Vanishing Manhood: Part 6

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

Vanishing Manhood: Part 3

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 3 A DATE WITH A DEVIL, UNLOADING ON THE PRESS, AND FACING DOWN INTERROGATORS? 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/VanishingManhoodPart03.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/03Bethany3.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/03Bethany3.jpg] The waitress came, took our orders then left. I steered the conversation toward work, our co-workers and the Mayor. Bethany didn't have much interest in policy. Politics was her expertise, who was who and who she knew. Only when dessert came around did she drop a hint about the party I had been invited to. "I hear you have your first secret party coming up," she teased. "Not if I can help it," I answered. "What do you mean, 'not if you can help it'?" Bethany stared at me with no comprehension. "Why aren't you going?" 'None of your damned business', 'I'd rather floss with razor-wire', or 'I'm going to cuddle up with a good book in a non-extradition country' all worked for me. I could scream out my rage over having her fucked-up friends raising my sons to be slaves and my daughters to be as deviant and uncaring as their mothers. None of those would work. "We are going deep sea diving," I fabricated. "Heading out Friday night and won't be back until late Sunday." "Ah, ah, really?" Bethany blinked. "I didn't know you liked to do that. Hell, I wasn't sure they let men do that anymore. Isn't it dangerous?" "It is no more dangerous than going out on a date with you," I smiled wanly. Sadly, Bethany wasn't a total idiot and I should have picked a better lie. She pulled out her phone and began doing some online research. Me, I went to the bathroom, then through the kitchen and out the back door. I flagged down the first cab I saw and was gone two minutes when the phone rang. "Israel, where are you?" Bethany sounded pissed. "I couldn't control my emotions around you and I don't want to screw things up like last time, so I left. Sorry," I murmured. "Damn it," she sounded petulant, "I was really hoping to get some tonight." Uh-uh, no way. Had Bethany tried to drag me anywhere for sex, it would have been a murder or suicide and that would have still counted as a victory for her. "Maybe next week?" I put her off. "What about tomorrow night?" she countered. "Wha as, at, I'm, you are, ing up. I'm, into, tunnel, bye," and I hung up. The cabby looked over her shoulder and smirked at me but at least didn't give me shit about the fact we were nowhere near a tunnel. I had gone out with Bethany and made it through dessert, so had accomplished the mission Francesca had laid out for me, in my mind anyway. To be safe, I cut off my phone. I paid for the taxi with money I couldn't afford to spend. My instinct was to race into my complex, up the stairs and get inside my condo as quickly as possible. Then it dawned on me; could being murdered or kidnapped be that much worse than the life I was currently living? I wondered how many of the two thousand missing guys felt the same way. After getting cleaned up and dressed for bed, I found myself laying on the sofa, bat on my chest and staring at the ceiling. Isobel Diaz was going to crucify me, that was pretty much a given. If not, I'd have to date Bethany again, eventually. Death really was preferable because they'd already bludgeoned me as a person, stolen my children and gotten away with it. Me ending up with Bethany as an attachment would be the removal of my only weapon, denial. She'd pleased her sorority friends but lost me in the process, or so I had told myself. Now it looked like she'd still end up possessing me anyway. How was that worse than what Isobel had in store when she finally got her hooks in? To dwell solely on my harsh reality was no way to nurture the desire to fight on. I had to think about Angel, Kuiko, Roni and perhaps Francesca. They didn't get me. How could they? They were trying, though, and that put them head and shoulders above most womankind. I severely doubted they would turn down an offer of sex, but they weren't making it the focus of our relationships either. That had to count for something. I was still staring off into space when Angel rang the doorbell. The first thing to occur to me was that it wasn't past midnight yet. "Come in," I told her. She glided into my place, scanned the area then looked me over. "You okay?" she inquired. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I answered. "Bethany Fremont has been squawking into the ear of anyone who will listen that you got into a cab but didn't make it home and that you have been out of communication since leaving the restaurant," Detective Angel Kristi explained. "That's none of her damned business," I groused. "Take into account that Miss Fremont is connected and 28 men have disappeared recently," Angel reminded me. "Give her a damn call." "No," I muttered. "Why are you here anyway? Isn't this off your normal beat?" "For some reason Patrol thinks you are a pain in the ass and a trouble-maker, so I volunteered to make this problem go away," she told me. "Did the date go that poorly?" "She wanted to have sex. She told me I was the best sex she'd ever had. Then she told me about the children I had with her sorority sisters, children under the care of some of the worst women I've ever met," I sighed. "Beyond ducking out the rear before she could trick me back to her place for a fuck session, it went stunningly," I concluded. She sat down on the arm of the sofa by my feet. "How do you feel about that?" Kristi inquired. I looked at her as if she was delusional. "Like hell I'm telling you," I snapped. "You are still a cop first, a woman second and a friend a very distant third." "Israel, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on," she grumbled. Arguing was pointless anyway. "They have my daughters. They are going to raise them to be the same kind of horrors they are. God knows what they will do to my sons," I growled. "You want to know how I felt? I desperately resisted the impulse to put my fork into Bethany's eye socket and scoop out her brains. Do I get to go to jail now?" I glared at her. "No, I, wait, did you say sons?" she stammered. Oh fucking hell. I was far more fatigued than I thought. If I didn't say anything, she'd just go looking. "Yes, I have three sons. I also have thirteen daughters, if that matters," I groaned. "It does to me." "God, how many women did you knock up?" Angel gasped. "Eighteen of the forty-one. They were on a fertility drug regimen," I explained. Angel quickly did the math and jumped up. "We need to,” she suddenly stopped. She'd done the same mental calculations I had in about .03 seconds. "We need to tell someone," she whispered. "That doesn't work out so well for me," I pointed out. "Israel, this is important. We can't just sit on this knowledge," Kristi insisted. "Don't you want to help?" "Not really," I confessed. "God damn it!" she leapt to her feet. "You can't hold onto this poison forever." "It is not poison, Detective Kristi. You see me helping the Human Race limp along a few more decades," I related. "I see passing on my experiences to my sons and their sons." "This isn't going to make women change their perceptions or attitudes towards men," I added. "If we do nothing, women will never have the chance to change," Kristi countered. "Do you deserve another few decades?" I inquired. "Yes, we are human beings and we deserve the chance to fight off extinction," Angel persisted. "It is not really up to me anymore anyway," I shrugged. "You know now and forty-one sorority girls have known for over a year. Certainly people in their families know, maybe some doctors as well." I figured nine months for the children to be born and then twelve more months before the abnormal number of males surviving was noted. "That's right," I chuckled ruefully, "Bethany and her clique knew this way before I did and since I'm not in some lab somewhere, I have to assume they aren't rushing to save the Human Race either." "That doesn't mean we should make the same poor choices they have," Kristi stated. "They aren't going to help you, Detective Kristi," I regarded her. "You live on the wrong side of the social dividing line. Hell, Bethany has already told me that you aren't good looking enough, and too old, for me to date. The people you want me to save have already written you off genetically speaking." "I'm not doing it for them, but for my colleagues on the force and the girls in this complex," Kristi kept on coming. "Don't they deserve a chance?" "It is too late for them," I responded. "It will take them a few years to figure out if I'm anything special and what makes me so, if I am. Then it is seventeen more years before the male children I help become available." "That means the youngest woman here will be thirty-six or thirty-seven. There will be many younger girls out there who have priority over them," I did the math. "You and I aren't going to save anyone we know." "No matter what, we have to try," she insisted. "Go ahead," I replied in a resigned voice. "You know we'll never see each other again if you do. You are not naïve enough to think they'll ever let me come back." "Fuck you," Kristi snapped. She paced back and forth. "Fuck you," she repeated violently then stormed out of my condo, slamming the door. I fell asleep where I was. (THURSDAY) Steve threw himself in front of the metro. He was behaving normally, mumbled to a few women, then gave me a slight wave and stepped off into the void and whatever afterlife awaited suicides. The ladies were screaming, crying and yelling. They were aghast and surprised. They couldn't understand why he did it and a few insisted he stumbled by accident. One girl said they had sex the night before and had a great time. He had seemed happy. I knew exactly why he was happy and it had little to do with the sex. The guy missed his dead wife and had finally resolved after having intercourse with a total stranger that he would never recapture the magic on this side of existence. So he had exercised what little free will he had left and given his tormentors a final 'fuck you.’ I hoped there was a Heaven and he found his wife waiting for him there. The triple downside of all this was that we were all going to be late for work, I was now the only male in a two block radius and the women were crowding in on me. A few were clearly worried that I might become inspired to join Steve by ending my life. I wasn't sure how that would work, the metro had already stopped and wasn't going anywhere until the paramedics removed Steve's body. Some wanted to be comforted. A person had died and they were suitably shaken by the event. Of course, there were always the ones who found this to be an opportunity to grope me yet again. Ambrosia, Fatima and Carrie appeared to have formed a coterie. I would have been more scared, but I'd seen this behavior before. Girls could readily accept a three (or four)-way and getting male enhancement drugs was insanely easy. The precautions were the same. Don't take food or drink from anyone (a man could spike an offering just as well as woman), keep to public places and don't let them into your house, or go to their house, ever. As it was, we bought some drinks from vending machines and waited around for the police to process us. Detective Somerset Trainer looked both physically tired and happy to see me. Not happy as in 'hey, how are you doing' but happy as in 'I'm going to take great joy in crushing your nuts', figuratively speaking. My testicles were far too valuable to be ground into putty, but she could dream. She had a patrolwoman retrieve me from my protective cordon of females. "Mr. Jensen," Somerset greeted me intensely. "Is this the cry-baby?" her partner chimed in. "What, is your tampon rammed in too tightly?" I blurted out. What the fuck was I saying? And the area around us got quiet too. "Detective Gayle Seger," the woman extended her hand. I looked down at her hand then up at her face once more. I didn't shake the offered hand because I didn't feel like having my bones ground together. I couldn't win a brutal handshake contest with a cop. If I prevailed, I had assaulted her and if I lost and complained, I wouldn't be taken seriously. "You talk a lot," Gayle commented. "I'd be quiet if you'd let me," I bantered. "Hell, I'd never talk to a cop again if you would let me." "We want you to talk. We'd really like it if you made sense from time to time as well," Somerset stated. "In our experience, bravado normally indicates the perpetrator is hiding something," Gayle continued. "Are you hiding something, Mr. Jensen?" "Clearly not my dislike for you and your ilk," I glared back. "Are you here to solve the mystery of what happened to Steve this morning or did you come all this way to chap my ass?" Somerset looked to Gayle, who shrugged. They would have a go at me later today no matter what. "What happened to Steve?" Somerset inquired. I was glad I didn't blurt out 'he escaped.’ "He jumped in front of the metro," I told them. "Are you sure he fell deliberately?" Somerset continued. "Absolutely. He even waved good-bye to me before he did it," I tried not to smile. "Why didn't you stop him?" Gayle interrupted. "I don't normally tackle people who wave at me," I stated deadpan. "Wasn't it obvious to you what he was going to do?" Somerset persisted. "No," I looked at her as if she was an idiot. "The metro was pulling up. Steve rode the first car while I rode the third. I assumed he was preparing to board like every other passenger and like he had done the three previous days I'd seen him. We never talked." "I thought you men stuck together?" Det. Trainer queried. "Drugs had rendered Steve a zombie," I reminded them. "He wasn't defending anyone. He couldn't even defend himself." "Who would he have to defend himself from?" Somerset prodded me. I lowered my head and tried not to cry at the blatant stupidity of that question. It was meant to annoy me and we all knew it. They were sex crimes after all. They had no excuse for ignoring that segment of male reality that include being groped in public. "You are the detectives, detect," I replied. "As I said, we never talked." "Yet you felt entitled to say he couldn't defend himself," Somerset recounted. "You have a gun. You can defend yourself," I pointed out. "He was a fifty-five year old man on so many drugs he could barely stand up with no obvious weapons, thus my observation was that he couldn't defend himself. Maybe if your system hadn't given him so many drugs we wouldn't be having this conversation." "I didn't know you were an expert on our drug policies," Somerset sneered. That was stupid of her. "You are right," I sneered right back. In a very loud voice I added, "Because it has been four years since I've been on your drug regimen after I was raped by a police officer." I was giving into my rage after all these years and it felt liberating. It was also death by slow suicide and I knew it. "Keep your voice down," Det. Seger growled. "How about I do your job for you?" I stared. "Steve committed suicide. No one was close to him when he jumped. He was smiling and that should be attributed to him slowly lowering his drug doses so as to not set off his bracelet's sweat sensors. His suicide note will be in an empty box in the freezer." "How do you know any of that?" Somerset regarded me. "I saw his face as he jumped. No one was closer than two meters. Having been on the drugs, I know how hard it is to focus on a full dose, and if I wrote a note, that's what I'd do because you never know if some police swine is hijacking your security system," I ticked my points. "That is very paranoid of you and sounds like you've contemplated ending your own life," Gayle smiled as if she'd tricked me. "My suicidal thoughts are in my therapy notes from when I was sixteen. Don't give me any crap about confidentiality. I know you've already accessed them," I shrugged. "The law states that the appropriate law enforcement agency is authorized to spot check any person under a government controlled drug regimen, including visual surveillance," I quoted from the Gender Inequality Act. "That means you can and do peek in from time to time. To write a suicide note and not get caught, you write it inside a box." "You put it in the freezer so that someone will read it. An empty box in a freezer is weird after all," I reasoned. "Wow, Summer," Gayle chuckled. "We should give Mr. Jensen all our cases. He's a freaking wizard. The rest of us can go home." "I agree," I bit back. "I'd make a great cop except for the fact that I'm not greedy, venal, corrupt and or incompetent. I also have a cock, but not a gun. If I had a gun, I'd be tempted to make you pay for your blind arrogance and gleeful viciousness." I could tell the only thing standing between me and an epic case of police brutality was the crowd of over one hundred female commuters bearing witness to every word being said. "There won't always be a crowd around you," Gayle muttered. "Let's go then," I shrugged. "I'm tired of being afraid of you and your breed. Get it over with." "I'll take care of this Gayle," Somerset ordered. "I'll take Mr. Jensen out of here. Make sure the investigative unit assigned to Mr. Rosenberg's (Steve's) house checks the freezer for an empty box." "Are you sure you don't need a hand?" Detective Seger asked. "You wrap things up here and I'll meet you at the station," Somerset replied. "Come with me, Mr. Courageous." I had to admit that when we stepped out into the sunlight, I had to repress the impulse to run for it yet again. Where would I go? "Get in front," she directed me as I went for the passenger rear door. That would put me in easy reach, not something I was looking forward to. I got in, buckled up and stared straight ahead as Detective Trainer pulled out into traffic. "You are not so mouthy now," she noted. "Did you ever hold the illusion that you were a good person?" I responded. "It's going to be fun breaking you," she smiled at me. Oh shit. By my facial expression, she knew that I got the veiled reference to Isobel Diaz, the Mayor's Chief of Staff. Yesterday afternoon she had promised to 'break me' too. "Did you really think you would get away with your 'illusions'?" Somerset laughed. "Not really," I muttered after a moment. She huffed in amusement. "Why did you do it, mouth off?" she asked after a minute. "Not that it really matters. Once she set her sights on you, you were pretty much hers." "It felt good," I answered with a rekindled passion. "I felt free. You wouldn't understand." "What a whiny little bastard," she snorted. "Right, life is so tough for you

Vanishing Manhood: Part 2

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 2 IN A WORLD CONTROLLED BY WOMEN, ISRAEL JENSEN STARTS TO COME APART. 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/VanishingManhoodPart02.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/02Angel2.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/02Angel2.jpg] "Do you get off fucking with my head?" she grumbled. "You feel free lying to me," I said. "Why should I treat you any differently?" "I'm a, You don't care that I'm a cop; that I am trying to keep you safe?" she replied. "I have no respect for your profession," I pointed out, "or faith in your ability to keep me safe. That is the truth." She fidgeted around the door, first reaching for the door knob then stopping and half turning my way. "Can I ask you for a favor, a big favor?" she muttered. It took me nearly a minute to respond. "Unlike most women, I believe in reciprocity," I told her. "I'll listen." "Would you kiss me? Just one kiss," she whispered. "I'll fully understand if you don't want to and I'll leave if you say 'no.’" "After what we just went through, do you realize how bizarre that request is?" I queried. "I attacked you on your sofa," she finally looked at me. "Yes, I know." "Knowing how I feel about contact with women you are still asking this of me," I mused. It wasn't a question; I was trying to reason this out. "You are right," she sighed and put her hand on the door knob, ready to leave. "Not going to get your kiss?" I inquired as I stood up. "Stop screwing with me," she shook her head with her back still to me. She opened the door. "You are a woman and a cop, which is kind of redundant," I explained, "but I don't think you were ordered to spend time with me. That makes me believe that for whatever twisted reason you treat me as if I have something above my shoulders besides a smile and nice hair." Angel shut the door as I walked up to her. I cupped her jaw line tenderly in both hands before leaning in for a kiss. When my tongue darted across her lips, she opened up and let her tongue come out to play. Slowly she placed her hands on my hips, not pulling me in but showing a reluctance to let me slip away. After a minute I retreated. "Where the fuck did that come from?" Angel panted. "That was fantastic. I thought you didn't like women, or interacting with women." "Part of my therapy was making me comfortable with sex," I told her. "They taught me all kinds of things." When they said they wanted me to be a productive member of society what they really meant was that they wanted me to screw. "Thank you," she smiled. "You are welcome," I gave a weary grin. "Now, would you please leave?" "Absolutely," she nodded. When she left I leaned against the door, slid down and started to cry. The thing was, I was beginning to like Angel but I couldn't trust her because she was a woman. I desperately wanted to avoid going down that road again. Wednesday's metro trip was surprisingly intense. My only excuse was that I had not put several of the local news outlets on my 'must do first' list. I had planned to do some reading on the ride to work. I had the sickening sensation that more women were paying attention to me than normal and it didn't take them long to close in. The most unusual things they asked me was if I was 'okay', if I was 'safe' which I thought was a reference to the press conference, and if there was anything they could do. I've heard that last one before but not with that level of compassion and worry. In a strange way, I believed they thought that by hovering close around me they were protecting me, not freaking me out. I felt like a field mouse caught in a stampeded of lemmings or a hidden gazelle calf being stalked by a leopard. Then I read the local news leads and it all made sense. I had the wrong metaphor. I was a gazelle alright. I was a male gazelle and the lionesses had just figured out that unseen crocodiles had been picking off my brethren at the watering hole. A subliminal panic was setting in. It wasn't a rational response; such things rarely are. Statistically speaking, there weren't enough men to go around. That was the cold, logical fact that women had learned to deal with, but, most women believed they would be one of the lucky ones, get a male and pass on their genetic heritage. This morning, the main story was that nearly 2,000 men in my age group had gone missing and that the local, state and federal authorities had no leads. Technically, the missing were a very tiny number. It wasn't the number that mattered to the women around me; it was the fact that I symbolized their vanishing opportunity to 'succeed' as a female member of the human race. Oh yeah, and they even had the local number of male disappearances right, 24. The women had scanned my wrist band that held my sexual identity and verified that I had no attachments. Their instinct was to protect me and hold me close. Not one of them asked me if this was what I wanted, though I could tell some of them noticed the fear in my eyes. The desperate relief with which I regarded Debra when she approached me on the metro made me feel cowardly ill. "Debra," I choked out. There was some raw hunger in her countenance, but also some genuine concern over my state of agitation. "Hey, Israel," she smiled. "Can I, uh, sit with you?" I hopped out of my metro seat and let Debra take my place. None of the dozen women hovering around abandoned me though. "Debra?" one of the more aggressive ladies asked, I think her name was Ambrosia. "Yesterday, Debra? Is it true he went down on you right off the bat?" "Yes and it was divine," Debra giggled. It was too much to hope that either woman would respect my privacy, or private acts. "The actual sex was even better." "And that was in a bathroom stall," Ambrosia murmured. "Think about what he would be like on a real bed." Debra sighed dreamily. The other women kept crowding in. Common wisdom was that passive women didn't get a man. They had to get out there and get a male's interest then rope him in. Men could play hard to get, but they were never 'not interested'; that was crazy talk. Thus my shivering was interpreted as repressed sexual tension, not stark raving terror. Did I have time for something this morning? No, I was already in trouble for being late yesterday. What about this evening? I was buried in work. This weekend? I was attending a Complex Party, neighbors only and I felt obliged to go with the woman who invited me. The irony of me 'escaping' to work was not lost on me. Security took extra care of me going in. No, they weren't gentle. They seemed to believe I had developed the audacity to kill myself and take a few of them with me as I did. This probably had more to do with the revelation of my 'encounter' in college, no one in authority would call it rape, so I was now considered worthy of special attention. They couldn't call me unstable; I had to do something stupid first. Back in therapy my doctor told me I was too good looking to be ignored. She told me that was a good thing because it would make women want to protect and nurture me. I would have plenty of partners and make them very happy. I'd do my part and save the World. I have no idea how many of those sorority girls I knocked up, if any. I was still horrified by the idea that I'd left any of my progeny under any of their care. I could have checked online but since I was powerless to do anything, I didn't torture myself with the knowledge. I managed to slip into the office with seconds to spare. Bethany came by to check, looking a bit agitated. "What you said yesterday was uncalled for," she broke down and stated. "Please, Bethany," I groaned. "Do we,” I stopped myself. I was getting nowhere. "I was really tired," I tried again. "It was an emotional outburst after a stressful day." "In that case, I forgive you," Bethany smiled. "You can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner tonight." No, I would rather chew on power lines. "I'm interested in someone else," I didn't quite lie. "That woman who came by Monday?" Bethany lectured me. "She's way too old and not really good looking enough. Remember what Miss Silverhorn said, you only date attractive girls from here on out." Kristi was what, thirty? When did that become too old? "Detective Kristi isn't that old," I muttered. "You can do better," she crowded me in my cubicle. In the old days, I heard there were things like staplers and letter openers that cubicle workers could use to defend themselves. Everything at my workstation was bolted down, thus useless as a tool to drive Bethany away. "I have to go to the bathroom," I evaded. "Okay," Bethany purred, "but I expect you to take me out to dinner." I fled the room like the eviscerated shell I had devolved into. Shelter came in the form of a stall, sitting on the toilet seat, knees drawn up to my chin. It wasn't courage that helped me fight back the tears. It was the hard won knowledge that tears left the eyes puffy and that would lead to women asking me even more questions I didn't want to answer. Bethany was back at her own station when I returned. After that, I buried myself in my work. My co-workers stopped by to check up on me with essentially the same inquiries as the metro crowd, but with the added bonus of wanting to exchange contact information with me. This time I surrendered. I had little doubt they couldn't wrangle a favor with someone in Human Resources to give it to them anyway. At 9:05, my day got worse. A call was forwarded to me. It was the reporter from yesterday's press conference. "Israel Jensen," I answered. "Eloise Granger from The Sentinel," she answered. "We chatted briefly yesterday. Do you recall what we discussed?" "Yes. I see your story went national. Congratulations," I said. "Do you still feel safe?" she hinted at something I couldn't figure out. "Sure, why wouldn't I?" I hedged. "With all the disappearances, I wasn't positive what kind of spin you would put on it," I could see her grin on the screen mocking me. "If you are fishing for a statement, you are not going to get one," I countered. "Really?" she snorted. "So four more men in your age range going missing last night doesn't affect you at all?" Oh Mother-fucking God! "Four nation-wide?" I mumbled. "No; 96 nationwide," she supplied. "Only four in the city. We were lucky." "Right before the story broke?" I pieced things together. "My goodness," she laughed. "A man capable of independent rational thought. How unique." My rage was yelling at me to say 'blow it out your ass', but that could get me in trouble. "Well, if I don't show up to work tomorrow you may infer that I am less than pleased with law enforcements progress on this matter," I met her sarcasm with sarcasm of my own, "but for now, I'm not worried." Miss Granger laughed again. I figured she was a Miss and not a Mrs. because married women tended to take great pride in their status, kind of rubbing it in people's noses. "Can I quote you on that?" she chuckled. "If I say 'no' will it stop you?" I sighed. "No, but since I'm cultivating you as a contact I thought I would be polite," Granger snickered. "Is that what this is?" I muttered. "In that case, have a nice day and goodbye," I said before hanging up. After taking a deep breath, I fired off a message to Miss Silverhorn with the gist of my talk with Miss Granger. I was a civil servant with my career skating on the edge. The last thing I needed was for my boss to believe I was leaking anything to the press. Right after I received confirmation from Francesca, a message from Miss Chen arrived. “Your presence is requested at a private function this Saturday at 9 p.m. Dress casually. A car service will pick you up at your door at 8:15 p.m., Bi Chen.” The only thing I could decide on right away was that there was no way I was going. Come on, no address, clothes that could be easily removed and no hint on when I could expect to get home. “Thank you for the polite invitation but I must regretfully decline. I have a previous engagement for the date in question. Sincerely, Israel Jensen.” I had no illusion this was the end of it. Refusing women with power and privilege rarely ended well. I had to plot out my next move. “Mr. Jensen, the Mayor's office would truly appreciate you reconsidering our generous offer to engage your time this Saturday evening. Best wishes, Bi Chen.” Not only was that a polite threat, it didn't cross the frontier of sexual harassment, yet. I had to think of the best way to tell her that I would rather spend a night in a coffin full of spiders. “Miss Chen, my current circumstances make it impossible for me to break my appointment at this time. I hope you have a nice evening. Israel Jensen.” My evasion was total crap. It was a complex party; undoubtedly a casual affair that I could exit after a brief appearance. I was unsure how Miss Chen would penetrate my deception but I'm sure she'd try. Twenty minutes later I was called to Miss Silverhorn's office. To emphasize how fucked my situation was, Bethany's look as I passed by was full of concern and sympathy. "Israel, Miss Diaz wants you to attend a party Saturday evening," Francesca stated when I entered her office without even looking up from her screen. "Is that advice, a suggestion, or an order?" I countered. Now Francesca looked up. "It is advice," she mused. "You are pretending to be rather pugnacious today." "Advice noted. Can I go back to work now?" I asked. "Fine," she sighed. "Consider this a suggestion. Going to this private affair will help your career." "I seriously doubt there will be anyone there I want to meet," I replied. I was clearly losing my mind at this point. "Isobel Diaz wants you to be there, Israel. I seriously think you should reconsider," Miss Silverhorn stressed the point. "That's an extra reason for me not to go," I muttered. "If you make it an order, I want it in writing. Make a note that you are telling me to prostitute myself to your superiors. Whoever's career this helps, it won't be mine so stop pedaling that angle." "Israel, your attitude hasn't improved since yesterday," she regarded me. "That's okay. I didn't want to sleep with you anyway," I noted. "What?" Francesca balked. "Where did that come from?" "Since you don't respect me as a writer, I assumed you wanted me for sex," I stared. "Have you lost your damn mind?" she studied me. "Probably. I thought that treating you like a walking vagina with attachments would help you understand what it is to be treated like a cock with a voice box," I responded. "That's not your job," she pointed out. "Neither is providing sexual services to campaign contributors," I stated deadpan. There was no immediate response to that. "May I go back to work now?" "Go," she dismissed me. I heard her snort with amusement as I left. I wasn't sure how I made it back to my desk. The next few hours flew by. Wanda, one of my co-workers, ordered us some Indian take-out because the shit storm from the mass kidnapping story was making the group create a variety of spin to deal with the 'crisis.’ I was only doing proof-reading but it kept my mind busy and my emotions bottled up. At 1:30 Miss Silverhorn came by my desk to see how I was doing. The Mayor wanted me to stand with her at a press conference at 4:30 and Francesca wanted to assess if I was up for it. She wasn't able to judge my current level of stability by looks alone. "If it wasn't for the Mayor's insistence, I'd keep you back this time," she informed me. "And don't even think about refusing," she added. "That never occurred to me," I told her. "This is part of my job description as outlined by you on Monday. You don't need to worry. I'll do my job." "I hope so. The Mayor isn't going to take the hit if you screw this up, I will," she told me. I had no real comeback for that. In a quirk of our culture, I could only be held to so much accountability because no group of women would believe a man had real authority. The rest of the experience went pretty much as expected until I came out of the bathroom after 'prepping' myself for the stage. Selma, Miss Silverhorn's second in command, began chatting away at me while taking quick peeks at the bulge in my pants. Once past that constant uncomfortable feeling that I was marginalized as a human being, I realized she was giving me a total catalog of useless political tripe to regurgitate to the press if questioned. I didn't mind (too much) being treated like I was stupid, but I hated acting like a moron. I had never completely abdicated my sense of self-worth. I had more than my share of days where I doubted the wisdom of struggling on. I kept going on anyway and that was why I wouldn't be parroting this garbage if the situation came up. It came up five questions into the press conference. This time they didn't seek the Mayor's permission. A lady for Global News Network fired one right at me. "So, Mr. Jensen, after yesterday's boast, how do you feel now?" Maribel Cartwright challenged me. I was still in possession of enough of my faculties to look to the Mayor for permission first. She grudgingly gave it. "I am heartened by the willingness of authorities at all levels of government to take this to the press as they work on this dilemma threatening our society," I responded calmly. "No, I do not feel as safe today as I did yesterday," I imagined the Mayor cringing and Miss Diaz stabbing virtual daggers in my back. "No one feels safe when threatened by a hurricane. That's living in denial. Panicking, fleeing to the hills or cowering in your basement are also fruitless. To survive as a group, we band together, utilize all our resources and see this crisis through to the end. I am not aware of any agency holding back on this matter," I declared. "I do not feel safe but I do know that the government, from the Mayor and city council on up, is the only true option that can restore this situation so that all men can feel safe eventually," I concluded. I didn't feel like an idiot. I felt like a traitor to my gender. Logically I understood that screaming at my brethren that the women couldn't defend us so we would have to defend ourselves was pointless, the establishment would simply sweep my statement away as the ramblings of a deranged crack-pot. So I played nice and kept my job. I fielded a few more questions after that. The final one was almost too much. "Mr. Jensen, those are very tight pants you are wearing. You seem happy to see us this afternoon," she chuckled. Yeah, I shivered. For a second I was back to being that gazelle calf, but this time I was surrounded by a pack of hyenas. "I'm in a room full of beautiful ladies," I forced a grin. "What do you think?" The press corps laughed. The pretty boy made a 'funny.’ That was the end of the focus on me. After the conference ended and I entered the elevator, Selma lit into me. "What the hell was that?" she snapped. "Weren't you listening to the approved responses?" I took a deep breath; 3, 2, 1. "