A man in the world, were only a few males remain.
Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand, adapted into 17 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.
Fear is a terrible seducer. It steals you away from the rest of the World.
I pulled up to my new apartment complex and groaned. It was a two story building shaped as a big U with a large swimming pool in the middle and a gym situated at the open end. Not for the first time I wished I had paid the hefty bribe and moved into a 'married couples' building and not this 'singles' complex the Housing Authority had saddled me with.
Head down, I began unloading my rental van and lugging my few belongings to my second story condo. I avoided other residents until I had my third box at my door. I wasn't stupid enough to leave my door open so I had to fiddle with the knob while balancing the box with one knee.
"Hi there," a female voice caught me off guard. "Do you need help with that?"
Now I'm no idiot. Sure, I had my long-sleeve shirt buttoned down, tight jeans that would be difficult to remove quickly and a strong belt on, but I wasn't inviting a strange woman into my dwelling. The odds of getting a conviction of female on male rape these days was nearly impossible. The assumption was that if I invited the girl in it was because I wanted to get fucked, essentially, I was asking for it.
"No, thank you. I've got this," I replied politely. "I turned and saw an attractive woman with dirty-blonde hair, around five-ten and athletically built. Her grey eyes bore into me and, while her smile remained plastered on her face, it grew frosty.
"Bracelet," she requested politely.
It wasn't something I could refuse, it was the law. I had to give my identity to any female of legal age. For the law's sake, all men had quarter-inch metal bands attached to their right wrists. The integrated chip was updated every twenty-four hours and held all my vital statistics. I was about to put the box down when she placed a hand underneath it.
"We can do that inside if you like," she suggested.
"That's very nice of you, but I don't know you," I evaded. I put the box down and extended my right arm toward her. She pulled out her phone, scanned my bracelet and then smirked.
"Single White Male, twenty-one, no attachments and you haven't had sex in the current cycle," she mused.
"I can help you with that," her demeanor warmed up slightly, mistakenly guessing that not having sex yet so late in this 28 day cycle I would be more receptive to her advances. All women liked to believe men were willing and eager to do our part in the procreative process. I had certainly never been asked about it.
"Thanks, but I've had a long drive. I need to finish getting the van unloaded and then unpack everything," I tried to be as nice as possible. That was not the answer she was looking for.
She looked back at her phone and scrolled through something. I took the opportunity to open my door and quickly pushed the box inside with my foot.
"You have been paying the fine for the last four cycles," she noted with critical interest. It was a demanding, dominant look. I couldn't tell if she was going to challenge my masculinity or make me cringe in fear at the exposure of my confidential information.
"Wait," I gulped. "How do you know that?"
She shifted her jacket aside and showed me her badge, and gun. She was a Metropolitan Police Officer, oh shit. Sexual harassment by police officers on men was frighteningly common.
"Yes," I replied promptly. "Yes, I have."
"What's wrong with you?" she questioned me. "Are you homosexual? Can't you perform?"
The fine for male homosexuality was far more crippling than merely abstaining for a short while. Not having sex with a woman for six straight months was grounds for the violation of my civil rights and we both knew it. The plethora of male enhancement drugs and surgery made me not performing a joke. The whole issue of paying fines for abstaining from sex was confidential for a reason. It pissed many women off that men could still buy their way out of spending time with them. In the past, when that information had been generally available on our bracelets, some females had taken it upon themselves to 'teach' the offending male a lesson. To put a stop to this practice, the information had been reclassified as confidential.
"I really don't want to answer that," I said softly. "Please, it is personal."
"Very well, Mr. Jensen, or would you prefer I call you Israel?" she studied me.
"Thank you," I stammered. Her grin grew as she pulled out her card and thrust it into my hand.
"Detective Angel Kristi," she informed me. "My roommate and I live right across the hall. Her name is Roni and she's a paramedic. I'll come by and check in on you when I get off shift." With that she headed downstairs. I took a deep breath. I had no illusions that her checking up on me was something I could refuse.
I managed to get the rest of my stuff inside before my second encounter. Two girls came at me with a bottle of tequila and a Tupperware container with all kinds of food in it. One was a tight-bodied Asian woman, a slender 5 foot 3, with black hair down to her shoulder blades. The other was a black girl, around 5 foot 8, and built like a female volleyball player.
"Welcome neighbor," the black girl greeted me enthusiastically. "I'm Aniqua and this is my roommate, Kuiko." Kuiko waved with her free hand.
"Hey, Kuiko and Aniqua, I'm Israel Jensen" I gave them my best noncommittal grin. "Thank you."
"Sure," Kuiko stepped right up to me. "Is someone helping you unpack?"
Since the odds of me having a male roommate were miniscule (two guys in one domicile only happened in pornos and sitcoms). We both knew she was really asking if I had a girlfriend. That probably would have saved me, but they might have asked permission before getting me drunk and dragging me off for a fuck session. I decided to save them the trouble of scanning me.
"I'm a single White male; no attachments," I sighed. It took Aniqua a second to figure out what I wasn't saying.
"Bracelet," she 'suggested.’ I offered, she scanned and she took a deep intake of breath. "You haven't had sex this cycle yet, oh goodie!"
"That's," gulp, "nice, but I'm exhausted from the move. Can I catch up with you ladies later?"
"Damn," Kuiko looked upset, and very frustrated. That gave me a sinking feeling.
"Am I the only guy in the complex?" I worried.
"Yes," Aniqua confirmed excitedly. "You are not only the only one here, but the only one on the entire block."
Oh fucking God! This couldn't be happening to me. When I was a freshman in college, a girl I trusted took me to a sorority party. She promised me she was only showing me off to her girl-pals. I was fucked raw for an entire weekend and they got it all on video. Like an idiot, I went to Campus Security.
They told me 'girls will be girls' and what did I expect going to a sorority party. As I left in utter humiliation, they joked about me having a nice ass. I never trusted a girl again. Once a month I picked a random girl on campus and asked her to fuck. I never got turned down and I never slept with a girl who hit on me.
In my junior year my Mother died and I received a small amount of money in an insurance policy. After that, I skated the law by paying the fine for five months at a time. The police came to visit me and I had court appointed psychiatrist appointments (again). Technically, I was still a citizen so they couldn't force me to take aphrodisiacs.
I met a guy who went down that road and he was a mess, hardly able to say 'no' to any woman, or women, he met.
"I really appreciate the gifts and the information but I really need to get my apartment in order before starting work tomorrow. Don't want to mess up my first day on the job," I informed them hoping they'd take the hint and back off.
"What's your job and where are you working?" Kuiko inquired.
"Public Relations for the Office of the Mayor," I confessed.
"Oh, you are political," Aniqua drew the wrong conclusion.
"No," I kept smiling. "I work for the city."
"I bet the reporting pool is going to love you," Kuiko sighed. It was not lost on me that Chicago's chief executive might have chosen my application because of that. Essentially, I was a pretty face to put the best face possible on her policies.
"Well, I hope they will respect that I was top of my class," I suggested.
The girls giggled as if what I was proposing was absurd.
"Oh, you're adorable," Aniqua patted my shoulder. "You are going to be so much fun to have around."
"The last guy was a really fun slut," Kuiko sighed. "Then one day the poor little moron thought he was in love and got married to a woman who wouldn't share."
"Yeah, some women are no fun," I gulped. "On that note though, I really have to go," I backed into my apartment.
"Bye now," they waved in unison. As the door shut I heard Kuiko say,
"See the chest on that guy? He's got some real stamina," she mused.
"I hope he has a really big cock," Aniqua added. "Joseph was okay but he was barely five inches. Let's go online and see what his reviews are like."
I lost track of their voices as they wandered down the hall. I busied myself unpacking my meager belongs in my pre-furnished pad. I paced the place. I checked to see if the windows would open, but they were all stationary. If I wanted out, I'd have to kick a window open. All the interior doors were flimsy and the locks cheap. With every revelation, my heart sank deeper into despair. This didn't feel like a home. It felt like a holding cell with a comforting veneer.
I didn't like being in a place that had only one way in and out. My history left me like that. In the end I went for my old college trick of moving my dresser against my bedroom door before I went to bed with my baseball bat. I would have rather have had a gun. Men had to jump through hoops to get one and with my 'mental' history I knew that wasn't going to happen.
Maybe they were afraid I'd blow my brains out and that wouldn't do while I still had two working testicles. Despite the strange surroundings I managed to get to sleep without my sleeping pill which had been prescribed for me. I hated taking those pills. They left me feeling like I was walking in a fog.
I woke up a bit past midnight, feeling that something was wrong. I didn't know what it was until I heard the doorbell ring, again, I assumed. Fuck that noise, I wasn't answering the door after midnight. Hell, I didn't want to open my door after dark. There were two more rings then I guessed they gave up.
When the door knob turned, the brass candlestick I had placed on it fell. I grabbed my phone and called 9 1 1. The operator kept me on the line while letting me know that a patrol car was on the way. I nearly lost it. The intruder tried to get in my bedroom, bumping against the dresser.
"Israel, it is Angel," the intruder informed me. I thought about what to tell the 9 1 1 operator but there was no way I could see to win this. I informed the operator that there was a police officer already here with me, who she was and that the intruder must have been scared off. A few seconds later, Detective Kristi's phone rang and she verified my version of events.
"Are you going to let me in?" she asked.
"Do I have a choice?" I replied.
"Sure, but I read your file and I think we need to talk," she countered. I didn't say anything for the longest time. "I'll go if you want me to," she finally spoke up.
"Are you going to keep coming back?" I asked.
"Yes," she answered. I sighed and moved the dresser aside but I kept my bat. Angel came into my room and I backed to the bed. For a second, in my fatigue, I sat on my bed. When I realized where I was, I shot back up. She would assume my waiting on the bed meant I was 'receptive.’
There was a curl to Angel's lip as she regarded me.
"I would like to talk to you," she repeated. "We could talk out on the sofa if you prefer." That was a ruse. I'd been held down and screwed on all kinds of furniture as well as the floor, carpet and the dirt. No place was safe.
"We can talk in here," I allowed.
"I would feel better if you put down the bat," she requested.
"Are you going to put down your gun?" I countered. Surprisingly, she unholstered her weapon and put it on the dresser. I felt obliged to lean the bat against the wall. It was well within arm's reach. My action was a concession to a cop not a sign of trust.
Detective Kristi walked toward me and sat on the bed, patting the space next to her. I remained standing next to my bat.
"I know what happened to you when you were sixteen," she said softly. When I was sixteen, I was walking home from a date with my girlfriend (I was normal then) when I saw a woman having trouble on the side of the road.
I stopped to help her only to realize she had a body in the trunk. I found myself staring into the eyes of killer with a gun. She quizzed me about whether I was a good boy or not. I told her I was coming home from a date with my first girlfriend. She asked if we had sex. I confessed that she'd only given me a blowjob because I was unready for complete intercourse.
That admission saved my life but led to 87 days of hell. She kept me in her basement where she raped me at least once a day and sometimes three or four times. When she wasn't raping me, she was luring male prostitutes and dancers home and killing them for being 'impure.’ She was a female police officer out on permanent disability (she had been shot in the stomach and lost both ovaries).
The experience left me awfully traumatized. I was ordered into therapy and was awarded an eighteen month exemption on sexual conduct. The therapy cured me of my terror, right up until I went to college. I took the psychological training I had learned after my abduction which encouraged me to reintegrate into society and tried to be normal. I met a girl two years older who aggressively pursued me. I reciprocated, we dated and I thought we really had a mutually supportive relationship. I was conditioned by the whole social or civil system to believe my girlfriend would keep me from harm.
That systemic subliminal conditioning convinced me to trust my girlfriend and that led me to being an unwilling participant in an orgy at her sorority. My ensuing encounter with campus security effectively eliminated any intentions I may have had about women and relationships.
"Well, you know what happened to me," I replied quietly. "Why is that relevant now?"
"You seemed to have transited the recovery program rather well but when you went to college you seem to have relapsed," Angel stated. So much for the confidentiality of my medical files, I thought.
"Oh," I stared at her, "you are now an expert on male rape and recovery?"
"No, but I showed your file to a co-worker who does specialize in it," Angel told me. "She says your behavior is abnormal."
"Good for her. Thanks for prying into my private life and medical files," I grew angry.
"I can't tell you how much I enjoy having a total stranger rip my life bare for your and your co-worker's enjoyment," I added. "Is this the point where you comfort me in my grief and then I perform for you?"
"No Israel, I only came by to talk," she took a deep breath.
"You don't need to be seeing women as the enemy," Angel went on. "That's not healthy. You need to trust women again like you did before your rape."
"What? My complaint to Campus Security didn't make it into my permanent record, what a crime," I joked bitterly.
"Your fucking therapy worked, Cop," I grumbled. "I trusted a girl in college and was raped for a weekend by her and about forty of her sorority sisters. The video was all over the university for months. Since I was so clearly a whore, girls felt it was okay to touch and grab me when and where ever. Why exactly should I trust when all therapy taught me was a lie?"
"Israel, you cannot live your life in fear," Angel sounded intense. "Women are everywhere. Besides, therapy wasn't a lie. Most women aren't monsters and respect men and their rights."
"Listen, Officer Kristi, I do my part," I glared. "I have the required amount of sex or pay the fine. I'm not a subversive. I don't frequent subversive internet sites. I follow the law."
"You know that's not enough, Israel," Angel stood up. "Our youth demographic is in decline and before long Congress is going to expand on the Gender Inequality Act. Men will be required to contribute more; more sex with more partners and plural marriages."
"Why are you telling me this?" I hung my head.
"I think you are a nice guy, Israel," Angel rubbed my left bicep. "I don't want to see you go under."
"The fact that I am the only man in a block has nothing to do with it," I stated in a neutral voice.
"I'm not a saint, but I'll be your friend if you need one," Angel offered.
"Yeah, right," I let my bitterness boil forth for a second, "since the police have been my friends all my life. The police are women looking after women and men had better watch out unless we want to find ourselves 'wards of the state.'" I immediately regretted telling her the truth.
"See Israel, those are the wrong kinds of thoughts that can get you in trouble," she warned me with enough compassion to scare me.
"We are having a party by the pool Saturday at noon. Why don't you show up?" Angel suggested. "It will do you good to get out there and deal with this problem of yours head-on."
"Okay," I felt dead inside. "I'll be there."
"Don't be like that," Angel sighed in exasperation. "It will be fun. No one will act inappropriately. You'll have a good time."
"Let me guess," I pulled away. "You'll be there to protect me."
"I know you don't believe me. Just show up and you will see that you don't need protection. If you feel uncomfortable, let me know," Angel tried to keep the warmth in her voice.
"Thank you," I lied. This whole interview was worse than a waste of time. "I need to get some sleep so could you please leave now."
"Learn to relax a little, Israel," Angel warned me again, but she did leave. I followed along. At the door she handed me my candlestick.
"Nice trick," she grinned.
"Yeah, but now that you know it, I'll have to think of something else," I admitted. She shook her head in disappointment but left without comment.
The next morning I woke up bright and early. I wanted to make a good impression and show up early to work. I made my way to the metro stop with all the normal precautions. I wished it was winter, not summer, so that I could wear heavier clothes and not stand out. As it was, I wore a light overcoat despite the high being forecast to be around 80 degrees.
I also kept headphones and kept my notepad close to my face reading a book online so I didn't have to make eye contact with any women. To my dismay, the only other man at the station appeared to be around fifty-five and exhausted. Something was clearly wrong. The Housing Authority normally made sure that single men and women were put in close proximity. Something was definitely wrong.
I attributed several factors that allowed me to reach a corner seat unmolested. Monday morning fatigue aided me but several years of practice in blending in was the key. The first girl asked me for my bracelet half way down the line.
"21? You must be fresh out of college," she chortled. "Did you have fun in school?"
"I'm looking forward to making a paycheck," I replied.
Her name was Debra and she was nice enough. She hadn't had a boyfriend in four years (hint, hint), worked at a dry cleaners and lived right across the street from my condo. She was a little put out that I wouldn't give her my numbers or address but wasn't an ass about it. She also gave me an interesting tidbit of information.
Six months ago there had been twelve guys in the neighborhood. Seven had up and gotten married, two had transferred out and two had simply vanished. The marriages were above the average and the disappearances were disturbing. The only other guy was Steve, a widower, who was on 'medication' to help in 'reconnect' and deal with his grief.
I felt for Steve. He may have been married before the Gender Plague wiped out 95% of the men on earth over a ten year period way before I was born. It still killed 9 out of 10 male births within the first year. In the North American sphere they had responded with the gender laws. In other countries, where things were far more draconian, they had a problem with 'male flight.’
It made me shudder to think I lived in a 'good' place. It wasn't worth contemplating how much worse things would get if they tightened up on the male discrimination laws. With those happy thoughts I entered City Hall, got thoroughly searched, patted down and felt up, all in the name of making sure I wasn't a MRA (Male Retribution Army) terrorist.
My boss, Francesca Silverhorn, located me before they upped my relationship status. I had to wonder if women went through this when the guards were men. I almost missed Ms. Silverhorn laying out my duties. I was to proofread speeches, give the occasional briefing and stand on stage in the Mayor's entourage.
I thanked her for the job opportunity and she laughed at me.
"Look handsome and only say what we tell you to say," she instructed me. "Oh, and only date pretty girls, you will be in the public eye from here on out." Wow, the superficiality of that statement was depressing.
I had little hope of meeting a nice girl I could believe in. Now she had to be up to a certain physical standard as well. Things kept getting better. I was introduced to the staff and instantly re-introduced to my old or last girlfriend, the one who took me to her sorority party. I jerked to a halt while she leered at me. I had avoided her like the plague since that weekend three years ago.
I didn't have time to dwell on my sudden proximity to this monster for too long because at the end of my tour was a quick face-to-face with the Mayor's Chief of Staff. Isobel Diaz looked me up and down.
"Do you have a nice package?" she snapped off.
"What?" I gasped.
"Dong, schlong, dick, rod, you know, your man-meat, is it big?" she clarified. I looked for help from Francesca but she was busy looking out the window.
"I supposed so," I sighed. "A bit over seven inches long and pretty thick, or so I've been told."
"Pull it out," she directed. "Pull it out and jack off." I had to wonder where the fuck this was coming from, but I knew my position was hopeless. If I lost this job, I'd be on public assistance until I managed to get whatever position I could with this black mark on my record. I pulled it out and began wanking.
For a minute, my shame and fear stopped me from getting anywhere. To make matters worse, I thought I was going through all this only to lose my job anyway.
"Chen, come in here," Isobel called over her intercom. Seconds later, her P A came in the room.
"Ms. Chen, do you feel like sucking this man off?" Isobel asked. "He's made some boasts and it would be a pity if he lost his job over an unauthorized lie."
Ms. Chen was Chinese around 5 foot 6, with nice curves and a mischievous smile.
"Bracelet," she ordered. She scanned me. "Unattached? Do you play around much?"
"I don't, hardly, play around much," I stammered. "I showered if that matters." Ms. Chen responded by getting on her knees before me and took over my stroking duties. Her question had been rhetorical. At the very least, she knew I was sexless so far this cycle. That was a good indicator that I didn't play the field. Ms. Chen cooed softly to ease my discomfort over the whole situation.
A few strokes with her firm, warm hand plus a few kisses and my cock was roaring to life. Being so responsive to stimulation was the downside of my abstinence strategy. Her lips engulfed my head with agonizing slowness. A few quick bobs and she then began licking my shaft, top to bottom. I was fully aroused and starting to ache.
"That's enough. It seems Mr. Jensen is not a braggart," Ms. Diaz noted.
"You can go now, Ms. Chen," she stated. Ms. Chen pouted at her boss. "I'm sure you can finish that up on your own time." Ms. Chen gave my shlong a final kiss, rose, turned and left.
"Francesca, make sure he wears tighter pants. If we have some bad news to deliver, I want him to rub himself up and be on stage as a distraction," Ms. Diaz talked like I wasn't there.
I put my cock back in my pants as Ms. Silverhorn led me away. We walked in silence until we exited the Chief of Staff's offices.
"In the old days, the guys used to tell the young female interns to unbutton two more buttons on their blouse and wear push-up bras," Francesca informed me.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I looked into her eyes.
"No but hopefully you will take some strength that other people went through that kind of thing and survived," she said.
"I only want to do a good job, go home at the end of the day and get paid," I replied.
"That's not very ambitious," she noted. "You need to be more aggressive in my office."
"Okay," then after a second. "Do I let all the women molest me or only the important ones?"
"I do not expect you to be a whore, Mr. Jensen," she snorted. "I do not approve of Ms. Diaz's action but her boss is the one currently in the big chair so we do what we must."
I was the tenth employee in the Public Affairs office and the only guy. Two were married; the rest were single women. In the next office group there was a guy in the Budget office and he stopped by to see the 'competition.’
"Hi, I'm Troy Berry," he popped into my cubicle.
"Ah, hello. I'm Israel Jensen," I responded.
"So what do you think of your work environment?" I leaned against one of my walls.
"It has been an hour," I reminded him. "I haven't really formed an opinion yet."
"Oh, come on," Troy chuckled. "All the hot babes here, Man, I tell you, and I've banged them all at least twice."
"Well, good for you," I muttered. "I won't get in your way." That seemed to catch him off guard.
"Are you gay?" he wondered.
"No," I sighed. "I do my civic duty and I don't get attached."
"You make it sound like it's no fun," Troy leered. "You've got to spank that ass, slap that cunt, fuck um deep and long. Make the bitches squeal."
It wasn't lost on me that he was speaking loud enough to be overheard.
"I'm glad you are so proficient," I tried to smile. "That will be less trouble for me."
"Troy," Ms. Silverhorn appeared at my side. "Don't you have a job to do?"
"Uh, yes Ms. Silverhorn," he gulped and fled.
"Don't let him bother you, Israel," she looked down at me. "Troy is a walking advertisement on why it is better for a girl to stay home with her vibrator than date every asshole that comes around."
"Okay, thank you?" I gazed back up.
"I have forwarded you series of past speeches I want you to go over today to get a feel for our style," she informed me. "I was simply going to call you but I saw Troy skulking around and decided to drive him off."
"I'll get right on this," I nodded.
"If you have any questions, see Ms. Freemont," Francesca told me. "She's agreed to help train you. I understand you two went to school together." I nodded because the alternative was to vomit.
I buried my head into my work, going over all the Mayor's speeches for the past year. I would have rather chewed off my own arm than approach Bethany Fremont about anything. Unfortunately, she had no trouble approaching me.
"Hey, Israel," she purred after sneaking up on me. I jumped out of my chair and backed as far away in my cubicle as possible.
"Some of the girls and I are heading out for lunch," she smiled sweetly. "We want you to come along." I stared at her, trapped between fear and rage. "Oh come on now, I forgave you for dumping me after we made you such a popular man on campus."
"Popular?" I nearly choked. "Is that what you think?"
"Of course," she grinned wickedly. "You got to screw a whole sorority in one weekend. I know for a fact that plenty of girls went after you. Did you no longer have time for me?"
"I can't go out today," I groaned. "I have work to catch up on."
"Oh, come on," she teased. "You look like you need to unwind."
"No," I whispered after a moment to gather my courage. She reached for my arm casually but I flinched away. Bethany seemed confused and a bit offended.
"You are acting weird, Israel," she accused me. "I thought you would be more appreciative that I helped you get this job."
"I, I need to get back to work," I muttered. I pulled my chair around and resumed my work station with my back to her. It was another offense in an endless series of humilations and assaults on my ego. Had I earned this job on my own, or was this another round of luring me in and betraying my dreams of a better life? I found it impossible that Bethany would do me a favor out of the goodness of her heart, she didn't have one.
"We'll talk later," Bethany still sounded confused. She patted me on the shoulder then strode away. I didn't break down into trembling fits until she was out of sight.
Several times after lunch, Bethany came by to check on me. She wasn't alone, either, I believed that all my co-workers came by to touch base with me. At four, Francesca informed me she wanted to finish going over the old speeches and reminded me about the need to 'update' my clothing.
At five, the majority of my female co-workers left for where ever. Bethany was hanging around and I began to get worried because Bethany had acted without consequence for the law before. I wasn't sure why it worried me that Bethany was hanging around. I knew I had no desire to be alone with the woman who had betrayed me so badly. There was only one thing I could do.
I picked up the phone. "Hello, Detective Kristi," I said when she answered. "It is Israel Jensen."
"I recognize your voice," she told me. "What's up?"
"Well, you said you wanted to be my friend and I need a favor," I blathered.
"Sure, okay, calm down," she became more alert. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm at work at City Hall and, well, umm, could you come pick me up?" I pleaded. "I'm on the fifth floor, room 5 0 3." I was gambling that, like most police, Angel had her own car.
"Give me thirty minutes," she responded. Oh, thank God I prayed silently.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promised.
I sweated every one of the thirty minutes I waited to be picked up. Bethany remained at her station the entire time and I was beginning to feel paranoid by the time Angel arrived. She opened the door then knocked, cop style.
"Israel, I'm here," she called out. Bethany and I stood up simultaneously.
"Here," I sung out. I gathered my things and headed her way. Bethany intercepted me before I made it to the door.
"Israel, who is this?" she stopped me. She was clearly annoyed at Angel's unexpected intervention. Bethany positioned herself so that I would have to maneuver around her to exit the room.
"I'm Detective Angel Kristi," my pseudo-friend intervened. "I'm his ride home," Angel smiled sweetly.
"Oh, I didn't know Israel was attached," Bethany smiled back.
"Maybe there's a reason you don't know," Angel answered without answering.
"Now that Israel is working with us, he can only date the 'right' people," Bethany bit back.
"Thanks for the update, who are you anyway?" Angel questioned snidely.
"Bethany Fremont," Bethany replied with false sweetness. "Israel and I dated in college."
"Funny," Angel gave her own wicked grin, "he's never mentioned you in all the time I've known him." Angel didn't bring up the fact that she'd only met me 24 hours ago.
"I'm not attached," I jumped in. "We live in the same complex, that's all." Lying about an attachment was a criminal offense, right up there with a girl lying about having sex with a male when she hadn't.
"We are friends," Angel stated.
"Well, he's only in the city because I got him his job here," she hesitated. "With the Mayor."
"Good for you," Angel gave a patently false smile. "Israel, are you ready to go?"
"You bet," I exhaled with some relief. I slipped past Bethany and Angel and moved quickly to the elevator.
To Angel's credit, she kept quiet for the entire trip home. Only when we got to the parking garage did I realize I had forgotten a very important mission in my panic. I headed out instead of for the stairs to the apartments.
"Where are you going?" she inquired.
"Ugh, they are making me buy some new clothes for work," I responded.
"Pants not tight enough?" she teased. I sighed and lowered my head.
"Yeah," I groaned.
"Don't worry about it," she came to my side. "I have a buddy working Sex Crimes. That sort of harassment happens all the time."
"Technically they can't make you wear those kind of clothes. On the other hand I don't think there is an Assistant District Attorney in the city that would prosecute on it, especially not the Mayor's Chief of Staff," Angel informed me.
"How did you know it was the Chief of Staff?" I looked over to her.
"Ha," Angel laughed. "That woman is a notorious man-eater. She both uses them personally and uses them to advance her agendas."
"Oh, God," I groaned.
"Israel, you do understand that some men use women's sexual appetites to advance their own careers," she countered. "This doesn't have to be one-sided."
"Okay," I said softly.
"Cheer up," Angel hesitated to touch me. "At least you are good-looking. You have options that ugly guys don't have. Women care about what happens to you."
"Maybe if I was ugly they would leave me alone," I pointed out.
"You have a cock," she joked. "Women will never leave you alone." That didn't make me feel better, quite the opposite. "I'll take you downtown," she offered. As we pulled back out onto the street, all the good men's clothing boutiques were in the city center, Angel cleared her throat.
"So are you going to tell me what's going on here?" she requested.
"I was under the impression you had volunteered to go clothes shopping with me," I answered.
"Why did you have me pick you up at work? Last night you couldn't wait to get me out of your apartment," she pointed out.
"I had a panic attack," I lied.
"Bullshit, Israel," Angel murmured. "If you don't want to tell me, don't tell me. Don't lie to me, though. Understood?"
"Understood," I looked down at my lap.
"Let's start again: why did you call me?" she repeated. While she had given me the option of saying nothing, I had the feeling I would need Angel on my side again before too long.
"That girl in college I told you about last night, the one I trusted. You met her when you picked me up today," I explained.
"Shit," Angel muttered.
"Yeah," I sighed. "She thinks she helped me get my job here. That's just fucked up."
"She thinks she did me a big favor in college too. She thinks I dumped her because I had become so popular, but she's willing to give me a second chance," I shuddered.
"I'm not sure what I can do for you," she spared me a sympathetic look. "The Mayor's Office is a bit above my pay grade."
"I've already asked too much of you," I smiled sadly. "I'll take it from here on out. She ambushed me today, but I'll be ready for her tomorrow."
"There you go," Angel encouraged me. "Keep fighting."
"That's right," I joked. "Who do I go to about sexual harassment?"
"The Internal Review office of the Civilian Affairs Agency, You know that would be career suicide," she advised me. I had been in a similar situation before. I know that. "You would have nothing to back you up and the Mayor's Office doesn't want the scandal that such a complaint would cause. They would bury it."
"Jeesh, and they wonder why the male suicide rate is so high," I muttered.
"Don't go down that road, Israel," Angel cautioned me. If she really thought I would try to kill myself, she would have to turn me in. A woman throwing herself off a building was fifteen seconds on the local news. A man trying to end his earthly suffering was a Crime Against Humanity and resulted in a permanent suspension of his civil rights.
The conversation sort of petered out after that. Thankfully the clothing store was mostly frequented by my fellow males and the occasional married couple. My salesman was an actual man and after I told him where I worked he knew exactly what to do. He selected pants that were tight, real tight, and 'I'm afraid to bend over in these things.’ I bought five and put them on my credit card because I certainly couldn't afford them.
"You are in Public Relations," Angel tried to put the best face on things. "You have to expect things like this from time to time."
"Oh, when you made detective did they have you drop your pants and finger-fuck you?" I asked in a totally deadpan tone.
"Being bitter isn't going to help," she advised.
"Bitter is about all I have left," I confided. "I'm in PR because I'm a writer, or so I thought. I'm a good writer, too. Why is it no one seems to give a crap about that?"
"Give it time," she patted my knee. "You'll prove yourself to them. You only have to hang in there until they figure that out."
"If you say so," I deflected any of my true emotions on the subject. "When I was little, I wanted to be a cop."
"Men can't be cops," Angel smiled at me. "It is too dangerous. It's the same reason you can't be a fireman or in the military. We can't afford to risk you guys. If in vitro still worked, things might be different. "It's a shame there hasn't been a successful artificial birth in twenty years."
"Yay, lucky me. Any profession that allows me to defend myself I'm barred from," I noted sarcastically.
"You have a baseball bat," Angel pointed out.
"Are you going to take that away from me?" I looked her over.
"No, you are allowed athletic equipment," she tried to lighten the mood. It didn't do too much for me because I realized I had mandated gym time coming up. The government wanted us men to be fit and trim. No bad foods, plenty of exercise and nothing toxic to our systems. It was all for our own good, of course.
After dropping me back at the complex, Angel returned to work to finish her 3pm to 11pm shift at the Metro North Station. First, I stalked about my apartment to make sure no one had broken in or was sticking around. Yes, I know that's paranoid. I checked my system notices and discovered I had the 8 to 9 slot at the gym. I hadn't missed it but I didn't have too much time.
I couldn't afford to pay the small fine I would have been assessed for missing it, things were so tight. I had exhausted my funds finishing up my college education free of sexual degradation. I believed that I could get by on exceptional grades alone. I was blessed in that my hour was prime TV time and there was only one woman in the place. She did keep looking my way but didn't come over, for which I was grateful. My day seemed to be ending quietly until the doorbell rang at 12:30, again.
This time I answered it, baseball bat in hand. It was Angel. I reluctantly let her in.
"Are you okay?" she asked as she stepped in.
"I," I wanted to tell her I had been asleep but that was pointless and a bit rude. Instead I extended a hand toward her. She looked at it, smiled slightly then shook it.
"Thank you for today," I told her.
"You are welcome, Israel," she grinned. "I'm glad you called."
"Why is that?" I wondered.
"You were in a jam and you stepped outside your shell to ask for help," Angel smirked. "I call that progress."
"I thought it would have been a better indicator of how freaked out I was," I countered.
"I'm a professional," she sighed. "I could tell you were in distress, not merely making an excuse to spend time with me."
"On that note, you can go now Detective Angel Kristi," I frowned. I wasn't pissed and she knew it. She knew I was tired too.
The next morning a different girl sat down with me on the subway. She chatted away despite my obvious attempts to avoid conversation. Frustrated, I stood up, looked around and found Debra. I wedged myself through my fellow commuters, with the obligatory groping, until I was standing at her side. She smiled when she saw I was stopping by her.
"Debra, do you want to hook-up?" I whispered in her ear. Debra jolted in surprise.
"Okay, sure, where, when?" she babbled. I had to calm her down so as to not attract attention.
"I get off at the next stop," I outlined. "We'll go into the Men's room and do it in a stall."
For me, it was always like this, as random a hook-up as possible. I wouldn't go to her place because I feared being at her mercy. I wouldn't take them to my place because I didn't want them to know where I lived. Sure, I would have to have to see Debra again on the subway. What made her attractive to me was she could take the hint to leave me alone unlike the girl I had left my seat to escape.
I certainly wasn't going to do it with anyone at work, definitely not with Bethany. With all the new pressures on my life, I had to get my social sexual obligation out of the way. I was afraid, filled with self-loathing and angry. I hated myself for engaging in sex. I hated that I was so screwed up inside that I'd treat yet another woman like a hash mark on the record of my sexual history. I hated the system that wouldn't leave me in peace and give me time to heal.
I focused my mind. I kept telling myself that Debra had never wronged me. She was kind, a bit shy but courageous enough to confront me yesterday and sexually inviting without being threatening. Had the situation, I might have actually liked her. The problem was I had my back to a wall and no way out, again.
"Ah, okay," she sounded a bit disappointed.
"I'll make it worth your while," I assured her softly. As we got off the train, Debra was plenty wound up. Debra was already plenty worked up. Seeing the women looking at us, and knowing what we were about to do, ignited the voyeur in her. In our society where so many women going without sex, it gave her a vicarious thrill to know she wasn't going to be one of them and now she would be the one others were jealous of.
We stumbled into the first stall and began fumbling with our clothes. Debra was clearly frightened and unsure so I slowed things down and started kissing her. In a World where women had so much power and control, a man's sole point of leverage was to show no interest in a woman. If a women couldn't entice a man, he could go elsewhere easily.
Debra was worried that if she wasn't good enough I wouldn't come back for more. Had she read the reviews of my sexual contacts, she might have known how unlikely a report performance was. Debra wasn't great looking and she wasn't crawling all over me so I wasn't completely hating the experience.
I always felt that pretty girls felt entitled to take control which pissed me off. Bethany was & is downright beautiful. Women who were physically aggressive pushed all the wrong buttons in me, invoking nightmares from college. I did this because I had to do this and I had to get her verification that we'd done it. Yes, I felt like a whore. I always did.
I sat Debra on the toilet and worked off her shoes then pants and panties. The second her calves went on my shoulder she giggled. She knew what was about to happen. The first kisses were on her thighs and pubic hair.
"Oh yes," she purred. "I like it, I like it."
In a perfect world I wouldn't have found this so frightening and Debra would have had more time. As it was, it must have been four years for her as she came inside of three minutes. I gave her a few seconds to recover before dropping my pants lining up. I rubbed it up and down, got good and wet then began to push it in.
Again, I took it easy on her. Despite what Angel believed, I didn't hate all women, or even fear them. I feared what they could do to me and get away with. Debra's moans let me know I was doing an admirable job. If she worried about my lack of passion, she didn't show it. Her legs locked me in and she pulled me into a prolonged kiss.
Then I let out a grunt & Debra squealed. She wove her arms around my waist and held me tight. Even after I finished, she held me tight for a minute.
"Thank you," she sighed happily.
"It was nice," I lied. It was not terribly bad; it was simply something I didn't want to do.
We began to dress in the tight confines of the stall. I kept flashing her looks, but she wasn't getting the message. I despaired of actually having to ask her to scan my bracelet when she finally clued in.
"Oh, let me get that for you," she blushed. She scanned me with her phone and I was affirmed as a law-abiding citizen, until the end of the next 28 day cycle anyway.
I walked into my office with a few minutes to spare. During my obligatory pat-down I found myself wondering what they would do if I actually had a bomb. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to ask the guards that particular question. They weren't known for their sense of humor. I had no sooner put my ass in my chair than Bethany showed up behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders.
"You're late," she teased. I looked at my phone.
"I'm thirteen minutes early," I corrected her.
"During training, you are supposed to show up thirty minutes early," she rubbed my shoulders.
"I'll be on time tomorrow," I sighed. What was I going to do; go crying to my boss that Bethany was being mean to me by giving me an unasked for shoulder massage?
"Okay," she purred. "You have something in your Inbox. You really should learn to play nice."
I opened the file with trepidation and it was warranted. It was a large video file, it was me at the sorority party, and it had been forwarded to nearly fifty names besides me. I had to think about this for a second. In college, I had curled up into a ball and nearly died.
I wasn't going to do that this time.
I was trembling as I hit the Reply All tab. 'To clarify this file: Bethany Fremont invited me out on a date during my freshman year. She wanted to stop by her sorority and show me off to her gal pals, or so she led me to believe. I was force fed pills and liquor; I was sodomized and had my mouth and cock violated; I was tied up, beaten, whipped and choked and then forced to relive the experience by having Bethany post this video all over campus,' I wrote.
'Now she is bringing this up to torture me all over again because I wouldn't talk to her yesterday. If you like this video you are one sick puppy and I hope I never have to deal with you. Thank you for your time and consideration. Israel Jensen.' I hit Send button and started work.
Five minutes later, Bethany came storming back to my desk.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she seethed as she spun my chair to face her.
"You will have to clarify that question and put it into context," I stared blankly at her.
"That crap you posted about me," she growled.
"Do you mean the truth about what really happened that weekend?" I stated.
"You are making that shit up!" she spat at me. Just then my phone rang. Ms. Silverhorn wanted to see me and Ms. Fremont in her office now. Bethany was less than pleased.
"Who wants to tell me what's going on here?" Ms. Silverhorn addressed us both coldly.
"Israel went with me to a party, got wild and now has after-party regrets that he was so out of control," Bethany began.
"Well, Mr. Jensen," Francesca turned to me.
"Does it matter?" I met her gaze.
"It does to me," she answered.
"I stand by my statement then," I said. "It happened the way I say it happened."
"That's crap," Bethany shot off. "You have no proof that anything like that happened." She was right. The odds of me ever getting the unedited version of that sex tape were poor. It was the word of forty-one women versus one male. She didn't know I had one card left to play.
"There is something I never told you about, Bethany," I lowered my head.
"See, I was raped when I was sixteen and that is in the official record," I took a deep breath. "I spent over a year in recovery and I'm pretty sure my shrink will verify that I would never willingly be in the situation you claim I was in. See, I was kept chained in a basement for several months, I'd never willing be bound."
"You were the victim of the Aurora Slasher," Silverhorn whispered. I nodded. They had kept my name out of the papers because I was a minor. "You are the one who lived."
"I didn't know," Bethany sounded shocked. "You never said anything."
"I was putting that part of my life behind me. In one weekend you totally fucked that up. You single handedly put me back in that basement, fuck you very much," I told her bitterly.
Bethany reached out for me, suddenly, all compassionate and concerned. I flinched away.
"You don't get to touch me anymore," I snapped. I wanted to threaten her, to tell her that I'd punch her if she touched me again but threatening Bethany would only land me in more trouble.
"Ms. Fremont, you should leave now," Francesca said.
"Are you still going to be able to work here?" Francesca inquired after Bethany left.
"I believe so," I affirmed. "As long as I'm not reliving that video all the time."
"Fair enough," Francesca. "The Mayor has a press conference in an hour and Mr. Diaz wants you on stage. It seems a Federal Grant fell through so we are going to have to float some bonds to finish one of her pet projects. Look relaxed, don't smile too much and don't say a word."
"I guess I should be happy I get to keep my clothes on," I responded. Silverhorn snorted.
"I told you to be more aggressive not more submissive. Be careful you don't become too aggressive though," she cautioned me. "Neither one works for me." I nodded, left her office and made my way back to my desk. At the appropriate time, Ms. Silverhorn took me to the main floor atrium, told me where to stand and there I stood until the Mayor showed up to do her thing.
The Mayor told the press corps the double whammy that the city wasn't getting federal funds and that taxes were going up because of it. The first two follow-up questions were routine. The third one wasn't.
"Madam Mayor, seventeen young males between the ages of eighteen and to twenty-five have vanished in the past two months," the journalist queried. "What are the police doing about it?"
"I'm sure if this becomes an issue, the Police Commissioner will let me know," the Mayor recovered quickly. "Men are free to move around the country, after all," she laughed.
"Oh, of course," the female journalist smiled wickedly. "I was curious if you were 'stocking up'," she looked my way.
"His resource is that of an employee of our PR department and that's all," the Mayor gave a patent political smile but the journalist wouldn't leave it alone.
"How do you feel?" she addressed me. This was not what I wanted. I could literally hear the gears grinding from the politicians to my left. Ms. Diaz whispered my name to the Mayor.
"Mr. Jensen, do you have anything to say on the matter?" the Mayor addressed me. Oh fuck.
"I am aware that there have been a few men who have left abruptly," I began as I stepped up. I could hear Ms. Diaz start to grind her teeth. "I feel perfectly safe in the city."
"I live alone, but have plenty of neighbors. I ride the metro and I shop downtown in the evening. I have the utmost confidence in the city's administration to keep the men of this city safe and informed. Thank you," and I stepped back to my original spot. I didn't look around to see the Mayor's or Ms. Diaz's reactions to my little statement.
I kept my eyes forward. I noted the journalist writing something. The questions went on, nothing came back to me and I departed as soon as possible. As soon as I stepped into my cubicle, Ms. Silverhorn called me to her office.
"You did okay," she said the moment I walked into her office.
"I had two semesters of public speaking and third in debate," I replied.
"I'm glad you were up for it, considering your day," she noted.
"Were you going to let me go?" I asked. She studied me a second.
"I was considering it," she conceded. "I don't need the drama between you and Ms. Freemont and I don't have time for emotional cripples. This is a high-stress job."
"Ms. Silverhorn, that party happened in the middle of my freshman year," I stated. "I got through that all on my own and graduated at the top of my class. If I was a cripple, I would have given up way before now. As for high stress: consider living on a campus where a female security officer can access your room at any time, day or night. A place where every female student feels entitled to pat my crotch or ass whenever I passed by."
"I wouldn't have taken this job if I didn't think I could do it. Had I known taking a semester off to study to be a male model would help my career advancement, I would have probably looked elsewhere," I continued.
"Aggressive but not too aggressive," Francesca warned me. I found it S O P that she didn't want me to mock the job that made a mockery of me and my education.
"We are preparing a variety of angles for the new bond initiative; you will be proofing Maria's and Patricia's work then forwarding it to me," Francesca informed me. I nodded and headed back for another day on the job. I was so distracted by my own thoughts that I missed Bethany catching up to me as I made my way to the subway.
"Israel, wait up a second," she smiled warmly at me. "We need to talk." I shrugged and kept walking, slowing enough for her to catch up. "Listen, if I knew how fucked up you were, I wouldn't have taken you to the party. I want you to know I'm sorry." I coughed in disbelief.
"Fucked up?" I looked her over. "Fucked up is thinking any guy would want that to happen to him, Bethany."
"I was perfectly well-adjusted until that, party. What is almost as bad as what you and your gal-pals did to me was that you felt justifiably safe in the knowledge you would get away with it," I explained. "I don't want your apology, Bethany. I want you to feel as hopeless and violated as I did, then I want you to die."
She stopped following me after that. I was propositioned eight times on the ride home. It would seem that women are more actively seeking sex after a hard day's work as opposed to early in the morning. I evaded with the skills I had developed in college and got home alone. The second I got home I stripped down to sweats and a t-shirt, went to the refrigerator and spotted the Tupperware container.
I emptied it, snuck out of my apartment, slipped down to Kuiko's and Anique's home and knocked on the door. I placed the Tupperware on the floor and ran home. I felt bad about repaying their hospitality that way. I simply couldn't deal with any more women today. Kuiko came by a few minutes later anyway.
Despite my standing policy, I let her in.
"Are you okay?" she inquired. "I swear it took me five seconds to get to the door but you were already gone."
"Tough day at work," I told her.
"I can imagine. I saw you on the TV," she smiled.
"That was adlibbed," I confessed. "Normally I'm supposed to keep quiet and look pretty."
"Oh, you looked hot alright," she giggled.
"Thank you," I nodded. She was dying to get something off her chest. "Yes?"
"The end of the cycle is coming up and I wondered if you wanted any help with that," she murmured.
"I, uh, took care of that this morning," I informed her. She actually looked hurt.
"Oh," she muttered. "Was it something I said?"
"No, no, I have a problem, doing it with people I know," I explained. "I prefer to keep my sex as anonymous as possible; personal reasons." Now she really looked sad.
"Maybe we can make you reconsider that preference after the party Saturday," she tried to sound positive.
"I'll go online and see how you did. From what Aniqua and I got from your reviews, you're pretty good," she grinned. "The only complaint is that you seem to vanish afterwards. You don't give a girl a second chance."
"I really don't feel comfortable discussing my sex life, Kuiko," I hinted.
"You are a strange one," she snickered, "but I like you. I'll see you later and thanks for returning the bowl. Let me know if you need helping finishing off that tequila."
"I'll do that," I promised her. I avoided drinking at all costs. That bottle of tequila was going to stay pristine for some time. When Kuiko left I breathed a sigh of relief.
Maybe confronting Bethany really had been the right thing to do. It had given me the resolve to allow a woman inside my domicile. Angel didn't count since she let her own self in, and was a cop. My phone rang twice before bed time. One was an unlisted number and the other was Angel. I let them both go to voice mail.
The pattern repeated itself at 12:30. The doorbell rang, I picked up my baseball bat and went to the door and let Detective Kristi in.
"Have a good day?" she asked. I shrugged. In the kitchen, I retrieve two tall glasses of lemonade I had pre-poured from the fridge and brought them back out to the living room.
"Thanks," Angel said as she took one. I motioned for her to sit down. She took one side of the sofa and I took another. This kind of proximity appeared to please her.
"My day was okay," I admitted. "I was almost fired for standing up for myself. I still have a job but now they think I am mental."
"But you stood up for yourself," she edged toward me. "You have to feel good about that."
"I thought I would. When I did, I felt a certain sense of relief," I mused.
"That's good," Angel patted my shoulder. I was trying not to freak out.
"Then came the anger over the fact that I shouldn't have had to put up with this crap in the first place," I looked into Angel's eyes.
"Right when I think we are making progress," she shook her head.
"I'm used to dealing with anger," I continued. "They teach you how in therapy. You find the good things in life and concentrate on them." Angel must have thought I was jerking her around.
"What do you think about to help you cope?" Angel inquired hopefully.
"Did you see the press conference?" I rebounded with instead of an answer.
"Um, yeah, you looked great. You handled that question well," Angel's demeanor became more professional though she hid it well.
"It is no accident that I'm living across the hall from a police detective, is it?" I queried.
She had to think that one over which told me there were things she wasn't supposed to tell me that also implied things were much worse than the public knew or I had suspected.
"So this whole 'be my friend' thing was a scam?" I sighed.
"No," she assured me. "Yes, it is no accident that we live across the hall but I honestly thought you could use a friend."
"I wasn't ordered to stay this close to you," she added.
"How bad is it?" I requested.
"It is nothing to worry about," she replied.
"Fine, get out," I glared at her. "I'd like to say it was nice meeting you but that would be a lie."
"What are you going to do?" Angel pressed me. She wasn't leaving.
"I'm moving out," I told her.
"Where? You don't have the money for a private apartment and it could take months for the Housing Authority to find you another condo," Angel said.
"You misunderstand. I'm going to pack two bags of stuff, throw the rest of my belongings in the trash, clean my place and leave in the morning. I'll take the subway to a trucking distribution point and hitchhike from there," I explained.
"What about your job?" Angel now suddenly seemed concerned.
"It is looking like I'm not a good fit for the job," I replied. "Besides, if I quit I'll avoid any black mark on my record."
"Where are you headed then?" she asked next.
"West, west sounds good. It is still a marginally free country after all," I shrugged.
"You seem to have thought this through," she commented snidely.
"At least I have a plan to keep me safe. You cops have lost, what, seventeen men my age?" I bit back.
"Suddenly you are an expert on taking care of yourself?" she snapped.
"Let me see; you wouldn't even tell me I might be in danger, you won't let me adequately defend myself, you would rather fight charges of sexual assault and harassment than actually enforce the damn laws, and when I dare ask you if I'm in danger, you lie to me," I outlined.
"You don't know what's going on so you are acting out like a child," she glared back.
"If you could do your job we wouldn't be having this discussion," I slammed her.
"You have no clue what's going on," she edged even closer.
"Men don't disappear," I started. "Every twenty-four hours the system sends and receives information from our wrist bands." At least I didn't say shackles.
"If it is disabled, it sends out an emergency alarm," I related. "While no one admits it is a tracking device, it is. All you need to do is tell the band to transmit continuously and I am sure you cops have a code for that. That implies that either the men have found a way to disable their bands or whomever is grabbing them has."
"Oh," Angel blinked. "Okay, you have thought this out a bit."
"Top of my class, remember?" I postulated.
"Thanks for treating me like a moron. I would ask you to leave again, but it is pointless. I have no recourse in dealing with you. You can stay as long as you want, force me to have sex, or whatever else you have in mind."
"Fine, you think that is how it is going to go down," Angel growled. "Strip!" I stood up, took off my shirt and was reaching for my waist band when she stopped me. "Wait, don't," she sighed. "You realize what happened to you was an abnormality, fine, two abnormalities, but life is not going keep being like that for you."
"Angel, you didn't know about what happened to me in college until I told you. That is because the authorities wouldn't report it," I pointed out. "You have no idea how bad it is to be a man. Taking a sexual assault complaint means mandatory counseling and that means a sexual contact exemption from one year to eighteen months. That's bad for reproduction."
"It is not rocket science, Angel. Since the women know they can get away with more, they do more to us. Since men know you won't help them, they stop reporting it," I said. "Guys talk about that when we meet in person. We don't dare put it in writing because you will put us in therapy and give us drugs."
"If men won't stand up and report this, how can you expect us to combat it?" Angel reposed.
"Weren't you the one who told me that sexual harassment on the job was something I had to put up with? Where do you think this shit begins? I had to expose my cock to the Chief of Staff and when I couldn't get hard, she had her assistant come in and blow me," I grumbled.
"That was way out of bounds," Angel muttered.
"Really? What was I going to do? Walk out? I lose my job and get a black mark on my record. I fight, I go to jail for assault," I explained. "Claiming sexual harassment would be pointless because none of the three women in the room would verify my story."
"Even you told me to not make the sex one-sided, but to use it to advance my career," I reminded her. Angel looked ashamed.
"That was wrong," she apologized quietly.
"That's nice. Would you please go? I need to figure out what I will need and what I can throw away," I stated. She didn't get up.
"It won't help," she looked up to me with sad eyes.
"What do you mean?" I questioned.
"This is nation-wide," Angel confided in me. "There are over 1,900 cases, 24 in this city alone." That's when I sat back down. Even the press was under-estimating the problem.
There were over 8 million men in North America so even two thousand seemed like a small number. The problem was the age, the male population was aging and there were fewer and fewer male births to take their place and now someone was picking off the demographic with the most reproductive potential.
"The missing men are like you, single, unattached, living alone with few friends," she related.
"Why is the public unaware of this? Until today anyway," I asked.
"What happens when the young men across the country begin thinking that it is not safe to go out at night or date women they don't know?" she poised.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. That one slipped out. Guys would be hiding? Sure, they would be hiding because they didn't trust the cops to protect them. And why didn't we trust them?
"You have no clue who is doing this?" I asked instead. Angel had to weigh her response.
"They vanish in different places, depending on the level of security of their dwelling," she informed me.
"I'm no policewoman but I imagine you've already checked for stalkers, phone taps and computer monitoring," I mused.
"No evidence of any victim being followed and their electronic devices are missing as well," she humored me.
"So you are not going to get a break in this case until another male goes missing," I surmised. "Great plan unless you happen to be that guy."
"Aren't you glad I'm right across the hall?" she grinned weakly.
"Actually, I am," I answered. "I want you to understand how fucking useless you all are when I go missing right under your noses."
Angel stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.
"You could get killed," she tried to drive home the danger.
"Not my problem. As long as it isn't by my own hand, it's not against the law," I reasoned.
"You are insane," she gasped.
"Not really and not in a way you can prove," I grinned. "I'm not courting danger. I'm not going to walk the back streets and alleyways at two in the morning. I simply have no faith in you to do your job. Sure, the cops rescued me from the Aurora Slasher, after 87 days and even then, she was one of you, a cop."
"How can you stand being so bitter?" she despaired. Instead of using words, I went to the kitchen and retrieved two items. I came back, sat on the sofa and began applying butter to a long handled spoon with my fingers.
"This was the first thing they sodomized me with, Angel," I held it up to her.
"When those sorority chicks did it, they didn't taunt or ridicule me," I stared at her. "They talked about how their weeks had gone as if what they were doing to me really didn't matter. The thing is, it took me about a week to remember that because my mind was so fucked up. If you want to understand how I can still be bitter, let me ram this up your ass a few hundred times and see how bitter you are."
"Get some damn counseling," she shouted as she slapped the spoon out of my hand. "I'm not asking you to forget it ever happened. I'm asking you to put your life back together and take a little bit of your life back."
"To what end?" I replied.
"What?"
"Why should I? What's the point?" I extrapolated. For a second I thought Angel was coming at me to throttle me. Instead she pressed me back on the sofa with her body. I nearly lost all control I trembled under her weight pressing down and her touch.
"Because someone might really care for you, you idiot," she whispered down at me. I stared at up her with big, fearful eyes. Sure, I could wrestle with her but that was a lose-lose for me. Slowly, Angel pushed up until she was on all fours hovering over me. "Shit, I'm sorry. You are driving me nuts, damn it."
"Please leave," I requested with a calm I did not feel.
"Of course," she responded. "Umm, am I going to, are you going to leave tomorrow morning?"
"No," I groaned. "Did you seriously believe that I would want to be in a truck alone with a woman for any extended period of time? I'm stuck here."
To be continued
By FinalStand for Literotica