Vanishing Manhood: Part 7

Vanishing Manhood: Part 8

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 8 A HUMAN VACCINE FACTORY, IN ISRAEL’S BODY. Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1395985&page=submissions]. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/VanishingManhoodPart08.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/08Maggy8.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/08Maggy8.jpg] "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

Vanishing Manhood: Part 7

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 7 THAT POINT BEYOND TEETERING ON THE BRINK. Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1395985&page=submissions]. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/VanishingManhoodPart07.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/07Eloise7.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/07Eloise7.jpg] 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

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 [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1395985&page=submissions]. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/VanishingManhoodPart06.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/06Capri6.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/06Capri6.jpg] 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

Vanishing Manhood: Part 5

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 5 BEING A HUMAN ‘GUINEA PIG’. Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1395985&page=submissions]. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/VanishingManhoodPart05.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/05kuiko5.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/05kuiko5.jpg] The Titanic was sunk by snowflakes that fell long before mankind first forged iron Once, way before I was born, they might have called me a 'nice guy.’ I wasn't sure what it would have meant back then but tonight it was a weak-willed male who caved-in to the desires of the women around him. "Compassion only goes so far," I struggled to articulate. "If I say no, what do you do next?" "That's the rub," she shared a secret smile. "Thirty years of research have not been totally in vain. We know one of the key causes of the plague's mutation, physical and mental stress." I stared, I stared, I stared then I laughed loudly. "You treating us like second class citizens is finally biting you in the ass?" I tittered insanely. "We made logical decisions designed to save the human race," Delilah reasoned calmly. "There were factors we didn't take into consideration. Besides, the majority of men don't seem to mind so much." "If that was the case, we wouldn't be dying out," I countered. "Still," I reasoned, "if women," at least the women in charge, "know, why aren't they doing something to make the lives of men easier?" "Please, Israel," her eyes danced. "Where would it stop? Men would demand everything and the female population has come too far to give into male extortion now." "We are not going to roll back the clock two hundred years on women's rights," Delilah said. "So we keep a lid on things until a cure becomes available. That's where you come in. You are a very promising lead." "A promising lead to what?" Maggy asked, rescuing me from this mortifying conversation. "For finding happiness," Delilah smiled at me. "Interesting. Does that apply to all of us, Dr. Fremont, or just you?" Maggy inquired. "Neither," I fought for my center. My mind raced but my thoughts were focusing down to a few salient points. "You have a jammer," I said to no one in particular. "Of course," Delilah nodded in appreciation of my non-idiot-hood. "Not everything needs to be committed to electronic memory." "That sounds positively criminal," Maggy purred. "Lady, Maggy, you have no idea," I muttered. She found that utterly amusing. "We will talk more about this later, Israel," Delilah winked. "Try giving Bethany one more chance. She could be useful to you." "I look forward to having no other options," I gulped. Delilah laughed as she left me out on the balcony with Magdalena. "From what I've heard, you are an oddity for one of these functions, Mr. Jensen," she said. "First time here," I noted absently. "For both of us it seems. That's not what makes you so appealing though, or your very fortunate lady friend," Maggy smiled. "The fact that I'm acting like I don't want to be here?" I hoped. "I doubt it. It is the fact that you are tip-toeing on the precipice of sanity, Mr. Jensen," she clarified. "You can call me Israel," I suggested. "You can call me Maggy," she reiterated. "I think I'll call you Magdalena. Maggy is a nice, warm, friendly name. Magdalena reminds me that behind your glittering teeth is a soulless carnivore," I told her. "You really don't know who I am, do you?" Magdalena regarded me studiously. "Nope," I shrugged. "I'm not terribly interested in knowing who you are either. I didn't come here to get nice and cozy with the dark side of human nature, sadly, I failed in that desire, and all of you have the misfortune of being found both useful and morally pliable by Isobel Diaz, which puts you all in the aforementioned 'dark side of human nature.’" "You really don't know who I am?" she blinked in shock. "I would normally assume you were a trap set by Isobel, but you really don't seem to give a crap who I am." "Good. We are on the same page," I noted. "Israel, I find you fascinating," Magdalena declared. "This doesn't happen often. In fact, the last time a male truly interested me I was, nine." "Oh," I groaned. "For the love of God, tell me what it is and I'll correct it. Whatever it takes for you to turn around and walk back inside, forgetting everything I've said and done that you find the slightest bit interesting, please tell me what it is and I'll do my best to do it." "No, I don't think so," she smirked. "I am a soulless carnivore, as you mentioned." "I'm not sure what it is about you that I like, but there is something there," she mentioned. "Until I find out what it is, I'm going to keep an eye on you." When you build a levee to withstand a flood you do it in anticipation you know how high the river will rise. From the age of sixteen, the water had been rising. There was no design to it; all chance. Chance had led me to Bethany Fremont. Bethany had led me to Isobel Diaz. Bethany and Isobel had led me to Delilah Fremont. Isobel had also led me to Magdalena, whoever she was, except in the politics of female status, Magdalena had brought Isobel to task over me and Isobel didn't like that. This might leave me to believe that Magdalena could shield me from Isobel. Unless all of this was an elaborate psychological ploy to raise my hopes only to slap them down at a time of Isobel's choosing. At that rate, I wouldn't need for G E D to put me away; I'd fracture my mind all on my own. To get out from under this, all I had to do was not take the bait. Paraphrasing what I had told Kuiko, using the lion to drive off the leopard doesn't do the zebra any good. Even if Magdalena was a real enemy of Isobel, giving her a tool to use against the evil sow didn't make me anything better than a tool. I turned and leaned over the railing. "You are not going to jump, are you?" Magdalena moved toward me. "Are you encouraging me and angling for a better view," I muttered, "or are you trying to stop me on the off chance I've lost my mind?" "I've seen enough death," Maggy told me. "Normally I can tell the type, the ones who have given up hope, but you are, what's the term, a Janus?" "Do we really want to discuss the state of my mental health or how it was shaped?" I questioned. I caught some movement behind me, by the door. "Wouldn't you rather explore your favorite body oils and silk sheets versus cotton blends?" It was my two minders. "Oh look, your friends are here," I turned to the two ex-military security types. "They are not my friends," Magdalena informed me. "I don't care. Four-ways cost extra," I joked feebly. "How much would that be?" Magdalena regarded me. "Not a clue," I sighed. "Until tonight, I had successfully avoided being a prostitute." "Do you know the first thing about prostitution?" she stared intently, even angrily. "I doubt four year old boys want to grow up to be whores," I stared back. "How did you come by this insight?" she countered. "I know what it is to be a man, have someone demand sex and not being able to say 'no'," I expressed with sad eyes. "It is a business after all," she pointed out. "As a chef, you don't always get to determine who your clientele are either. You still are expected to prepare a meal." "You sound like a pimp," I enlightened her. Magdalena smiled and snorted in amusement. "I've been called worse," she admitted. "I don't think those two are going to leave us alone," she added. "We might as well go inside." We went inside and I vaguely remembered meeting various women, none who I could have described five minutes later. It was a testament to how far I'd fallen in the past few hours that I didn't even flinch when I was 'bid' on, all in the name of some charity, and bought. Perhaps I should have worried about Magdalena buying me for the evening. Maybe I should have noticed how not very many women, or teams of women, vigorously pursued the bidding for me. In retrospect, I should have been impressed, but there were things I would only find out later that I didn't know then. As I said, I really didn't care what was going on until I was alone with Magdalena once more. We walked into the penthouse reception area, I'd come in the servants' entrance, where we picked up two frightening women. They were dressed in casual chic but possessed the characteristics of very hungry wolves. The first one was tall, almost as tall as me. Her dusky skin spoke of a parentage on four continents. She had black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that went half way down her back. She looked me over, then through me, never saying a word and barely acknowledging me. I called her Silent for lack of given name. The second girl was shorter, maybe 5'6 with tanned skinned, short cropped black hair and barely contained rage. She had a flame tattoo that came up the left side of her neck but the same design was also on her left hand, making me wonder how connected they were. I called her Flame because I felt that asking was the best way to get my head torn off. We were in the bedroom of one of the tower apartments, two stories below the penthouse, when Magdalena finally spoke. "Well?" she inquired. I put on my best game face, slapped some asbestos on the Hindenburg and got ready inside and out to perform. I had my jacket on the back of the chair and the bow tie unraveled in my hands when she held up a hand. "No, I want the face," she insisted. Sensing a lack of understanding, she clarified. "The face you gave to that woman this morning." "Oh," I mused then, "That's not going to happen." "Why not? You walked off the elevator willing, didn't you? You didn't protest when I paid for you, did you? So why can't you uphold your side of the bargain, Mr. Jensen," she studied me angrily. "You haven't earned it," I shot back. "Hell, you weren't even supposed to see that. It was a private moment between me and someone I hold honest affection for. I have to accept that the image was stolen from me but I don't have to like it and I certainly don't need to pay the thief for the pleasure of them stealing it from me." The two female 'friends' had appeared at the door. Perhaps I had been ranting a little too loudly. "What do you mean 'I haven't earned it'?" she questioned. "God, that you are even asking that," I shook my head. "You are a businesswoman," I tried a different approach. "There were over thirty people upstairs who were more than happy to spend the night with you, if not the whole damn weekend, ready, able and most likely, willing. Yet you chose to invest in a man clearly miserable with the whole situation, who has shown no carnal, emotional, or social interest in you," I explained. "Now you claim to be unhappy with what you paid for?" I countered. "You didn't pay for the guy in that video. You couldn't afford him. No, you paid for the poor bub who couldn't find a way out of appearing tonight, who had to leave that woman and the warmth of her body next to mine, to come here to be with a woman I neither know or care to know." "The man you claim to want is back there with her still. She's holding him safe until I return and I get to be him once more," I glared. Magdalena stared at me with very cold, almost lifeless eyes. "Want me to beat him up some, Little M?" Flame asked Maggy. Magdalena weighed her response as Flame closed in. I imagined she expected me to do something; defend myself, run, throw something, beg forgiveness, something. I stood there. The physical options were pointless and I'd be begging as soon as my pain threshold was breeched. In a perverse way, seeing how much more pain I could take this time was all I had to look forward to. There was no winning, or showing them how tough I was. I wasn't that kind of man and if there were any like that anymore, they were keeping their heads down. "Not the face or hands," Magdalena instructed and the pain began. Physical violence against men was a rather rare thing. Sure, I had been bullied by girls in middle school. Girls are bigger and stronger at that age plus they are working out their hormonal shift where boys are concerned. Not only do teachers look out for you, but boys tend to form cliques covering multiple age groups. Since we were so few, it was only natural that boys would create our own little social order. It wasn't anything sinister or subversive. It was our experience with being 'manly' and 'macho.’ We could roughhouse, talk about girls, sports and do stupid guy shit that drove our mothers nuts when they found out. I had no idea how many men Flame had beaten up in her career. Maybe men and women are identical in the weak points in our bodies. Flame seemed to know them all. To be somewhat fair to her, I forgot to scream until after all the air had escaped my lungs. I was also somewhat obsessed with the craziness of it all. Who beats up a guy for refusing to have sex with them, or has some flunky do it for them? I had to wonder if I walked into situations like this, was this my fault? Was there something about me that attracted the worst kind of women? "That's enough," Magdalena said. I was curled up on the floor crying. "Wimp," Flame laughed at me. It took me half a minute to regain my breath then I began laughing. For a second I believe they thought they'd broken me, mentally. Too late for that. "What's so funny Israel?" Maggy asked. "All you bitches are getting exactly what you deserve," I laughed through gasps of pain. Flame came back with a kick to my shin but I couldn't stop chortling. "Wait. What do you mean?" Magdalena pressed. "Oh, just let Flame get back at me," I wheezed. "Someone might as well enjoy themselves and it doesn't look like it will be you or me." "Wow," Magdalena chuckled, "you would rather take a beating than have sex with me? Damn, I suddenly feel ugly. Israel, why are you being so mean to me?" "I'll perform sexually," I winced, "but I'm not giving you my spirit." "I'll take the one now then we'll see about the other," Magdalena smiled. I didn't question the audience, or her desire to have 'normal' sex at that time. I gave it what I had left, after a serious beating. The bruises and welts further depleted my strength. I loathed these women, yet I had the sensation she was disappointed, as if my techniques weren't enough, or worse, bored her. Afterwards, the culminated stress, beating and sex had worn me down to the last of my reserves. "Well," Magdalena sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. "It doesn't take a psychic to realize you aren't happy," I acknowledged to her. "You could have done better," she looked at me. "I know you could have done better," she held up her hand to stop me from talking, "and I'm used to getting the maximum effort from the people around me." "You are not on the short, very short list of women whose opinions and expectations mean crap to me, Magdalena," I replied. "I'm going to go home and forget all about this night, your perceived failings of me, my efforts and the beat-down Bad Ass Princess Barbie gave me. I am never coming back to one of these things. The next time that swine Isobel asks, I'm hitchhiking to Alaska." Apparently Flame didn't appreciate my 'Bad Ass Princess Barbie' comment but as I pointed out earlier, I was on my last reserves and those were really nothing more than fumes. "Were you not breast fed as an infant?" I regarded Flame as she came at me on the bed. "Or did you choke out your mother the first time she tried to burp you?" Flame was on me in a blink of an eye, pinning me down by the throat while hauling off to punch me. "Not the face," Maggy reminded her. I started giggling. "Is he mental?" Flame addressed Magdalena. She looked at me for some answer. "It is so fucking ironic," I choked. "All this power and you refuse to save yourselves. Fucking hilarious. Let loose Flame. Do the world a favor, go out and punch every man you come across." If stress made men less fertile and these women were our shepherds, it was better for all if we died out as a species. Perhaps it wasn't all that funny, but I was past caring. I received two powerful punches to the ribs. I had to wonder if I was becoming a masochist or if ten thousand generations of males refused to go howling into that Final Night without some savage, simple-minded stab at our enemies, which probably meant I had lost my steady decline into insanity. I kept laughing though it really hurt laugh. "We got you bitch," I rasped gleefully. "What the fuck are you talking about, Dickweed?" Flame spat. "That daycare center," I snickered. "If we could get to those kids, we can get to any of you. You aren't safe." "What?" Magdalena intervened. "What are you talking about?" "We are dying, you stupid cunts. Men have started figuring it out too," I humored them. "When is the next man, or group of men, going to figure it out and decide to come at any of you with a knife, or a car, or a truckload of toxic chemicals?" "You lose Flame because fear only works if there is hope. You are tearing the hope away from us so all that is left for us is hopelessness and rage," I continued. "The hopeless ones will take care of themselves, but the ragers," "You fight like babies," Flame ridiculed me but at least she'd stopped hitting me. "Have fun dodging shrapnel," I coughed. I probably needed to see a doctor. "Those three in Denver blew themselves up. A car bomb isn't that much harder and I'm sure some poor, over-worked and underpaid girl working at a chemical depot isn't going to turn down a little sex for a favor or two." I was getting tired of repeating that I was at the top of my class. No one cared. Flame looked up from where she had me pinned, to Maggy. "This is one sick puppy," Maggy snorted in amusement. "I like him." So Bethany’s mom is amused. I have a psycho fan, and here I had thought this night would be a total waste. "Interesting Israel; I think it is time to take you home," Magdalena said. I had confessed to genocidal thoughts toward the female gender by means of high explosive terror weapons and her response was to send me home, "Can I get dressed first?" I requested as Flame dismounted my prone form. "Of course," Magdalena grinned suspiciously. "We are not animals after all." Getting my clothes on went normally if you considered dressing with three sets of female eyes studying you as you get dressed normal. We took the front elevator down to the first sub-basement where a limousine was waiting. "Where is my ride?" I inquired without expecting an answer I would like. "I'll drive you home," Magdalena informed me. "Can I at least call somebody who might miss me?" I desperately tried to sound more flippant than terrified. "Do you have a phone?" she reposed. "No, I'd have to borrow one," I sighed. Maggy looked over at Flame. "It's 'boxed'

Vanishing Manhood: Part 4

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 4 BECOMING A SEDUCER, DABBLING WITH LOVE, THEN GIGOLO DUTIES. Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1395985&page=submissions]. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/VanishingManhoodPart04.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/04Somerset4.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/04Somerset4.jpg] Would you rather take shelter under a prison roof or stand outdoors in the uncertain storm? "That's the best part about living here," Kuiko grinned. "We'll be patient." That fairy tale collided with Fatima, Carrie and Ambrosia showing up at my door while Kuiko was back at her place changing and gathering a few things for a group effort at dinner. I almost triggered the 'unlock' without looking, almost. Being afraid for so long had its benefits. I seriously thought about not answering. It was still too bright outside for my interior lights to come on. It wasn't like I had any means of transportation to suggest I was in the area. "Hello, Ladies," I gulped over the intercom. "I'm a bit busy right now. What's up?" "Hey Israel, can we come in? You weren't at the station this morning, or on the return trip, so we wanted to make sure you hadn't vanished," Fatima spoke up. I was wondering what was the best way to say 'I'd rather have my bones ground to dust than open the door' when the dilemma was solved for me. A furious Angel came storming up the stairs and into the scope of my door's security screen. "Get the fuck out of my way," she snarled at the three then she pounded on the door with her fist. "Open the God damn door, you Idiot," she yelled at me or the door. Oh, I knew that wasn't a good sign. I barely noted a second woman coming up behind Angel appearing to be terribly concerned. "Who the hell are you?" Ambrosia snapped at Angel. "Metropolitan Police," the second woman waved her badge around. "Please stand back." "Israel!" Angel was almost frothing at the mouth. I opened the door against my better judgment and all common sense. Angel stomped her way into my apartment, and right past me toward the bedroom. I didn't think she wanted sex. She was burning off some serious frustration, my place was small and the greatest stretch of walkway ran from the front door into my bedroom. The second woman came in at a more cautious pace. "Good-bye ladies," she said to the three at the door. "Remember, if you are out here when we get back, I'll arrest you for loitering." "Detective Seneca Poole," she introduced herself but didn't offer to shake or look even marginally pleased to see me. Angel came tearing past us, turned, snarled at me, then about faced and headed back. "I don't know what you did but I've never seen her so pissed in the three years we've been partnered." That brought Angel back around, still horribly frightening and unhappy. "You want to know what he did?" Angel seethed. "You want to know? This bastard agreed to go to Isobel Diaz's party tomorrow night!" I didn't understand that complaint because she had known about that for hours. Seneca looked my way, clearly as confused as me. "You thought I wouldn't find out?" Angel stabbed me in the chest with her forefinger. "Do you think I'm stupid? Did you forget I'm a God-damn detective?" I was stumbling back and starting to shiver. "Argh!" she screamed, barely holding herself back. "Okay, you've scared the fuck out of him," Seneca griped. "Why don't you finally tell me what is going on?" "I'm under investigation," Angel kept glaring at me. "I'm under investigation for having an inappropriate liaison with a material male witness." "Did this asshole turn you in?" Seneca scanned from me to Angel. "No," Angel spat at me. "He buckled under to Isobel Diaz so they would drop the investigation against me, you moron." I was the moron in question. "How did you find out?" I muttered. I didn't want to have this conversation because I couldn't make sense of any part of what I'd done. I certainly couldn't explain it. "Somerset told me," Angel was slowly cooling down. "She laughed at me as she told my how you had folded up like a good little boy after the threat." "Wait," Seneca stammered. "He stood up for you?" I took from that question that Detective Seneca Poole had a rather low opinion of me, if not all males. That I would leave myself vulnerable for Angel was clearly an impossibility in her mind. "Yes he did, Seneca," Angel glared at me. "Fuck you, Israel. I can take care of myself, a hell of a lot better than you can," she sizzled. "You, you, you didn't have to do that." "The Mayor threatened me, Angel. What was I going to do?" I sighed. "For starters, you don't make decisions for me," she snarled. "Yet, it is okay for you to make decisions for me?" I pointed out. "Yes, because you are a 21 year old fresh out of college who has been in the city six days," Angel snorted in frustration. "I am thirty, I have three years in as a patrolwoman and five as a detective and this city is and always has been my home. I think I know what's going on here better than you do." When she put it like that, she was almost totally right. If you get discriminated against for so long, you start assuming you will always be discriminated against. Angel had just slapped me upside my sensibilities with a logical, if passionate, argument. The only thing was, she was 'almost' right. "If you think Isobel Diaz won't squash you like a bug, you are so mistaken," I addressed Angel. "She's not your garden variety misanthrope. She's a monster, she's evil and with one phone call, she had you under a federal investigation." "That's not important," Angel snapped back. "The mental state you are going to be in Sunday morning is," Angel pointed out. "Angel, we've been down this road before, top of my class, remember?" I said. "You sure are a mouthy bastard," Seneca mocked me but then, "Top of your class? What community college did you go to?" "Seneca, he's not mouthy, he's opinionated," Angel sniped, at me. I noted Kuiko approach the door and activated the lock for her. She strolled on in. "Hey everybody. Hey stranger," Kuiko waved. She has a small sack of something. "Whoever you are, this is a police matter," Seneca commanded. "Beat it." "I'm his friend," Kuiko bristled. "Who the hell are you?" "She's my partner," Angel informed her. "This is Kuiko. I'll explain later." "A cop? Whoops, sorry about the whole 'who the hell' thing," Kuiko gulped. "Back to the matter at hand," I grumbled. "Detective Poole, I went to Bowden. I was the first male Valedictorian in sixty years. Blow it out your ass, Bitch," I glared at her. There I was, busting my head pointlessly against a wall again for no reason I could accept. "Bowden? Bowden is a real college," Seneca queried. I shouldn't have been surprised or angry. Even before the Plague, more women were seeking higher education than men. The Plague was a scholastic killing field for male education. Not only did most of our intellectual elite die, in the chaos after the dying began, it made more sense to admit women over men since odds were that most of your guys would be in a grave by graduation. After the tenth year, even after the mass die-offs stopped, society took few chances. A whole generation of men went under-educated out of fear they would perish as well. Men had been struggling up the educational ladder ever since, but we were massively under-represented in most professional callings, things like lawyers, engineers and doctors. Two consequences of being under-educated were our lack of political awareness and the disparity of economic power. We were paid less on average than women and we owned less of the economy than our population would have warranted. This, in turn, reinforced in men that the best way to get ahead financially was to marry well. This worked out fine if you were a woman in the top 10%; not so much if you were in the bottom 90%. A man graduating well and trying to make his own way in the world didn't fit into that mold and ours wasn't a culture that put a high premium on male independence. "Yes, it is. I read, studied and made really good grades," I reasoned. "When I graduated, they gave me a pat on the head, a dog biscuit and a diploma," I added sarcastically. "In retrospect, I should have treasured the pat on the head and kept the dog biscuit for emergency rations because it turns out my diploma isn't fit to wipe my ass." "Wow, you're bitter," Seneca noted. "Bitter?" I countered. "Give me your security code. I'm going to go to your house, stomp around the place like an elephant, raid your refrigerator, and leave a used glass and plate on the counter so you wonder what the fuck happened to your sanctuary while you were out." "Let me rephrase; you are bitter and angry," Seneca corrected herself. "And this is going to be the wing-nut that is going to Isobel Diaz's party," Angel groaned. "Oh, I see the difficulty," Seneca nodded. "You are never going to see him again. That could be a problem considering your current assignment." "What! We are going to lose him?" Kuiko squawked. "No way, no how!" "Kuiko, do you like me?" I muttered. "Yes, but,” she got out before I held up my hand. "Not showing up for the party isn't an option," I explained. "I told the Mayor I would go. I have to work in that building, with those people. I'm vulnerable. Going or not going won't change that, but I have to try." "God, I want to beat you into the hospital," Angel barked. I didn't want to believe she meant that but that didn't stop me from shivering, my eyes opening wide and stumbling back. Even as the last words tumbled out of her mouth, Angel sensed her mistake. "I'm sorry, Israel," she pleaded. "I just, I'm worried about you and I'm not used to feeling so powerless." "I need to go to my room," I whispered, turned and fled. "Oh shit," Angel sighed behind me. A few minutes later, she knocked on my door. "I'm sorry, Israel. I truly am. I have to go back to work now, but, do you want me to come here when I get off?" I had been thinking about that. I kept trying to convince myself that she hadn't meant that threat of physical violence. Acting combatively was her way of dealing with stress. I found myself trapped between my past mistakes and my dim hope for the future. "I'd like that," I responded to the voice beyond the door. (Saturday) Three things were obvious to me as I woke up. Detective Angel Kristi was a light sleeper. There was no worry about me waking her and her accidently lashing out, I'd done that for years. Angel was wearing a dark pink panty or bra combo. Last night she had muttered an excuse about being backed up on laundry. I chose to believe her. Finally, I had to do something about our relationship, if that is what we had. Her outburst yesterday had scared the crap out of me, but it had gripped her in an emotional paralysis. Despair had abandoned me for greener pastures. I'd go to the party, take drugs and become lost in the sexuality. I would recover, hate myself a little bit more and go back to work. A few days later, maybe a week, two if I was lucky, I'd repeat the process. I would either fail spectacularly and Isobel would ring out what little happiness existed in my life or someone I didn't know yet would collect me and become the most important thing in my life. As long as I kept performing up to a certain level, I'd be fine but every time they would become a little less human in my eyes and I'd try a little less hard. Eventually I would fail and be cast out. It wouldn't matter. Israel Jensen would have been washed away with all the other detritus of our society. I'd become a contributor, a sperm donor with a desk, a paycheck and a punch card for my social calendar. I wasn't there yet, so I had to keep struggling to find a way out. In a strange way, I'd invested so much of my week in resisting, it was more logical to keep at it than to turn back now. I certainly wasn't going to lose any slower if I backed down at this juncture. "Good morning," I greeted Angel as I rolled onto my side, facing her. She was on her stomach, arms crossed over her head, under her pillow. Her grey eyes were in their normal, soul-piercing gaze. "Hello, Israel," she responded. We remained silent for a few seconds. "I'm going to kiss you," I told her. If I had asked, that would have passed the decision from me to her. I knew what I wanted. I doubted she could come to grips with her desires. "Is that really a good idea?" she inquired. "I don't know, but I know I'm going to kiss you if you stay," I said. "Israel," she started to protest. I leaned in to kiss her. Angel tilted her head up so our lips could meet. I swept past her lips, brushed her hair to her far shoulder then kissed her behind her right ear. "Israel?" she questioned. I ignored her, instead kissing to the base of her ear then up to the top. I kept her hair pushed back with gentle strokes of my hand. "Israel?" she tried again, more softly this time. When that didn't work, she lowered her head back to the pillow and started to relax. After reaching the top of the ear-base, I kissed the top of her ear rim. I carefully made my way down to the earlobe, which I sucked on and bit. "Israel?" she murmured. I imagined that she felt in her role as guardian, she had to offer some sort of resistance. I moved my lips to her jawline. She tried to kiss me again, but I went in the other direction to the back of her neck. Her bra was unhooked before she even knew what was going on. Angel bit back a comment, another cautionary note. She knew we were past that now. I was dedicated to one course of action and she was going to make her last stand right before the moment of copulation. My secret weapon was timing, or more accurately, the fact that I was drawing out this seduction. For three years I'd starved myself, devoting my barren sex life to the women's pleasure then my own quick release. I didn't allow myself to enjoy the act of intercourse with the freedom I had enjoyed with Bethany. On weekends we would have sex for hours. Not actual penetration, but the art of touching, smelling and tasting your lover the way sex was meant to be, unrushed and done with total devotion to your partner. After the sorority I couldn't hold off the demons long enough. Besides, the desire had evaporated in me. I didn't want to remember anything about the women I was with so getting to know them was a passionate dead end. I did the best I could for my own sake, because I knew I could and it was a gift that I could give up, but they couldn't take that away. By the time I reached for her panties, Angel was sweating extensively. It had little to do with the room temperature. I had ran my hands over every inch of her from the top of her head, all along her back and sides. I'd rolled her a quarter way over on each side so that I would be less contorted as I concentrated on her scent and taste. I worked her underwear down. She pushed up with her knees until I reached there, then with her toes until I got the clothing all the way down. Angel started to roll over but I placed a hand with slight pressure down on her hip to keep her in place. I kissed her on the tailbone, migrated to each cheek while I started to caress her folds from behind. "Israel, I'm close," Angel warned me with quickening breath. "Go with it," I cooed. "This is about you. We don't have anywhere to be until noon." "Oh, oh, okay," she moaned. Two minutes later she hit her euphoria. My lips weren't even down to the back of her knees yet. It was nearly midday when Roni rang the doorbell. I buzzed her in. Angel was coming out of the bathroom, dressed in pool attire and using a towel to dry her hair. I was coming out of the bedroom, a towel still around my waist. I was on my way to my dryer for my shorts. I normally don't wear any so I had to wash the 'storage musk' out of them. "Hey you two," Roni called out. "Angel," she hesitated, "your hair is wet." "Yes," Angel grumbled. "And Israel has a towel around his waist and his hair is damp too," Roni grinned wickedly. "That would be because we took a shower," Angel glared. "Screw this," Roni chuckled. "Israel, get over here." I was clearly uncomfortable. "Please," Roni added. Reluctantly I stepped her way and presented my wrist. "Hold on," Angel growled. She stomped back to the bedroom, retrieved her phone and scanned my wrist once more. "Don't make me punch your lights out," she challenged Roni. Roni scanned me then took a step back. "Oh, Fucking, God!" she exclaimed. I was pretty sure Angel was about to deck her. "Don't make a big deal about it," Angel threatened Roni. "Big Deal?" Roni gasped. "I'm stunned you can still walk." "I'm going to get dressed," I muttered. I didn't want to hear that conversation. I didn't want to be any part of it. I had done what I had done and I wasn't going to be ashamed about it, I promised myself that. I gathered up my clothes, retreated to my bedroom and quickly got dressed. The two ladies had resolved something by the time I came out. "You look nice, Israel," Roni tried not to grin too broadly. I hadn't worn these clothes in three years. I was uncertain why I had kept them. It was a tribute to the North American Federation's physical regimen policies that I could fit into them as if I'd purchased them yesterday. "Bethany Fremont bought them for me," I replied. I would have thought that would be a conversation killer. These were nice clothes. There was no way I could have afforded them on my own. Without a scholarship I couldn't have swung the tuition at a college as nice as Bowden. "Why didn't you get rid of them?" Angel asked. "I put all her stuff in boxes, I put the boxes in my closet and I didn't look at them for three years," I informed her. "I tried to act like they weren't even there. I couldn't touch them. The closest they came to the dumpster was when I was loading my rental for the drive here," I related. "I thought that time of my life was behind me and I needed the clothes, so I kept them. Now, after confessing all this, I feel like a total retard." "Don't," Angel insisted. "You have to work with her for now so keeping your clothes doesn't matter." "Besides, she didn't wear those clothes," Roni added. "They should remind you of you, not of her. We have to get to the party. Olga is bringing Jean Paul and if he's the sole guy there, she's going to be pissed." "Olga?" I queried. If a woman could get pissed with you, a man need to know what she could bring to bear. "Public Utilities Department," Angel explained. Power, sewer, communications, oh joy. Since she lived in this complex, she most likely worked in the field as opposed to an office. The trip to the complex's pool set my nerves on edge. At the office, I could pretend to hide in my cubicle. At press conferences, I had my college training to keep my fears in check. On the metro, I could create a veil around myself to ignore all but the most intrusive female. Here, I was going to have to interact with women coming at me f