my crotch. Capri made sure to press the
outline of my hard-on several times so that her sibling could see what, in
theory, Capri was about to be 'getting again' real soon.
"Sorry, Sara (her older sister), I have to go. You know
how pouty men become if they don't get what they want," Capri was very
apologetic, and still massaging my manhood.
"Of course," Sara agreed. I doubt she had a clue
about what made men pouty. Capri insisted that her 'younger' older sister would
handle the next call. We had everything staged.
It was a close call, so to speak. I really had to get going
to Kuiko's when the phone rang exhibiting Capri's other sister's number. After
several rings,
"Hello, Israel Jensen," I answered.
"Hello Mr. Jensen, this is Melbane O'Hara. Is Capri
O'Hara still there?" she asked.
"Um, she lives here," I appeared uncomfortable. I
was on the screen from mid-torso to a few inches over my head.
"Oh, if she's not there, can you please tell me where
she is," she requested sweetly.
"She's here, she's just, busy," I gulped.
"It is important," Melbane insisted.
"Okay," I sighed and then I looked down. Straight
down. "Honey?" There was a slick, popping sound (Capri slurping on
two of her fingers then quickly withdrawing them from her mouth) followed by
the sound of my zipper going up. My cock
had been perfectly safe.
Capri pulled herself up my body, stood to face her sister
and wiped up some drool from around her lips.
"Yes, Melbane, what is it?" Capri grumbled.
"What were you doing?" Melbane was aghast.
"Getting an early start on dinner," Capri snapped.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"You, what, you have a boyfriend?" Melbane
stuttered. "You have a good-looking boyfriend?"
"Yeah, and his cock
is almost eight inches long and 'this' big around," Capri made a circle
with her thumb and finger. She may have exaggerated, a bit.
"But, but why weren't you having intercourse?"
Melbane begged to understand.
"Oh no," I interjected. "No vaginal
ejaculations from me until she gets a job."
"Ugh," Capri sighed. "Until then it is all
'mouth and ass, mouth and ass.’ I swear, if he wakes me up in the middle of the
night going 'let's 69' one more time, I'll scream."
"My vagina is sore from all the sex. I didn't know a
vagina could get over-sexed. Melbane, does your vagina ever get too much
sex?" Capri sounded intensely worried.
"I can, check with people," Melbane evaded.
"All I know is my lips are starting to chap and my ass
hurts when I sit down," Capri groaned.
"I shouldn't complain too much," she became all
dreamy-eyed. "I mean, it tastes divine, creamy and rich plus just a bit
salty, yummy. I'm sure you
1 hr 9 min
June 21 Vanishing Manhood: Part 7
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 7
That point beyond teetering on the brink.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

A tidal wave is a slight tremor,
a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act
of the play
"Israel, are you going to be okay?" Angel worried.
"Over twenty thousand square feet of pretentious butch
women with guns," I joked loudly. "What could possibly go wrong for
me here?"
"Angel, I think your guy is unraveling," Seneca
whispered to Angel.
She needn't have whispered. I had enunciated at a volume
that resonated all over the office space. We had everyone's attention. More
importantly to me, I located the woman, or in this case, the group of women,
who recognized me. They would be my chief opponents in this hostile territory.
If you run away from women long enough, you start to figure
out their hunting habits. Every coterie had a lead lioness and I could tell
which one she was. She had strawberry blonde hair and pig-tails and I swear to
God, she looked to be fifteen. Her eyes told a very different story. They were
cold, bleak and pitiless, yet with a burning fire at their core.
She also had dimples. I had to blink really hard, twice, to
make sure my mind hadn't sneaked some freaky mirage into my field of vision.
"I've got him from here, officers," a solid Latina
with short-cropped hair ambushed us from the side. She was being polite. It
wasn't like there were any choices being made.
"You'll be fine, Israel," Angel called to my
retreating form. I couldn't build myself up for a conversation before I was
taken to a small room and told to take a seat. I took in the details. The agent
didn't have on a name badge, that was meant to isolate me mentally and stop me
from trying to ingratiate myself to my captors.
This reinforced my subliminal demons that saw women as
faceless aggressors. The room was playing into my claustrophobia. It was also
soundproof, playing against my anxiety brought about by a lack of audio
stimulation. What my tormentors must not have been counting on was that Sunday
had put me past all of this.
Hell, I'd screwed Bethany Fremont and I thought that would
never, ever happen again. I'd done it and I'd felt fine afterwards. Dimples the
Clown was going to have to do better than this. Better yet, I knew what was
coming. First they would wreck my confidence, then they would be my friends who
only wanted to help. The blackmail would come later. My pain would be mental,
not physical this round.
I hadn't read the Federal playbook, nor was I a master of
interrogation. They considered me a dog so they would treat me like a dog, a
bad dog. Dimples and company weren't stupid; I imagined they were actually
quite bright. Their problem was that they'd been breaking my gender for forty
years and very effectively.
The critical difference was that I wasn't an MRA terrorist,
or even a criminal in my mind. I had nothing to feel guilty about. They had no
leverage and on a visceral level, I wasn't even afraid of them anymore,
cautious yes, but not afraid. The man walking into the room was a bit of a surprise.
He looked very well-dressed but casual, fatherly if your father was a college
professor from an earlier era.
"Hello, Mr. Jensen, I'm Ezra Bryan," he greeted me
with a smile. His hazel eyes, ensconced behind round glasses, gave off a
comforting glow. He was my friend, just ask him. "I'm here to help
you." See? "Can we talk for a bit?" He sat down opposite me
before I could respond.
"Can I see your gun and badge?" I asked politely.
"Come now Israel, men don't carry guns. Do you want a
firearm?" he remained pleasant.
"Oh," I mused. He answered questions with
questions. I knew that trick well. "Where did you get your degree from,
Doctor?"
"Holy Cross," he conceded. "Now would you
answer a few of my questions?"
I put my hands on my thighs, lowered my chin to my chest and
shut out the room. Meditation is a technique best used in an area that is quiet
and safe. They had given me only one voice to tune out and, while I didn't
trust Dimples, I knew how this escalation would go.
I was safe for now. When the psychiatrist Dimples has sicked
on me, realized he was losing to a guy with two semesters of psychology, he
broke form and did something you never do, he touched a survivor of sexual
assault without permission. See, he was here to find me psychologically unsound
so they could imprison me without a trial forever.
His problem was that you can't find someone insane if they
are capable of reasoned discourse, thus my initial words with him, but wouldn't
talk to you. Obstinate isn't a psychological disorder. It's only rude. I was
meditating, someone touched me. Since I've been sensory deprived and touched by
people who did me harm, this was bad.
I yelped and fell sideways in my chair. I ate the fear, ate
the anger and kept my eyes down.
"What is wrong, Israel?" the Dumbass asked with
false sympathy, offering to help me up.
I got up without his help.
"Can I see your tablet please?" I countered. I
could play this 'answer a question with a question' thing too.
"I'm sorry, but that has confidential information on
it. Why did you fall over?" he kept at it.
I pulled my chair around to the side of the table and took a
seat.
"Israel, this is not helping your cause. Don't you want
the truth to come out?" he smiled in that paternal style. Yes, this was
helping my cause and you didn't want the truth to come out, you Jerk, I
thought.
I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and started
to meditate once more. This time he touched me before I was all the way under.
"Israel, you are not helping yourself with this
display," Dr. Bryan was getting a little touchy.
"Ezra, what do you call a man who sneaks up on men who
do not know him, who have their eyes closed and are either meditating or
asleep?" I finally spoke.
"Aren't those some kind of perverts?" I regarded
him with the closest imitation of the tone he was using on me.
"Do you see people who touch you as being
perverted?" he resumed is babble. I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on
my chest and resumed meditating.
On his fourth unwarranted touching, I got up and walked to
the door. It wasn't a normal door, it opened out. I guessed that was so someone
inside couldn't bar the authorities from entry. It opened which made sense
since I was six inches taller and twenty-five years younger than their pet male
shrink.
Of course, there were two agents at the door as well. I
wasn't planning to sprint for the elevators or closest window anyway. They were
across the hallway and unhappy to see me.
"Hi," I greeted them cheerfully as I let the door
shut.
"Get back inside," the African-American agent
stated firmly.
"Actually, there is this weird old guy in there who
keeps touching me every time I close my eyes and try to go to sleep," I
pleaded. "Can you please help me?" For a second, they were both
confused by my request. They had this misconception they were protectors of the
public welfare.
"He's giving you a psychiatric exam," the second
agent, this one of East Asian extraction, told me.
"Really?" I doubt I was very convincing in my
surprise. "I was raped repeatedly when I was sixteen, so why on God's
Green Earth would any healthcare professional touch me without my consent or
awareness?" Take that Bitch! There is simply no right answer for that
question and everyone listening in on this exchange knew it.
Five doors down, the portal flew open and Capri came bolting
out at a dead run with two agents hot on her ass, trying to re-write history.
"This farce is at an end!" Capri O'Hara screamed
at the top of her lungs. Sadly, Capri was a small woman and both of her
pursuers where superior specimens in all the currently relevant categories.
"Israel, as your legal counsel, I advise you to not
answer any further questions without me being present," she got out before
they muffled her. The damage was done. I was free, in a very, very limited
legal context. This act hadn't played out yet, though, because the next two
people out the door were Angel and Seneca.
In retrospect, had I ever actually seen Angel in a fight
before she threatened me on Friday, I wouldn't have let her back in my condo,
much less my bedroom. I had no fist-fighting experience, but I'd seen a few
female fight movies and TV shows, things like the Power Rangers and Black
Widow: Agent of SHIELD. I was totally unprepared for the reality of this kind
of violence.
Angel drove her fist into the lower back of the rightmost
agent holding Capri. That woman screamed, and I mean screamed, in pain before
crumpling into a whimpering ball. The agent on the left was really quick. She
tried to defend herself and deflected the first blow, later I was told that was
Angel's feint, but Angel connected with her chin before the woman could bring
the other hand up protectively.
Angel jacked her off the ground. I was stunned the agent was
still conscious. Hell's Bells, I was stunned her head was still attached. The
federal agent had less than a second to rejoice in that fact before Angel's
other fist propelled her over Capri and down in a heap in front of my lawyer.
Seneca had no fears about her partner's combat expertise.
She had spun around to the door that seemed to hold
everybody, held up her hand, put her other hand on her sidearm and was loudly
begging everyone to calm down. Dimples' crowd kept pouring out of the room,
their hands falling to their weapons as well. Shelia joined the mob followed by
Dimples herself.
The agents beside me were in a quandary. I was a witness,
not a suspect, but I wasn't someone they trusted to remain sane. I had to
admire their teamwork even though it was working against me. The East Asian put
her forearm to my neck and pushed me hard against the wall next to the door.
The African-American put her hand on her taser and took up a defensive posture.
The only noise was the first agent's whimpers. Capri was the
only one moving, shrugging off the kinks she'd earned from the grapple and stooping
beside the second, unconscious, agent. Capri drew forth that woman's taser.
"Put it down," the darker skinned agent warned.
"Put it down or we will put you down, Miss O'Hara,"
Dimples spoke in the sweetest voice. I wondered if she was a Care Bear in a
previous life. Most likely 'Let the Right One in' Care Bear.
"Stop with the empty threats, you pack of
weasels," Capri snapped. "Now listen the fuck
up."
"One of three things is going to happen," Capri
started.
"I said 'put it down'," the African-American agent
stated firmly.
"You are going to release my client so that we can
talk, I'm going to taser you and then the cunt who is assaulting my client, or
you are going to taser me," Capri finished.
"Wish granted," the agent snarled.
"You do realize that once she drops I have a clear shot
at you, right?" Angel notified her.
"You don't have your taser drawn," the
African-American agent stated.
"No," Angel extended her pistol past Capri.
"I have my sidearm."
"Now, as I was saying, you have three options and you
lose big time in the last two," Capri grinned like a vindictive
leprechaun.
"She won't shoot," Dimples referred to Angel.
"The odds of Mr. Jensen being caught in the cross-fire are very
high."
"Irrelevant," Capri snorted. "Because I'm
about to shoot you," she started raising her taser.
"Last chance, Lady," the agent warned.
"Do you want to know why you are fucked?" Capri scoffed. "See these
are all government issued weapons and every time one is discharged you have to
write an incident report."
"That isn't your taser. You stole it," the agent
pointed out. I saw Shelia Montanyard flinch minutely.
"Hey, FedLawBitch," Capri snorted (she was
addressing Shelia, I would learn later). "Just because my law school
offered night classes doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Bronson v. Michigan."
Only two people understood that, Shelia and Capri.
"Bronson v. Michigan doesn't apply," Shelia
bluffed.
"The Supreme Court disagrees. It has been applied two
times in the past seven years and since this is a government building, the dumb
bitch on the ground is a government law enforcement agent, and since Mr. Jensen
is a person of interest to the court,”
"Put your weapons down," Shelia conceded.
"What?" the African-American agent blanched.
"Holster your weapon," Dimples spoke again.
"While Miss O'Hara is within her rights to shoot you, you are not within
your rights to shoot her. Do you want to get tasered?"
"Oh, and the cops are covered by Bronson as well,"
Capri waved her hand over her shoulder. "I am an officer of the court and
your two brigands were assaulting me and keeping me from my legal duties. Go
after them and I'll nipple twist you so hard, Miss Montanyard, your screams
will make your law school professors fall over dead in shock."
"Noted," Shelia nodded. She wasn't giving up so
much as repositioning for the next offensive. Before my time there was a
military term tossed around called 'Shock and Awe.’ From the look on the faces
of Dimples and Shelia, they had thought they were the French army invading
Monaco only to discover they had invaded Switzerland by mistake.
They thought they'd spend half a day rounding up the local
constabulary then have dinner on the beach, in this case, the Federation
Capital. Oh no, they could still see victory on the horizon but beyond all
predictions, they were really going to have to work for it. Right then, the
door to my interrogation room opened and the doctor looked out.
"Is everything fine?" he inquired.
"Oh, Dr. Bryan, I'm informing every institution on the
planet that pretends to know anything about medicine and reporting your gross
negligence. When I'm done with you, even the W H O won't use you to clean their
toilets," Capri glared.
"What did I do?" he looked around, shocked.
"You touched a post-recovery rape patient without their
consent, repeatedly, even after he was clearly uncomfortable with it,"
Capri snapped.
"He is Post-recovery," the man stated.
"Were you incapable of reading his file dating from
yesterday morning in which the police report my client having been beaten black
and blue by unnamed assailants? He didn't press charges, but it is still an
open investigation. The G E D frowns on people running around and beating up
men, so there actually is a use for those douches after all," Capri
snarled.
Dr. Bryan had this wide-eyed, stunned expression. Eventually
his gaze settled on Shelia and Dimples.
"He's not what you said he'd be," the man
blathered. "His profile is all wrong. The man is totally mad, I tell you.
Give me more time and I can prove it."
"Doc," I said calmly. "I suggest you exit
this building as soon as possible and hurry home before they cancel your travel
voucher."
"Mr. Jensen," he turned on me desperately.
"You are psychologically very ill and you need professional help."
I just smiled. He was right. We both knew he was right, but
I had trapped him before he trapped me. A week ago, I would have snapped like a
branch in a tornado. The women around me, for good and ill, had scraped away
all the scabs and scar tissue that I'd let build up over the years until all
was left was the raw open wounds.
My blood was on fire and my mind a hurricane of thoughts,
wants and desires. I wasn't a man grown to adulthood by continual experience. I
was shards of all of those stages of my life, jumbled together into some
slipshod construct that staggered forth from encounter to encounter. Dr. Bryan
had lost because I could be a seventeen year old survivor one second and the
man lying on the floor, laughing while Flame beat on me the next.
Had they given Dr. Bryan time to work on me, develop his skills
to my condition, he would have cracked me in a few days, a week at the most. He
was a psychiatrist, and most likely a good one to be working with the FBI, and
I was, in fact, insane. This was my victory. I had forced Dimples to expend a
weapon for no gain. I wasn't sure Angel would get it.
Two hours later found us in a much larger room, laid out in
a comfortably cluttered manner. It was terrain psychology all over again. Was I
to believe a federal agency as big as this didn't have clean conference rooms
for us to use? As it was, Capri and I were on one side of the table. Angel and
Seneca were on the edge of the table closest to the main door.
That left Dimples and company to spread out over the other
half of the room. Their body language was laid back and unaggressive, they had
bought this Indian-Italian fusion feast and they were bantering back in a
non-gender specific manner.
"What does this tell you?" Capri turned to me as
she finished a forkful of garlic pasta.
"Special Agent in Charge Enola Treyvon's (Dimples
actual name) team are man-hunters," I said as I gulped down my food. By
that I meant people who hunt males professionally. If you thought about it,
male criminals had to be rare. We all had bracelets that any woman could ask to
see on demand, thus in network, so tracing us wasn't all that hard.
Also, if we broke the law, we had to take drugs which made
committing crime inconvenient. If we were violent, they had drugs for that too.
A man having an illegal firearm was bad, but being a woman who gave a man a gun
was much worse. Since the MRA hadn't been active in over a decade, it didn't
make sense that the Federation's chief law enforcement agency would have tons
of these kinds of specialists floating around.
I was about to say something else when 'nothing' caught my
attention. A man has to watch where he is, how he stands, what he says, who is
listening and how the women around him are acting. It is Male Survival 1 O 1.
The savannah looked safe but the bushes held deep shadows.
"They were tipped off to be here by Detective Angel
Kristi," I nodded to Capri.
"You do realize that sticking your cock in a garbage
disposal is a crime, right?" Capri laughed.
Angel flinched. She was guilty after all. Seneca was glaring
hate Capri's way. The feds were being very polite about the whole thing. I
turned on Capri, mouth agaip.
"Oh my fucking
God!" I exclaimed. "Let me check something out." I stood up.
"I advise you to go with caution," Capri warned
me. I walked around the far side of the table (away from Angel and Seneca),
over to the Latina who had snared me earlier. She was sitting, but I was hardly
intimidating her. I knelt before her which finally got some sort of reaction
from the federal agents. They were attentive. The Latina was keeping her eyes
level with mine.
"Angel," I looked toward my lover, "she uses
the same shampoo as you." You see, I had no doubt that this agent had
memorized every visual aspect me myself, Capri, Seneca and Angel, but scent?
For a second, she turned her head to look at Angel. I backed away then stood
up. "Oh sweet Lord, I wish I wasn't right so damn much. Janice
Bourne," I gulped.
See, the shampoo thing had been a total bluff.
Janice Bourne was the protagonist in a series of spy novels
where the male characters were somewhat interesting for a change. In one, a guy
actually kills a female assassin with pruning shears. That wasn't the relevant
issue.
"They've got Cochlear implants," I clarified.
The technology was hardly new, but it was a bit intensive
and expensive
1 hr 9 min
June 20 Vanishing Manhood: Part 6
Vanishing Manhood:
Part 6
Inside; my mind was a beaten, whipped, and shattered eighteen year old boy.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

A tidal wave is a slight tremor,
a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act
of the play
I trekked to the metro station with the jauntiness of a
sixteen year old, not a care in the world and the mind of a maniac. My
neighborhood was no longer running off a cliff, we were in free-fall. It turned
out two of the eleven surviving males in my district were homosexual. It was
bound to happen in any population of large enough size (as in the total number
of males in the country).
Mind you, Farad and Jimmy were doing their part. They had
sex with women and were apparently rather good at it, performing above
standards and more than the required once every twenty-eight days. That didn't
matter. They were homosexuals and they had to be corrected so a tactical unit
went after them Sunday afternoon.
Unfortunately, both Farad and Jimmy knew something was up,
or were simply sick of the sneaking around. They had a plan. They had converted
a van into a mini-mobile home, complete with multiple propane canisters. They
also made zip guns to defend themselves. The tactical team knew about the guns,
but not about the canisters so they went in with rubber bullets.
Sadly, rubber bullets penetrate propane canisters and
electricity (aka Tasers) ignites the gas. I'm not sure how many canisters they
had but the resulting explosion vibrated glasses in my condo a kilometer away.
Scratch two more sperm-jockeys. Now there were only nine of us (actually, only
eight, but I didn't know about the one who had vanished a few hours earlier,
yet).
Inside my mind was a beaten, whipped and shattered eighteen
year old boy rattling the bars of his cage and screaming at me to stop what I
was doing. He begged me to save myself the humiliation and pain. I couldn't
listen to him anymore. Hiding hadn't been surviving; it had been delaying the
inevitable. I wasn't fighting, that would be stupid. I was resisting.
I was wearing really nice jeans, courtesy of Bethany, a nice
white shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up, with a tailored jacket over
one arm and a satchel strapped across my body. I also had a twelve inch baton
with the handle taped to give me a firmer grip. I smiled, nodded to a few
ladies and even said 'hello' to a few others. Basically, all the wrong things
for a man to do, unless he's a prostitute.
I doubt any of them noticed the baton. That wasn't the wood
they were looking at. The first one wasn't even remotely difficult. The
predators had gotten sloppy, lazy, arrogant and careless. She was blonde,
mid-thirties maybe and I'd seen and been groped by her before. She breezed up
behind me, patted my ass and was about to say 'hey' or something like that.
I snatched the hand that had just touched me, yanked it up
and smacked her in the head with the baton. It was meant to sting, not crack
her head open and I'd been practicing last night.
"Ow! What the, ?" she squawked.
"You sexually assaulted me; I was defending
myself," I grinned savagely. "We can check the video from the camera
I'm standing well in view of if you like."
"You hit her," Fatima came sputtering my way.
"It would certainly look that way, wouldn't it," I
kept smiling.
"Why?"
"She sexually assaulted me," I reiterated.
"All I did was touch you," the first woman said.
"Check your laws, ladies," I used my authoritative
tone. "Touching another person without their consent is assault. Touching
a person in a sexual zone, in my case, the lips, pubic area or, buttocks is considered
sexual assault."
"Also according to the law, I am allowed to defend
myself, or another person under threat of harm, with enough force necessary to
remove myself, or that person, from danger," I lectured.
"All she did was touch your ass," a third women
joined in. They were really starting to gather around now. The metro was almost
here.
"And I hit her with a stick for doing it too," I
glared at her.
"You can't run around beating people with a
stick," Fatima threatened me.
"As long as it is in self-defense, I most certainly
can, as can any citizen," I pointed out. "What twisted evil thought
process could make any of you think you can touch another person against their
will? Come on now, that's just sick."
"But you are a guy," a fourth woman struggled and
failed to make sense of the situation.
"That's discrimination and that's against the law
too," I flashed her a bright smile. The metro arriving put an end to the
conversation, but I had to put knots on the foreheads of two more women before
I made it to my seat.
The Metro Cop came for me two stops down the line. I wasn't
belligerent, I handed over the baton when requested and I watched her fend off
the angry commuters around me. I had the law right. I explained that I couldn't
afford a taxi so this was my only way to work. The police officer informed the
women that I was legally correct and to stop antagonizing me, hallelujah.
The best part was after the cop left and the metro started
rolling again. The women were seriously looking for some payback. I grinned,
unzipped my satchel and drew forth my second dowel. They looked flabbergasted.
"Yeah bitches, I'm smarter than you are," I
chuckled. None of them harassed me.
It wasn't much of a victory. In their minds my resistance
was all my fault, not theirs. Anyway, groping was something women did casually.
They weren't expecting a connection. I had robbed them of their second shot of
espresso in the morning, that's all. Or, it would be all, if it was only me. As
I told a disbelieving Angel, I had a plan.
Coming out of the metro stop by City Hall, I caught sight of
a woman who nearly caused my heart to freeze in fear. It was one more step and
I took it. She saw me and looked cocky.
I smiled and headed right toward her. I imagined she was about to inflict
(further) pain on my person when I wrapped her up in a hug. Her colleague
looked equally dubious as to my intent.
"Flame!" I greeted her. "How the hell are you
doing?" I kept my arms around her, titling back so we could make eye
contact while my crotch was pressed against her stomach. I hadn't realized how
much shorter she was than me during our first encounter, the one where she beat
me half to death.
"We need to talk," Flame regarded me quizzically.
She was insane, if not insane like me.
"Sure," I nodded. I leaned in, kissed Flame, aka
Brigit, on the lips then turned us so that we both faced up the sidewalk to
City Hall. She slid a hand around my waist and I followed suit.
"Miss me?" Flame teased. 'Every time I breathe'
was the proper reply.
"With all the sane chicks around me," I sighed.
"I think you're the only one who understands." Flame found that
hilarious. She was a raving psychopath after all. My hand started stroking her
ass. Flame actually leaned into me in what might have been construed as a
romantic gesture. I sure as hell wasn't going to ask her.
The three of us arrived at a doorway somewhat off the
well-traveled path.
"Little M wants to see you," Flame purred, holding
me face to face and close. "Prometheus' at 12:30 tomorrow for lunch."
Flame's buddy still looked like she expected me to rabbit at any second, which
I found oddly amusing. Where would I go?
"Are you going to be there?" I murmured to Flame.
"Yeah," she rubbed up against me.
"I'll show up," I agreed. I kissed Flame again but
this time with much more passion. As I broke it off and returned to the route
to work, I smiled at the other mobster.
"I know, she's going to end up driving an ice pick
through my eye somewhere along the line, but it will be worth it," I
referred to Flame. I couldn't tell what the goon thought.
"I love this guy," Flame laughed and slapped her
buddy. "He's tons of fun." Until that encounter, I thought nothing
could make me even remotely happy to city CH Security.
They did their usual rigmarole but when they came to my
small collection of batons, they become curious.
"What are these for?" one asked me.
"They're curtain dowels, with surgical tape so they
don't slip," I replied innocently.
"They are awfully small," she noted.
"Small windows," I bantered back. She put them
back in my satchel and handed it to me. Had I given a crap I would have
complained to Francesca about the intellectual quality of our security force.
Admittedly, curtain dowels aren't great weapons, but still, it is a 12 inch
freaking stick.
I whistled as I left, in the elevator and down the hall to
my work station as if this was the best day ever. Bethany homed in on me
immediately.
"What are you wearing?" she blinked.
"Clothes you bought for me some time ago," I
replied pleasantly.
"That's not proper work attire," she explained.
"Yep. You got that right. Is there any other obvious
things you want to point out, or can we get to work now?" I kept grinning.
"Israel, what's gotten into you?" Bethany was
getting annoyed.
"You are right," I nodded. "That is a problem
we should address. Come with me," I demanded as I grabbed her by the wrist
and started to drag her out of the office.
"What's going on?" she resisted.
"As you pointed out, there is a problem of what's
gotten into who and I think I can correct that," I said happily.
"We are going to have sex, now?" she gulped.
"Now or never again," I told her. "Your
choice." She had claimed I was the best cock she'd ever had and I was
about to find out if that was true. She came along meekly. I rushed us into the
Women's Room, pushed her into a stall and bent her over a toilet.
"Israel, I'd like, Ow!" she yelped as I yanked her
panties off. Unless she had a spare set in her desk, Bethany was going commando
for the rest of the work day. She tried to turn around but I wouldn't let her.
Thankfully, Bethany always warmed up quickly because I had neither the desire
nor time for some good cunnilingus.
I did have time for a good hard fucking
though and I intended to slam the hell out of her. Bethany tried to remain in
control and quiet but I knew all her weak spots and I doubled up on them all.
She was howling and screaming to God Almighty just like the old days. If she
thought this was an apology, she was sorely mistaken. She was sore alright and
this was punishment.
Unlike all my previous efforts which had been fuelled by
love, this was driven by hate, rage and a desire to inflict pain. Bethany
couldn't even grasp the significance, though she felt this was something new
for us. Bethany didn't even care that she was being screwed by a man who was
clearly unhinged.
Only after I left her a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor
did she wearily look up and realize I was still hard.
"You didn't cum," she whispered. She was pretty
hoarse.
"Of course not. I'm not letting you or your mother within
a thousand meters of my sperm," I patted her on the head. "Let's get
to work."
I showed up thirty minutes early to work because I was in my
second week of training. Bethany and I were seriously late getting back to our
desks. No one said a thing. They just looked. I took perverse pleasure when
Bethany actually stumbled getting to her station. She looked like she'd been
hammered by a hurricane and couldn't decide if she liked it or not.
I think way back when, they called that a grudge fuck. I hadn't surrendered to Bethany, I had
used her like she used me, for my own selfish reasons and profit. I had
unleashed plenty of negative energy that would complicate things later. I
needed to be as reasonable as possible and she'd helped me with that, by giving
me her body and letting me use it as I wished, if not how she intended.
I didn't feel bad about it one bit. I hadn't lost ground. I
hadn't turned Bethany into a faceless entity. I had come at her knowing right
who she was and what she deserved, from one royally pissed off human being to
another, 'should have been more fucking
careful about what she asked for', human being.
I didn't last two minutes at my desk before Francesca
summoned me.
"Care to explain?" she scanned my clothing.
"All I can say is that I apologize if I disappoint you,
Miss Francesca Silverhorn. You have tried really hard to be decent to me,"
I gave her the first genuine smile of the morning.
"But?" she waited for it.
"But, in next year's dictionary they are going to have
my picture beside the definition of 'aggressive'," I shrugged. "It
will probably do double billing with 'dumb ass.’" Francesca laughed. She
didn't even try to hold it in.
"Good luck with that Initiative, Mr. Jensen," she
chuckled. We were both going to Hell. "There is a press conference at
ten-thirty concerning the Federation's new program. It is called Men's Action
League. It plans to further invest men in the governing process."
"Wow, my career is going to end sooner than I thought
it was," I snorted in amusement.
"Anything else I need to know before I go, Captain my
Captain?" I really liked her.
"GNN and a half-dozen other stations are covering this
live. You're microscopically famous now and yet they sense an epic public
relations catastrophe in the making," Francesca fed me the news, "and
they want to be there when it happens."
"I won't let you down, Jeffe," I smirked.
"That's what I'm afraid of," she shook her head.
"But, I'm starting to think the future isn't going to be all that bright
and cheery anyway."
I gave a crummy salute, about-faced and returned to my
desk. There was a notice on my computer to contact Miss Cho.
Damn it, how was I supposed to get any work done? I called
and she told me come right up.
"Are we ever going to finish what you started last
Monday?" I teased. Was it only one week?
"Maybe," Miss Cho sounded coy. Fat chance I'd ever
do anything with her. She was an evil henchman.
"Okay," I laughed because she didn't have a clue
to her own barbarity. I warned Francesca where I was off to then headed up to
the Mayor's Chief of Staff's offices. Miss Cho gave me a smile then waved me
in. Whatever Isobel was going to say was lost when she caught sight of me.
"What are you wearing?" she snapped.
"Clothes?" I responded. That didn't seem to
mollify her. "Casual clothes?"
"Get into the proper attire before the news conference
and you'd better not fuck it up or
what security did to you Thursday will seem like a walk in the park after I get
through with you. Do you understand?" Miss Diaz growled.
"I understand," I parroted back. I understood that
I didn't give a damn about what she said. Come on, it wasn't like I woke up
thinking this was Sunday. I knew exactly what I was doing, who it would piss
off and how little I would care about that.
"Fine. Now what did Magdalena Keverich want with
you?" we got down the reason I was there.
"Me in particular? No clue. I know she wasn't happy
with my performance, she likes people to watch and she's very demanding,"
I informed Isobel.
"What did she want to know about me? About us?"
she pressed.
"Us? Lady, there is no us," I grew angry. "I
don't know you and I don't want to know you." I took a quick inhale and
launched again; "Screw it all, I didn't want to go to your damn party, I
didn't want to meet her and I certainly don't want to relate my shitty
experience to you," I added. "Let me straighten you out; if you were
drowning, I'd toss you an anchor. If you were asleep in the tub, I'd pour in
quick drying cement then hold you under with a broom."
"If you were paralyzed, I'd cover you in honey and
leave you in the path of army ants. Are we clear now?" I growled. "I
hate you. I hate what you represent. I hate this whole sick society that allows
you to exist and prosper."
"You didn't answer my question," Isobel kept
trying to break me with her eyes.
"Ugh," I sighed. "I don't know anything, but
if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I don't know in what nightmarish fantasy you
imagine that woman would tell me anything, but glaring at me isn't going to
help. You can't touch me."
"I can't?" she replied sinisterly.
"Yes, Ma'am. I've made my peace with God and said
good-bye to the ones I love," I snickered. "I'm bulletproof." I
saw the light go off in her eyes. She finally realized I'd lost my mind. There
was no rational response to my challenge because I was no longer rational.
Circumstances had intervened so that I simply couldn't 'go away' either.
There were too few men left and I had a flicker of
popularity. She wanted to believe that she'd get me later, but she had looked
into my soul and knew I had no 'later.’ This was it. Her ability to grind me up
was only a threat if I planned to leave anything to be ground.
"We are done here," I dismissed her. I turned and
walked away.
"We are done when I say we're done," she seethed.
I already had the door open and was half-way out. I raised up my left hand like
a sock-puppet.
"Did you hear something?" I asked my hand.
"It sounded like a feminine 'poof'," my hand
responded in a shrill voice.
"Whatever it was," I nodded sagely to my hand,
"we had better not hang around in case it stinks up the room." There
were six people and Miss Cho in the office, staring at me with wide eyes. I
could hear Isobel's blood boiling. "Have a good morning everyone," I
waved to the room and quickly exited the main door.
I decided that the elevator was a trap so I took the stairs
instead. I didn't get two feet inside the door before Selma pointed me to
Francesca's office.
"Oh, God," Francesca moaned. "I'm stunned my
screen didn't melt. What did you do this time?"
"Ah, um, ah," I struggled for the words. "I
dismissed her from our conversation and while exiting her main office, I
insulted her with a hand or sock puppet, in front of witnesses."
"Wow, you do realize you now qualify for two minority
hires; you are male and clearly mentally handicapped," Francesca tried not
to smirk.
"You are welcome, Boss," I grinned.
"Oh, and she wants you in proper attire when you get on
stage in, twenty minutes. I promised her you would be. Do you plan to
change?" she inquired.
"Nope," I rolled my shoulders.
"Okay," she nodded. "Just checking. You need
to be briefed by Selma on the latest developments. Are you and Bethany
reconciling?"
"No,” I drew that out. "I used her for my own
carnal frustrations, that's all."
"We know," Francesca looked amused. "We all
know. We had some women from the second floor come up to see if someone was
dying, or being murdered. In the future, you might want to offer another girl
in the office a chance, take that as a suggestion."
Hmmm, second floor. We were on the fourth floor. This building
had pretty good acoustics. I walked over to Selma. You know your co-workers
respect you when they attribute God-like powers to your actions.
"We are going to die, aren't we?" Selma stared at
me intently. "We are going to lose our jobs and be blackballed from
anything associated with
1 hr 5 min

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