Vanishing Manhood: Part 11

Vanishing Manhood: Part 11

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 11 MEN’S RALLY AND RIOT 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/VanishingManhoodPart11.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/11Aurora11.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/11Aurora11.jpg] The Persians marshalled all the nations under the Sun and Stars yet they were defeated by a single idea: Sacrifice, and their inability to appreciate it. After tonight, we would become a democracy because I could trust the group to see beyond gender and into the ideas and ideals of the speaker. True democracy was not about the tyranny of numbers, but consensus. Consensus was the result of the belief that everyone in the group, even the opposition, had worth, they counted. How in the Hell, after all the wrong turns my life had taken, could I still believe I was an idealist? It was simple. I had not let them win. In a very crude, sexual way it was that I had the confidence in one girl, my first date, to ask her to hold off on true intercourse and she respected my wishes. In the kaleidoscope of my fractured mind, that memory burned through. Listening to the women in my living room talking while I dressed in the bedroom, a tiny shiver of one memory collided and melded with another. No women I had ever known had not betrayed me in one way or another. That was the terror of distrust for me, but, no woman, or man, was perfect. They would all betray me, sooner or later. I now understood this wasn't bad. It was human nature. We all let people down around us, even the ones we cared about. Pain had led me to hunt for perfection. That was a pointless quest and a pursuit that led to madness. What I should have been looking for was restitution. Did that person know they had wronged me and were they trying to make it up to me? The same held true for me. Was I a true friend, looking after those I had wronged and balancing accounts with them as well? Honesty, Truth and Love, the harshest bitches on the block. I meditated for twenty minutes before heading back to my assembled friends. "You look nice," Kuiko beamed. "Really nice." "Thank you," I blushed slightly. More Bethany clothes. "That wasn't a compliment, you jerk," Capri glared. "Last chance. This is stupid." "Noted and acknowledged, Miss O'Hara," I nodded. "I need a taxi." I pulled out my phone and began looking up taxi services. My phone rang. “FBI across the street” it read. I shuddered. I wasn't upset. I was peeved. “Do you like my new underwear you Pervs?” I hung up. I didn't care if they liked my underwear. "Them?" Capri asked softly. "Yeah." "Damn it, you just took a shower, shaved and got dressed. Can't they leave you alone for an hour?" she griped. "Who?" Roni got out first. "Santa's Little Helpers," Capri grumbled. "I really ought to do something about them." "Let us not revisit the whole 'you dismembered in the morgue' thing, shall we," I requested. "Besides, I gave them a piece of my mind this time." "Not the sexy part!" Kuiko blurted out. "What did you do?" Capri studied me. "I called them pervs," I declared. "No, I did not, Kuiko. The sexy is all for you." She smiled. "Oh yeah, that will do it," Capri pressed her wrist to her forehead and announced dramatically. "What do I want to do more," Venus mumbled, "fight over the sexy or find out what the hell is going on?" "Perverted Santa's Little Helpers who leave dismembered bodies in the morgue and have an apparent issue with Israel naked or semi-naked," Roni mused. "Capri, after he leaves, you are going to do some explaining." "I think this is my cue to leave," I told the room then headed for the door. "Aren't you going to call a taxi?" Aniqua reminded me. "The FBI is going to drive me there," I grinned. "What makes you say that?" Samantha gulped. "When the alternative is letting me flag down a cabby that may, or may not, be homicidal, my bet is they'll drop me off at the arena," I explained. "Makes sense to me," Kuiko nodded. "If I had a car, I'd give him a ride." "Kuiko, for once I agree with you," Venus muttered. "I'm not as dumb as I look," Kuiko turned that 1000 watt smile on Venus. "Of course you are not," Roni chortled. "Otherwise you couldn't walk and talk at the same time." I went around and kissed each one of them, on the lips. Normally that should have made them happy, but they kept looking at me like they'd never see me again. Clever girls. I left the complex and scanned the streets. There was the car, at the edge of a car park down the street. It wasn't as if there were many car owners in this part of town. I hurried across the street and I was whistling. Special Agent Sosa lowered the window as I approached. Across from her was S A Saris, also with Dimple's team. "Yes?" Sosa sighed. "When staking out a place it sort of blows our cover if you walk right up to us, by the way." "That's cool," I grinned. "We aren't staying here anyway. I need a ride to the Arena." "Do we look like a taxi service?" Sosa smirked. "I'm going, you are following. We might as well make it easy on us, save a few volts," I reasoned. "Get in," Saris grumbled. I gladly did so and off we went. "Planning to get arrested?" Saris asked. "Planning? No. Expecting it to be a possibility, yes," I admitted. "Any news?" "Dr. Fremont is still missing, but her company hired a GlobeMaster to haul a whole lot of something to Bolivia," Sosa answered. Seeing my confusion, Saris added. "A GlobeMaster is a really big aircraft, used for hauling freight, not passengers." My impulse was to say 'can you shoot it down,' but the illegality of the action was stunning. "Anything on your front?" Sosa inquired. "Let me see, my Capri's Mom wants her to be a cum-dumpster, seven girls stopped by my place today to drag me out of my home and make me their bitch. My tribe made them back down, this time. Now my ladies are camped out at my place, murdering my AC unit and praying I make it back home in some sort of working order," I outlined. "Why did they let you go? Are they some kind of pansies?" Sosa mocked. "I'd hit you upside your head for that comment, but you are driving, armed and most likely a much better fighter than me," I replied. "They are not pansies. They risked harm for me today." "What happened at the firefight today, anyway?" Saris asked. "Not really sure," I lied. "Bullets were flying and I was running for my life." "You didn't see anything?" she persisted. Damn her interrogation abilities. "Wait, with guns going off I thought you would be happy I was running away," I evaded. "Why didn't you wait for Agents Vabishi and Fraklos to get there?" "Capri and I got across the street so we ran for it," I shrugged. "Next time, lay flat and we'll come get you," Saris told me. "Thanks, G I Jane," was my snarky comeback. "Maybe if you let me have some sort of combat training I'd know what to do next time." I was making light of things, but in the back of my mind, like a cornered badger in the dark, I knew I was in a vehicle with two women I didn't know. It wasn't like I could tell myself they were law enforcement agents and feel better. Kwan, Riga, Seger and Somerset had all be cruel to me in some way. Dimples' crew had tackled me on the ground, intimidated me, deceived me, torn away my rights and played upon my feeble psyche. Trust hadn't placed me in this car, expediency had. The FBI was the best chance I had to get to the Arena intact. I doubted they would have appreciated me defining their actions as our evolving tribalism. I was their investment, so it behooved them to take me safely to my destination. I didn't believe they yet understood that they had stopped working for the Director of the FBI, or the Attorney General and had become self-employed. They may have had this delusion that this would end up with criminal indictments against the people behind the Big Lie and Carabolix-37, but that was an unsustainable fantasy. Once the system betrayed them, as it had betrayed me so often, Dimples' crew would know that escape was the only option left. It was obvious to me the moment I saw Dimples. She would never let them win. She was the only one allowed to win. I didn't count the freebie she threw my way. That was a draw at best. The ride to the Arena turned out to be nothing much. I was dropped off. Men, and cops, were all around. I dutifully showed my I D to Arena Security, they triple checked it and then brought a coordinator to check it one more time. They realized I was in the front third of the arena floor seating. I had a nice folding chair on the outer aisle. The coordinator decided that was a bad idea so she had me exchange seats with a guy in the middle of my row. I knew why this was, though I only had theoretical knowledge how a rally would work. When the authorities left, having neutralized me, I politely went to the man I had exchanged seats with and asked him to switch back. He seemed dubious, but when I explained that all the blame would be foisted on me, he relented. See, here is how it worked. First your Talking Heads would get up and make their speeches. Then would come the long question and answer portion of this farce. Women would walk up and down the aisles, men would raise their hands, wave and asked if they could present a question. In a totally democratic process, these women on the aisles would provide a sound system for the men to ask the speaker their question. The speaker answers, on to the next man. As you might guess, men sitting on the aisle seats had the best chances of being heard. Men stuck in the middle were out of luck, men like me and my 'new' assigned seat. Men like me in my original seat, were potentially dangerous. Still, things went along very smoothly until the tenth question. Up to that point, the speakers had done their thing with the basic theme being 'all you men are appreciated, doing your part, and we love you.’ Not that they were going to do a damn thing to help us beyond patting us on the head, but they loved us. They loved us because we were doing what we were told. The men in the audience ate it up. It was what they wanted to hear. I imagined that handing us all 'little lamb' outfits to wear would have been counter-productive to their agenda, though it certainly would have been more appropriate to how these women viewed the situation. It was clear to me that all the questions the men in the audience were asking were scripted. Some had to actually look down at their phones when reading off their instructions. Most adults don't like being treated like six-year olds, so they ignored this mounting stupidity until Man 10 stood up, was recognized and read off his question. He was around fifty and clearly in a prosperous profession, positive he was a member of the winning (female) team. "Is it true that at this very moment Congress is voting on increasing the cycle from 28 days to 14, and abolishing marriage?" he asked. There was a hush. By the dumbstruck expression of the woman on stage, this was not the prepared question. The problem wasn't moving the cycle to 14 days. Men were prepared to knuckle under and do their part for the Human species. But marriage? Men loved marriage. They didn't love the idea of finding love, getting married and living happily ever after. That was idiotic. No, men loved marriage as our last refuge from a women's world. Gaining 'attachments' was a warning flag we could wave at other women, telling them 'hey, we are doing our part, so please, leave us alone.' Marriage was your shield and armor. It was 'Don't touch. I'm with somebody!' The hope was that if someone did do something to you, your wife would scream bloody murder and things would get done. She was a woman after all. Marriage had been preserved in the Gender Inequality Act because most of the signers were either married or had been recently married and lost a loved one to the Plague. I imagine they thought it was a quaint institution that would gradually fall to the wayside as society progressed. At the start, it looked that way. The number of marriages did slowly decline for thirty years, but about ten years ago, the trend began reversing. When a man is in his late teens, early and mid-twenties, going out with lots of girls sounds nice. Women pay for everything, they take you to nice places and if you end up in the three- or four-way occasionally, well, you've got the stamina for it. When you hit your late twenties and early thirties, men start slowing down. Pulling a train on a Saturday night, all night, becomes a burden you could do without. About that time, marriage starts looking good. You've probably been in a few attachments. You pick the one you can live the best with and who has the best financial status and you keep dropping hints until she realizes what you really want and she pops the question. Congratulations, you only have to screw one women for the rest of your life. Okay, maybe her sisters, your mother-in-law and her boss, but still, that's not too bad. Ten years ago, that generation of men who grew up after the plague were hitting their thirties and they were taking a renewed interest in the dying institution of marriage. Men got interested, women got real interested. For women, it meant no more desperate hunting every weekend. You wanted cock? Call your husband, tell him to be home by six and wear something sexy and it got done. Best of all, you could make that call, look around your office and see all your female co-workers dripping with jealousy. If you truly wanted to turn the screws, during that call, you told your hubby to take some enhancement drugs because you wanted it deep and hard all night long. By this time in our social evolution, men didn't mind being treated like that too much. We had safety. As married men started to bask in their safe status, their unmarried brethren began wondering if marriage would be a good idea for them, too. More took the plunge and most of them were marrying up social and financially. As I keep repeating, women aren't stupid. When rich, successful bankers began marrying sales clerks and custodians, the social stigma of marrying beneath your station evaporated in the burning reality that they had their genetic future waiting at home, willing to do his duty. The floodgates were open. More married men meant fewer men in the fishing pool. That meant greater pressure on the remaining men, who were now opting into marriage to relieve that pressure. That meant even greater pressure on the fewer and fewer remaining men. Last year the marriage rate began its climb toward 30%. From the gender quota point of view, this was a disaster. To put that in perspective, that's thirty percent of all men. Then you have to drop out every male below the age of 16. Then you have to consider that once men are over 59, they need a yearly physical. If something is wrong, you get a limited deferment. That means you don't have to have sex as often. You never get to 'not have sex' unless you are on life support, or a rape victim. There are waiting lists for kidneys, livers and hearts, if you are a woman. If you are a man, they'll slap an artificial heart in you if they have to. Men must perform for the general female population, unless they are married. Back to the question at the Arena. Men had been quietly bleating, nodding our heads, and smiling without real passion until that point. Sudden, like scenting a wolf for the first time, they were very attentive. If you were a twenty-something guy, this wasn't 'good.’ If you were a forty-two year old husband, with a wife, three kids and twelve years of marital bliss, this was disastrous. The government was about to shove you back into the deep end were packs of starving women were going to devour you because your avoidance skills were rusty. You were about to be waking up wondering if the pain coming from your groin was worse than the headache you had from whatever the hell those women drugged you with. Oh, and by the way, you were about to lose your parental rights to your offspring and most of your shared property. Effectively you were being forced to divorce. The magnitude of this was amplified by the speaker. If she had a pat lie handy, she could have defused things because men wanted comforting words more than unforgiving reality. But she stammered. She could have said yes, and that might have been better. By stammering, she told the men that 'Yes, you are boned, but we are going to lie to you about it.’ In my opinion, she did the worst possible thing. "Next question?" That was the equivalent of 'Yes, but you don't deserve to be told about your fates.’ There was no riot over that. No, it was something far, far worse. Before that moment, the 20,000 men in the arena thought they were part of this society. They were deluded into thinking they were equals. They thought I was a lunatic. Now? As a group they came to a consensus and it wasn't a pleasant one. 'They think we are sheep, Mother-fuckers!' This wasn't the crowd that carried dowels this morning but they were starting to wish they had some now. The shift was subtle. Men had been sitting back in their seats. Now they were leaning forward. There had been polite whispered banter. Now there were grim faces and quiet. I jumped up and waved my hands around. The communications girl came my way, was offering me her microphone when she suddenly realized who I was, I wasn't the man they had reassigned to that seat. She back-pedaled and another questioner was immediately tapped to speak. "Let him speak," the man pointed my way. There was a hush. His comm girl backed up as well. Another man was found. He started asking his state-sanctioned question but then the hissing and boos began. The speaker's response was barely audible over the racket. I jumped up again. The next man repeated the plea, though it was more insistent now. "Let him speak!" I wasn't sure what they expected me to say. I wanted some sort of redress to our legal plight, something to defend us against the G E D and the most egregious insults to our dignity. An arena security guard, neat and prim in her freshly pressed uniform, moved from the wall nearby and was clearly coming for me. The world cracked a little more. Five men jumped up around me and they looked angry. "Don't," one of them menaced the guard. Cops would have kept coming. It is what they do, but this was a security guard. She wasn't armed and she certainly didn't like the mood presented to her. She suddenly realized she was down on the floor of the arena, back to a wall with a sea of angry faces looking her way. She stepped back then ran, calling for back-up. It was the most horrible thing she could have done. Two cops were already advancing my way from the front of the arena. The ripple of the men's successful defiance moved through the crowd. The majority of men kept their seats. They had not come to get in a fight. They were not rowdy. In fact, they were becoming afraid as most sane people do when violence approaches. Two patrolwomen came my way. Men rose as they passed by, but they held firm. Courage was the important thing. The belief was if they held firm, the men would back down because they always backed down. I saw Officer Passey and her partner as they closed. They didn't have weapons drawn because they didn't want to spook us. There must have been sixty men standing around me. I was still standing at my aisle seat and no men had left their seats to pour into the aisle so the cops had unimpeded access to me. "Come with us," Passey beckoned. "I haven't done anything wrong," I begged. She grabbed my arm, and then two men hit her. Passe

Vanishing Manhood: Part 10

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 10 DINING WITH MOBSTERS. 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/VanishingManhoodPart10.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/10Roni10.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/10Roni10.jpg] Had my life been a comedy, I would have bumped my noise, looked sheepishly over my shoulder and given a weak smile. I had experienced an infantile urge to run away from the shame, violation and the pain Zara's information brought. My hands had instinctively come up to save my face from impact. My fingers were trying to dig into the stone until my tips felt as if I was tearing the skin off. I loved sex. I loved the pleasure it let me share. What I didn't love was the romantic mystique I tried to weave around that act being torn away, shredded for the entertainment of people I didn't know. How could I protect myself if any woman looking at me had seen me naked, in coquitos? How could I tell who was really a threat if I couldn't see behind their eyes? Step, Capri and Zara were not talking. They were not closing in on me. Step, people passed by. The scuff of their footfalls told me they were looking my way, but not stopping. Step, I had to get out of here. The authorities would come looking and we all had to leave. Gears contacted gears and the machine that was my mind lurched forward once more. I had things to do. People were taking incredible risks on my behalf. Capri and Zara understood what had happened and let me heal, just enough to get my feet back under me. "Let's go," I muttered and we moved down the sidewalk once more. We covered two blocks in silence. "Zara, you are with the government, aren't you?" I began. She gave me a quick look, but didn't respond. "Let me rephrase: you are still an active duty soldier, aren't you?" Now Capri stumbled. "Yes," Zara whispered. "Shit," Capri groaned. "Okay, I understand now," I nodded. We traversed another block. "Fine, what do you understand?" Capri nudged me. "I know who the Vanishers are," I leaned in and replied quietly. Zara's eyes flickered my way again. "You do, don't you?" Zara's eyes blazed with pride in me and wonder. "Either one of you care to enlighten me?" Capri grumbled. "I need to get you off the street," Zara intervened. "The FBI is on its way. I can deal with the cameras and your phones, but not the bracelet." She steered us into a café where the early lunch crowd as only starting to come in. "How do you know he's right?" Capri prodded Zara. "The last two questions he asked," she seemed almost sad to leave us, me. "Zara, take off and stay safe," I told her. "I don't think I would want to do this without you." Zara had a twinkle in her eye, nodded then left. Capri and I moved to a nice corner table. I took the seat that would allow me to watch the door and most of the café. "Okay, what's going on?" Capri leaned in. "You start off with two guiding principles. No large organization creates only one plan to choose from. Bureaucracies throw away nothing. So, twenty years ago, when the Federation and or the U N figured that the current system wasn't working, they planned out various contingencies." "One of those proposals was the 'Vanisher' conspiracy. It was most likely advanced by a small cadre of mid- and low-level functionaries brought in to work on the forecasted collapse. Their idea was obviously rejected because we stayed the course and are now in the fucked up situation we are in now." "The thing was, those planners didn't die and didn't give up on their plan. At the start, they were powerless to do anything. Besides, they had to believe all their idea was doing was postponing the end, not solving the extinction problem. So, they worked on that dilemma,” I said. "And that's you?" Capri doubted. "No. They didn't know about me until five years ago at the earliest and that's highly unlikely. Odds are they found about what Carabolix-37 did to me when everyone else did," I replied. "What happened, happened eight years ago while the W H O was combing over Central Asia building a genetic database." "What they found was the Warlord of Kwaziristan, the last bastion of male rule on the planet." No, the Warlord wasn't some kind of John Carter of Mars. By all accounts he was a castrated, obese, mostly bald and very old man. During the collapse that Plague engendered, Central Asia went under, their political systems, economies and infrastructures broke down. In those last few, chaotic years, a recovering soldier and a small detachment of troops found themselves guarding an orphanage. With the city burning down around them, this man was ordered to take the boys and flee. He went to the only place he figured they could hide out until the fighting died down and the authorities could come rescue him. He went to an old 17th century palace or fortress complex outside his home town in remote Kwaziristan and there he held up while his nation died. Eventually, hope faded and the 'Warlord' began to raid the recovering female tribes for supplies. He had to feed his people. Somewhere along the way, the female tribal leaders figured out he had a large number of young men under his charge. They struck a deal. The Warlord was worried that the women would steal his men. The women wouldn't storm the place because all those men had guns and killing them all would accomplish nothing, except to stop the raiding. The agreement they reached changed everything, though it wasn't immediately obvious. The tribal leaders would send young women up to the fortress. In exchange for making the young women pregnant (or one year to pass), the tribes would pay tribute to the Warlord. The catch? The men inside the fortress chose which woman they would mate with and by mate, they meant live together in the same dwelling for months at a time. It was courtship. It wasn't a plastic romance; it was practical. The men needed the goodwill of the tribeswomen that inhabited the land in all directions. Building up affections and bonds with their female mates was necessary for the survival of the male community. Conversely, the women lived in a mostly male world, from the beginning, the Warlord did have a few female soldiers. Men were lovers, providers, protectors and housemates. They shared in chores, but compared to what the women had to do in their own tribe, it was nearly paradise. Men still had their military duty, but when you had a mate, you were given quarters in the dungeon of the fortress. Carved out from the depths of the hill the fortress sat on, it was much cooler than the baking heat above during the summers and warmer in the winters. Enter the W H O eight years ago doing their survey. They ran across a serious problem. Waziristan’s population was 24% above projections (they were supposed to be dying out) and 2% over their previous level. Waziristan was 'surviving.’ Sure, their tiny population was one Black Death away from annihilation, but their numbers where slowly growing, very slowly. This was great news right up until they found out about the Warlord and his contract with the local towns and tribes. Was the U N really going to say that some old fat eunuch in a clay fortress on a dusty hill in the middle of nowhere was the savior of all mankind? The answer was obvious. The U N sent in advisors and film crews to show the world how barbaric and primitive the Warlord was. He certainly wasn't photogenic. The men seemed enthusiastic enough. They even slept with some of the film crew. They also became very irate when the women picked up and left. After all, hadn't the women agreed to mate with them? Why else would women come to the fortress if not to mate? The local women were a bit peeved too, those were their men those floozies were poaching. The U N began fishing around, seeking to convince some of the local leaders to call in the U N to deal with the Warlord. When the Kwaziri women figured that out they got really pissed. They may have herded goats and sheep, woven wool into fabric and scratched some crops out of the semi-arid soil for a living, but they also knew they had more daughters in this generation than last. They couldn't fight off the U N, there were only a few thousand of them and they lived in near-desert conditions, but they did everything to let those foreign women know they were unwelcome. In one antidotal tale, a U N soldier guarding the mission found a lost lamb and brought it to a local tribeswoman. The woman promptly beat the lamb to death with a stone, explaining to the horrified soldier that the lamb had been contaminated. In the end, the Kwaziri got what they wanted, the outside world left them alone. The W H O took gene, blood, air, water, and soil samples and found absolutely nothing that explained this abnormality. The Big Lie was only starting to sink in. Discovery World devoted a portion of a documentary to the Warlord. A fourteen year old boy saw it and regurgitated that memory to a twenty-one year old man in search of understanding. "I know you are not advocating male rule," Capri studied me. "So what is it?" "A colossal gamble," I sighed. "I am a freaking liberal arts major. I'm not a scientist, certainly not a doctor and definitely not a virologist, but what if, if stress strengthens the Plague, what if the reverse is also true?" Capri mulled that over. "You mean, what if love, compassion and respect, as viewed by the male, weakens the Plague?" Capri mused. "Damn right you are not a scientist." "It was the word Zara used and I believe it was intentional," I persisted. "She said 'courtship.’ She also mentioned men choosing their mates. That's what clicked in my mind." "So this cockamamie scheme of the Vanishers is based on 'love conquering all'? Crap, we are all going to die," Capri muttered. "Hey, I'm not saying I'm a convert, but it is the current idea I'm running with. I'm willing to bet Zara's people studied the Kwaziri for some time too," I countered. "With no cure looming on the horizon, they began recruiting young women from various agencies and branches of service into their plan. Heck, some of the 'Vanishers' may still be thinking this is a sanctioned covert operation. Even those women will want onboard when they understand this society is going down the toilet." "One of the saddest parts of all this is that the women who set this all in motion won't take advantage of it," I bleakly assessed. "The government will be closing in on them now." "I wish I could disagree, but I think you are right," Capri nodded. "If you figured it out, someone who does this kind of detective work for a living has put the pieces together as well." There was no way to hide an operation this big once various intelligence agencies started looking. They would figure out the key military and civilian players. The only thing they could do was to totally detach from the program. Now their baby was out there, running on its own power, directed by people who had already vanished themselves long before any investigation started. "FBI," I warned Capri. Special Agents Fraklos and Vabishi had come in to our hideaway. Vabishi was showing I D to the girl at the counter while Fraklos was coming our way. "How did you get away?" Fraklos seemed truly curious. There was a host of good answers and the truth wasn't one of them. "Come on now," I leaned forward, "Princess Leia didn't beat Darth Ventress, the Empire and the Dark Empress with the help Ewoks alone. She had the help of Admiral Squid." "Gial Ackbar; a Mon Calamari," Fraklos corrected me. "Who?" I questioned. "Gial Ackbar, that was the Admiral's name," Fraklos clarified. "Is that really important right now?" I asked. "Having a bad day?" Fraklos turned to Capri. She was asking if I was having a bad day. "Yeah, pretty much," Capri nodded. "He walked right into a wall about ten minutes ago." "We need to get him out of here," Fraklos shook her head. "Get him somewhere safe. The Capital is screaming bloody murder over his latest stunt." Vabishi had finished making a quick call and joined us. "I can't do it," I stood. "I have a date with a V I M at 12:30." Fraklos stared at me. "Very Important Mobster," I explained. "If I don't show up they will probably do really bad things to Kuiko and I'm not going to let that happen." "What is he talking about?" Vabishi worried. "I am attracted to violent psychopaths and for the love of God, I don't know why," I sighed. "Worse, to hang out with me you have to be insane or prone to fits of brutality. It is how I roll." "There has to be something we can give Israel to keep him on an even keel," Vabishi asked Fraklos. "I'm not good enough at that sort of thing to take the chance," Fraklos then looked to Capri. "Fuck you both," she stood, "I'm a lawyer." My phone rang. 'G E D' it read. I typed back 'ty' and cut the connection. "Time to go," I announced and headed for the kitchen. My guardian angels were working overtime. There are few things as beautiful as competence under stress. Not me. The three women tagging along with a lunatic didn't question me; they divined my intentions and moved to cushion me from the world. By the time we exited the back of the café, Fraklos was in the lead, then me, Capri and Vabishi looking back from signs of pursuit. "Ewoks," Fraklos guffawed. "We need better code words." Ewoks meant Vanishers and Admiral Squid meant I didn't need to be brought in. Next time we would use different words. Dimples said it was a book cipher, essentially unbreakable if you didn't know the material. "Be happy I didn't fall over laughing," Capri snickered. "Israel, you play crazy really well," she added. "I'd feel better about it if you weren't actually crazy." "Who are we evading?" Vabishi spoke up. "G E D," I answered. The problem facing me and Dimples' crew was that we weren't the Vanishers. We couldn't manipulate phone and surveillance feeds. Slipping down alleyways while avoiding loading areas left us in the 'digital dark.’ We were going to reemerge soon. "We are trying to shift through the chatter and figure out who is really trying to get their hands on you," Fraklos clued me in. "Montanyard is building such an air-tight case against you she could patch the Hindenburg," Vabishi stated. "She thinks she can hold them off a week." Shelia could hold off the full weight of the Federation Government for a week, one week. I needed a fucking miracle. (MAGDALENA, ROUND TWO) My two FBI ladies delivered me as close to the Prometheus Club as they dared. Mobsters had eyes too, though this was actually a pointless exercise since the moment 'Little M' asked me what I was up to I would bury her in the minutia of truth instead of the real deal. Capri would stick with me. Mainly because the FBI would have to taser her to keep her from my side. As I entered the restaurant, I was getting a whole new look. It was the 'what in the hell is this guy still doing walking around?' expression. Either I was a maniac or a national resource, or maybe both, not all of them could decide. The maître de pointed me toward the semi-curtained off area. A second later he motioned Capri to the bar. We knew this was going to happen. On my side of the curtain were two women; one sitting, one standing. They didn't look like, well, what I though mobsters would look like. They looked normal. The standing one ran a 'wand' over me then ran her free hand over my frame quickly. "Are you hiding anything?" she finally spoke. I have a love affair with pain. That was all I could think of when I opened my mouth. "I had my knee caps replaced with high explosives. Does that count?" I stated resolutely. She stared at me for a second then this smile crept over her intimidating countenance. "Damn, you really are a nut," she snickered. "This way." She put a hand on my shoulder, I trembled and she led me into the V I P area. Three of the tables were occupied. The closest had Flame and this woman whose face looked like it had lost a head-on collision with a truck. She also looked to be around 250 pounds. The second table, close to an exit, had two Hispanic women who had to be sisters, and pissed that they were missing out on their 'killing kittens' time. I was dealing with being manhandled, near terror, proximity issues, and being in the company of yet more casual killers. Somehow, all of this had to be my fault. Regular men stay locked in their homes. I needed help. I shrugged off the hand on my shoulder and made a bee-line for Flame. There was a 'whiff' behind me as my guide tried to corral me back in, but failed. Flame and her 'buddy' (I was pretty sure it was a woman, or a man with huge pecs) stood up. I extended my hands forward and just above my hips. Flame and I collided. Her hands went to my ass. My right cupped her leather clad left ass cheek while my left wrapped fully around her lower back, touching something big and hard. We did more than kiss. Flame discovered that I had my wisdom teeth removed and I learned that she still had her tonsils. It was also revealed to me that during a French kiss, Flame likes to bite tongue, my tongue, her tongue, it doesn't seem to matter. We were both healthy adults with the experience to know that breathing through your nose is a must. It took us a while to come up for air. I had pulled her up until she was on her toes. Her eyes were boring holes into mine. "I need some strength," I whispered to her. Now, there is no great Gestalt among the insane. There is no shared universe, psychosis, or delusion. What we do share is the fear and pain that comes from being trapped in our own minds. The greatest creation of man, our brains, had betrayed us. We were living a lie because our truths would destroy us. And, worst of all, we were alone. That is why crazy people lash out. It isn't to hurt others, it is to make others stop hurting us, with a reality that we see as a lie. I breached that inky bubble that shrouded Flame's mind. It didn't make her my friend. It didn't stop her from being a beast and a sadist. We were alone together. Each alone, but knowing that the other was in the same condition. It wasn't understanding, it was kinship. Flame reached up with her right hand, made a fist, and lightly tapped me on the forehead. "There you go," she smiled. I returned the smile and let her down. As I turned to walk away, she spanked my ass hard. I kept walking, but half-turned so I could shake a finger at her. "Just for that, no tongue penetration during our next cunnilingus session," I threatened her. "Oh, you love it, Bitch," she laughed. Turning to her buddy, "That guy is loads of fun." Belatedly, I came to Magdalena's table. It was a round table, two-thirds wrapped up in a booth. To my right was this weightlifting scumbag, oily, arrogant and stupid. Sometimes people don't try to hide their ignorance. I wasn't sure this guy even knew what ignorance was, much less how to spell it. He had too much time in a tanning booth, too much chest hair and a cultivated five o'clock shadow. He was also in a chair which suggested he wasn't someone important. Next were two women, dressed nicely, Francesca-nice, not Isobel-nice. They weren't likely to be putting any ships into orbit anytime soon, but they were clever enough to observe before commenting from their booth seats. In the center was Magdalena in a dark blue Kashmir shirt with a plunging neckline. Damn that woman was proud of her big mammaries. Her jewelry was understated, her hair nicely done and her eyes

Vanishing Manhood: Part 9

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 9 ISRAEL’S NETWORK DEBUT. 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/VanishingManhoodPart09.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/09Dimples9.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/09Dimples9.jpg] If you save a thousand, you are soon forgotten. If you save one, you are always remembered. I picked up the phone and made the call. "Eloise, you still want your comment?" I said bitterly. "Of course, Israel," she responded calmly. "A cop in China murdered six men today," I told her. "It looks more like assisted suicide," Eloise countered. "No, absolutely not," my voice shook. "Had those men been able to defend themselves, they would not have been there in the first place. They would have never agreed to go. They wouldn't have even plotted this tragedy out." "They were utterly defenseless. Society rendered them this way. That cop was only the last in a long line of aggressors they couldn't fend off," I was clearly shaking now. "Saying they were suicides implies they had a choice in the matter, they didn't. Her brother had no chance of doing something like this, none." "She found out what he wished for and she made the only real choice to be made, to live or die and she chose from them to die. Those men had a final word alright, it was 'Help!' It is the worst kind of cruelty to blame the victims for the crime. Tomorrow the press is going to say it was suicide because they sat there and were slaughtered like sheep." "Well, duh! You raised us to be sheep. How dare you blame us for acting like sheep when it was suddenly inconvenient for you!" I was screaming. "Their choices were to sit there or fight back but you don't want us fighting back, so they did what you trained them to do. They sat there, exactly like you taught them to." "This time it was a murderess with a knife, instead of a grabby co-worker, a horny cop, or a gang of women looking to party. You certainly didn't want them saying 'no' those last three times, so why are you surprised they couldn't say 'no' to the former? It isn't a matter of scale. It is a matter of learning to make choices and men aren't given that luxury." "Is that all?" Eloise said after a long pause. "Yeah, that's me venting," I sighed. "'Chinese Policewoman murders brother, five others'," she stated. "That is the headline I'm showing my editor. I like the sheep metaphor. I'll use it. Thank you, Israel." "Well, shit," Seneca mumbled. "Tomorrow is going to be ten kinds of messed up. I had better get going." "Yeah," Angel said as she stood to see Seneca to the door. I tagged along until we were all out in the public walkway. "Sorry about that, Seneca," I apologized. "Israel, the public is already unhappy with the police's handling of this Vanisher controversy. Now you want them to think that cops are murdering men too," Seneca stated wearily. "Did we watch the same video?" I grumbled. "She killed all of them, then herself." "They wanted to die," Seneca countered. I held Angel back. Seneca was her partner. "Seneca, were they clinically depressed men off their meds, all of them?" I pointed out. "What about the daycare in Denver? They committed suicide," Seneca reposed. "Exactly!" I declared. "They struck back. What did those Chinese men do? How did they strike back?" "Enough," Angel separated us. "Tomorrow is probably going to be a long day for us, so let's get some sleep." Seneca nodded, doubled-back to hug Angel, then offered to shake my hand. "You make her happy," Seneca explained as I did so. "It is accidental, believe me," I grinned. Seneca snickered, shook her head then left. "Everyone, time to go," Angel announced as we stepped back into my condo. It was my place, but Angel was my girlfriend so it was normal for her to make decisions like this. For all the battles I had won during this long day, I would let this one go. Angel was Angel, I wanted my company to go, and I'd get revenge on her in the bedroom. "Kuiko, you and I are going to have a chat during lunch tomorrow," Angel slipped in there. Oh, hell no, that wasn't going to happen. After people left, I tapped Angel. "Have you thought about getting some of your things and bringing them over here? Toothbrush and stuff like that, maybe a change of clothes," I suggested. "Are you sure?" Angel studied me. "Last time you had to run back to your place I was tuned up by your buddy's buddy," I pointed out. Angel didn't like my explanation but she couldn't deny its validity. "I'll get some things and tell Roni," Angel struggled to sound upbeat. The second Angel was across the hall, I called Kuiko and begged her to come back over. She arrived a minute before Angel returned with an armful of things. "Hey,” Angel began then caught sight of Kuiko. "Put your things in our bedroom and then we can all talk," I directed. Now I was making the calls and was daring Angel to be pissy about my rights in my own home. She returned a minute later. Kuiko was in the comfy chair, I was on the floor with my back to the TV screen so Angel took the sofa. "So, what do you want to talk to Kuiko about?" I dove in. "Something I think two women need to discuss, just between us," Angel evaded. I was not having that. I knew women very well. Angel would steamroll over Kuiko out of instinct, not reason. I wasn't angry with Angel as much as determined to put my stamp on our relationship. "Has Kuiko insulted you?" I started. "No, that's not,” Angel got out. "Has she left her hallway a mess?" I persisted. "No,” she grumbled. "Has she failed to put away her trash properly in the bins?" I glared. "I get it, Israel. You are no Kinsey Millhone, so you can stop now," Angel allowed. "I want to talk to Kuiko about you." This was not a revelation to Kuiko or me. I had no clue who Kinsey Millhone was, but I had to assume whoever she was, she was a better interrogator than me. "Let's talk then," I breathed a sigh of relief. "It is still girl-talk," Angel insisted. I was screwed by her intransience. I wasn't going to hold our affection hostage. That would cheapen what we had. I couldn't give in, that would undercut what little bliss I had accumulated. I had the worst option of all, trust. "Angel, what can I tell you to convince you to accept Kuiko's place in my life?" I pleaded. That wasn't what either expected. Angel mulled over her response. Kuiko eyed the door. "Have less impressive sex!" Capri screamed from the back bedroom. That cut through some of the tension. "Israel, I become upset when any woman talks about having sex with you, when they trumpet to the World how much they liked it, and want more," Angel confessed. "Sorry," Kuiko meeped. "It is not just you," Angel turned on Kuiko. "It is going to be the next girl and the next. God, I hate sounding like some whiney, selfish cunt." "You are not," I comforted her. "I love you and I think you love me, but that doesn't mean I am going to surrender myself to you." "No attachments, no marriage on their terms. For me, your declaration is all I need," I said. "Israel, how often are you going to have sex with other women?" Angel groaned. The emotional shoe was really on the other foot. "Inside, or outside the coterie?" I responded. Angel mulled that over. "Israel, I really, really want to ask you to not have sex with anyone else but me," Angel murmured. Kuiko nearly burst into tears. "But I'm not. I have to trust you as much as you've trusted me. Considering how much I've betrayed that trust, I'm glad you've been patient." "Love, it does not make your life better," I sighed. "It is easier for me," I added, "because I already have so many other psychoses to deal with, this is nothing new." "Not funny, Israel," Angel looked me over. "Argh," she growled as she stood up. She did her best venting when she stood, I was discovering. "I'm trying to give you permission to sleep around, wait," she held up her hand, "but I know it is not my permission to give. I'm struggling to accept this, helplessness." "Thank you, thank you, thank you," Kuiko threw herself on her knees and hugged Angel's waist. "I would have given him up, but I truly didn't want to." For a second, I was afraid Angel was going to yank Kuiko up by the hair and whirl her around the room like some archaic weapon. Angel feigned anger well, she wasn't as out of control as she would lead people to believe. "Kuiko," Angel sighed, "couldn't you have simply typed 'he was good' and left it at that?" Angel hesitantly reached down and patted Kuiko's head. "Angel, I apologize, but it really was the best sex I've ever had, or even read about. I've been such a disaster until Israel. It wasn't just good sex, it was unbelievably good sex," she bubbled. "He made it fun and he made me feel I gave good sex as well." "I, know," Angel reluctantly nodded. "We had sex too." "Damn right," Kuiko smiled up at Angel. "You got five hours. I only got one." Then Kuiko stuck her tongue out at Angel and gave her a raspberry. Angel drank in that defiant display. "You stay right there," she told Kuiko. "I'm going to get my taser and light up your little ass." "He likes my little ass!" Kuiko declared proudly. "You are not helping your case," I muttered. "Kuiko, you do realize when you stood up to those two police officers to protect Israel, you could have been tazed?" she asked her kneeling compatriot. "Yes. You would have too," Kuiko stated. If only she knew. On second thought, being closely acquainted with violence wasn't doing me any good at all. "I'm a police officer," Angel reminded her. "I've been tased, it is part of our training. It is not a pleasant experience, believe me." "I'd still do it," Kuiko pledged. "I know you would, Crazy K. Now that nickname makes sense," Angel smirked. "Still, I think Israel's battle plan has as few of us getting tased as possible." "Are we going to fucking bed?" Capri yelled out from the back again. "Give us a second," Angel yelled back. "Kuiko, what is this about nipple torture?" Whoops. "Oh," Kuiko replied gleefully. "Since I'm naughty, Israel punishes me by suckling on my whole breast whenever we are alone or with our group. I think I'm supposed to learn a lesson." "What lesson would that be?" Angel regarded me suspiciously. "Don't know, don't care," Kuiko beamed. "All I know is his lips, mouth and tongue feel fantastic." "Trust me, I know how good they feel," Angel sighed. "Go home, Kuiko. Just go home." "Okay," Kuiko hopped up. "See you tomorrow, Israel." Off she went. "What am I going to do with you?" Angel regarded me. At least she wasn't angry. "Have less impressive sex!" Capri chimed in. "Can we go to bed now?" Angel looked back toward the bedrooms then padded that way quietly. I stood and followed. We found Capri in pajama shorts, face down on my bed. She had brought her own pillow. There were a host of problems. For starters, my bed was a double. It held two people without too much difficulty. Angel and I were above average sized people, if not overly so. Capri was small, in stature. There was nothing wrong with the width of her hips. Capri was in the middle of the bed so Angel and I couldn't have casual, flirtatious contact. We'd have to reach over her. Angel had just grappled with her 'sharing' issues with Kuiko. Capri's position had no forewarning for either of us, but I was shocked that I was shocked. After all, I had invited a girl into my house. Of course she was going to end up having intercourse with me. I had been so fatigued that I had missed this. It was a scary revelation. Angel took her taser off the top of the dresser. "This one I am going to shoot," Angel announced. "Capri, what are you doing in my bed?" I intervened. "Oh? Am I annoying you two?" Capri muttered from her pillow. "Forgive me. The continents drifted so much while I was waiting, I thought this was now my bedroom." "God, give me one good reason not to spark her snarky ass up?" Angel half-joked. "I, I can't do this," I muttered then slumped against the door. Capri's head immediately popped up. "Israel, I'm sorry," Capri murmured. She sat up, got off the bed and slipped over to Angel. If Angel had any animosity toward Capri, it evaporated. Angel did that for me, put aside her own emotions when I needed her the most. Capri had seen me collapse before, but she associated that with some kind of pressure. Like most people, she associated mental trauma with its physical counterpart. If the person began acting healthier, he or she was getting better, recovering. I didn't have a single knife wound, I had not been thrown under a lawnmower. Figuring out what would flip me out was a nightmare my friends were now sharing in. I had surrendered my safeguards for hope. Even as I was starting to trust others once more, I was trusting myself less and less. I felt those lifeless eyes staring at me, crying out for help and it all felt like too much. (TUESDAY MORNING) "Wake up, Israel," Capri said through my closed door. "Eloise Granger called and she wants you to stop by the Sentinel offices at eight. I'm coming along because I have jack-all job opportunities." "I'm on the floor," Angel called out from the space between the bed and dresser. She probably been afraid that me waking up next to her in bed would send my mind tumbling again, but hadn't wanted to totally abandon my space. She let that warning sink in before she sat up. I didn't even know how any of this had worked out. The last thing I recalled was leaning against my door. Here I was trying to make a statement about male dignity and I had to be put to bed like an infant. "I'm okay, Angel," I told my lover. "Capri, let me slap some clothes on. Any idea what Granger wanted?" "Yeah, I went to law school so I could be a personal assistant, you jerk," Capri chuckled. "She wouldn't tell me so it must be something subversive. That's another reason I want to come along." "Cop listening," Angel grunted. "Israel, good dreams?" "No dreams," I responded. "None I can recall anyway." "Ah, I don't have a pet name for you," Angel realized. "Jerk works for me," Capri intruded. "Shut up!" Angel snapped. "Israel, take a shower." "When do you have to go in?" I asked Angel as I stood, worked around her and began picking out something to wear. She whipped out her phone and dialed her workplace. "Regular time in, but I'm working late, there is an  M A L rally tonight at Blazer Arena," she informed me. "That's bizarrely fast," I worried. Angel met my gaze and nodded. I had no clue if the Blazer Arena was scheduled for something that night, but the Federation could easily wield the pressure to make the owner give up the slot. Getting men to show up wasn't too difficult. They simply downloaded the invitations to our phones, along with the metro routes to take from home or work. With my clothes laid out, I trundled off to take my shower. Had I not kept one fearful eye, and ear, on the door, I would have been happier. I dried off, got dressed and went to the kitchen where Angel and Capri were standing around, not talking. I checked my messages. There was my  M A L invitation along with the date for my Civilian Affairs review, my termination hearing. After several agonizing minutes in silence, Capri finally spoke up. "What's the plan?" she asked. "For starters," Angel broke in, "always assume they are listening in." "As Angel said and right now, we wait," I answered. "I'm hardly the guy who is going to bring society crashing down. Our goal remains the same, escape. Escape implies there not being enough resources around to run us down." "This is so wonderful," Capri remarked sarcastically. "Last week I could happily consider all of this a paranoid fantasy. Yesterday I saw a Writ of Exclusion and I have to admit, it scared the hell out of me." A Writ of Exclusion was the legal vehicle that voided all of a person's civil rights. It was normally used in cases of Treason and Espionage, but in the heyday of the Male Retribution Army, the government had used it broadly to break that terrorist organization. In the decade following the Great Die-out, there had been a small number of men around with police and military training who were now denied their chosen profession. They organized; the government countered with a plethora of legal means to break those groups then some of those frustrated men went underground. The second time around, the men used all sort of legal means to stymie investigations and being former law enforcement, they knew so many tricks of the trade. I doubted I would ever know what really happened, whether the proto-MRA turned militant first, or if the introduction of the Writs of Exclusion turned them that way. What few people remember is that over half of the first sheaf of Writs were against women. They were supporting the proto-MRA legally, morally and financially, mothers, sisters, friends and wives. Eventually, the women were released because the purpose had been to remove them from the equation until the Federation could deal with the men. A whole new regimen of drugs were introduced and the men were 'corrected.’ A few of the survivors lashed out violently against Federation agents and buildings and most fell horribly, or were rounded up. Had the MRA ever been right, that's when it went off the rails. In Spokane Washington, a (girl's) soccer team was coming back from a match when its bus blew up. The footage of firewomen pulling the burnt bodies of high school athletes out of the wreckage is what would forever be in the forefront of women's minds when they thought of men resisting. "Israel has had that happen to him twice," Angel sighed. "What, oh, the whole court-required therapy," Capri noted. During that time, I was always treated with respect, but I could never say 'no' to any part of my schedule. Drugs, therapy, or education, I never had a choice, reprieve, or recourse. I had been a ward of the state. I cleaned my bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher, I'd run it tomorrow. After that, I quietly gathered a few more dowels and my satchel and stopped to stare at the door. "I'm with you, Israel," Capri assured me from my side. "Israel, I could," Angel started. "Get some sleep. Tonight is likely to suck and Seneca will need you at your best," I said. I turned and kissed Angel good-bye, took a deep breath, and started whistling. I kept it up all the way to the metro station. I knew they would be waiting for me, my fellow commuters, but I did have an unexpected surprise. As I went from the sidewalk to the metro station itself, two men joined me, complete with some sort of carrying device and a handle-wrapped dowel. I had no idea who they were. I couldn't. Had we communicated, the cops most likely would have pree

Vanishing Manhood: Part 8

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 8 A HUMAN VACCINE FACTORY, IN ISRAEL’S BODY. Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1395985&page=submissions]. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/VanishingManhoodPart08.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/08Maggy8.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/08Maggy8.jpg] "You Bitches!" Angel hopped up. To clarify my often-used refrain, she took up her jacket and rolled up her sleeve. She had a nice little cotton ball secured by medical tape. They had taken Angel's blood, she had the anti-bodies which must have been earned the old fashion way, through injection. Four times on Saturday straight into her womb. I didn't believe it could be possible but I had been lowered to the status of an STD. "I'm not an MD, but how in the hell are anti-bodies getting from him into her bloodstream," Capri intervened. "We aren't talking about an anti-body," I blinked. "We are talking about a virus and since my daughters and Angel and every other woman I've slept with aren't dead, or even ill,” "We need to know where the other doses are," Shelia insisted. Everyone in this room knew that there was only one disease that differentiated gender that we hadn't cured long ago. "Special Agent Fraklos," I pleaded. She was the closest to a medical professional we had, or so I believed. I hadn't known how I would get here when I asked for Dimple's team, Angel, Seneca and Capri to join this little party, but I knew this moment was coming. Fraklos looked scared and there were two great reason for being so. "Oh, God," Fraklos' Mediterranean features noticeably paled. "Carabolix 37 is a form of the Gender Plague. They genetically altered the plague then gave it to those men to see what would happen. Oh, God." "Shelia," I turned the lead woman. "I was injected twenty times with Carabolix 37. If Dr. Fremont destroyed her batch, there is no more." She wanted to know so I told her. "She could have killed us all," Sosa jumped up. "We need to arrest her immediately." "On what evidence?" Dimples replied calmly. It was nice of her to keep this conversation at a level we could all hear. It implied to me that we were now useful to her in some way. "She is rich, well-respected and has scores of pharmaceutical contracts in the Federation and abroad." "We have a weird mutation of the Gender Plague, a crazy old ex-cop serial killer and, Israel Jensen, a man whose sanity is always in question. The only leverage we do have is an abnormal number of males surviving their first year," she stated. "If Israel has some sort of cure," Angel asked, "why did any of his boys die?" "He was being raped," Fraklos instantly replied. "His plague still reacts in most ways as the normal plague, so it was weakened by the stress he was under." "Hold on," Seneca spoke up. "You mean Israel is right? Stressing males is killing us off?" "Please correct me if I'm wrong, but are we saying that Carabolix 37, the correct application of Carabolix 37, creates a virus that kills the Gender Plague in males during their first year of life?" Capri requested to know. "We would need to study it, but it looks that way," Fraklos took the leap. "Where do we put him?" Agent Vabishi murmured. "Oh, I have no idea what time it is, but I need to help Miss O'Hara move into my place before my date with Miss Sano at six," I declared as I stood up. "You can't possibly believe we will let you just walk out of here," a different agent regarded me with disbelief. "I got this one," Capri stood by my side. "When did you learn for a fact that we were dying out as a species?" she addressed the feds. "We were read in this afternoon," Dimples replied. By 'read in' she meant told about the Big Lie the government was involved in concerning our collapsing population. "Where are you going to put him where he is safer than in the public eye?" Capri stated. "Any secret installation you put him in is the end of the line for the rest of us. Right Shelia?" She was looking at her tablet, unresponsive. "But he is our best bet to end the curse of the Gender Plague," Fraklos begged. "We don't know that," Dimples interrupted Capri. "All we know is that he can save his own offspring, that's all. We know that if there are any doses of Carabolix 37 left, Dr. Fremont is hiding them, along with the research. Can anyone think of a reason we can legally hold Mr. Jensen? Does anyone believe he hasn't fully cooperated with the National Security inquiry?" "Mr. Jensen, Israel, have you fully cooperated with my investigation?" Shelia Montanyard asked me. It was a formality. I could lie and they wouldn't call me on it. They had no real choice. I knew the feeling and I would be damned if I perpetuated it. "No. I haven't told you everything," I said calmly. Capri grunted. "When Dr. Fremont told me about Carabolix 37 she made me relive that memory with the Aurora Slasher, at her mercy, down in her basement. Between that and the beating Magdalena had inflicted on me, it broke me. I'm never going to get my mind back." I looked at them. They didn't know what to make of my little confession. "But, it showed me the memories of what the Slasher did to me are still inside and when I can, I'll try to go back to them and figure out each and every thing she did to me that might have influenced why the Carabolix didn't kill me. Maybe we can save a few others," I trembled. "It most likely won't make a difference," Shelia pierced me. "If I fight, they win. If I don't fight, they win. All I can do is take the best course of action that I can live with," I tried to explain. It was strange to watch them soak in those words. They were winners. Even among women, they were the ones who always came out on top. They were also smart and the enormity of the task ahead gave them pause. Except Dimples. "I'm satisfied," Shelia announced. "We'll be in touch if we need any more information, Mr. Jensen." "Thanks, Shelia," I mumbled. Then my mind flipped. "Shelia, get Miss Silverhorn and her team their jobs back. I don't care if you have to send Dimples down and personally kick some heads in or shove Isobel into a dirigible heading for the Artic, just do it." "Any other suggestions on how I should accomplish that, such as ways that don't break the law?" Shelia smirked. That was it. We were all in it now. "Tell the Mayor I'm coming back to work tomorrow," I grinned weakly. "Tell her if she agrees to pardon Francesca, you'll stop me." She nodded. Words weren't necessary. (MOVING IN AND LATER) To keep all those plates spinning in the air, we all had to go back to our lives. For Capri and me, that meant being unemployed (technically we were both suspended without pay until a review was performed). For me it was obvious, I had pulled a 'Prophet of Doom' on the world stage. I was curious as to Capri's final sin. She made it easy. "I told my boss that I prayed to God she was transgender because if she (her boss) was born a woman, I was seeking out gender-reassignment out of shame," Capri informed me, "with my outdoor voice and her door open." Yeah, that would have done it. "Do you think she is a tranny?" I inquired. Women occasionally attempted to outwardly look like men for reasons I couldn't explain. "Nah," Capri snickered. "She's self-conscious about her narrow hips looking too masculine." We were on the metro; I with three large bins stacked one on top of another in front of me. Capri had two over-stuffed dress bags hanging from one of the metro handholds. The car wasn't crowded, but circumstance wouldn't allow us to move if things looked bad. "You are that nut from the TV this morning," a strange women pushed my shoulder. I had learned long ago to avoid women having a bad day. You couldn't win dealing with one if you were a guy. It was unlikely you could make her happy in a conventional manner so you sucked up the abuse and prayed she became bored or had an appointment somewhere else. Capri didn't know about this behavior, or how female-male interactions worked. "I bet your eye-care provider is pleased that you can recognize people from two meters away," Capri snapped back. The problem was one of numbers and Capri hadn't developed the awareness to understand that Grumpy wasn't alone in her dislike of me. "Step off, you Cunt," the pissed off women snarled. She pushed Capri who clipped the crates and fell down. Had I my dowel, access to my hard-pressed courage and my back to anything other than more women, I would have shoved back. Instead, I did my best by shielding Capri's body so hopefully she could rise. I could attest to how painful having high heels stomp on your hands could be. The woman having a bad day lost her fight with her anger. She hauled back and punched me. Or, she would have, but the blow never fell. I heard an 'ugh' and peeked back at my attacker. "Have you donated blood recently?" a spooky calm voice requested of my attacker. I couldn't see the woman defending me, but she was holding the fist of my attacker a few centimeters from impact. I knew that tone of voice though the speaker appeared a mystery. It was how the Aurora Slasher sounded whenever she was talking to herself. Totally ice calm. "What?" the angry one blurted out. "You never know when you might end up in intensive care, so it is always wise to donate blood under your name, so they have it in your type when you need it," my defender continued. "Let go of her," a new woman chimed in. My defender let go, but at least I had Capri back on her feet and my hand over her mouth, stifling her curses. "I can't believe they let a vicious, stupid bastard like you talk on the air," the first woman continued. I struggled for the words. "I had to do what I thought was right," I responded. "I can't believe they let you out of jail," she snapped. "Someone should correct you." My defender pushed forward so that her back was to me, but I had caught a look at her face. I felt terrified all over again. It was my first minder from Isobel's party. The one who talked to me. "I need you to state your intentions at this time," my defender spoke loudly. "I will not let you hurt this man or his companion. If you plan to do so, you will need to get past me first." There were women behind us too, but the declaration was clear. "Who are you?" a fourth woman demanded. "You are not behaving in a civil manner so I chose not treat you civilly," my defender replied. "Do you have a clue what is going on?" Capri hissed. "I know her as one of Isobel Diaz's guards," I mumbled back. The woman took a second to quickly turn and face me. Her icy façade evaporated into a warm, comforting glow. "It will be okay, Israel," she winked. "Bravo," and she turned back to face the mob alone. What the hell was I supposed to make of that? Isobel, Vanishers, FBI catchphrases, my lunch was trying to make an acidic comeback. The last bit was anti-climactic. Pre-rush hour commuters don't like getting into fights with someone who acts like they would gladly uses your polished skull as a decoration for Halloween. They got pissy, they called the cops and nothing happened. Not 'nothing' as in the cops refused to show up. No, it was 'nothing' as in 'no service detected' on their phones. Dimples and Company and the G E D were wondering why they couldn't find the Vanishers, the Vanishers were jacking their tech. They had jobs that allowed them access to critical information. They were walking around in plain sight. They weren't the Illuminati, they were next door neighbor Jill. Getting away from them was going to be a whole lot tougher than I thought, because they weren't hiding. They could simply walk up and take me with no one being the wiser. Oh, Shit. She escorted Capri and me off at our metro stop. Before heading off her separate way, the protector introduced herself. "I'm Zara," she shook Capri's hand. She took me by the elbow and pulled me slightly away. "I'm glad you were chosen, Israel," she smiled. "We know what is going on and we are working hard to make sure you will be fine. Take care." I nodded good-bye. What else could I do? My tax dollars, had I ever actually paid taxes, had turned that woman into a killing machine. I wouldn't put money on Zara being her real name either. Until a few minutes earlier, I thought my life was making progress. Now this. "Man, she really likes you," Capri surprised me. "What!" I gasped. "Oh yeah," Capri watched Zara's retreating form. "I was afraid I would have to mop up the drool around the corners of her lips. She is definitely hot for you." "You are not helping!" I yelled. "Is there anything else I need to know about this woman?" Capri nudged me. "Since I would be really upset having to identify your dismembered body at the morgue, no, there is nothing you need to know about Zara," I declared. "You and your curse, God, I'm glad I'm not you," Capri remarked. "Being your friend is tough enough." We moved Capri into her tiny room. She jokingly bitched about the size until she saw mine was no bigger. Capri had been lulled into a false sense of economic space by her status as a lawyer and the resultant apartment space Housing Authority had granted her. Since her living arrangements were courtesy of her job with the Public Defender's Office, she was days from eviction. My position was secure because I was assigned my condo as a gender quota, not as a city employee. I reminded Capri of this gross unfairness. "If I have to massage your testicles so we can make rent, well, let's leave it with my mom being more disappointed in me than normal," she laughed. "Tell her you are living with a guy," I suggested. "That has to mean something." "Good point. That's something my two perfect older sisters haven't managed to do," she conceded. "I know what she'll say, where are my grandchildren? With your poor decision making, I'm sure you picked a dud." My whole body shook nervously. Capri looked at me with concern. "I have an idea," I exhaled. I told her what it was and Capri nearly fell over, it was so irreverent. She called her mother and related her most recent tale of woe while her mother looked on in rapt attention. "I love you, Mom," Capri ended the conversation. "Keep in touch, Capri," her mother, Charlotte, murmured. "It was nice to meet you, Israel." The older woman was clearly floored as the connection died. See, the entire time Capri and her mother chatted, she was standing, her top half naked, facing the main screen with her lower body shielded by my sofa. I stood behind Capri, my hands cupping and massaging Capri's breasts and nipples and masking them from view, this wasn't technically porn. Capri's flowing russet hair was pulled over her right shoulder so that I could continuously kiss her from the tip of her shoulder to her earlobe. Capri wiggled around. All I had on were gym shorts, and she extended her hand into the small space between us for me to shake. "Thank you," she beamed. "We are even. I've waited my whole life to shove any accomplishment in my mother's face. Everything I've ever done, my older sisters did better. Every, single, time. Hey, up for doing my sisters?" I shook the hand. "We'll have to create something new, in case they compare notes," I insisted. It was liberating in a way that was nearly impossible to put into words. Sex wasn't fun with Capri, it was funny. It was jovial, nonsensical and teasing with a purpose toward comedy, not foreplay. I could display my body in a way that didn't leave me feeling vulnerable and afraid. I was a joke because I wanted to be a joke, not because I knew the world would see me that way. We set up her oldest sister in the bathroom, complete with steamy condensation. Capri, dressed in frilly peach colored bra and panties was laying out her story of misfortune to her sister when the older sibling started lecturing Capri on God knows what. I walked in behind Capri. She was holding up her phone so that it caught me from jawline to mid-thigh. I had a shirt and slacks on this time, so it wasn't overtly sexual. I rubbed behind her, giving the impression that bathroom was smaller than it was. "Cologne, Babe," I 'informed' Capri of what I was reaching around her for. The sister grew silent. I kissed Capri on the top of her head. "Capri, we have some time," I hinted. "Again?" Capri muttered in despair. "We just did it." "I really need you," I purred. I took her left hand in my left and brought it to my crotch. Capri made sure to press the outline of my hard-on several times so that her sibling could see what, in theory, Capri was about to be 'getting again' real soon. "Sorry, Sara (her older sister), I have to go. You know how pouty men become if they don't get what they want," Capri was very apologetic, and still massaging my manhood. "Of course," Sara agreed. I doubt she had a clue about what made men pouty. Capri insisted that her 'younger' older sister would handle the next call. We had everything staged. It was a close call, so to speak. I really had to get going to Kuiko's when the phone rang exhibiting Capri's other sister's number. After several rings, "Hello, Israel Jensen," I answered. "Hello Mr. Jensen, this is Melbane O'Hara. Is Capri O'Hara still there?" she asked. "Um, she lives here," I appeared uncomfortable. I was on the screen from mid-torso to a few inches over my head. "Oh, if she's not there, can you please tell me where she is," she requested sweetly. "She's here, she's just, busy," I gulped. "It is important," Melbane insisted. "Okay," I sighed and then I looked down. Straight down. "Honey?" There was a slick, popping sound (Capri slurping on two of her fingers then quickly withdrawing them from her mouth) followed by the sound of my zipper going up. My cock had been perfectly safe. Capri pulled herself up my body, stood to face her sister and wiped up some drool from around her lips. "Yes, Melbane, what is it?" Capri grumbled. "What were you doing?" Melbane was aghast. "Getting an early start on dinner," Capri snapped. "What does it look like I'm doing?" "You, what, you have a boyfriend?" Melbane stuttered. "You have a good-looking boyfriend?" "Yeah, and his cock is almost eight inches long and 'this' big around," Capri made a circle with her thumb and finger. She may have exaggerated, a bit. "But, but why weren't you having intercourse?" Melbane begged to understand. "Oh no," I interjected. "No vaginal ejaculations from me until she gets a job." "Ugh," Capri sighed. "Until then it is all 'mouth and ass, mouth and ass.’ I swear, if he wakes me up in the middle of the night going 'let's 69' one more time, I'll scream." "My vagina is sore from all the sex. I didn't know a vagina could get over-sexed. Melbane, does your vagina ever get too much sex?" Capri sounded intensely worried. "I can, check with people," Melbane evaded. "All I know is my lips are starting to chap and my ass hurts when I sit down," Capri groaned. "I shouldn't complain too much," she became all dreamy-eyed. "I mean, it tastes divine, creamy and rich plus just a bit salty, yummy. I'm sure you

Vanishing Manhood: Part 7

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 7 THAT POINT BEYOND TEETERING ON THE BRINK. Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1395985&page=submissions]. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/VanishingManhoodPart07.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/07Eloise7.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/07Eloise7.jpg] A tidal wave is a slight tremor, a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act of the play "Israel, are you going to be okay?" Angel worried. "Over twenty thousand square feet of pretentious butch women with guns," I joked loudly. "What could possibly go wrong for me here?" "Angel, I think your guy is unraveling," Seneca whispered to Angel. She needn't have whispered. I had enunciated at a volume that resonated all over the office space. We had everyone's attention. More importantly to me, I located the woman, or in this case, the group of women, who recognized me. They would be my chief opponents in this hostile territory. If you run away from women long enough, you start to figure out their hunting habits. Every coterie had a lead lioness and I could tell which one she was. She had strawberry blonde hair and pig-tails and I swear to God, she looked to be fifteen. Her eyes told a very different story. They were cold, bleak and pitiless, yet with a burning fire at their core. She also had dimples. I had to blink really hard, twice, to make sure my mind hadn't sneaked some freaky mirage into my field of vision. "I've got him from here, officers," a solid Latina with short-cropped hair ambushed us from the side. She was being polite. It wasn't like there were any choices being made. "You'll be fine, Israel," Angel called to my retreating form. I couldn't build myself up for a conversation before I was taken to a small room and told to take a seat. I took in the details. The agent didn't have on a name badge, that was meant to isolate me mentally and stop me from trying to ingratiate myself to my captors. This reinforced my subliminal demons that saw women as faceless aggressors. The room was playing into my claustrophobia. It was also soundproof, playing against my anxiety brought about by a lack of audio stimulation. What my tormentors must not have been counting on was that Sunday had put me past all of this. Hell, I'd screwed Bethany Fremont and I thought that would never, ever happen again. I'd done it and I'd felt fine afterwards. Dimples the Clown was going to have to do better than this. Better yet, I knew what was coming. First they would wreck my confidence, then they would be my friends who only wanted to help. The blackmail would come later. My pain would be mental, not physical this round. I hadn't read the Federal playbook, nor was I a master of interrogation. They considered me a dog so they would treat me like a dog, a bad dog. Dimples and company weren't stupid; I imagined they were actually quite bright. Their problem was that they'd been breaking my gender for forty years and very effectively. The critical difference was that I wasn't an MRA terrorist, or even a criminal in my mind. I had nothing to feel guilty about. They had no leverage and on a visceral level, I wasn't even afraid of them anymore, cautious yes, but not afraid. The man walking into the room was a bit of a surprise. He looked very well-dressed but casual, fatherly if your father was a college professor from an earlier era. "Hello, Mr. Jensen, I'm Ezra Bryan," he greeted me with a smile. His hazel eyes, ensconced behind round glasses, gave off a comforting glow. He was my friend, just ask him. "I'm here to help you." See? "Can we talk for a bit?" He sat down opposite me before I could respond. "Can I see your gun and badge?" I asked politely. "Come now Israel, men don't carry guns. Do you want a firearm?" he remained pleasant. "Oh," I mused. He answered questions with questions. I knew that trick well. "Where did you get your degree from, Doctor?" "Holy Cross," he conceded. "Now would you answer a few of my questions?" I put my hands on my thighs, lowered my chin to my chest and shut out the room. Meditation is a technique best used in an area that is quiet and safe. They had given me only one voice to tune out and, while I didn't trust Dimples, I knew how this escalation would go. I was safe for now. When the psychiatrist Dimples has sicked on me, realized he was losing to a guy with two semesters of psychology, he broke form and did something you never do, he touched a survivor of sexual assault without permission. See, he was here to find me psychologically unsound so they could imprison me without a trial forever. His problem was that you can't find someone insane if they are capable of reasoned discourse, thus my initial words with him, but wouldn't talk to you. Obstinate isn't a psychological disorder. It's only rude. I was meditating, someone touched me. Since I've been sensory deprived and touched by people who did me harm, this was bad. I yelped and fell sideways in my chair. I ate the fear, ate the anger and kept my eyes down. "What is wrong, Israel?" the Dumbass asked with false sympathy, offering to help me up. I got up without his help. "Can I see your tablet please?" I countered. I could play this 'answer a question with a question' thing too. "I'm sorry, but that has confidential information on it. Why did you fall over?" he kept at it. I pulled my chair around to the side of the table and took a seat. "Israel, this is not helping your cause. Don't you want the truth to come out?" he smiled in that paternal style. Yes, this was helping my cause and you didn't want the truth to come out, you Jerk, I thought. I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and started to meditate once more. This time he touched me before I was all the way under. "Israel, you are not helping yourself with this display," Dr. Bryan was getting a little touchy. "Ezra, what do you call a man who sneaks up on men who do not know him, who have their eyes closed and are either meditating or asleep?" I finally spoke. "Aren't those some kind of perverts?" I regarded him with the closest imitation of the tone he was using on me. "Do you see people who touch you as being perverted?" he resumed is babble. I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and resumed meditating. On his fourth unwarranted touching, I got up and walked to the door. It wasn't a normal door, it opened out. I guessed that was so someone inside couldn't bar the authorities from entry. It opened which made sense since I was six inches taller and twenty-five years younger than their pet male shrink. Of course, there were two agents at the door as well. I wasn't planning to sprint for the elevators or closest window anyway. They were across the hallway and unhappy to see me. "Hi," I greeted them cheerfully as I let the door shut. "Get back inside," the African-American agent stated firmly. "Actually, there is this weird old guy in there who keeps touching me every time I close my eyes and try to go to sleep," I pleaded. "Can you please help me?" For a second, they were both confused by my request. They had this misconception they were protectors of the public welfare. "He's giving you a psychiatric exam," the second agent, this one of East Asian extraction, told me. "Really?" I doubt I was very convincing in my surprise. "I was raped repeatedly when I was sixteen, so why on God's Green Earth would any healthcare professional touch me without my consent or awareness?" Take that Bitch! There is simply no right answer for that question and everyone listening in on this exchange knew it. Five doors down, the portal flew open and Capri came bolting out at a dead run with two agents hot on her ass, trying to re-write history. "This farce is at an end!" Capri O'Hara screamed at the top of her lungs. Sadly, Capri was a small woman and both of her pursuers where superior specimens in all the currently relevant categories. "Israel, as your legal counsel, I advise you to not answer any further questions without me being present," she got out before they muffled her. The damage was done. I was free, in a very, very limited legal context. This act hadn't played out yet, though, because the next two people out the door were Angel and Seneca. In retrospect, had I ever actually seen Angel in a fight before she threatened me on Friday, I wouldn't have let her back in my condo, much less my bedroom. I had no fist-fighting experience, but I'd seen a few female fight movies and TV shows, things like the Power Rangers and Black Widow: Agent of SHIELD. I was totally unprepared for the reality of this kind of violence. Angel drove her fist into the lower back of the rightmost agent holding Capri. That woman screamed, and I mean screamed, in pain before crumpling into a whimpering ball. The agent on the left was really quick. She tried to defend herself and deflected the first blow, later I was told that was Angel's feint, but Angel connected with her chin before the woman could bring the other hand up protectively. Angel jacked her off the ground. I was stunned the agent was still conscious. Hell's Bells, I was stunned her head was still attached. The federal agent had less than a second to rejoice in that fact before Angel's other fist propelled her over Capri and down in a heap in front of my lawyer. Seneca had no fears about her partner's combat expertise. She had spun around to the door that seemed to hold everybody, held up her hand, put her other hand on her sidearm and was loudly begging everyone to calm down. Dimples' crowd kept pouring out of the room, their hands falling to their weapons as well. Shelia joined the mob followed by Dimples herself. The agents beside me were in a quandary. I was a witness, not a suspect, but I wasn't someone they trusted to remain sane. I had to admire their teamwork even though it was working against me. The East Asian put her forearm to my neck and pushed me hard against the wall next to the door. The African-American put her hand on her taser and took up a defensive posture. The only noise was the first agent's whimpers. Capri was the only one moving, shrugging off the kinks she'd earned from the grapple and stooping beside the second, unconscious, agent. Capri drew forth that woman's taser. "Put it down," the darker skinned agent warned. "Put it down or we will put you down, Miss O'Hara," Dimples spoke in the sweetest voice. I wondered if she was a Care Bear in a previous life. Most likely 'Let the Right One in' Care Bear. "Stop with the empty threats, you pack of weasels," Capri snapped. "Now listen the fuck up." "One of three things is going to happen," Capri started. "I said 'put it down'," the African-American agent stated firmly. "You are going to release my client so that we can talk, I'm going to taser you and then the cunt who is assaulting my client, or you are going to taser me," Capri finished. "Wish granted," the agent snarled. "You do realize that once she drops I have a clear shot at you, right?" Angel notified her. "You don't have your taser drawn," the African-American agent stated. "No," Angel extended her pistol past Capri. "I have my sidearm." "Now, as I was saying, you have three options and you lose big time in the last two," Capri grinned like a vindictive leprechaun. "She won't shoot," Dimples referred to Angel. "The odds of Mr. Jensen being caught in the cross-fire are very high." "Irrelevant," Capri snorted. "Because I'm about to shoot you," she started raising her taser. "Last chance, Lady," the agent warned. "Do you want to know why you are fucked?" Capri scoffed. "See these are all government issued weapons and every time one is discharged you have to write an incident report." "That isn't your taser. You stole it," the agent pointed out. I saw Shelia Montanyard flinch minutely. "Hey, FedLawBitch," Capri snorted (she was addressing Shelia, I would learn later). "Just because my law school offered night classes doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Bronson v. Michigan." Only two people understood that, Shelia and Capri. "Bronson v. Michigan doesn't apply," Shelia bluffed. "The Supreme Court disagrees. It has been applied two times in the past seven years and since this is a government building, the dumb bitch on the ground is a government law enforcement agent, and since Mr. Jensen is a person of interest to the court,” "Put your weapons down," Shelia conceded. "What?" the African-American agent blanched. "Holster your weapon," Dimples spoke again. "While Miss O'Hara is within her rights to shoot you, you are not within your rights to shoot her. Do you want to get tasered?" "Oh, and the cops are covered by Bronson as well," Capri waved her hand over her shoulder. "I am an officer of the court and your two brigands were assaulting me and keeping me from my legal duties. Go after them and I'll nipple twist you so hard, Miss Montanyard, your screams will make your law school professors fall over dead in shock." "Noted," Shelia nodded. She wasn't giving up so much as repositioning for the next offensive. Before my time there was a military term tossed around called 'Shock and Awe.’ From the look on the faces of Dimples and Shelia, they had thought they were the French army invading Monaco only to discover they had invaded Switzerland by mistake. They thought they'd spend half a day rounding up the local constabulary then have dinner on the beach, in this case, the Federation Capital. Oh no, they could still see victory on the horizon but beyond all predictions, they were really going to have to work for it. Right then, the door to my interrogation room opened and the doctor looked out. "Is everything fine?" he inquired. "Oh, Dr. Bryan, I'm informing every institution on the planet that pretends to know anything about medicine and reporting your gross negligence. When I'm done with you, even the W H O won't use you to clean their toilets," Capri glared. "What did I do?" he looked around, shocked. "You touched a post-recovery rape patient without their consent, repeatedly, even after he was clearly uncomfortable with it," Capri snapped. "He is Post-recovery," the man stated. "Were you incapable of reading his file dating from yesterday morning in which the police report my client having been beaten black and blue by unnamed assailants? He didn't press charges, but it is still an open investigation. The G E D frowns on people running around and beating up men, so there actually is a use for those douches after all," Capri snarled. Dr. Bryan had this wide-eyed, stunned expression. Eventually his gaze settled on Shelia and Dimples. "He's not what you said he'd be," the man blathered. "His profile is all wrong. The man is totally mad, I tell you. Give me more time and I can prove it." "Doc," I said calmly. "I suggest you exit this building as soon as possible and hurry home before they cancel your travel voucher." "Mr. Jensen," he turned on me desperately. "You are psychologically very ill and you need professional help." I just smiled. He was right. We both knew he was right, but I had trapped him before he trapped me. A week ago, I would have snapped like a branch in a tornado. The women around me, for good and ill, had scraped away all the scabs and scar tissue that I'd let build up over the years until all was left was the raw open wounds. My blood was on fire and my mind a hurricane of thoughts, wants and desires. I wasn't a man grown to adulthood by continual experience. I was shards of all of those stages of my life, jumbled together into some slipshod construct that staggered forth from encounter to encounter. Dr. Bryan had lost because I could be a seventeen year old survivor one second and the man lying on the floor, laughing while Flame beat on me the next. Had they given Dr. Bryan time to work on me, develop his skills to my condition, he would have cracked me in a few days, a week at the most. He was a psychiatrist, and most likely a good one to be working with the FBI, and I was, in fact, insane. This was my victory. I had forced Dimples to expend a weapon for no gain. I wasn't sure Angel would get it. Two hours later found us in a much larger room, laid out in a comfortably cluttered manner. It was terrain psychology all over again. Was I to believe a federal agency as big as this didn't have clean conference rooms for us to use? As it was, Capri and I were on one side of the table. Angel and Seneca were on the edge of the table closest to the main door. That left Dimples and company to spread out over the other half of the room. Their body language was laid back and unaggressive, they had bought this Indian-Italian fusion feast and they were bantering back in a non-gender specific manner. "What does this tell you?" Capri turned to me as she finished a forkful of garlic pasta. "Special Agent in Charge Enola Treyvon's (Dimples actual name) team are man-hunters," I said as I gulped down my food. By that I meant people who hunt males professionally. If you thought about it, male criminals had to be rare. We all had bracelets that any woman could ask to see on demand, thus in network, so tracing us wasn't all that hard. Also, if we broke the law, we had to take drugs which made committing crime inconvenient. If we were violent, they had drugs for that too. A man having an illegal firearm was bad, but being a woman who gave a man a gun was much worse. Since the MRA hadn't been active in over a decade, it didn't make sense that the Federation's chief law enforcement agency would have tons of these kinds of specialists floating around. I was about to say something else when 'nothing' caught my attention. A man has to watch where he is, how he stands, what he says, who is listening and how the women around him are acting. It is Male Survival 1 O 1. The savannah looked safe but the bushes held deep shadows. "They were tipped off to be here by Detective Angel Kristi," I nodded to Capri. "You do realize that sticking your cock in a garbage disposal is a crime, right?" Capri laughed. Angel flinched. She was guilty after all. Seneca was glaring hate Capri's way. The feds were being very polite about the whole thing. I turned on Capri, mouth agaip. "Oh my fucking God!" I exclaimed. "Let me check something out." I stood up. "I advise you to go with caution," Capri warned me. I walked around the far side of the table (away from Angel and Seneca), over to the Latina who had snared me earlier. She was sitting, but I was hardly intimidating her. I knelt before her which finally got some sort of reaction from the federal agents. They were attentive. The Latina was keeping her eyes level with mine. "Angel," I looked toward my lover, "she uses the same shampoo as you." You see, I had no doubt that this agent had memorized every visual aspect me myself, Capri, Seneca and Angel, but scent? For a second, she turned her head to look at Angel. I backed away then stood up. "Oh sweet Lord, I wish I wasn't right so damn much. Janice Bourne," I gulped. See, the shampoo thing had been a total bluff. Janice Bourne was the protagonist in a series of spy novels where the male characters were somewhat interesting for a change. In one, a guy actually kills a female assassin with pruning shears. That wasn't the relevant issue. "They've got Cochlear implants," I clarified. The technology was hardly new, but it was a bit intensive and expensive