Market Forecast

Market Forecast

Vanishing Manhood: Part 12

1 h 0 min · 26. juni 2026
Get Started
episode Vanishing Manhood: Part 12 cover

Description

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 12 THE RACE TO APOCALYPSE. 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/VanishingManhoodPart12.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/12Venus12.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/12Venus12.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. FINAL CURTAIN CALL What no one in the Federation knew at that moment was that we were racing for the final curtain call. The W H O knew that something was very wrong, but they were still digging, and desperately hoping they were wrong with what they were looking at. The U N was only learning of the footsteps of doom. They too were praying. The moment Judas took his thirty pieces of silver he had a date with the end of a rope, he just didn't know it. This time it wasn't the fault of those doctors, jurists and politicians from forty years ago. They had never intended for the extreme efforts of the different societies they were creating to go on forever. They were buying time. The problem was men stopped publically dying. The next generation of women would never know the flush sexual possibilities of their mothers, but they became comfortable with the system they had inherited. The men who knew what gender equality felt like; were too old to cause many problems and could be safely ignored. They were still searching for a cure, but no one was hopping mad about it anymore. Infant boys were still dying at an abysmal rate, but in the collective memory of womankind, we always had. They became complacent. The male voice diminished then fell silent. Twenty years ago, when key world leaders learned that the male side of the species was dying out, they had a choice. If they told the people of the Earth the bad news, the women feared that anarchy would ensue. The world economy would collapse. The civilization their predecessors had fought so hard to keep afloat would go under. It would be the End. Or, they could make the men soldier on in futility while women waited for a miracle. They had made a deal with the Devil, but the Devil doesn't deal in Salvation. He gave them twenty years. Old Nick was smiling behind his polite façade. He'd also provided them with the means of killing themselves. I was born a year before the Big Lie was concocted. Another boy, half a world away, was born a year later. Like me, he had his innocence torn away at an early age. Born on Java in Indonesia, he was kidnapped and sold to the slave trade. He could have ended up anywhere, but fate landed him in the Chinese port of Shanghai. By the age of twenty, prodigious amounts of performance drugs and continuous sex had rendered his mind a shell, a few memories still bouncing around. Outside of a small family circle in his native land, no one cared about the boy and no one would have known about him if he hadn't died. In the end, they didn't even care about his body or his name. The W H O named him Patient T2 Zero because by the time they found out about him, the only person who might have remembered his name was dead also. It would be poetic to say he struck back at his tormentors from the grave. In fact, women had stolen away any ability to know what he had done. The fact was that on the Saturday before I moved into my condo, his long laboring T1 antibodies, his reward for surviving infancy, lost their struggle to produce more guardians than naturally degraded. In those seconds, sometime after the lunchtime clientele returned to work, the most mutated version of the T1 virus ever seen 'woke up.’ The cluster of antivirals that encased it crumbled away. It attacked the first cell it came across. In minutes, that cell became a factory. Inside an hour, the antiviral or viral battle became a rout. Under normal conditions, the T1 Gender Plague manifested in three days and the male was dead in four more, max. The boy from Indonesia wasn't normal. He was fighting off some influenza that a few patrons had coughed on him. The housekeeper gave him something for that. He was 'profitable' after all. He had been given an injection at the start of flu season, as well. The boy's blood was a soup of medicinal drugs, aphrodisiacs and performance enhancers. Both his red and white blood cell counts were a wreck from long exposure to these substances. He was fed regularly, they only chained one of his legs to the bed when he was 'working' or sleeping. His throat had hurt so much that he hadn't been eating enough. Besides, his will to continue on was already gone. He was a prostitute, a sex trade worker, a slab of meat. If you get told that enough times, treated like that enough, it becomes all you know. When was the last time you saw a slab of meat fight to stay in one piece? Around four in the afternoon, the housekeeper came by, allowed him to go to the bathroom and gave him some food to eat. She wasn't overly concerned about him barely eating. The boy had a good run. He'd much more than made up the cost the 'providers' extorted from her 'community.’ She mused it was a pity they didn't have more Asian boys. They fetched more money. They couldn't be Chinese, of course. The police put you against a wall and shot you for that, so mainly they were Indonesians, Malay, and Africans. When she shackled the boy back to his pallet for the evening rush, she noticed his pelvic region and cock were enflamed. She checked, the boy was still feverish. She gave him something for the fever and doused his crotch with powder so as not to disturb the clients. Had she been forty-five or older, she might have recognized the onset of the Plague, but she wasn't. Even then, she could hardly be blamed for not understanding. No adult had died from the Plague in forty years. It was a childhood disease. In a final irony, two kilometers away was a very fine hospital. They would have recognized the ailment and quarantined the boy. He would have died, but the Human Race would not have, yet. The housekeeper was indifferent to his suffering. She had other boys to take care of before the working class women began flocking in with their hard-earned Yuan. In a final sad reaction to the impending crisis, she dimmed the light in his room so as to not upset the clients with the condition of his genitals. On Tuesday, as I struggled through the last few hours of my normal life, the boy's was clearly failing. The housekeeper was seeing the local patrolwoman off, with a freebie and the monthly 'allowance' money for the precinct when a junior attendant came running. The Indonesian boy the policewoman had just visited wasn't performing and the client was being noisy. She was feeling irritable and ill, so she went straight for the 'electrical stimulation aid.’ She soothed the client, jolted the boy's anus until his cock finally responded then left the room. She told the assistant to help her move the boy to the storeroom after the latest patron left. The dying boy was no longer profitable. She wasn't going to waste the drugs to simply put him down. One day without food or water would do the trick. Besides, she was angry, she felt like crap and her cunt itched. Inside that boy on that Saturday, the T1 inside the boy had become what was known as the T2 and it had made that last, great leap. It was no longer gender specific. The housekeeper wasn't even Patient T2 One. That distinction fell to a worker at a large electronics factory close by. On Tuesday night, she and some co-workers went out for some drinks after their shift ended. A good friend was heading out into the countryside for a wedding. A man from a nearby village was marrying into her village and she wanted to attend, much to the ribald teasing of her comrades. On Wednesday morning, a stewardess with Air China stopped by to see her sister who was home sick with the flu. The woman teased her ill sister about going to 'those places.’ The stewardess wanted to make sure her sibling had enough food because the stewardess was going to be gone a while. She had a short hop to Nagasaki, Japan, and then a long one to San Francisco. There was much she wanted to do in the Federation city, not the least of was spending time with the boyfriend of one of her girlfriends. The first few patients wandered into the doctors' offices and emergency rooms Thursday afternoon and evening. They were treated for the flu outbreak that was currently running its course in the city and sent home. On Saturday morning, as I was being beaten by Flame at Isobel's party, the first terminal patient was rolled in by ambulance to that very fine hospital. It took them an hour to figure out what was wrong with her. They didn't panic. They called the W H O and Beijing. They went into full quarantine. As I was plotting out my little 'dowel rebellion', Chinese authorities were hot on the trail of the outbreak. The W H O had just flown a team out of Geneva. The 'community' that ran the brothel was figuring out that the trail led back to them. The housekeeper was dying in her room, alone. Patient T2 Zero had already died and been consumed by the flames per the criminals' protocols. His ashes went into the river. Along with them went the only known antivirals that had ever killed a T2. That evening, the local precinct raided the brothel and began rounding up the criminal 'communities' members. A third of the policewomen were so sick they wouldn't have come into work if it wasn't for the emergency. In Beijing, the Central government met to discuss the crisis. Containing the outbreak in Shanghai was a pipe dream. Multiple international ships sailed into and out of the port every hour. There was the river traffic every night and day. Train service linked the entire country with round the clock service. It had an international airport, two regional airports and one military airport. It had a naval base and over a division worth of troops in barracks around the city. Military personnel were always being transferred around. Their decision was totally logical. They would start shifting 'key personnel' to distant governmental bases slowly as to not attract attention. They would lean on the W H O not make its findings known until they were 'absolutely' certain of what was going on. Once the governmental, restructuring, was underway, they would notify other key communities so they could do like-wise. The word went out of the Security net where one woman saw it then decided to go see her brother. If you were a poor assembly line worker in Hangchow, you were boned. Not that it mattered too much. As I was making my spastic declaration on Monday morning, my time, they rolled in the first reported male case. He was definitely terminal. His community had done everything within their power, and budget, to keep him alive. Only in the final hour did they relent and bring him in for help. Such was the fear that the government would 'take' their man. The Chief of Staff at the hospital was 66. Across the dying man from her was the head of the W H O mission who was only 52. The Chinese physician started crying inside her protective suit. She'd been a medical student and later a doctor when the Gender Plague first struck. There was no doubt in her heart. The Reaper had come back for them all. The W H O doctor had lived through the Gender Plague, but only as a child. Her iron-willed Chinese counterpart was losing it and that vanished all her doubts. She raced as quickly as possible to exit the quarantine area. She had to call Geneva. She had to contact the U N. If drastic measures weren't taken right now, she ran into her Chinese 'Communications' officer. "The government needed a few hours to 'assess' her data before allowing a general announcement," she told the doctor. The W H O doctor was an expert in her field. So, the Communications officer repeated the same statement. This was a global pandemic. Same statement. Millions were going to die. Same statement. The W H O doctor tried to push by then saw the two soldiers calmly waiting for her. That 'few hours' turned out to be twenty-four. Tuesday, as valiant, delusional men were getting pummeled all over the Federation, the U N began to meet on the matter. Discreet inquiries were made to the Federation's U N Ambassador about Carabolix-37. An hour after those four men in San Francisco got their asses handed to them over a collection of sticks, six women and one man arrived at a hospital with flu-like symptoms. All but one knew a certain Chinese stewardess. The last one would later recall she had served the woman at a restaurant. Just over an hour later, the police and paramedics located her in her hotel room. She was too feverish to get out of bed. It wasn't until nightfall in the city that the Federation got the true picture. The Chinese government was bugging out, jumping ship, getting the hell out of Dodge before the Great Wall fell on their heads. Then the panic in the Capital set in. It wasn't just the Plague. China was a huge 'X' amount of the global economy and in a matter of days they were going belly-up. Fuck the Plague; dead people didn't eat, work, or vote. Millions of Americans were about to lose their jobs. Any kind of public assistance at this level was a lost cause. Soon there were going to be lots of lonely, hungry, pissed off women looking to lynch somebody. They wouldn't kill doctors and engineers. Doctors were their best hope for staying alive. Engineers kept the lights on. Lawyers and politicians they could do without, or so it was believed. Pulling a 'China' was no longer possible. Not only would people suspect it after the crowd in Beijing bolted, the Federation didn't have a 'Bunker' strategy anyway. The fact that no one had told the 'little' nations of the Doom on the horizon didn't seem to bother anyone there. Virtually as an afterthought, the Press Secretary turned to the Presidential Chief of Staff and said, "What about that lunatic on TV this morning?" It was a clear indicator in the room how bad things were that any of them would consider a man to be the answer to anything that didn't involve stress relief and impregnation. The President looked to the Attorney General who was thanking her lucky stars that this male idiot had stuck around after making an ass of himself to the Nation. "I have a team on him right now," she stated confidently. "Why isn't he in custody?" the Minister of Defense questioned. "We had him in custody, but let him go," she responded. She was leagues above the city's old Police Commissioner. "There was nothing to hold him on at the time and he's under round the clock surveillance. He's ours when we want him." She looked to the President for the order. That woman thought about it for a second. "Ask him," she ordered. "Ask him to come in and help his countrymen and women out in this time of crisis. Be nice." "If he refuses?" the AG wanted clarification. "Snatch him, of course," the President directed. "Have Congress declare him a National Treasure as a legal pretext if you must, but bring him in." "What if this is all a hoax of some kind?" Health and Human Services chimed in. "Then we claim he is a promising lead, wave him in front of the Europeans so they don't panic too," she smiled. "In two or three days we will have something in place for when the dam bursts, but right now we need calm." As they were filing out of the room, the AG put the plan in motion. No one liked what they heard. "Riot? What riot?" the AG blurted out. "What explosion?" "Oh my God! Is he among the dead?" "What do you mean you don't know? Check his bracelet!" The AG gave the President a worried look. "It gave its emergency signal then cut off, did it?" Everyone was looking at the President once more. She was the team's lead striker. "Well, find him, damn it!" the President snapped. "Find him before his body decomposes, or whatever it is that dead bodies do." "Madam President," the AG said solemnly. "The men are rioting in the city, hundreds dead including many police officers." "Hundreds of men? We killed hundreds of men? Oh, shit. Tell me it was a bomb that did it. Please tell me it was the MRA," the President groaned. "How did this happen anyway? How did so many get in one place?" "It was the  M A L rally, Madam President," the National Security Advisor delivered the crushing news. The  M A L was the President's baby. Congress was going to crucify her. Now she started hoping for the Plague to break out soon. That would distract her critics long enough to do, something. "Madam President, I can have two battalions of air mobile and one battalion of Rangers in the city in three hours," the Minister of Defense pledged. "We could use this as a pretext to round up the men in the city," the Minister of the Interior suggested. Several voices yelled 'No!.’ "There are 300,000 men in the city. Where do you plan to hold them?" the National Security Advisor reminded them. "We use Army troops to round them up with support from the police," the DM stated. "We train for this kind of mission all the time." "There are also 3.8 million women in the city," the National Security Advisor asked. "What do you plan to do about them?" "We will call out the reserves," the Defense Minister answered confidently. "Should we call out the reserves in all the  M A L cities, just in case?" the NSA persisted. "Do it," the President said. "This can be a good deception plan for preparing for the Plague outbreaks when they hit." The NSA took a quiet, deep breath. It had taken her twenty long years of crawling through the grime and slime of capital politics to get to this place and time, but with the help of her co-conspirators, she'd made it. The noose was closing on her. They couldn't put her in the room with that initial research group, but they could put her sister there. She had been a naïve congressional staffer when her sister sat her down and gave the bad news. It had taken her weeks to agree. Once she had, there was no looking back. It was treason without an exit plan. Putting the Reserves on the streets wasn't to maintain order. It was meant to put as many guns in as many hands as possible when the Big Lie came tumbling down. The NSA was guilty of treason, but the rest of the Cabinet was guilty of genocide. In a way, the genocide bothered her less than the callous disregard it was approached with by the guardians of the public welfare. Why had it taken weeks for her to decide to join? It wasn't the risk to her career, or the thought of the punishment upon getting caught. It was that they weren't planning to save everyone, or even the majority. No, from the outset, the plan was to save a tiny few. They weren't elitist or supremacist; they were brutally practical. At a critical point in a population, people stopped being doers and became 'consumers' and in the 'Vanisher' model, they couldn't afford anyone who couldn't pull their own weight. They predicted the world economy would collapse violently without hope of recovery. All their needs and requirement would be met by the group alone. There were no bulging bank accounts or massive stockpiles of goods and food. Cash would be useless and neither food nor goods in the amount to be useful could be hidden for long. They were avoiding as many traditional human and fugitive models as possible. That being said, they knew this was a long shot. A mythical gamble, but the only shot mankind had left. Twenty years ago, they had been called romantic idealists and their science ignored. Twenty years ago boys born of husband or wife duos had an infinitesimal greater chance of surviving than boys born of convict (drugged) fathers. It was a tiny enough fraction to ignore. In twenty years of study since then, that fraction had grown noticeably. Capri had called it a 'love conquers all' plan. It was and it wasn't. The conspirators had gone over all the data, even the W H O study in Kwaziristan. They had found nothing to explain it. Nothing at all. Yet men were living despite all the science that said they shouldn't. At that moment, it became an act of faith.

Comments

0

Be the first to comment

Sign up now and become a member of the Market Forecast community!

Get Started

1 month for 9 kr.

Then 99 kr. / month · Cancel anytime.

  • Podcasts kun på Podimo
  • 20 lydbogstimer pr. måned
  • Gratis podcasts
Get Started

All episodes

25 episodes

episode Vanishing Manhood: Part 13 artwork

Vanishing Manhood: Part 13

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 13 THE FINAL HOURS OF NORMALCY. 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/VanishingManhoodPart13.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/13Flame13.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/13Flame13.jpg] In Peace, daughters bury their mothers. In War, mothers bury their daughters. The death of sons is too painful to recount. "What does this mean?" I inquired gently. Brandi looked up at me and smiled. "It means we are not all going to die," she breathed deeply for the first time since this experiment began. "Israel is too nice and shell-shocked to ask you what the hell is going on, but why don't you enlighten me?" Capri stood on the sofa, on her knees, looking over the three Vanishers. "The Plague has broken out in China and made its way to the West Coast. We have operatives and men we'd like to rescue in threatened areas. We were hoping to inoculate our people so that they don't get infected. Infected people have to be left behind," Jen explained. "How many men are going to die?" Aniqua groaned. "Wait, you said 'our people'," Capri's eyes narrowed. "Why would you need to inoculate woman against the Plague?" "This is a new plague," Zara finally spoke. "It is killing everybody." How exactly does a person respond to that? I wanted to erase the last five seconds of my memory and trundle along like nothing was wrong. Well, more wrong than was normally wrong for me. "Israel, you have to vanish, now!" Capri insisted. "No more screwing around. Let them take you out of here to someplace safe." I did not want to deal with the logic or emotion behind that statement. Capri wanted me to go, knowing she was going to die in some unpleasant manner. "Why did you call me Frank?" I turned to Brandi. She was setting up another machine that had tubing and a really sharp needle. "Inside joke," Brandi's smile tried to be comforting. "See, I'm Brandi the Veterinarian, Jen works for Nasa and you're Frank the Duck." "I don't get it," I mused. "Are you really a vet, as opposed to an honest to God doctor, or paramedic?" Kuiko wondered. Aniqua groaned once more. "Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, courtesy of the University of Minnesota and Uncle Sam," she confirmed. "I thought I'd work with K-9 units, but after my initial evaluations, they informed me I had another valuable skill set that I'd been overlooking," she added. "What would that be?" Capri muttered. "I'm really good at blowing things up," Brandi chatted while setting me up for the blood withdrawal. "Oh God," Venus gulped. "Were you girls behind the Arena bombing?" "Yes," Jen replied. "You killed all those people," Aniqua stood up angrily. "Wake up," Jen growled. "What did you think was going to happen when society crumbled?" "Billions are going to die. We can't save them. We, the movement, have to bring the government down before we can move to stage 2 of the plan. If you ladies can't deal with that, you are hanging around with the wrong man," Jen continued. "Israel?" Samantha called out. "I figured it out, Samantha. I didn't know at the start, but I figured it out. Everyone you know, who is not Angel, or Roni that is not in this room will be dead in two months," I sighed. "Oh, you are trying to save as many as you can," Venus murmured. Had I a cohesive plan, or an iron will, maybe I would have understood that enough to save more. "Do you know why Frank is so willingly giving up his blood right now?" Jen asked the group. "He's got hot-sexy eyes for Zara?" Kuiko offered. Jen snorted. Zara's back was to me. "Well, that and, look around the room," Jen told them. "Do you know how many women are on the list of those to be taken to safety?" "None," Capri responded. "Precisely, and he's trying to change that. Of the nearly twenty-six hundred men we have 'vanished', less than twenty asked for another woman to be saved, every one of those asked for their mothers," Jen stated. "Israel asked you to save us?" Kuiko sounded surprised. "Asks the woman who was fuck-stunned for thirty minutes," Jen joked. "He hasn't asked. He didn't have to. That first Sunday, he was on the list. The following Saturday morning, he was off it because he had a female attachment. We kept an eye on him, just in case." "Saturday night he took a beating you cannot imagine because he wouldn't betray Angel Kristi," Jen explained. "Men don't do that. We never give them the chance, but Frank did. We didn't know what Carabolix, 37 was yet. All he had to do was tell another woman that he loved her and treat her the way he treated Angel. He wouldn't do it. He was back on the list." "Since then, somewhat inadvertently, Frank has been working his ass off to help us with our plans," Jen mused. "We didn't think he knew about our background until today, but he put all of the pieces together, seconds after freaking out and walking into a wall. If he hadn't been screwed-up in college, and wasn't a man, he would be on the fast track to academic recognition, political office, or the head of some conglomerate." "Instead, he's a mess, but he's a mess that gets to live as the world dies," Jen finished. My mind was still in the kitchen. Brandi's equipment wasn't powerful enough to see either the T1I1 or T2 viruses, but it was clear that my guys had cleaned house. It also meant, "You brought a sample of the T2 to the city," I whispered to Brandi. She nodded. "It was risky, but we had to know if we had to write off dozens of our people. Now," she sighed happily, "thanks to you, we don't. Some of those people I've known for years." "Until Frank," Jen continued, "we weren't planning to save anyone but the chosen men, despite their disadvantages. Now, your small crew might make it." "You'll save us because he loves Angel?" Kuiko inquired sadly. "Love conquers all," Capri murmured. "Basically yes," Jen nodded. "Because he loves all of you, you might just make it." "That means I get to have sex with him again!" Kuiko exulted. Yeah, the world was going down the crapper, billions dying, civilization as we'd come to know it was fading into darkness, but having sex with me again made it all okay with Kuiko. She was wonderful. "Me first," muttered Venus. Things calmed down after that. I was given a pillow for my head and two for my feet as I lay on the floor giving up two pints of my blood. Brandi was going to replenish me with two fresh pints of blood plasma to keep me going. Somewhere along the process, Brandi left for a spell and Zara came in. She took my free hand and held it tight. Our eyes met. She had some comforting glow about her. I was woozy and very tired, barely awake. "How did I get so lucky?" I whispered. Her eyes grew brighter and her glow warmer. "Get some sleep," she advised and off I went. (Wednesday) "Wake up," Capri was calling out quietly while shaking me by my shins. With no feminine face over me as I awoke, I didn't have to worry about freaking out. "Eloise called Kuiko and asked her to come back in and be re-interviewed." That was pretty sad code for me and Capri to come to the Sentinel offices. The cloak and dagger ratcheted up my worry. I sat up. The other girls were all awake now too. I came to a sad realization. I was a whore by necessity. I was trading my body for services. There was also no misunderstanding in the relationship either, except, maybe for Capri, and Kuiko, and Angel. Maybe I was simply a morose bastard filled with self-loathing and self-pity. I was being a jerk. "I'm going to take a shower now," I stood up and announced. "Venus, can I convince you to join me?" I wasn't going to have my sex life become a matter of 'turns', or a rotation. Monogamy wasn't going to happen. It was a selfish fantasy on my part and totally unfair to my friends, my female friends. Thank you, Kuiko. For a second, Venus froze. She was up and removing her shirt so fast it tore; she was trying to steal back that second. "Sure!" she declared. Venus rushed past me on the way to the bathroom. I could hear the shower coming on as I finished undressing, placing my clothes in my bedroom hamper. Damn, laundry day was overdue. That was a problem I'd have to save for later. At the moment, I had to make my way to the bathroom where a terribly frightening, and terrifically sexy, naked Venus was waiting for me with a burning hunger. I had faced the black depths of Flame's gun, a wall of angry cops and the threat of that unknown cop in the arena, so I could do this. "There are going to be some ground rules," Venus held up her hand. Uh-oh. "Whenever I do something that is starting to weird you out, you let me know, right away." "Uh, yea, wait, why do you get to set the ground rules?" It came out more as a plea than the strong voice I wanted to project. "I want to have sex with you again. I want you to want to have sex with me again. You don't have to treat me the same way you treat Kuiko, unless you want to," Venus grinned wickedly. "Now let's get in the shower before all the hot water runs out." "Trust me, that doesn't happen," I reminded her. Angel and I had a real, time in the shower. I followed Venus into the shower then began shifting around. I couldn't get her rhythm. It was like, "Are you a virgin?" I whispered. Venus gasped and her eyes widened. "What makes you think that?" she countered with bravado. "Let me rephrase, you are a virgin," I said softly. Another denial formed on her lips, but then she nodded. I quickly cupped her jaw and kissed her. I kissed her again then French kissed her. Her tongue was ready and willing. Venus had no idea what to do with it. I inched back. "Let your tongue follow mine. I won't bite," I soothed her. Her smile went from uncertain to aggressive. She wasn't Kuiko, Venus was unskilled but confident. She initiated the next kiss and took my advice. I had to break the embrace because I was not prepared for a tongue wrestling match. "Next: French kissing is not a contest finished with a three count," I joked. "You do know if you tell any of the girls about this I'll, I'll, I'll nipple twist Kuiko until she cries," Venus threatened. I was willing to bet the first idea in her mind was 'punch me.’ She was not Kuiko, not Kuiko, not Kuiko, I spanked Venus' ass. "No you don't," I challenged her. I was gaining solace in my mentorship and that let me wash myself clean of the corrosive toxicity that threatened my joy of life and take delight in Venus' body. "You hit me," she smiled. "I spanked you," I corrected, "and nipple punishment is my teaching technique. Find your own." Venus snickered, tried to stare me down then relented with a kiss. "Deal," she panted when the kiss broke once more. "I think I like being spanked." Oh, God. I dodged our next connection, going for her jawline instead. Her hands fumbled to redirect me, but I slipped past her efforts to her neck. I lightly kissed my way down to her left nipple, tickled it with my tongue then nipped it with my teeth. Venus' hiccupped, her teat flared and her body spasmed. Her hands insistently held my head in place. My hand drummed against her hip, giving her a gentle reminder of where the 'freaky' began for me. It took a few seconds, but Venus did relent, though she groaned as she did so. I switched to the right nipple, sucked the whole, half-dollar sized areola into my mouth then worried it briskly with my teeth while suckling like a starving infant. I could feel her muscles ripple around me. She pushed her breast forward, doing with her chest what she couldn't do with her hands. Her arms were flexing, her fists clenching and unclenching, her calves and feet pushing up so she could tilt farther forward. Venus was hissing her extreme arousal through her grinding teeth. My hand went straight to her nethers, my thumb hunted for a button while two fingers found a cave. "Ai, ai, ai, ai," Venus chirped. She was nice, juicy, warm and ready to go. I kept this up for over a minute. Her button came out to play and I began to tap on it like a telegraph signal. "Oh, fuck me Israel," she pleaded. "If I've been good, stick it in me, if I've been bad, forgive me, but please, please fuck me. I don't want my first orgasm with you to be from your damn fingers." "If that's what you want," I murmured to her with true affection. Venus was aggressive, but she didn't know what to do. Her hormones had to be racing. She couldn't order her thoughts through the storm clouds of her emotions. I was telling her that she was on the right course while she took control. I knew that would make Venus more comfortable and happy. I leaned against the back of the shower. Venus put one foot on the quarter meter lip between the tile floor or lip and the glass door and wall. She pushed up, balanced her hand on the far wall and poised crotch on my stomach. I wedged my left hand between our bodies. I straightened up and rubbed back and forth before Venus trapped it and slid down. It was easy for me to see women as leering, lustful villains wanting to take from me. That was not a far-fetched picture based on my experiences. I had let that caricature stop me from reaching out. It had stopped me from really seeing women for what they were, past their prejudice of my gender and their perceived place for me in their world view. They were confident yet fearful, emotional and confused, practical dreamers and romantic pragmatists. The fascist proletariat, good one Capri. We were blessed by our differences, not divided by them, we complemented one another. Nature never intended for us to be at each other's throats until one or the other was dead or subjugated. Crap, the Vanishers kept getting smarter and smarter in my estimations. If you reduced the equation down to raw survival all the extraneous shit went out the window, pure democracy. You couldn't emotional, or physically, wreck another member because the group needed everyone working at their best so that the group could survive. The gender ratio would still favor the women, but even that was purely practical. It would take time to train the men to be equal contributors to the group. Men would have to earn the right to be considered an equal. This wasn't a carrot at the end of a stick. It was a goal with set mileposts and a graduation date. We would seize equality by our own efforts, free of doubt and the fear it could be taken away. And some of us would end up being devoured by tigers, or chipmunks, or whatever other ravenous monsters roamed the Federation wilderness. Things weren't going to be easy. "Oh God," Venus moaned loud enough to be heard across the hall, "this is so much better." I imagine she meant 'better' than artificial aids. She placed her palms against the wall on either side of my head, grinning triumphantly, while trying to leverage her hip gyrations with her limited mobility. I rested my hands on her ample, muscular ass cheeks, Kuiko's were smaller, but firmer. Venus' and Angel's were very much alike. I took over Venus' revolutions, lifting her free of her footholds. I could tell she was mildly surprised at my strength. Since I buckled under so often, it was normal to see my social weakness mirrored in physical under-development. It was too easy for women to ignore the enforced workout regimen of men meant we were indeed tougher than we looked. "Oh, shit-damn, that feels great," Venus purred as she added her thigh compressions to my lifting to keep control of her sensual stimulations. Debra had been nice, but it had been 'work.’ I didn't want to think about Magdalena at that moment. Angel was love, Kuiko was fun and Venus was, easy. She was easy in that she knew what she wanted, and once I opened the portal and showed her the correct pathway, she gladly took the lead. True to her word, she was experimenting in the things she could do to bring me pleasure, but it was all her. I could have sat back and made all the proper noises and she'd have been happy. I didn't cheat Venus. Once she had established her mistress-ness of the situation, I tuned up my own game. I began chewing on her breasts and teats, spanked her ass and played with her anus, kissed her with enough tongue to excite her sense of domination and bit her lips. My fount of cream first caught me by surprise. Normally I was more in control. I attributed it to the blood transfusion earlier as well as a lack of sleep. "Oh my God," Venus growled victoriously, "you came inside of me, you came." She struggled on with that sense of accomplishment for thirty more seconds. "Ah, Shit!" she screamed. Her wet cave clamped down on my slowly deflated cock. Then the waterworks began, both top and bottom. Venus began sobbing tears of joy. She coated me with thick, creamy fluids. Her body shook through an intense orgasm for nearly half a minute before her forehead fell on my collarbone. Slowly her head turned so that her mouth was puffing her breaths on my neck. "When are we going to do this again?" she panted. There was a pause as I was putting my own mind back in order. "If you say next month, I'm going out there and paddling Aniqua's bottom. I've caught you sneaking peeks at it when you think no one is looking." I was starting to think that I didn't need an Alpha female, I needed a God-damned referee. There was also another way to approach this, I discovered. "When do you want to make love again, Venus?" I murmured playfully. I saw the pleasure in her eyes. That was more than she hoped for. We hadn't graduated from mentor and student. It was wonderful seeing the dawning realization in her eyes. I wasn't going to be the problem, her female cohorts were. She'd 'won' me. She now had to face the wrath of her peers over that deed. Sure, she could say 'let's do it at lunch', but then she'd have to face down the other six women. With that came the understanding that Angel and Kuiko had convinced me to be available too. Monogamy wasn't going to happen so she would have to work it out with the other women. This was a totally different outcome than she'd expected. Having the upper hand in our relationship was a bitch. She couldn't even be angry with me because this was what she wanted. Welcome to equality. I could refuse to choose. There was no longer a power structure that required me to do anything sexual so I could freely concede the initiative to the ladies without giving up a thing. "Are you smarter than Capri?" Venus studied me, face to face and eye to eye. "Please God, tell me you are the smartest person I know," she teased me. "Please tell me you are smarter than that red-haired witch, because if she can trick me as easily as you just did, I'm never going to live it down." "Venus, I am happy to be with you here, right now," I replied. "That's all that matters to me." Venus kissed me deeply, pulled back and gave me several slow pecks on the nose and lips. "That was very sweet of you to say," she purred. She gave me another passionate French kiss. "You aren't going to answer my question, are you?" she glared. "Not in this lifetime," I grinned. We cleaned up and exited the shower. Venus gathered up her torn shirt, shorts, bra and underwear. I reache

Yesterday1 h 0 min
episode Vanishing Manhood: Part 12 artwork

Vanishing Manhood: Part 12

VANISHING MANHOOD: PART 12 THE RACE TO APOCALYPSE. 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/VanishingManhoodPart12.mp3] at Explicit Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels]. https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/12Venus12.jpg [https://archive.org/download/vanishing-manhood/12Venus12.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. FINAL CURTAIN CALL What no one in the Federation knew at that moment was that we were racing for the final curtain call. The W H O knew that something was very wrong, but they were still digging, and desperately hoping they were wrong with what they were looking at. The U N was only learning of the footsteps of doom. They too were praying. The moment Judas took his thirty pieces of silver he had a date with the end of a rope, he just didn't know it. This time it wasn't the fault of those doctors, jurists and politicians from forty years ago. They had never intended for the extreme efforts of the different societies they were creating to go on forever. They were buying time. The problem was men stopped publically dying. The next generation of women would never know the flush sexual possibilities of their mothers, but they became comfortable with the system they had inherited. The men who knew what gender equality felt like; were too old to cause many problems and could be safely ignored. They were still searching for a cure, but no one was hopping mad about it anymore. Infant boys were still dying at an abysmal rate, but in the collective memory of womankind, we always had. They became complacent. The male voice diminished then fell silent. Twenty years ago, when key world leaders learned that the male side of the species was dying out, they had a choice. If they told the people of the Earth the bad news, the women feared that anarchy would ensue. The world economy would collapse. The civilization their predecessors had fought so hard to keep afloat would go under. It would be the End. Or, they could make the men soldier on in futility while women waited for a miracle. They had made a deal with the Devil, but the Devil doesn't deal in Salvation. He gave them twenty years. Old Nick was smiling behind his polite façade. He'd also provided them with the means of killing themselves. I was born a year before the Big Lie was concocted. Another boy, half a world away, was born a year later. Like me, he had his innocence torn away at an early age. Born on Java in Indonesia, he was kidnapped and sold to the slave trade. He could have ended up anywhere, but fate landed him in the Chinese port of Shanghai. By the age of twenty, prodigious amounts of performance drugs and continuous sex had rendered his mind a shell, a few memories still bouncing around. Outside of a small family circle in his native land, no one cared about the boy and no one would have known about him if he hadn't died. In the end, they didn't even care about his body or his name. The W H O named him Patient T2 Zero because by the time they found out about him, the only person who might have remembered his name was dead also. It would be poetic to say he struck back at his tormentors from the grave. In fact, women had stolen away any ability to know what he had done. The fact was that on the Saturday before I moved into my condo, his long laboring T1 antibodies, his reward for surviving infancy, lost their struggle to produce more guardians than naturally degraded. In those seconds, sometime after the lunchtime clientele returned to work, the most mutated version of the T1 virus ever seen 'woke up.’ The cluster of antivirals that encased it crumbled away. It attacked the first cell it came across. In minutes, that cell became a factory. Inside an hour, the antiviral or viral battle became a rout. Under normal conditions, the T1 Gender Plague manifested in three days and the male was dead in four more, max. The boy from Indonesia wasn't normal. He was fighting off some influenza that a few patrons had coughed on him. The housekeeper gave him something for that. He was 'profitable' after all. He had been given an injection at the start of flu season, as well. The boy's blood was a soup of medicinal drugs, aphrodisiacs and performance enhancers. Both his red and white blood cell counts were a wreck from long exposure to these substances. He was fed regularly, they only chained one of his legs to the bed when he was 'working' or sleeping. His throat had hurt so much that he hadn't been eating enough. Besides, his will to continue on was already gone. He was a prostitute, a sex trade worker, a slab of meat. If you get told that enough times, treated like that enough, it becomes all you know. When was the last time you saw a slab of meat fight to stay in one piece? Around four in the afternoon, the housekeeper came by, allowed him to go to the bathroom and gave him some food to eat. She wasn't overly concerned about him barely eating. The boy had a good run. He'd much more than made up the cost the 'providers' extorted from her 'community.’ She mused it was a pity they didn't have more Asian boys. They fetched more money. They couldn't be Chinese, of course. The police put you against a wall and shot you for that, so mainly they were Indonesians, Malay, and Africans. When she shackled the boy back to his pallet for the evening rush, she noticed his pelvic region and cock were enflamed. She checked, the boy was still feverish. She gave him something for the fever and doused his crotch with powder so as not to disturb the clients. Had she been forty-five or older, she might have recognized the onset of the Plague, but she wasn't. Even then, she could hardly be blamed for not understanding. No adult had died from the Plague in forty years. It was a childhood disease. In a final irony, two kilometers away was a very fine hospital. They would have recognized the ailment and quarantined the boy. He would have died, but the Human Race would not have, yet. The housekeeper was indifferent to his suffering. She had other boys to take care of before the working class women began flocking in with their hard-earned Yuan. In a final sad reaction to the impending crisis, she dimmed the light in his room so as to not upset the clients with the condition of his genitals. On Tuesday, as I struggled through the last few hours of my normal life, the boy's was clearly failing. The housekeeper was seeing the local patrolwoman off, with a freebie and the monthly 'allowance' money for the precinct when a junior attendant came running. The Indonesian boy the policewoman had just visited wasn't performing and the client was being noisy. She was feeling irritable and ill, so she went straight for the 'electrical stimulation aid.’ She soothed the client, jolted the boy's anus until his cock finally responded then left the room. She told the assistant to help her move the boy to the storeroom after the latest patron left. The dying boy was no longer profitable. She wasn't going to waste the drugs to simply put him down. One day without food or water would do the trick. Besides, she was angry, she felt like crap and her cunt itched. Inside that boy on that Saturday, the T1 inside the boy had become what was known as the T2 and it had made that last, great leap. It was no longer gender specific. The housekeeper wasn't even Patient T2 One. That distinction fell to a worker at a large electronics factory close by. On Tuesday night, she and some co-workers went out for some drinks after their shift ended. A good friend was heading out into the countryside for a wedding. A man from a nearby village was marrying into her village and she wanted to attend, much to the ribald teasing of her comrades. On Wednesday morning, a stewardess with Air China stopped by to see her sister who was home sick with the flu. The woman teased her ill sister about going to 'those places.’ The stewardess wanted to make sure her sibling had enough food because the stewardess was going to be gone a while. She had a short hop to Nagasaki, Japan, and then a long one to San Francisco. There was much she wanted to do in the Federation city, not the least of was spending time with the boyfriend of one of her girlfriends. The first few patients wandered into the doctors' offices and emergency rooms Thursday afternoon and evening. They were treated for the flu outbreak that was currently running its course in the city and sent home. On Saturday morning, as I was being beaten by Flame at Isobel's party, the first terminal patient was rolled in by ambulance to that very fine hospital. It took them an hour to figure out what was wrong with her. They didn't panic. They called the W H O and Beijing. They went into full quarantine. As I was plotting out my little 'dowel rebellion', Chinese authorities were hot on the trail of the outbreak. The W H O had just flown a team out of Geneva. The 'community' that ran the brothel was figuring out that the trail led back to them. The housekeeper was dying in her room, alone. Patient T2 Zero had already died and been consumed by the flames per the criminals' protocols. His ashes went into the river. Along with them went the only known antivirals that had ever killed a T2. That evening, the local precinct raided the brothel and began rounding up the criminal 'communities' members. A third of the policewomen were so sick they wouldn't have come into work if it wasn't for the emergency. In Beijing, the Central government met to discuss the crisis. Containing the outbreak in Shanghai was a pipe dream. Multiple international ships sailed into and out of the port every hour. There was the river traffic every night and day. Train service linked the entire country with round the clock service. It had an international airport, two regional airports and one military airport. It had a naval base and over a division worth of troops in barracks around the city. Military personnel were always being transferred around. Their decision was totally logical. They would start shifting 'key personnel' to distant governmental bases slowly as to not attract attention. They would lean on the W H O not make its findings known until they were 'absolutely' certain of what was going on. Once the governmental, restructuring, was underway, they would notify other key communities so they could do like-wise. The word went out of the Security net where one woman saw it then decided to go see her brother. If you were a poor assembly line worker in Hangchow, you were boned. Not that it mattered too much. As I was making my spastic declaration on Monday morning, my time, they rolled in the first reported male case. He was definitely terminal. His community had done everything within their power, and budget, to keep him alive. Only in the final hour did they relent and bring him in for help. Such was the fear that the government would 'take' their man. The Chief of Staff at the hospital was 66. Across the dying man from her was the head of the W H O mission who was only 52. The Chinese physician started crying inside her protective suit. She'd been a medical student and later a doctor when the Gender Plague first struck. There was no doubt in her heart. The Reaper had come back for them all. The W H O doctor had lived through the Gender Plague, but only as a child. Her iron-willed Chinese counterpart was losing it and that vanished all her doubts. She raced as quickly as possible to exit the quarantine area. She had to call Geneva. She had to contact the U N. If drastic measures weren't taken right now, she ran into her Chinese 'Communications' officer. "The government needed a few hours to 'assess' her data before allowing a general announcement," she told the doctor. The W H O doctor was an expert in her field. So, the Communications officer repeated the same statement. This was a global pandemic. Same statement. Millions were going to die. Same statement. The W H O doctor tried to push by then saw the two soldiers calmly waiting for her. That 'few hours' turned out to be twenty-four. Tuesday, as valiant, delusional men were getting pummeled all over the Federation, the U N began to meet on the matter. Discreet inquiries were made to the Federation's U N Ambassador about Carabolix-37. An hour after those four men in San Francisco got their asses handed to them over a collection of sticks, six women and one man arrived at a hospital with flu-like symptoms. All but one knew a certain Chinese stewardess. The last one would later recall she had served the woman at a restaurant. Just over an hour later, the police and paramedics located her in her hotel room. She was too feverish to get out of bed. It wasn't until nightfall in the city that the Federation got the true picture. The Chinese government was bugging out, jumping ship, getting the hell out of Dodge before the Great Wall fell on their heads. Then the panic in the Capital set in. It wasn't just the Plague. China was a huge 'X' amount of the global economy and in a matter of days they were going belly-up. Fuck the Plague; dead people didn't eat, work, or vote. Millions of Americans were about to lose their jobs. Any kind of public assistance at this level was a lost cause. Soon there were going to be lots of lonely, hungry, pissed off women looking to lynch somebody. They wouldn't kill doctors and engineers. Doctors were their best hope for staying alive. Engineers kept the lights on. Lawyers and politicians they could do without, or so it was believed. Pulling a 'China' was no longer possible. Not only would people suspect it after the crowd in Beijing bolted, the Federation didn't have a 'Bunker' strategy anyway. The fact that no one had told the 'little' nations of the Doom on the horizon didn't seem to bother anyone there. Virtually as an afterthought, the Press Secretary turned to the Presidential Chief of Staff and said, "What about that lunatic on TV this morning?" It was a clear indicator in the room how bad things were that any of them would consider a man to be the answer to anything that didn't involve stress relief and impregnation. The President looked to the Attorney General who was thanking her lucky stars that this male idiot had stuck around after making an ass of himself to the Nation. "I have a team on him right now," she stated confidently. "Why isn't he in custody?" the Minister of Defense questioned. "We had him in custody, but let him go," she responded. She was leagues above the city's old Police Commissioner. "There was nothing to hold him on at the time and he's under round the clock surveillance. He's ours when we want him." She looked to the President for the order. That woman thought about it for a second. "Ask him," she ordered. "Ask him to come in and help his countrymen and women out in this time of crisis. Be nice." "If he refuses?" the AG wanted clarification. "Snatch him, of course," the President directed. "Have Congress declare him a National Treasure as a legal pretext if you must, but bring him in." "What if this is all a hoax of some kind?" Health and Human Services chimed in. "Then we claim he is a promising lead, wave him in front of the Europeans so they don't panic too," she smiled. "In two or three days we will have something in place for when the dam bursts, but right now we need calm." As they were filing out of the room, the AG put the plan in motion. No one liked what they heard. "Riot? What riot?" the AG blurted out. "What explosion?" "Oh my God! Is he among the dead?" "What do you mean you don't know? Check his bracelet!" The AG gave the President a worried look. "It gave its emergency signal then cut off, did it?" Everyone was looking at the President once more. She was the team's lead striker. "Well, find him, damn it!" the President snapped. "Find him before his body decomposes, or whatever it is that dead bodies do." "Madam President," the AG said solemnly. "The men are rioting in the city, hundreds dead including many police officers." "Hundreds of men? We killed hundreds of men? Oh, shit. Tell me it was a bomb that did it. Please tell me it was the MRA," the President groaned. "How did this happen anyway? How did so many get in one place?" "It was the  M A L rally, Madam President," the National Security Advisor delivered the crushing news. The  M A L was the President's baby. Congress was going to crucify her. Now she started hoping for the Plague to break out soon. That would distract her critics long enough to do, something. "Madam President, I can have two battalions of air mobile and one battalion of Rangers in the city in three hours," the Minister of Defense pledged. "We could use this as a pretext to round up the men in the city," the Minister of the Interior suggested. Several voices yelled 'No!.’ "There are 300,000 men in the city. Where do you plan to hold them?" the National Security Advisor reminded them. "We use Army troops to round them up with support from the police," the DM stated. "We train for this kind of mission all the time." "There are also 3.8 million women in the city," the National Security Advisor asked. "What do you plan to do about them?" "We will call out the reserves," the Defense Minister answered confidently. "Should we call out the reserves in all the  M A L cities, just in case?" the NSA persisted. "Do it," the President said. "This can be a good deception plan for preparing for the Plague outbreaks when they hit." The NSA took a quiet, deep breath. It had taken her twenty long years of crawling through the grime and slime of capital politics to get to this place and time, but with the help of her co-conspirators, she'd made it. The noose was closing on her. They couldn't put her in the room with that initial research group, but they could put her sister there. She had been a naïve congressional staffer when her sister sat her down and gave the bad news. It had taken her weeks to agree. Once she had, there was no looking back. It was treason without an exit plan. Putting the Reserves on the streets wasn't to maintain order. It was meant to put as many guns in as many hands as possible when the Big Lie came tumbling down. The NSA was guilty of treason, but the rest of the Cabinet was guilty of genocide. In a way, the genocide bothered her less than the callous disregard it was approached with by the guardians of the public welfare. Why had it taken weeks for her to decide to join? It wasn't the risk to her career, or the thought of the punishment upon getting caught. It was that they weren't planning to save everyone, or even the majority. No, from the outset, the plan was to save a tiny few. They weren't elitist or supremacist; they were brutally practical. At a critical point in a population, people stopped being doers and became 'consumers' and in the 'Vanisher' model, they couldn't afford anyone who couldn't pull their own weight. They predicted the world economy would collapse violently without hope of recovery. All their needs and requirement would be met by the group alone. There were no bulging bank accounts or massive stockpiles of goods and food. Cash would be useless and neither food nor goods in the amount to be useful could be hidden for long. They were avoiding as many traditional human and fugitive models as possible. That being said, they knew this was a long shot. A mythical gamble, but the only shot mankind had left. Twenty years ago, they had been called romantic idealists and their science ignored. Twenty years ago boys born of husband or wife duos had an infinitesimal greater chance of surviving than boys born of convict (drugged) fathers. It was a tiny enough fraction to ignore. In twenty years of study since then, that fraction had grown noticeably. Capri had called it a 'love conquers all' plan. It was and it wasn't. The conspirators had gone over all the data, even the W H O study in Kwaziristan. They had found nothing to explain it. Nothing at all. Yet men were living despite all the science that said they shouldn't. At that moment, it became an act of faith.

26. juni 20261 h 0 min
episode Vanishing Manhood: Part 11 artwork

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

25. juni 20261 h 0 min
episode Vanishing Manhood: Part 10 artwork

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

24. juni 20261 h 0 min
episode Vanishing Manhood: Part 9 artwork

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

23. juni 20261 h 0 min