Vanishing Manhood: Part 2

In a world controlled by women, Israel Jensen starts to come apart.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand, adapted into 17 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Do you get off fucking with my head?" she grumbled.

"You feel free lying to me," I said. "Why should I treat you any differently?"

"I'm a, You don't care that I'm a cop; that I am trying to keep you safe?" she replied.

"I have no respect for your profession," I pointed out, "or faith in your ability to keep me safe. That is the truth."

She fidgeted around the door, first reaching for the door knob then stopping and half turning my way.

"Can I ask you for a favor, a big favor?" she muttered. It took me nearly a minute to respond.

"Unlike most women, I believe in reciprocity," I told her. "I'll listen."

"Would you kiss me? Just one kiss," she whispered. "I'll fully understand if you don't want to and I'll leave if you say 'no.’"

"After what we just went through, do you realize how bizarre that request is?" I queried.

"I attacked you on your sofa," she finally looked at me. "Yes, I know."

"Knowing how I feel about contact with women you are still asking this of me," I mused. It wasn't a question; I was trying to reason this out.

"You are right," she sighed and put her hand on the door knob, ready to leave.

"Not going to get your kiss?" I inquired as I stood up.

"Stop screwing with me," she shook her head with her back still to me. She opened the door.

"You are a woman and a cop, which is kind of redundant," I explained, "but I don't think you were ordered to spend time with me. That makes me believe that for whatever twisted reason you treat me as if I have something above my shoulders besides a smile and nice hair."

Angel shut the door as I walked up to her. I cupped her jaw line tenderly in both hands before leaning in for a kiss. When my tongue darted across her lips, she opened up and let her tongue come out to play. Slowly she placed her hands on my hips, not pulling me in but showing a reluctance to let me slip away. After a minute I retreated.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Angel panted. "That was fantastic. I thought you didn't like women, or interacting with women."

"Part of my therapy was making me comfortable with sex," I told her. "They taught me all kinds of things." When they said they wanted me to be a productive member of society what they really meant was that they wanted me to screw.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"You are welcome," I gave a weary grin. "Now, would you please leave?"

"Absolutely," she nodded. When she left I leaned against the door, slid down and started to cry. The thing was, I was beginning to like Angel but I couldn't trust her because she was a woman. I desperately wanted to avoid going down that road again.

Wednesday's metro trip was surprisingly intense. My only excuse was that I had not put several of the local news outlets on my 'must do first' list. I had planned to do some reading on the ride to work. I had the sickening sensation that more women were paying attention to me than normal and it didn't take them long to close in.

The most unusual things they asked me was if I was 'okay', if I was 'safe' which I thought was a reference to the press conference, and if there was anything they could do. I've heard that last one before but not with that level of compassion and worry. In a strange way, I believed they thought that by hovering close around me they were protecting me, not freaking me out.

I felt like a field mouse caught in a stampeded of lemmings or a hidden gazelle calf being stalked by a leopard. Then I read the local news leads and it all made sense. I had the wrong metaphor. I was a gazelle alright. I was a male gazelle and the lionesses had just figured out that unseen crocodiles had been picking off my brethren at the watering hole.

A subliminal panic was setting in. It wasn't a rational response; such things rarely are. Statistically speaking, there weren't enough men to go around. That was the cold, logical fact that women had learned to deal with, but, most women believed they would be one of the lucky ones, get a male and pass on their genetic heritage.

This morning, the main story was that nearly 2,000 men in my age group had gone missing and that the local, state and federal authorities had no leads. Technically, the missing were a very tiny number. It wasn't the number that mattered to the women around me; it was the fact that I symbolized their vanishing opportunity to 'succeed' as a female member of the human race.

Oh yeah, and they even had the local number of male disappearances right, 24. The women had scanned my wrist band that held my sexual identity and verified that I had no attachments. Their instinct was to protect me and hold me close. Not one of them asked me if this was what I wanted, though I could tell some of them noticed the fear in my eyes.

The desperate relief with which I regarded Debra when she approached me on the metro made me feel cowardly ill.

"Debra," I choked out. There was some raw hunger in her countenance, but also some genuine concern over my state of agitation.

"Hey, Israel," she smiled. "Can I, uh, sit with you?"

I hopped out of my metro seat and let Debra take my place. None of the dozen women hovering around abandoned me though.

"Debra?" one of the more aggressive ladies asked, I think her name was Ambrosia. "Yesterday, Debra? Is it true he went down on you right off the bat?"

"Yes and it was divine," Debra giggled. It was too much to hope that either woman would respect my privacy, or private acts. "The actual sex was even better."

"And that was in a bathroom stall," Ambrosia murmured. "Think about what he would be like on a real bed." Debra sighed dreamily. The other women kept crowding in.

Common wisdom was that passive women didn't get a man. They had to get out there and get a male's interest then rope him in. Men could play hard to get, but they were never 'not interested'; that was crazy talk. Thus my shivering was interpreted as repressed sexual tension, not stark raving terror.

Did I have time for something this morning? No, I was already in trouble for being late yesterday. What about this evening? I was buried in work. This weekend? I was attending a Complex Party, neighbors only and I felt obliged to go with the woman who invited me. The irony of me 'escaping' to work was not lost on me.

Security took extra care of me going in. No, they weren't gentle. They seemed to believe I had developed the audacity to kill myself and take a few of them with me as I did. This probably had more to do with the revelation of my 'encounter' in college, no one in authority would call it rape, so I was now considered worthy of special attention. They couldn't call me unstable; I had to do something stupid first.

Back in therapy my doctor told me I was too good looking to be ignored. She told me that was a good thing because it would make women want to protect and nurture me. I would have plenty of partners and make them very happy. I'd do my part and save the World. I have no idea how many of those sorority girls I knocked up, if any.

I was still horrified by the idea that I'd left any of my progeny under any of their care. I could have checked online but since I was powerless to do anything, I didn't torture myself with the knowledge.

I managed to slip into the office with seconds to spare. Bethany came by to check, looking a bit agitated.

"What you said yesterday was uncalled for," she broke down and stated.

"Please, Bethany," I groaned. "Do we,” I stopped myself. I was getting nowhere.

"I was really tired," I tried again. "It was an emotional outburst after a stressful day."

"In that case, I forgive you," Bethany smiled. "You can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner tonight." No, I would rather chew on power lines.

"I'm interested in someone else," I didn't quite lie.

"That woman who came by Monday?" Bethany lectured me. "She's way too old and not really good looking enough. Remember what Ms. Silverhorn said, you only date attractive girls from here on out." Kristi was what, thirty? When did that become too old?

"Detective Kristi isn't that old," I muttered.

"You can do better," she crowded me in my cubicle. In the old days, I heard there were things like staplers and letter openers that cubicle workers could use to defend themselves. Everything at my workstation was bolted down, thus useless as a tool to drive Bethany away.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I evaded.

"Okay," Bethany purred, "but I expect you to take me out to dinner." I fled the room like the eviscerated shell I had devolved into. Shelter came in the form of a stall, sitting on the toilet seat, knees drawn up to my chin. It wasn't courage that helped me fight back the tears. It was the hard won knowledge that tears left the eyes puffy and that would lead to women asking me even more questions I didn't want to answer.

Bethany was back at her own station when I returned. After that, I buried myself in my work. My co-workers stopped by to check up on me with essentially the same inquiries as the metro crowd, but with the added bonus of wanting to exchange contact information with me. This time I surrendered. I had little doubt they couldn't wrangle a favor with someone in Human Resources to give it to them anyway.

At 9:05, my day got worse. A call was forwarded to me. It was the reporter from yesterday's press conference.

"Israel Jensen," I answered.

"Eloise Granger from The Sentinel," she answered. "We chatted briefly yesterday. Do you recall what we discussed?"

"Yes. I see your story went national. Congratulations," I said.

"Do you still feel safe?" she hinted at something I couldn't figure out.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?" I hedged.

"With all the disappearances, I wasn't positive what kind of spin you would put on it," I could see her grin on the screen mocking me.

"If you are fishing for a statement, you are not going to get one," I countered.

"Really?" she snorted. "So four more men in your age range going missing last night doesn't affect you at all?" Oh Mother-fucking God!

"Four nation-wide?" I mumbled.

"No; 96 nationwide," she supplied. "Only four in the city. We were lucky."

"Right before the story broke?" I pieced things together.

"My goodness," she laughed. "A man capable of independent rational thought. How unique." My rage was yelling at me to say 'blow it out your ass', but that could get me in trouble.

"Well, if I don't show up to work tomorrow you may infer that I am less than pleased with law enforcements progress on this matter," I met her sarcasm with sarcasm of my own, "but for now, I'm not worried." Ms. Granger laughed again. I figured she was a Ms. and not a Mrs. because married women tended to take great pride in their status, kind of rubbing it in people's noses.

"Can I quote you on that?" she chuckled.

"If I say 'no' will it stop you?" I sighed.

"No, but since I'm cultivating you as a contact I thought I would be polite," Granger snickered.

"Is that what this is?" I muttered. "In that case, have a nice day and goodbye," I said before hanging up.

After taking a deep breath, I fired off a message to Ms. Silverhorn with the gist of my talk with Ms. Granger. I was a civil servant with my career skating on the edge. The last thing I needed was for my boss to believe I was leaking anything to the press. Right after I received confirmation from Francesca, a message from Ms. Chen arrived.

“Your presence is requested at a private function this Saturday at 9 p.m. Dress casually. A car service will pick you up at your door at 8:15 p.m., Bi Chen.”

The only thing I could decide on right away was that there was no way I was going. Come on, no address, clothes that could be easily removed and no hint on when I could expect to get home.

“Thank you for the polite invitation but I must regretfully decline. I have a previous engagement for the date in question. Sincerely, Israel Jensen.”

I had no illusion this was the end of it. Refusing women with power and privilege rarely ended well. I had to plot out my next move.

“Mr. Jensen, the Mayor's office would truly appreciate you reconsidering our generous offer to engage your time this Saturday evening. Best wishes, Bi Chen.”

Not only was that a polite threat, it didn't cross the frontier of sexual harassment, yet. I had to think of the best way to tell her that I would rather spend a night in a coffin full of spiders.

“Ms. Chen, my current circumstances make it impossible for me to break my appointment at this time. I hope you have a nice evening. Israel Jensen.”

My evasion was total crap. It was a complex party; undoubtedly a casual affair that I could exit after a brief appearance. I was unsure how Ms. Chen would penetrate my deception but I'm sure she'd try.

Twenty minutes later I was called to Ms. Silverhorn's office. To emphasize how fucked my situation was, Bethany's look as I passed by was full of concern and sympathy.

"Israel, Ms. Diaz wants you to attend a party Saturday evening," Francesca stated when I entered her office without even looking up from her screen.

"Is that advice, a suggestion, or an order?" I countered. Now Francesca looked up.

"It is advice," she mused. "You are pretending to be rather pugnacious today."

"Advice noted. Can I go back to work now?" I asked.

"Fine," she sighed. "Consider this a suggestion. Going to this private affair will help your career."

"I seriously doubt there will be anyone there I want to meet," I replied. I was clearly losing my mind at this point.

"Isobel Diaz wants you to be there, Israel. I seriously think you should reconsider," Ms. Silverhorn stressed the point.

"That's an extra reason for me not to go," I muttered. "If you make it an order, I want it in writing. Make a note that you are telling me to prostitute myself to your superiors. Whoever's career this helps, it won't be mine so stop pedaling that angle."

"Israel, your attitude hasn't improved since yesterday," she regarded me.

"That's okay. I didn't want to sleep with you anyway," I noted.

"What?" Francesca balked. "Where did that come from?"

"Since you don't respect me as a writer, I assumed you wanted me for sex," I stared.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" she studied me.

"Probably. I thought that treating you like a walking vagina with attachments would help you understand what it is to be treated like a cock with a voice box," I responded.

"That's not your job," she pointed out.

"Neither is providing sexual services to campaign contributors," I stated deadpan. There was no immediate response to that. "May I go back to work now?"

"Go," she dismissed me. I heard her snort with amusement as I left.

I wasn't sure how I made it back to my desk. The next few hours flew by. Wanda, one of my co-workers, ordered us some Indian take-out because the shit storm from the mass kidnapping story was making the group create a variety of spin to deal with the 'crisis.’ I was only doing proof-reading but it kept my mind busy and my emotions bottled up.

At 1:30 Ms. Silverhorn came by my desk to see how I was doing. The Mayor wanted me to stand with her at a press conference at 4:30 and Francesca wanted to assess if I was up for it. She wasn't able to judge my current level of stability by looks alone.

"If it wasn't for the Mayor's insistence, I'd keep you back this time," she informed me.

"And don't even think about refusing," she added.

"That never occurred to me," I told her. "This is part of my job description as outlined by you on Monday. You don't need to worry. I'll do my job."

"I hope so. The Mayor isn't going to take the hit if you screw this up, I will," she told me.

I had no real comeback for that. In a quirk of our culture, I could only be held to so much accountability because no group of women would believe a man had real authority. The rest of the experience went pretty much as expected until I came out of the bathroom after 'prepping' myself for the stage.

Selma, Ms. Silverhorn's second in command, began chatting away at me while taking quick peeks at the bulge in my pants. Once past that constant uncomfortable feeling that I was marginalized as a human being, I realized she was giving me a total catalog of useless political tripe to regurgitate to the press if questioned.

I didn't mind (too much) being treated like I was stupid, but I hated acting like a moron. I had never completely abdicated my sense of self-worth. I had more than my share of days where I doubted the wisdom of struggling on. I kept going on anyway and that was why I wouldn't be parroting this garbage if the situation came up.

It came up five questions into the press conference. This time they didn't seek the Mayor's permission. A lady for Global News Network fired one right at me.

"So, Mr. Jensen, after yesterday's boast, how do you feel now?" Maribel Cartwright challenged me. I was still in possession of enough of my faculties to look to the Mayor for permission first.

She grudgingly gave it.

"I am heartened by the willingness of authorities at all levels of government to take this to the press as they work on this dilemma threatening our society," I responded calmly. "No, I do not feel as safe today as I did yesterday," I imagined the Mayor cringing and Ms. Diaz stabbing virtual daggers in my back.

"No one feels safe when threatened by a hurricane. That's living in denial. Panicking, fleeing to the hills or cowering in your basement are also fruitless. To survive as a group, we band together, utilize all our resources and see this crisis through to the end. I am not aware of any agency holding back on this matter," I declared.

"I do not feel safe but I do know that the government, from the Mayor and city council on up, is the only true option that can restore this situation so that all men can feel safe eventually," I concluded. I didn't feel like an idiot. I felt like a traitor to my gender.

Logically I understood that screaming at my brethren that the women couldn't defend us so we would have to defend ourselves was pointless, the establishment would simply sweep my statement away as the ramblings of a deranged crack-pot. So I played nice and kept my job. I fielded a few more questions after that.

The final one was almost too much.

"Mr. Jensen, those are very tight pants you are wearing. You seem happy to see us this afternoon," she chuckled. Yeah, I shivered. For a second I was back to being that gazelle calf, but this time I was surrounded by a pack of hyenas.

"I'm in a room full of beautiful ladies," I forced a grin. "What do you think?" The press corps laughed. The pretty boy made a 'funny.’ That was the end of the focus on me. After the conference ended and I entered the elevator, Selma lit into me.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped. "Weren't you listening to the approved responses?"

I took a deep breath; 3, 2, 1.

"Your responses were very well thought out," I got out.

"I don't need your approval, young man," Selma snapped. "You are only to say what we tell you to say. You were hired for your looks, not for any imaginary intelligence you mistakenly think you possess."

"Give him a second, Selma," Francesca commanded.

"Your answers were nice Selma and they will appeal to your female audience and will be repeated in a thousand other mediums," I tried to explain.

"Men don't elect candidates, women do," Selma pointed out.

"We are 8.5% of the city's population," I countered.

"Men don't vote," she reposed. "Less than half of the male population goes to the polls."

"And they're not going to vote if all they hear is a woman's perspective on everything," I insisted.

"Francesca," Selma grumbled.

"Israel stepped out of bounds. Unfortunately for us, he's right. The Mayor won't get any kind of national coverage spouting the exact same thing every other ass-covering agency is repeating over and over again," Francesca reasoned.

"Israel, I want you to look up the definition of the word 'aggressive' when we get back to the office. You clearly aren't able to pin it down to my satisfaction," Ms. Silverhorn added. Her phone rang as we were about to step out on our floor. She held out a hand to stop me.

"Selma, start running down the whole 'community in a hurricane' angle. Israel and I will be back soon, I hope," she told her senior subordinate.

I stayed at Ms. Silverhorn's side as she directed the elevator to go two stories up, the chief executive of the city's floor. Ms. Chen showed us straight to Ms. Diaz's office.

"Nice approach, Francesca," Isobel Diaz began. "The Mayor likes it but next time feed us some of the proper keywords. We don't like playing catch up, unless Israel went off the charted path."

Yes, I was in the room and they were talking about me, but I wasn't part of the conversation.

"Israel didn't do anything I don't approve of," Francesca came to my defense. "Those were his words but I feel this is the right position to put the Mayor at the front of this issue."

"So Mr. Jensen, what is your seasoned political opinion on this issue?" Isobel regarded me.

'Thank you for being a bitch' didn't seem to fit the situation.

"Everyone and their mother will be telling the women of this nation that there is no crisis and the government will deal with this. Sadly, that's a lie and it's such a pathetic lie on the scale of expecting a wet tissue to stop a monorail going full speed," I stared into her eyes.

"Women don't care that it is only two thousand men; at least that was the count this morning, it may have gone up since then. They aren't like you and your friends. They may date once or twice a year and despite what they are being told, they are seeing their dating life being cut in half or completely eliminated," I stated.

"Likewise, no one is addressing men. Women are assuming we will mill around like cattle in a pen waiting for the cowgirls to deal with the wolf problem," I noted. "If women wait, there is one less target in the nightclub. Every hour a man waits may be the last hour of his life. I've been told that men don't vote."

"That may be comforting for you in the short run, but I am telling you now, men will be voting by locking and baring their doors at night. The night life is going to be girls only and dildos are going to become cold comfort after a while," I continued. "I know that attitude will be reflected in the voting box."

Isobel's gaze bore twin holes through me for several seconds. I was sure she was dissecting my arguments, looking for something to rake me over the coals with. Staying ahead of the curve meant taking education chances, especially with a weak argument and very little data to support it.

"I expect to see you Saturday night," Isobel commented.

"What would give you that idea?" came tumbling out before I could stop myself.

"Huh?" Isobel regarded me. Francesca raised a hand to her forehead in mental anguish.

"You are a pig; technically you are a sow," I went with my brain aneurism.

"You degraded me when we first met. You are the kind of deviant that if I saw you in a dark alleyway, I would turn and run the other way. I am certainly never going to be in a room alone with you, or any of your perverted buddies, if I can possibly help it. I apologize if I ever gave you the impression I wanted to be one of your circus freaks. That was never my intent," I emphasized.

"What makes you think you can talk to me this way, Israel?" Isobel said in a deadly, angry voice.

"I have no clue, but I must confess that it makes me feel really, really good," I smiled. "I imagine I'm the first one to tell you the truth about the monster you have become and God knows you deserve it."

"I am going to break you," she glared with a shark-like smile of her own.

"Get in line with the rest of your gender," I muttered.

"Get out," she seethed. Francesca and I beat feet to the elevator.

"Was that really necessary?" Francesca inquired out of the side of her mouth.

"No, definitely not but, I repeat, it felt good," I sighed.

"That was a spot-on assessment, by the way," she sighed as well. "She's a monster."

"Thanks for the support in there," I noted sarcastically.

"When committing suicide, it is rude to take your friends with you," Francesca quoted.

"You are my friend now?" I looked her over.

"With your spastic personality, can you really afford to turn me away?" she countered.

"Probably not," I muttered.

"Good. I'll find you a good place to take Bethany, well lit with plenty of people," she offered.

"Does no one realize I'm pretty broke until payday? I had to put these pants on my credit card," I grunted.

"Expense the clothing to the office. I'll cover it," Francesca informed me. "Make Bethany pay for the meal and taxi."

"Is there any way I can avoid going out with Bethany?" I begged.

"No. You've exhausted my goodwill for the week. I can't have the two of you feuding. I can provide some cover from Isobel but I need my own house in order," she explained. The saving grace for the day was that when we arrived at the office, it was time to go home.

The metro ride home was another turn at 'running the gauntlet.’ I lucked out by bumping into an investment banker named Justin. I was afraid to do more than look relieved to have a fellow male cover my ass, literally. Men who don't want to be groped stood back to back to force women to look us in the eyes when they molested us.

"So what do you think is going on?" Justin looked over his shoulder and asked me. Seeing my uncertainty, he added, "I saw your video a few minutes ago, so I thought you might know more than they are telling us." By that he meant women. I wouldn't have said that in a metro crowded with women, but hey.

"You are in a relationship?" I guessed.

"Three," Justin answered. "My supervisor Estelle, a co-worker, Teddi, and a real estate agent named Nancy. How many have you picked up?"

"None," I answered.

I could have caused a riot by saying 'I'd rather masturbate in the shower than touch any of the women I've met.’ Provided I lived, I would be institutionalized.

"I have six sisters," he hinted. One of the side benefits of having it be so hard to keep a boy alive was you usually ended up with multiple sisters who needed you to find someone for them.

In China it was different; they existed in a system which roughly translated as 'communities.’ Essentially men lived with their female relations with the oldest female in charge. Male sexual favors were a bargaining chip for their matriarch to use. They didn't sell their men; that would be slavery.

No, when a man left his 'mother's' community and went to his wife's, the wife's house 'gifted' his old community with something of value. Not slavery at all. Better yet, the man now had to service the all the women in his 'wife's' community. One urban legend had it that a guy discovered he was entering a community with eighty age-appropriate women.

The guy ran for it, was about to be recaptured so killed himself instead of going back. The poor bastard, disguised as a woman, was boarding a plane for Australia when the police closed in. He chose to swallow gasoline and set himself on fire. I felt for the guy. Had he made Australia or New Zealand, he would have been safe.

Those two nations were 'Male Free Zones'; if you set foot in either one, you were automatically granted citizenship and legal protection. Almost every other nation agreed to repatriate 'lost' males. Needless to say, North America didn't give men passports to either destination. All of this put being molested on public transit and having some guy I had just met peddling his sisters to me in perspective.

"My youngest sister is sixteen," Justin kept at it. "The oldest is thirty-four."

"Your Mom was ambitious," I kept it neutral.

"She is very attractive and very fertile. I have five nieces too, though none of my sisters are married yet," he grinned.

"Do you have any children of your own?" I evaded. I saw that shadow cross his face.

"I had a son with Teddi but he didn't make it," Justin sighed. "We still have to keep trying."

"Of course," I nodded. Justin got the message; I didn't want to talk about it. Sure, some guys like Justin embraced society's expectations. There were also guys like me who didn't and since we wanted to avoid trouble with the law, we avoided the subject.

Justin exited two stops before mine. Before leaving we agreed to stick together on the ride home when we could. The lucky man didn't have to be at work until nine, so he took a later ride in the morning. He was also twenty-six, thus outside of the target range for what was going on. When I got off the metro, three women asked to accompany me home.

They didn't really ask. Oh, they used the words 'if you like' but I knew better. I had no good reason to say 'no.’ I could throw a tantrum, but what would I tell the cops when they showed up? 'Sorry officers, these three nice ladies who ride the metro with me decided to walk me home and I freaked out about it, because I'm a nutjob.'

At my condo I was struggling to find the strength to fend off the three women at my door when the opposite door opened up and a medium sized, fit brunette walked out. She took in the four of us. I knew her name but we had never met.

"Israel, Angel and I left a few things in your kitchen last night," she lied as she sashayed to my side. "Can I pick them up?"

Three women I didn't know versus one woman I didn't know; those were my choices.

"Sure thing Roni," I forced a smile; Roni the paramedic, Detective Kristi's roommate. "Ladies," I addressed the others, "thank you so much for seeing me home safely, but I need to get the place cleaned up before going on a date tonight."

"Are you going to see her more than once?" one of them asked, Fatima, I think.

"You don't get to ask that question," Roni interrupted my response. She was an energetic, tanned Caucasian woman and she muscled her way between me and the others.

"He doesn't read as attached," the copper haired Cassie said.

"We are working on it, Angel and I," Roni growled, "and Angel is a cop with a gun, so the rest of you should go home now."

"Are you threatening us?" Fatima got right into Roni's face, or would have if she hadn't been a head taller than Roni.

"Yes," Roni grinned with her head tilted up, "Yes I am."

"Honestly I only want to get into my place and clean up," I intervened. This insane stand-off was mostly a reminder that I was the only man on the whole God-damn block. I knew what I had to do.

I stepped past Roni and kissed Fatima, Cassie, and Yolanda on the cheek, thanked them and that seemed to pacify their feelings for the time though I'd pay for this familiarity tomorrow morning.

"Thank you," I murmured to Roni after they left.

"Angel told me to keep an eye out for you today," Roni turned but kept annoyingly in my personal space.

"Um," I stammered. "Okay."

"Do you really have a date tonight?" Roni kept talking while I fumbled with my lock while keeping my back to the door. "Oh, I'm freaking you out, aren't I?" she clued in then stepped back.

"Yes you are," I sighed with relief, "and I've been told I have a date but she hasn't called yet."

"Do you want me to go back to my place?" Roni asked softly.

"If you could please," I acknowledged. "Thank you again for the coming out to help me."

"Angel thinks you are special," Roni informed me. She glided back to her place and disappeared inside.

Great. I wished she didn't think about me at all. I went inside my own domicile, checked out each room and closet before returning to my refrigerator for a drink then my sofa to check my answering machine displayed on my TV screen. I had over fifty messages. I wasn't aware I knew that many people in the city.

One was from Detective Kristi, two were from Bethany, three were from the Metropolitan Police and the rest were from a variety of different numbers I didn't recognize. I called Kristi first, confirming that I was home safe and that she would be by sometime after midnight. The first call from Bethany gave the place and time of our date.

The second told me to ignore the first message and named a new place to show up at, same time. I called Bethany back and told her I couldn't make it until 9:30. My excuse was my workout schedule. The real reason was I wanted as little after-date time as possible. Either she let me off the hook or she bought my lie.

My third call was to the police.

"Detective Somerset Trainer, G E D," the woman said. She was a stern serious red-head with dead grey eyes. I'm sure I had nightmares about a woman like this. Of greater importance was the G E D, the Gender Enforcement Division aka Sex Crimes.

"This is Israel Jensen. You called me," I replied. It was unnecessary to use my name, caller I D and all.

"Yes, Mr. Jensen. We need you to come down to the Plaza Central Station for an interview. We will expect you at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow," she told me.

"Ah, what is this pertaining to," I stumbled with the words.

"This is an official police investigation," Somerset answered. "That's all you need to know."

"Oh, I'm not coming in," I blurted out. The look on her face was priceless. I hung up. Five seconds later the phone beeped.

"Mr. Jensen," Somerset appeared uncertain. "We seem to have been disconnected."

"No, I hung up," I answered.

"You can't do that," she barked. "Am I going to have to send a patrol unit to pick you up?"

"I haven't broken the law," I mumbled.

"How does Obstruction of Justice hit you?" she replied. I was collapsing inside. I couldn't understand why I was digging my heels on this matter. It wasn't like I could win.

"What am I obstructing?" I snapped. "You aren't telling me shit, so shut up and stop wasting my time or get off your Goddamn ass and tell me what this is about!"

There was a deafening silence.

"You stay right there," she stated calmly. "We'll be right over."

"Bring a search warrant because I'm not answering the door," I countered.

"What? Listen up you bastard," she got out.

"Since you seemed to have forgotten it, I'm a citizen and that means I have rights and you are trampling on them along with my patience," I interrupted. "I'm invoking my right to counsel as well, so when you want to talk to me, my lawyer needs to be present." I had no clue where to get a lawyer from.

I had no money and the barristers willing to face down the police for a man's benefit were few and far between.

"Keep talking asshole," she groused. "You are digging yourself a deeper grave every time you open your mouth."

"For what?" I groaned. "I don't know anything about anything. I just moved to this city and I know a grand total of four people well enough to comfortably use their first name and one of those is the cop who is keeping an eye on me. Do you have any questions or can I say goodbye?"

"We will be talking soon enough," Somerset grinned.

"I don't think so and goodbye," I signed off. I had truly boned myself for no reason I could comprehend. I called Detective Kristi. She couldn't protect me, I didn't expect her too.

"Detective Kristi, I need some help," I asked when she answered.

"Israel, can you make it quick," she said. "I'm in the middle of something."

"I need the name of a good criminal defense attorney, I'm about to get arrested," I informed her.

"Shit," she muttered. "I'll call you back." With that, she was gone. There was nothing else to do but start dinner. As soon as the veggie pasta went into the boiling water, the doorbell rang.

"Who is it?" I said over the system.

"It is the police," a strange woman responded. "Open up." I shrugged. I certainly wasn't going to invite them in. I had already lost but I wasn't going to make it easy on them. They actually waited over a minute before finally the cops figured that out. They overrode my lock and opened the door.

In came two uniformed officers.

"You can't come in," I called out from the kitchen.

"Huh? Mr. Jensen, we have come to take you downtown," the lead cop stated and came my way.

"Where is your warrant? If you don't have a warrant, you are breaking the law," I held my ground.

"It is called probable cause. Do we need to restrain you?" she said. The second cop was scanning my dwelling. I half-turned my body so that the closest cop, the talker, could see that I held the handle to a pot of boiling water (and pasta). Her hand went to her taser. She had a pistol as well, but I hated to think what a man had to do to actually get shot by the police.

"Put it down," the cop cautioned me. Cop Two sensed her partner's apprehension and angled for a shot at me as well.

"It is my dinner," I informed her.

"Put it down or you will be tasered," Cop One demanded. Hurting the police was worse than stupid; it would be an actual legal violation.

"I am going to slowly put it on the back burner and cut off the front one," I stated.

"Last warning," she threatened.

"That's right; I'm standing over a burning hot surface and you are going to light me up," I sighed. I moved the pot back and cut off the burner and I didn't experience extreme pain.

"Put your hands on the counter top, palms down, and spread your legs," Cop One ordered.

"What the hell is going on?" Kuiko growled. The cops had left the door open.

"It is a police matter ma'am," Cop Two moved to block Kuiko's entry.

"Israel, what's going on?" Kuiko asked of me.

"I don't know beyond a grievous violation of my civil rights," I answered. "They have no warrant for my detention or entry into my dwelling, but here they are in my kitchen getting ready to detain me by force," I mused. I was about to be physically restrained. After the week I'd been having, I figured that would break me, rendering the rest of my resistance mute.

"Ma'am, this is a police matter," Cop Two repeated. "Go back to your dwelling."

"No!" Zuiko insisted. "You are not running off with our only guy." All I could think of was 'Wow, Zuiko really, really, really wants to get laid.’ She barely knew me. Cop One put her hands on me and started to move me into the desired position.

I countered that by linking my fingers together in front of me and we began to struggle.

"Lady, leave or you will be arrested," Cop Two threatened.

"No way," Zuiko held her ground. "He's the only guy on the block and the only other guy in a two block radius is a drugged out zombie. You two want to start a riot, go right ahead, but you can't just grab our only male without some sort of authorization."

The two cops stopped. They had no qualms about annihilating my rights, but pissing off several hundred already edgy women was enough to give them pause. It was humiliating though not unexpected.

"We are going to call this in," Cop One compromised.

Earlier in the day I had woven a lie about community. I wasn't being spared because I was a part of a community. I wasn't their neighbor. I was being saved on the belief that I would reciprocate with sexual favors, not for any skill or talent I might bring to the group. Zuiko thought she was doing me a favor. I genuinely believed she thought she was my friend yet even she stated my prime value as that of a sperm donor.

Seconds later the phone rang. It was Detective Trainer.

"Mr. Jensen, what is your malfunction?" she grated.

"I wanted to be treated as an equal," I met her gaze, feeling terribly tired inside and out.

"You are a citizen, Mr. Jensen," she tried and failed to sound pleasant.

"Yeah, that's why two of your cohorts have stormed into my apartment without a warrant or just cause, threatened me with bodily harm and attempted to ruin my dinner," I stared back with emotionless eyes.

"This is an official police matter, Mr. Jensen. Now come down to the station and let us question you," Somerset reiterated.

"What does this pertain to?" we went over old ground but this time with witnesses.

"Obstruction of Justice if you are not careful," Somerset seethed.

"Over what?" I blasted back. "Right over the phone I could tell you everything I know."

"That's not how an interrogation works," she explained bitterly.

"Interrogation? And you are still wondering why I'm not placing myself at your mercy? Lady, I'm not putting myself alone in a room with you and your closest friend if I can help it," I repeated a rather recent declaration.

"Mr. Jensen, we are the police and," she got out.

"That makes it worse, not better. Police have been the bane of my existence for the last third of my life. I don't trust you, I don't like you and I certainly have zero faith in you doing your jobs where I am concerned. Me coming in isn't going to help me," I informed her.

"What about helping your fellow males?" she countered.

"Oh, is that what this investigation is about? Detective Somerset, if I don't think you can provide any protection for me, why should I believe you can help any male?" I reposed. There was a long pause.

"Mr. Jensen, Israel, we need to canvas the males in danger and see if we can discover any links to the men who have gone missing," she answered.

"Was that so difficult? Had you told me this a half hour ago when I first asked and treated me like a human being, we could have avoided all this crap," I chided her.

"You have an attitude problem," she sniped.

"Yes, I do. I have a problem with your fucking attitude, you useless twit," I growled.

"I want you to go to sleep tonight wondering how many more men are going to slip through your fingers because you can't do your job. Better yet, think about how many of my brethren are going to vanish believing the lie that you want to help them, that you will be there for them and you're not. You are going to fail them just as you've been failing me my entire life. Good night Detective Somerset Trainer, it has not been a pleasure."

Oh yeah, I had just unloaded on a police detective, a sex crimes detective at that. I'd done it in front of anyone standing near her desk plus the two cops standing in my condo and the ten or so neighbors hovering at my door. Yay me! Apparently I wasn't done either.

"What are you looking at?" I turned on the two officers. "Get the fuck out of my place you fascist drones." They reacted as if slapped.

"Check that language, Mister," Cop One snapped back.

"Call someone who cares," I rebounded. "You've got your marching orders. Beat it. You'll have your grubby paws on me tomorrow at one. Until then your misandry is stinking up the place."

"You need correction," Officer Two chimed in. By that she meant therapy and drugs.

"Why? Because I resent you two breaking into my place and trying to drag me off illegally, because I stand up for my rights, or because I know you are not doing your jobs?" I griped. "You've lost 28 men now," I looked to the crowd at the door.

"Oh yeah, they lost four more of us last night in this city alone. The rate of our disappearances is accelerating nation-wide and by the end of the year it could be as high as thirty thousand," I lied about that last number but what the hell.

"Mister, you are starting a panic," Officer One cautioned somewhat fearfully.

"Lady, I work at the Mayor's Office. We get all kinds of data," I lied again.

"Wait, you are that guy from the news conference," a girl from the door called out. "You said everything would be okay?"

"One, I did not say everything was okay," I corrected.

"I said we all had to work together, to which the fascist police force responded to by dragging in the potential victims and treating them like criminals," I laid out. "That is pretty much the opposite of 'working together.’ Secondly, the truth is that every man my age should get an illegal firearm, barricade himself in his home and only have his food delivered by his mother."

"I reasoned that the vast female majority didn't want to hear the truth and since they elect the Mayor, I sold out my gender," I stated firmly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to eat a light dinner because I'm being forced to go out on a date with my ex-girlfriend who had me gang-raped in college and I doubt I'll be able to hold down food in her presence."

"My boss is demanding it because my desire to vomit whenever she is near is disrupting the office's work dynamic," I explained.

"That's plain wrong," Kuiko spoke up. The cops were making their way to the door.

"Kuiko, your defense of me earlier, while admirable and appreciated," I said as she smiled, "referred to me as one of the two functioning cocks in a two block radius."

"That pretty much eradicates me as a personality. I understand that impulse though. That's why I only have sex with strangers, women I hope I will never have to meet again. They are vaginas that I'm forced to interact with by law, not by desire," I sighed. "I don't want to look at women solely as mammary glands and fuck holes. That would make me as bad as most of you."

"But we care about you," Kuiko blurted out. "I only said that to worry the police."

"Yeah and both of you knew it would work," I responded. "You assume I will put out eventually and they assume I am putting out, which I'm not and I'm not going to if I can help it. See, every time I screw a girl, I prostitute another part of my soul and chip away at any hope I have of finding happiness in this life. The truth is I hate having sex and I only do it because society will take away my freewill if I refuse."

By the looks the women at the door were giving me, this was an ugly truth they didn't want to confront.

"Maybe therapy would help," volunteered Venus from the first floor. She'd called earlier.

"Been there, done that, made me the man I am today," I bantered.

"What about drugs?" a lady I didn't know suggested.

"Why bother?" I grinned. "Go down to maintenance and borrow a screwdriver. Ram it into my forehead and lobotomize me."

"That's not what I meant," she responded defensively.

"What do you think those drugs do to a man?" I asked. "They take away our ability for rational thought where sex is concerned. We'd hump our mothers, sisters, a cop standing on a street corner or participate in a gang-bang on public transit. The worst part is we eventually come down from that high, we know exactly what degradations and perversions we went through and we know we'll do it again and again until the drugs cycle out of our system."

"It would be more merciful to make brain dead," I finished.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Roni pressed forward. Oh fuck, Angel's roommate and someone I gave a damn about (Angel that is). I owed Angel an honest answer.

"Give me time," I sighed wearily. "Assume that I don't mind attempting to be friends, but I don't want a sexual relationship."

"Can we hug you?" Kuiko asked.

"Warn me first," I replied. "Keep your hands above the waist and I'm okay."

"If you hate women, how come your reviews are so good?" Venus sounded a bit angry.

"I don't hate all women, just a specific few," I sadly met her gaze.

"When I have sex it isn't for the review. I don't hold it against the woman that I'm being forced into intercourse with so I show her as much consideration and attention as I can," I explained. "After my first rape, it was something they taught me in therapy. The theory was that if I could make a woman happy, she would develop concern for my wellbeing. That was a lie, of course."

"Wait," Roni muttered, "you've been sexually assaulted more than once?" I nodded. "But you are only 21. That's all fouled up." For a moment the mothering instinct kicked in. The women started flowing into my place causing me to stumble back in near terror.

"Whoa," Kuiko threw her arms out to the sides to act as a barrier.

"The last thing I think Israel needs is a bunch of us to swarm his apartment. Israel, you are still going to attend the party Saturday, aren't you?" Kuiko changed the subject.

"Sure," I nodded. "I look forward to matching personalities to faces."

"Do you ever think you will sleep with one of us, girls in the complex?" Venus worried. I took a deep breath.

"The last women I really trusted betrayed me utterly," I explained. "Three days ago, I would have had to say 'no'," and I watched the crowd deflate.

"But, since then I've willingly had two women in my apartment," not really a lie, "Angel and Kuiko here, and I wouldn't have believed that possible either. So, I say 'yes' there is a possibility that one day I'd trust enough to have sex with a woman I know well."

"Any hope of casual sex?" a woman whose name I thought was Samantha.

"Damn it," Roni erupted. "Haven't you been listening? He's got to work past feeling forced to have sex before he can hope to enjoy it. Asking him to have sex outside the legal requirements is stupid."

"Hey now," Samantha grumbled. "Sabatini and Clark both went missing last night. Who are we going to have sex with if not Israel?"

"Wait, who does that leave?" Kuiko groaned.

"Perez?"

"No, he got married."

"Vladimir?"

"He went missing a month ago."

"Huang?"

"Missing, I thought he moved but I checked this morning and he's vanished too."

"Damn, we are losing all our guys," several women worried and looked at me with a combination of 'please fuck me' and 'please don't vanish.’

Statistically speaking, there were roughly five thousand women of my age group in this district so there should have been two hundred males, my male demographic was below the total male average due to diminishing birth rates for men. We weren't only below that ratio, we were catastrophically below that ratio.

A bit of judicious checking, with people still hovering around my door, showed that not only had twelve of the twenty-eight missing in our city come from our district, but sixty-three had married and moved off to couple's housing. To add to the disaster, forty-seven had been granted permission to move out, which implied someone important's approval because their moving was a violation of the gender quota.

The quota had been dropping in this district for the past ten years, but this sudden exodus was devastating to the working class women who remained. The wealthier elements of society were moving younger men uptown into high security towers where they could be safer and more tightly controlled. The poorer classes were being left to fend for themselves.

I was a token offering to my district. Had I behaved, I would have been moved uptown in due time as well. I had no idea what they would do with my damaged ass now, though jail and rehabilitation seemed likely. The whole deal with Bethany made total sense too. She'd picked me and since she was from a rich and powerful family, she could expect to entice me into an attachment at some point and time.

Except for the piddling little reality that she'd raped me and I would rather die than wake up next to her in anyplace but the morgue.

"Do you want one of us to move in and be your roommate, to keep you safe?" a female voice requested.

I hung my head. I doubted a single woman out there, their number had grown to about twenty, was over the age of thirty but I could already hear their biological clocks ticking. 'Vladimir, Huang, why couldn't you have run faster or hidden better, you selfish bastards? Perez, get your lazy, one-woman ass back home. There is no way me and a fifty-five year old zombie can do this by ourselves.'

"Shit," Roni grumbled. "What part about 'traumatized' do you not get?"

"But he will get better, right?" Venus pressed. Roni should know because despite not being a doctor of anything, she was an EMT and she cured guys like me all the time. Maybe not.

"Israel, when did the therapy for the last assault conclude?" Roni asked.

"I didn't get any," I enlightened them. "I reported the assault to campus security. They told that I had gone to a sorority party, so what else should I have expected? They told me girls will be girls. They told me it was he said-she said, they were good girls and I couldn't prove it was non-consensual sex. And, as they laughed me out of the station, one of them told the others 'he's got a nice ass.’"

"You went to a sorority party," Venus stated confidently. "Of course you had sex." I thought Roni was going to hit her.

"Sex? I'm not going to bore you with the list of physical injuries I sustained having so called consensual sex at this so called party. You wouldn't want to believe the authorities would overlook the damage because you want to think the system works," I stated.

"You wouldn't want to believe a group of women could treat a man so badly, or that they could get away with it if they did. If, by some bizarre chance, a man pushes you into a bathroom stall and sodomizes you, the police come, gather DNA evidence and the guy goes to corrections," I created an example.

"If a women does it to a man, we have to prove we weren't asking for it. For most men, going to the police is fruitless. We simple try to get on with our lives and are thankful she didn't bring a few friends along for seconds and thirds. None of you want to think about that, but that is exactly the way it is," I continued.

"It can't be that bad," a neighbor named Natalya chimed in. "Men go out to clubs, on dates; things like that."

"What are they supposed to do? We are required to meet women," I looked her over. "Some guys like revolving door sex, but a good number of us are either numb to the very act of sex, are trying to meet the 'one', or it is simply 28 days later thus we have to perform."

"You make it sound like half the male population should be cowering behind their doors, afraid to go out," Samantha fought back. "Clearly that's not the case." I was glad I'd taken the noodles off the burner because it didn't look like my fan club as going away anytime soon.

"Have you not been listening?" I snapped.

"I'm about to go out on a date with a woman I fear and despise. I don't have a choice," I growled. "Have any of you ever asked a man if he's been drugged, jumped by a date's roommate or sister or long-lost-cousin, or threatened with arrest, loss of employment, or physical injury?" No one responded.

"Let me explain something to you. Bethany Fremont was the first woman I independently had sex with. She wasn't my first. My first rapist took my virginity. After that, it was a series of very skilled physical therapists. I was proud when I could take them to orgasm but in the end it was still a symbol of my broken nature," I related.

"Bethany was different. We made love once that first night. After that, we were all over each other. During the week, it was two or three times a day at least. In her car, bathroom stalls, her apartment, my dorm, behind a lecturer's desk this one time, all over the place. I loved her voice when she called my name, the smell of her arousal, the way she'd arch her back when she came, the feel of her skin rubbing against my naked flesh, the taste of her when we kissed, everything," I recalled.

"Trust her? I couldn't 'not' trust her. She completed me. She was the one who vanquished my fear of the dark. She drove off the nightmares and brought me into the light," I stared back through the years. "I didn't feel safe, I felt invincible." Oh shit, I could feel the tears making tracks down my face.

"The next thing I knew for sure, I was vomiting into the trashcan beside my bed. My digestive track was a mess from a three day diet of hyper-stimulants, illegal aphrodisiacs and alcohol. I had severe memory loss and blackouts for weeks afterward but eventually I remembered everything, though I wished I hadn't," I muttered softly, tearing open festering wounds.

"I didn't go to a sorority party, Venus. I went with my girlfriend, who I loved and trusted, to meet some of her friends at a sorority house. No party was mentioned. I had every belief that Bethany wouldn't let anything bad happen to me, just like all of you claim to have the best of intentions," I continued quietly.

"I begged her to get me out of there when the others moved in. I cried out for her when they took my clothes, and she looked amused. She told me I had the whole sorority for the weekend and I should enjoy it. She had bragged to them how good at sex I was and all I had to do was show them, all forty of them," I related.

"When it was over, Bethany drove me home. She told me it was a great weekend and all the girls were jealous that she had such a fun, willing slut," I choked. "At my dorm room, she wanted to have sex one more time. I begged off. Afterwards, I staggered over to campus security, but I've already told you how that went."

"You should have sought out therapy," Samantha insisted.

"You clearly don't know how the law works," I lectured. "If an incident is reported and accepted as a sexual assault, the state pays for counseling plus I get a sexual exemption until my therapist says I'm okay. I get to live my life."

"If there is no acknowledged rape then I have to commit myself into a mental health facility on the grounds I cannot perform sexually," I explained. "Then it is very little therapy and lots of drugs. In counseling, they wean you off of drugs. In self-commitment, if you stop taking your drugs, they arrest you and make you take them."

"After campus security laughed me out of the building, I was doubly screwed. If I turned myself in, I would have lost my scholarship and become a drug addict, or I could piece my mind and body back together on my own as best I could and exit college as fast as possible. See, Bethany's sorority put out a video of my greatest exploits at their soiree. Suddenly I was the college whore so it was open season on me on campus."

"Lucky me; I graduated at the top of my class, I got a nice job and what I hoped was a fresh start. Instead, I find out that Bethany got me the job and expects me to be suitably grateful. It's college all over again. I am trapped and there is no escape for me," I sighed hopelessly.

"You are not going to kill yourself, are you?" Venus worried.

"I have not mentioned ending my life," I went over the legal rigmarole, "I have not made any plans to end my existence and I have not hinted at reasons for me wanting to cease to exist." I had to say that because of the laws covering male suicide or attempted suicide.

"You sound pretty depressed," Kuiko murmured. "Hell, you sound awfully depressed."

"I've given up on hope, not on life," I lied. My first plan, to exit college and build a better life, had failed, but I'd struggled on through Bethany and what she did to me and I wasn't going to give up now. I didn't know how I was going to survive. I had to believe something would come to me.

"You might find love again," Roni suggested hopefully.

"Bethany was my second love. The first was my high school girlfriend. After my first rape, I was too ashamed to see her," I confessed. "She moved away before I went to college and I've never had the courage to seek her out. We were going to be each other's first, but,”

"Okay," Venus muttered, "that is officially the saddest thing I've ever heard in my life. Is that tequila on top of your refrigerator?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"Can I have some?" Venus requested.

"Why not," I nodded. "All of you can help yourselves. Glasses are in the top right cabinet. I'll be standing in the corner over here," I moved away, keeping my eyes on them of course. "Sorry Kuiko, but I think you have figured out I don't drink."

"That's okay," she smiled playfully. "At least you didn't throw it out like you did the food."

"How'd you know?" I regarded her.

"The inside of the container was damp. When you take the food out, the surface dries out over time. Obviously you had just gotten rid of it before placing the Tupperware at my door. I was hurt and offended but now I understand. It's okay."

I nodded. What else could I do? Thankfully, Roni and Kuiko herded my other neighbors out and closed the door as they left. I hustled up my dinner, ate rapidly then headed out to the gym. I was five steps out the door when I felt the crushing weight of all the fucked up shit I'd done already that day and I still had to work around Bethany later.

I didn't know what to do. In reality, I did know what to do, only I didn't like it. Walking down the hall to Kuiko's place, I rang the door and waited. Aniqua answered.

"Hello Israel!" she beamed. Her enthusiasm made me take a half-step back. There was something going on in the background but I couldn't concentrate on it.

"Hi Aniqua," I stumbled. "Is Kuiko in?"

"Oh, yes she is," she kept smiling. "She told me there was a problem at your place earlier. I'm sorry I missed it."

"Not much to miss and definitely not my finest moment," I tried to make light of the fuck-up.

"Kuiko, there is a guy at the door for you," Aniqua yelled over her shoulder, chuckling.

I suddenly realized that background noise was a shower.

"Wait! Wait!" Kuiko yelled. She appeared in their condo's hallway, a hand towel clutched to her chest, clearly soaked and running right at me.

By accident or on purpose, Kuiko had only one breast covered, nothing else.

"Hey Israel!" she bubbled with excitement. Had I said 'let's have sex', I was guaranteed to be jumped right then and there. Hopefully Aniqua would be kind enough to drag us by our ankles out of the public space.

"I am going down to the gym and wanted to know if you wanted to come along," I requested.

"Sure. Let me get dressed," she nodded happily. She turned and sprinted back to what must have been her bedroom, fully exposing her finely muscled back, pert ass and slender, athletic legs.

"Nothing on the backside, Crazy-K," Aniqua snickered while rolling her eyes then looked me over.

"I'm glad to see you're responding," Aniqua noticed my growing erection. Sometimes I wished I could castrate myself. I was about to reply to the tall, athletic black woman when I noticed her nipples poking through her tight, light white tank top and red sports bra. Not good.

"I'm definitely heterosexual, Aniqua," I explained. "Please remember it is an automatic response, not a plea for companionship."

"I understand," she sighed. "Oh, can I hug you? Kuiko said you want to be asked." That was not precisely what I said, but okay. I'd take what restraint I could on any woman's part.

"I'm ready," I said after a moment steeling myself. Aniqua stepped up, put her hands on my hips then pressed her body firmly against mine.

She then rested her head on my shoulder, her breath tickling my neck. I took a deep breath, exhaled then reached around and returned the hug. I rested my right hand at the small of her back along her waistband and my left right below her bra strap and squeezed. Aniqua virtually purred and rubbed her body against mine.

"Hey!" Kuiko squawked from down the hall. "What are you doing?" I tried to back up but Aniqua wasn't letting go easily. My heart was starting to hammer through my chest. I was regretting this whole scheme to use Kuiko as cover while working out.

"I asked permission," Aniqua mumbled through my shoulder.

"Fine, you hugged him," Kuiko stormed up. "Now let him go."

"I don't wanna," Aniqua mumbled. "He's the first man I've smelled in five months. I'm getting desperate enough to start hanging around the men's room during my breaks." I knew she was joking, okay, I hoped she was joking, but that was damn creepy.

"Don't make me get a broom and wedge him free from you," Kuiko threatened.

"Fine, fine, I'll back off," Aniqua did as promised. "Israel, feel free to come by at any time," then, "Wait! Do you need me to come along as well?"

"No," I replied assertively. "Kuiko will do." Aniqua pouted as Kuiko slipped passed.

Only as my young Asian companion hobbled down the walkway, putting on one shoe at a time, did I get to take in what she was, or wasn't, wearing. Crop top, no bra, and shorts that weren't quite a bikini, but close, no underwear lines. Some days I feel I should wear a full-body condom, except no one makes condoms anymore. It is counter-reproductive.

"You look, nice," I commented.

"I was in a hurry," she smiled shyly. "I threw on the first things I could find."

"Really?" I questioned. She looked away and blushed.

"No," she confessed. "I'm so sorry, but,” she looked at me, clearly embarrassed. "Do you want me to go back home?"

"No," I said after some thought. "But I want you to know you are forgoing your hug."

"Damn it!" she snapped her fingers. She was succeeding at looking adorable. Unfortunately for her, things that aroused me also scared me. This was the flipside of my life. Women trying to control me physically or verbally caused a fear reaction.

Looking at a woman and feeling aroused made me feel ashamed. During my rapes I had ejaculated again and again. I told myself if I could stop getting erections it would end. After the first time, my counselor explained to me that this wasn't true. I was drugged. I couldn't help myself. The body responds a certain way to stimuli, etc., etc.

Knowing rationally that it wasn't my fault didn't make the guilt go away. The diabolic bonus to this was the lust or rage reaction I had to arousal. Sex had been used to render me powerless. There was this deep urge to recapture that sense of control by taking my shame and anger out on a woman. Luckily for me, and the female population on campus, the second time around I had coping mechanisms.

I could focus on the woman before me and repress flashbacks interposing the faces of my attackers on them. My motivation wasn't to save their lives, altruism doesn't keep you going. I did it because the alternative was institutionalization; I was struggling to survive. I couldn't make Kuiko understand this.

Every instinct told her to look sexy. Society reinforced that. Those clothes she was almost wearing weren't handmade after all. I doubted she body sculpted herself so intensely solely to enjoy the view in the mirror and the accolades of her peers. Had she understood the emotional hell-storm I was going through I doubt she would have been trying to be so cute and enticing.

Again, I had to concentrate and accept that this wasn't her fault. Kuiko was giving me space and running interference with the few other women around the gym. I was able to control myself and after a few minutes slipped into a neutral mental state as my mind turned inward. It let me shed some of the accumulated stress of the day.

"What's it like?" Kuiko asked gently as we headed back to her place.

"What?" I responded cautiously.

"Being so alone," she looked up at me. "I have a dozen girl-pals I can talk to about, stuff, but you don't really have anyone, do you?"

"Do you mean do I ever have guys I get together with and talk to?" I sought clarification.

"Yes, do you?" she answered.

"We don't talk about it, Kuiko," I sighed. "Sure guys can talk over all sorts of nebulas shit on-line or over the phone."

"Real stuff?" I looked back. "No. It could be used against us. It is horrifyingly easy to be accused of being an MRA terrorist. If a man sounds dissatisfied, he could be put under surveillance or picked up, so we don't talk," I lied. I couldn't divulge to any woman the furtive communications guys had.

"But you went off at your place," Kuiko pointed out.

"Didn't I sound crazy?" I suggested. Kuiko was clearly searching for the least hurtful words.

"A little. You made sense, but you were, stressed," she smiled weakly. "I have to admit I've never thought about what one of my dates has gone through before hooking up with me." The follow-up question was uncomfortably awkward but socially required.

"Ever had an attachment before?" I mumbled. I really didn't want to know.

"No," she groaned. "I suck at sex, I mean, I'm not very good at sex." I so, God, didn't want to go there. I was still trying to figure out if she was lying to me when she added. "I'm almost jealous of your Bethany. She may be a total bitch, but at least she must have known what she was doing to keep you around."

"You could visit a professional," I suggested. I meant a male or female prostitute.

"Do you know how much one of those costs?" she wailed. "I can't afford it."

"A female one has to be cheaper," I said hopefully.

"I don't need to suck another dildo," she sniffled. "Trust me. That does not teach you how to give a blowjob."

Oh, kay. Yet another piece of worldly knowledge I didn't need to know. My dilemma boiled down to what would I sacrifice to stay alive and free? Could I use Kuiko as human shielding without any reciprocity? That would make me as bad as them.

"Kuiko, if I ever, ever, get over my problems, I could help you with that," I muttered.

"I, oh, I'm not asking you to," she sputtered.

"That's why I'm offering," I replied. "If you were pressuring me, I would be incapable of speech."

"In that case, thank you," she beamed happiness. "Can I hug you?"

"I think we discussed how your clothing precludes that," I gently teased.

"But these shorts make my ass look nice, don't they?" she presented her rearview.

"That being one of the problems," I verified. She pouted then grinned. At least she didn't roll up her tiny top and show me her nipples. That would have been retched. As it was, she behaved. I dropped her off before getting back to my place and preparing for my date with Bethany.

My date with Bethany started off poorly before it even got off the ground. Detective Kristi called to inform me she couldn't find a private attorney who would take on my case, sight unseen. She had finally called the Public Defender's office to get someone for me. Beggars couldn't be choosers, or so I had been told.

The restaurant was as Ms. Silverhorn described, well-lit and decently populated. Upon entering, I was the third guy in the establishment. I could have done without that observation as well as Bethany standing up from 'our' table, smiling and waving me over. I had this insane impulse to turn and run away. In hindsight, it wasn't so insane considering how our last date had gone.

There were no whistles or cat-calls. It was a quality establishment, but that didn't stop them from looking and whispering to their female companions. I wanted to wear a burka while Bethany reveled in the attention I was getting. At the five foot mark, she moved forward to hug me. I couldn't help myself; I recoiled.

"Don't be like that," Bethany scolded me. "You invited me to dinner to apologize, remember?" In her perversion of reality that might have been the case, but in the world I lived in, she was my tormentor and betrayer. If I was going to apologize for anything it was for not reaching out and strangling her on the spot.

There were a dozen things I could do. Even ignoring the violent ones, I could still cause a scene and humiliate her, ignore her, or even hit on another woman (if my courage held out). I was having to pump sunlight down into the hole I had dug during the day but I opted to not dig it deeper at that moment.

"Bethany, I'm trying," I sighed. "This is a lot for me to deal with, us parting on such, unstable terms."

"Okay," she graciously allowed. She resumed her seat and I took mine. She automatically reached her hand halfway across the table. There was a time when we held hands all the time.

We would feed each other too. If I did that now, I would stab her in the eye. My resolve was barely limping along but I summoned up enough energy to put my hand in hers.

"Do you miss the way we used to be?" she mused.

"I think about it a lot," I said. Usually in things called nightmares.

"Do you miss the sex?" she leered. My stomach lurched.

"I'm sure you've had better since then," I gulped. Her eyes sparkled with desire.

"No," she purred. "No I haven't. We had real passion, Israel. The way you would look at me after we made love, the way our eyes met and how you ran your hands through my hair."

'Then you shouldn't have thrown me to the wolves, you stupid cow,' I inwardly screamed.

"Why did you share me with your sorority sisters?" I asked instead. I had never asked that before. I never had the guts to face her. No rush of bravery had altered that. My back had been shoved against the wall.

"It is a girl-thing," she grinned playfully. "You wouldn't understand." I wonder if she realized how lame that sounded. I wouldn't understand? Hell no, I wouldn't understand.

"Try me," I whispered.

"I loved being with you, Israel, but I have to live with those girls too," she began.

"Being in a sorority is a sisterhood. We agree to help one another through thick and thin. That means we share in our good fortune as well," she explained. "You were clearly superior to the cock the rest were getting so they voted for me to bring you over. I have to admit, you did your job well. Eighteen of the girls became pregnant. That was amazing."

That was insane. That had to be total bullshit.

"No," I moaned.

"Oh yeah," Bethany smiled. "All those fertility drugs plus your stamina succeeded beyond our wildest expectations."

"No," I repeated with greater hopelessness. "Wait, fertility drugs take weeks to work."

"Well duh," she giggled. "That's why I held off so long in bringing you over. We wanted to be ready." I had been used as a stud. Corralled, fattened and led to slaughter. I almost missed what she said next.

"You have three sons, Israel," Bethany continued. I'm sure the blood must have drained from my face.

"Three, did any of them live?" I muttered. I didn't know if I was praying more for them to be dead than alive. Knowing the monsters they would be with,

"All three lived," she lilted. "Technically you had five, but three of them lived and that is awesome." The first question that blew through my mind was 'why am I not in a lab?' My sons' survival rate was beyond phenomenal, 60% versus the normal 10%. It probably couldn't end the decline of my gender but it could slow down the rate, give humanity more time to find a cure.

"You covered that all up?" I asked quietly. Did I even want to know where my dead sons were buried?

"First we were surprised, then we couldn't figure out why and we couldn't access your records without raising too many red flags," she informed me.

"Had we informed the government, we'd have lost you," she squeezed my hand. Even with the infinitesimal chance that I might have some clue to the cure for the Gender Plague, the sorority decided to keep that under wraps. Unholy hell, they were worse monsters than I thought.

"You didn't have my child, did you?" I worried.

"No," she moaned sensually. "God knows you and I tried, and tried." After a short pause, "I miss you Israel. I was really upset that you dumped me. Sure, I got more guys, but they were, so boring and vanilla compared to you. Let's go back to my place and fuck." Who said romance was dead?

If she had tried to drag me to a taxi I would have slammed my cock in the car door. I figured I could do it two or three times before Bethany and the cab driver could stop me.

"I think we are moving a little too fast," I evaded. "I'm not like I was with you in college. In fact, since you I've never had an attachment."

"That's sweet," she stroked my palm with her fingers. "We don't have to go straight to an attachment tonight. We can wait until the second or third date. Can't we still have sex?"

"Honestly, I've only gone for faceless encounters after that weekend. It was something I doubted I could repeat," I gulped. I needed something else, some lie to peddle.

"I'm still adjusting to us working so close together," I added. "I not ready to return to a sexual relationship yet. I hope you can wait." Total lie. I was hoping for the end of the world so I wouldn't have to have sex with her.

"Hmmm," she regarded me cat-like. "Are you planning to sex up someone else while I wait?"

"No, definitely not," I all but shouted to the rafters.

"Not that nasty old cop?" Bethany teased.

"I'm not even sure how to compare the two of you," I smiled weakly. I was fading fast, but I was a freaking PR guy, after all, and I could still bail myself out a little longer.

To be continued

By FinalStand for Literotica