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One in Ten

By: FinalStand



*Fear is a terrible seducer. It steals you away from the rest of the World*

Thanks to PokingFun for coming off her (near) Death Bed to edit this story for me.



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' 3" with black hair down to her shoulder blades. The other was a black girl, around 5'8" 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 city'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/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," Angle 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," Angle 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.


One in Ten Ch. 02



*Thanks to PokingFun for the wonderful edit*

(There is no sex in this episode - sorry)

(In the One in Ten story line, bad things happen to our protagonist and others. I could be seen as non-consensual, and it is, but that is not the root of the tale. It is about oppression, discrimination, and abuse of power. It is also about human worth, friendship and love. At the base of this fiction is this; if you, as a man, saw a woman quietly suffering through a molestation on a bus, tram, or subway what would you do? Would you come to her rescue, help her afterwards, ignore her, or think less of her for letting it happen in silence? In this story, it is women making those decisions about a man and they are each making different calls. Few are good or evil. They are people. People making choices is the essence of this tale.) 

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 2000 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 nation-wide," 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 penis 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.




One in Ten Ch. 02



"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.

"Ummm," 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, GED," 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 GED - the Gender Enforcement Division aka Sex Crimes. 

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




One in Ten Ch. 02



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 penises 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/sister/long-lost-cousin, or threatened with arrest, loss of employment, or physical injury?" No one responded.

"Let me explain something to you. Bethany Harmon 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/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.




One in Ten Ch. 02



"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/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."

O-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 butt 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.



One in Ten Ch. 03



*Thanks to PokingFun for her editing expertise*

*No true sex again in this part, but there is close contact*

*There are three horrible events in this section; a suicide, a murder/suicide at a daycare, and our protagonist gets fisted as part of a police intimidation tactic. I do not feel they are gratuitous. They feed into the dark desperation of the story's world. I wish there were not real-world events that planted these ideas within me.*



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 dick 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 dick 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.

The waitress came, took our orders then left. I steered the conversation toward work, our co-workers and the Mayor. Bethany didn't have much interest in policy. Politics was her expertise – who was who and who she knew. Only when dessert came around did she drop a hint about the party I had been invited to.

"I hear you have your first secret party coming up," she teased.

"Not if I can help it," I answered.

"What do you mean, 'not if you can help it'?" Bethany stared at me with no comprehension. "Why aren't you going?" 

'None of your damned business', 'I'd rather floss with razor-wire', or 'I'm going to cuddle up with a good book in a non-extradition country' all worked for me. I could scream out my rage over having her fucked-up friends raising my sons to be slaves and my daughters to be as deviant and uncaring as their mothers. None of those would work.

"We are going deep sea diving," I fabricated. "Heading out Friday night and won't be back until late Sunday."

"Ah – ah – really?" Bethany blinked. "I didn't know you liked to do that. Hell, I wasn't sure they let men do that anymore. Isn't it dangerous?"

"It is no more dangerous than going out on a date with you," I smiled wanly. Sadly, Bethany wasn't a total idiot and I should have picked a better lie. She pulled out her phone and began doing some online research. Me, I went to the bathroom – then through the kitchen and out the back door. I flagged down the first cab I saw and was gone two minutes when the phone rang.

"Israel, where are you?" Bethany sounded pissed.

"I couldn't control my emotions around you and I don't want to screw things up like last time, so I left. Sorry," I murmured.

"Damn it," she sounded petulant, "I was really hoping to get some tonight."

Uh-uh, no way. Had Bethany tried to drag me anywhere for sex, it would have been a murder/suicide and that would have still counted as a victory for her.

"Maybe next week?" I put her off.

"What about tomorrow night?" she countered.

"Wa – what was – at – I'm – you are – ing up. I'm – into a tunnel – bye," and I hung up. The cabby looked over her shoulder and smirked at me but at least didn't give me shit about the fact we were nowhere near a tunnel. I had gone out with Bethany and made it through dessert, so had accomplished the mission Francesca had laid out for me, in my mind anyway.

To be safe, I cut off my phone. I paid for the taxi with money I couldn't afford to spend. My instinct was to race into my complex, up the stairs and get inside my condo as quickly as possible. Then it dawned on me; could being murdered or kidnapped be that much worse than the life I was currently living? I wondered how many of the two thousand missing guys felt the same way.

After getting cleaned up and dressed for bed, I found myself laying on the sofa, bat on my chest and staring at the ceiling. Isobel Diaz was going to crucify me – that was pretty much a given. If not, I'd have to date Bethany again, eventually. Death really was preferable because they'd already bludgeoned me as a person, stolen my children and gotten away with it.

Me ending up with Bethany as an attachment would be the removal of my only weapon – denial. She'd pleased her sorority friends but lost me in the process, or so I had told myself. Now it looked like she'd still end up possessing me anyway. How was that worse than what Isobel had in store when she finally got her hooks in?

To dwell solely on my harsh reality was no way to nurture the desire to fight on. I had to think about Angel, Kuiko, Roni and perhaps Francesca. They didn't get me. How could they? They were trying, though, and that put them head and shoulders above most womankind. I severely doubted they would turn down an offer of sex, but they weren't making it the focus of our relationships either. That had to count for something.

I was still staring off into space when Angel rang the doorbell. The first thing to occur to me was that it wasn't past midnight yet.

"Come in," I told her. She glided into my place, scanned the area then looked me over.

"You okay?" she inquired.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I answered.

"Bethany Harmon has been squawking into the ear of anyone who will listen that you got into a cab but didn't make it home and that you have been out of communication since leaving the restaurant," Detective Angel Kristi explained. 

"That's none of her damned business," I groused.

"Take into account that Ms. Harmon is connected and 28 men have disappeared recently," Angel reminded me. "Give her a damn call."

"No," I muttered. "Why are you here anyway? Isn't this off your normal beat?"

"For some reason Patrol thinks you are a pain in the ass and a trouble-maker, so I volunteered to make this problem go away," she told me. "Did the date go that poorly?"

"She wanted to have sex. She told me I was the best sex she'd ever had. Then she told me about the children I had with her sorority sisters – children under the care of some of the worst women I've ever met," I sighed. 

"Beyond ducking out the rear before she could trick me back to her place for a fuck session, it went stunningly," I concluded. She sat down on the arm of the sofa by my feet.

"How do you feel about that?" Kristi inquired. I looked at her as if she was delusional.

"Like hell I'm telling you," I snapped. "You are still a cop first, a woman second and a friend a very distant third."

"Israel, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on," she grumbled. Arguing was pointless anyway.

"They have my daughters. They are going to raise them to be the same kind of horrors they are. God knows what they will do to my sons," I growled.

"You want to know how I felt? I desperately resisted the impulse to put my fork into Bethany's eye socket and scoop out her brains. Do I get to go to jail now?" I glared at her.

"No, I – wait, did you say sons?" she stammered. Oh fucking hell. I was far more fatigued than I thought. If I didn't say anything, she'd just go looking.

"Yes, I have three sons. I also have thirteen daughters, if that matters," I groaned. "It does to me."

"God, how many women did you knock up?" Angel gasped.

"Eighteen of the forty-one. They were on a fertility drug regimen," I explained. Angel quickly did the math and jumped up.

"We need to..." she suddenly stopped. She'd done the same mental calculations I had in about .03 seconds. "We need to tell someone," she whispered.

"That doesn't work out so well for me," I pointed out.

"Israel, this is important. We can't just sit on this knowledge," Kristi insisted. "Don't you want to help?"

"Not really," I confessed.

"God damn it!" she leapt to her feet. "You can't hold onto this poison forever."

"It is not poison, Detective Kristi. You see me helping the Human Race limp along a few more decades," I related. "I see passing on my experiences to my sons and their sons."

"This isn't going to make women change their perceptions or attitudes towards men," I added.

"If we do nothing, women will never have the chance to change," Kristi countered.

"Do you deserve another few decades?" I inquired.

"Yes, we are human beings and we deserve the chance to fight off extinction," Angel persisted.

"It is not really up to me anymore anyway," I shrugged. "You know now and forty-one sorority girls have known for over a year. Certainly people in their families know, maybe some doctors as well." I figured nine months for the children to be born and then twelve more months before the abnormal number of males surviving was noted.

"That's right," I chuckled ruefully, "Bethany and her clique knew this way before I did and since I'm not in some lab somewhere, I have to assume they aren't rushing to save the Human Race either."

"That doesn't mean we should make the same poor choices they have," Kristi stated.

"They aren't going to help you, Detective Kristi," I regarded her. "You live on the wrong side of the social dividing line. Hell, Bethany has already told me that you aren't good looking enough, and too old, for me to date. The people you want me to save have already written you off genetically speaking."

"I'm not doing it for them, but for my colleagues on the force and the girls in this complex," Kristi kept on coming. "Don't they deserve a chance?"

"It is too late for them," I responded. "It will take them a few years to figure out if I'm anything special and what makes me so, if I am. Then it is seventeen more years before the male children I help become available."

"That means the youngest woman here will be thirty-six or thirty-seven. There will be many younger girls out there who have priority over them," I did the math. "You and I aren't going to save anyone we know."

"No matter what, we have to try," she insisted.

"Go ahead," I replied in a resigned voice. "You know we'll never see each other again if you do. You are not naïve enough to think they'll ever let me come back."

"Fuck you," Kristi snapped. She paced back and forth. "Fuck you," she repeated violently then stormed out of my condo, slamming the door. I fell asleep where I was.

(Thursday)

Steve threw himself in front of the metro.

He was behaving normally, mumbled to a few women, then gave me a slight wave and stepped off into the void and whatever afterlife awaited suicides. The ladies were screaming, crying and yelling. They were aghast and surprised. They couldn't understand why he did it and a few insisted he stumbled by accident.

One girl said they had sex the night before and had a great time. He had seemed happy. I knew exactly why he was happy and it had little to do with the sex. The guy missed his dead wife and had finally resolved after having intercourse with a total stranger that he would never recapture the magic on this side of existence.

So he had exercised what little free will he had left and given his tormentors a final 'fuck you'. I hoped there was a Heaven and he found his wife waiting for him there. The triple downside of all this was that we were all going to be late for work, I was now the ONLY male in a two block radius and the women were crowding in on me.

A few were clearly worried that I might become inspired to join Steve by ending my life. I wasn't sure how that would work – the metro had already stopped and wasn't going anywhere until the paramedics removed Steve's body. Some wanted to be comforted. A person had died and they were suitably shaken by the event.

Of course, there were always the ones who found this to be an opportunity to grope me yet again. Ambrosia, Fatima and Carrie appeared to have formed a coterie. I would have been more scared, but I'd seen this behavior before. Girls could readily accept a three (or four)-way and getting male enhancement drugs was insanely easy.

The precautions were the same. Don't take food or drink from anyone (a man could spike an offering just as well as woman), keep to public places and don't let them into your house, or go to their house – ever. As it was, we bought some drinks from vending machines and waited around for the police to process us.

Detective Somerset Trainer looked both physically tired and happy to see me. Not happy as in 'hey, how are you doing' but happy as in 'I'm going to take great joy in crushing your nuts' – figuratively speaking. My testicles were far too valuable to be ground into putty, but she could dream. She had a patrolwoman retrieve me from my protective cordon of females.

"Mr. Jensen," Somerset greeted me intensely.

"Is this the cry-baby?" her partner chimed in.

"What, is your tampon rammed in too tightly?" I blurted out. What the fuck was I saying? And the area around us got quiet too.

"Detective Gayle Seger," the woman extended her hand. I looked down at her hand then up at her face once more. I didn't shake the offered hand because I didn't feel like having my bones ground together. I couldn't win a brutal handshake contest with a cop. If I prevailed, I had assaulted her and if I lost and complained, I wouldn't be taken seriously.

"You talk a lot," Gayle commented.

"I'd be quiet if you'd let me," I bantered. "Hell, I'd never talk to a cop again if you would let me."

"We want you to talk. We'd really like it if you made sense from time to time as well," Somerset stated.

"In our experience, bravado normally indicates the perpetrator is hiding something," Gayle continued. "Are you hiding something, Mr. Jensen?"

"Clearly not my dislike for you and your ilk," I glared back. "Are you here to solve the mystery of what happened to Steve this morning or did you come all this way to chap my ass?"




One in Ten Ch. 03



Somerset looked to Gayle, who shrugged. They would have a go at me later today no matter what.

"What happened to Steve?" Somerset inquired. I was glad I didn't blurt out 'he escaped'.

"He jumped in front of the metro," I told them.

"Are you sure he fell deliberately?" Somerset continued.

"Absolutely. He even waved good-bye to me before he did it," I tried not to smile.

"Why didn't you stop him?" Gayle interrupted.

"I don't normally tackle people who wave at me," I stated deadpan.

"Wasn't it obvious to you what he was going to do?" Somerset persisted.

"No," I looked at her as if she was an idiot. "The metro was pulling up. Steve rode the first car while I rode the third. I assumed he was preparing to board like every other passenger and like he had done the three previous days I'd seen him. We never talked."

"I thought you men stuck together?" Det. Trainer queried.

"Drugs had rendered Steve a zombie," I reminded them. "He wasn't defending anyone. He couldn't even defend himself."

"Who would he have to defend himself from?" Somerset prodded me.

I lowered my head and tried not to cry at the blatant stupidity of that question. It was meant to annoy me and we all knew it. They were sex crimes after all. They had no excuse for ignoring that segment of male reality that include being groped in public.

"You are the detectives – detect," I replied. "As I said, we never talked."

"Yet you felt entitled to say he couldn't defend himself," Somerset recounted.

"You have a gun. You can defend yourself," I pointed out. "He was a fifty-five year old man on so many drugs he could barely stand up with no obvious weapons, thus my observation was that he couldn't defend himself. Maybe if your system hadn't given him so many drugs we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I didn't know you were an expert on our drug policies," Somerset sneered. That was stupid of her.

"You are right," I sneered right back. In a very loud voice I added, "Because it has been four years since I've been on your drug regimen after I was RAPED by a POLICE officer."

I was giving into my rage after all these years and it felt liberating. It was also death by slow suicide and I knew it.

"Keep your voice down," Det. Seger growled.

"How about I do your job for you?" I stared. "Steve committed suicide. No one was close to him when he jumped. He was smiling and that should be attributed to him slowly lowering his drug doses so as to not set off his bracelet's sweat sensors. His suicide note will be in an empty box in the freezer."

"How do you know any of that?" Somerset regarded me.

"I saw his face as he jumped. No one was closer than two meters. Having been on the drugs, I know how hard it is to focus on a full dose, and if I wrote a note, that's what I'd do because you never know if some police swine is hijacking your security system," I ticked my points.

"That is very paranoid of you and sounds like you've contemplated ending your own life," Gayle smiled as if she'd tricked me.

"My suicidal thoughts are in my therapy notes from when I was sixteen. Don't give me any crap about confidentiality. I know you've already accessed them," I shrugged.

"The law states that the appropriate law enforcement agency is authorized to spot check any person under a government controlled drug regimen, including visual surveillance," I quoted from the Gender Inequality Act. "That means you can and do peek in from time to time. To write a suicide note and not get caught, you write it inside a box."

"You put it in the freezer so that someone will read it. An empty box in a freezer is weird after all," I reasoned.

"Wow, Summer," Gayle chuckled. "We should give Mr. Jensen all our cases. He's a freaking wizard. The rest of us can go home."

"I agree," I bit back. "I'd make a great cop except for the fact that I'm not greedy, venal, corrupt and/or incompetent. I also have a dick, but not a gun. If I had a gun, I'd be tempted to make you pay for your blind arrogance and gleeful viciousness." I could tell the only thing standing between me and an epic case of police brutality was the crowd of over one hundred female commuters bearing witness to every word being said. 

"There won't always be a crowd around you," Gayle muttered.

"Let's go then," I shrugged. "I'm tired of being afraid of you and your breed. Get it over with."

"I'll take care of this Gayle," Somerset ordered. "I'll take Mr. Jensen out of here. Make sure the investigative unit assigned to Mr. Rosenberg's (Steve's) house checks the freezer for an empty box."

"Are you sure you don't need a hand?" Detective Seger asked.

"You wrap things up here and I'll meet you at the station," Somerset replied. "Come with me, Mr. Courageous." I had to admit that when we stepped out into the sunlight, I had to repress the impulse to run for it yet again. Where would I go?

"Get in front," she directed me as I went for the passenger rear door. That would put me in easy reach, not something I was looking forward to. I got in, buckled up and stared straight ahead as Detective Trainer pulled out into traffic.

"You are not so mouthy now," she noted.

"Did you ever hold the illusion that you were a good person?" I responded.

"It's going to be fun breaking you," she smiled at me. Oh shit. By my facial expression, she knew that I got the veiled reference to Isobel Diaz, the Mayor's Chief of Staff. Yesterday afternoon she had promised to 'break me' too. "Did you really think you would get away with your 'illusions'?" Somerset laughed.

"Not really," I muttered after a moment. She huffed in amusement.

"Why did you do it – mouth off?" she asked after a minute. "Not that it really matters. Once she set her sights on you, you were pretty much hers."

"It felt good," I answered with a rekindled passion. "I felt free. You wouldn't understand."

"What a whiny little bastard," she snorted. "Right, life is so tough for you," she mocked. "Can't you guys simply shut up and do your damn duty?"

"When the alternative to masturbation is having sex with you, I'll choose masturbation," I observed. "You are a lousy human being and most likely a worse mother."

"I have two daughters, idiot," she grumbled.

"I guess they will either be criminals or cops," I mused. "What am I saying? Cops are criminals. You are living proof of that."

"You are throwing your life away," she taunted. "It is going to be nice to watch you go 'splat' when you hit bottom."

"For the first time in my life, I'm okay with that," I replied.

"Isobel is really going to have to give me a crack at you when she is finished," Somerset threatened.

"I'll either be dead or my mind will be gone," I admitted sadly, "so it won't matter to me."

"Maybe if you beg, she'll leave a few pieces of you alive," Somerset teased evilly.

"In that case, I had better get lucky and be one of those guys that vanish," I laughed. What else was I going to do? Only later did I realize that Somerset didn't find that funny one bit.

Inside City Hall, Somerset 'suggested' security do a full body cavity search because I was now associated with an earlier male suicide. They were happy to oblige the GED officer and they even let her watch. They threw in a few sexual proposals with their indignities and physical violations.

"No witty banter or snappy repartee?" Somerset teased me. A security goon was probing, and probing my ass with her latex-gloved finger.

"I once had a nine-inch vibrator shoved up my ass for three or four days," I replied through gritted teeth. "This hardly rises to the level of creative sexual harassment."

I knew a fisting was in my future when the intercom came on. Apparently someone had come looking for me and the guards needed to produce my body ASAP. Somerset told them to keep at it and she'd see what the problem was. They must have thought I had an ICBM up my bum. I wasn't sure what an ICBM was but it had to be huge.

Right as the woman was about to shove all five fingers past my already abused anus, she told me that I could avoid all this hassle if I simply agreed to have sex with the guards a few times a week. They had a break room and everything.

"What about Troy?" I suggested.

"The ten-second popgun? No thanks," the guard muttered. My rectum prepared for violation. I couldn't help it – I shuddered. When my sphincter gave way, so did my bladder. I started to cry, my elbows gave out and I fell face first on the table they had me leaning against. Courage only took me so far. Eventually it was eroded by pain, the memory of pain and the shame of it all.

If there was any victory for me, it was that I didn't give them the scream they wanted. Further desecration was avoided by Detective Trainer returning.

"His boss says she needs him for news event," she sighed unhappily. "Get him on his feet." They dressed me rather sloppily. 

They wanted people to know what I'd been through as an expression of their power. Ms. Silverhorn looked downright furious at the whole situation.

"If he can't work today, I'm calling your boss," Francesca snapped at Somerset.

"Knock yourself out, Bitch," Somerset laughed. "Israel was in close proximity to a probable suicide so we were required to check him out as well."

"Besides, with the MRA incident in Denver, I doubt anyone will care about your office pet getting adjusted," Trainer added. Francesca was apoplectic. Feebly, I reached out and touched her arm.

"You are worth more than ten of her," I rasped to my boss. That seemed to reach her.

"I'll see you at one," Somerset regarded me.

"Yes, you will, but in room 417 here, not at the Plaza, you Cunt," Francesca battled back. "I have friends too and they say we need Israel here in the job, not wasting his time cooling his heels in one of your interrogation rooms."

"It won't matter," Somerset grinned. "Your boy is falling apart. It is only a matter of time before he's under constant supervision. Then he's ours." Francesca bristled.

"Don't make her angry," I mumbled. Somerset smirked. "After all, if she leaves here angry, she might not use any lube when she uses her strap-on to sodomize some cute, perky college girl – who happens to be connected. What a pity that would be." 

Somerset's smirk died but Francesca's frown turned into a vindictive smile.

"You've already promised to destroy me, Detective. I believe you so that leaves me free to do what I want until then," I gave a rather pathetic grin.

"You are more vulnerable than you know," Somerset hinted.

"Let's get out of here," Ms. Silverhorn said as she steered me toward the elevators. "Can you get your head on straight? Something has come up and I need you on the job."

"What happened?" I tried to concentrate. The accumulation of abuse over the years, both active and passive, had trained my mind to submerge my pain so that I could focus on the moment.

"There was a daycare school attack in Denver less than an hour ago," she informed me. "Details are sketchy, but from eyewitness reports, three masked MRA terrorists broke in, rounded up sixteen preschool boys, took them to the kitchen and blew themselves up."

I had to process that. 

"You would have thought they would want to steal the boys and hastily exit," I noted.

"They left their van running in front of the daycare," she filled me in. "No driver." I kept thinking things over well after we returned to the office. The Mayor was having her press secretary make a brief statement. We had to prepare. 

The ladies gathered for a spit-balling session, tossing ideas and catch phrases back and forth. It wasn't that they were callus over the death of so many children – it was our job to put words to happenings. It took Francesca to invite me over.

"You look like hell," Bethany whispered to me as I reluctantly wedged myself in.

"I witnessed one of the few guys left in my district commit suicide today and to show me how much the police force cared, they had Stella the security guard gleefully fist me," I shrugged.

"What?" Wanda gasped. "How? Why?"

"You place your fingers into a sort of wedge then push forward with all your mass behind it," I showed her.

"Your anus gives way and then they have their entire hand and wrist inside your rectum," I added. Wanda looked like she was about to lose her breakfast the hard way.

"God, doesn't that hurt?" Tabitha blurted out. She was our research wiz. 

"Let's stay on subject," Francesca insisted.

"I am," I stated. "Those guys weren't MRA. I doubt there is an MRA anymore. The last confirmed arrests were in Atlanta eleven years ago and most of those guys were old timers. You are looking at this all wrong."

"They claimed to be MRA," Selma pointed out.

"Brand recognition. Had they told the truth – 'we are three mental cases with knives' – the tactical unit would have stormed the place," I explained. "Not that it mattered too much. The second those bastards got those male children isolated, they killed them."

"But why?" Bethany muttered.

"Those guys hated you and your society, Bethany. They didn't see themselves as killing those boys. They were freeing them from you and what you would do to them," I told her.

"That's insane," Wanda gasped.

"Fuck ya, it's insane," I agreed. "They murdered sixteen kids then killed themselves. Add their deaths and that's nineteen men removed from the reproductive pool."

"That's pretty much the definition of madness. What won't be recognized is that this is an act of hopeless desperation and is likely to be repeated when men start figuring that things are only going to get worse for them," I prophesized. None of them wanted to ask why I felt that way. Either I was of the same, insane mindset, or I had an inexplicable insight to what was going to happen.

"What makes you say that?" Francesca asked when she realized no one else would.

I reached out quickly and squeezed her breasts. Francesca screeched and recoiled.

Francesca didn't say anything, but Selma did.

"What is your problem?" Selma shoved me away from Francesca.

"I go through that fifty times a day," I responded. "Every day I come to work, or go to the store. Anywhere I have to stand still or in line. Every day. Every day and I can't complain because no one cares. I have to put up with it. Like most guys I like to think I can ignore it, but it eats at us. Selma, how would you feel if every day I stopped by your desk, leaned over you and looked down your chest?"

"You would have to unbutton two more buttons though. I'd want to see your bra," I met her glare.

"You are messed up," Selma spat back.

"I don't wear these pants because I want to, Selma," I pointed out. 

"Ms. Diaz made it contingent on me if I wanted to keep this job. Now all of you need to think about is how much of that you could take before you decided how much was too much," I questioned. I let that sink in. "That's the angle we need to look at for our press release."

"You want us to say it women's fault because they pat men too much?" Bethany looked offended.

"No," you idiot, I thought, "we – you say this is a Doomsday Cult, not the MRA, they are spurred on by the belief that this society is teetering on the edge and this will happen again. You may want to ask the male population to keep an eye out for any of their fellows who seem overly edgy or strained. Asking women to help is pointless as they have never cared to learn the difference between a man at his breaking point and a guy having a bad day."

I was hardly surprised they didn't use any of my suggestions. No one wanted to admit that this was a calamity of their own creation; in the blame game, you didn't blame yourself. I didn't care. I had to ready my mind for the interview/interrogation with Detectives Trainer and Seger. Today the press conference was given by the Mayor's press secretary. This wasn't a local problem after all.

Monday morning seemed so long ago. I had told Ms. Silverhorn that all I wanted to do was do my job, collect my paycheck and go home. The first question to the press secretary before she even got started?

"Where is Mr. Jensen?" Eloise Granger from the Sentinel inquired.

"Um, Mr. Jensen is an employee of the Public Relations Department, not a public speaker," she replied politely. We PR people were sitting at our desks, but we always watched the conferences on our screens.

"Oh God, no," I muttered.

"So basically you are going to regurgitate this garbage dressed up like a press release," Eloise continued. "I'm outta here. Ladies, I'm off to the Chantry (a local bar). First round is on me." There wasn't a stampede for the door but maybe a third of the room was rising. Eloise wasn't done yet. "Maribel, are you coming? This won't even qualify as stock footage." 

The Sentinel was the largest news publication in the city, but GNN was one of the most watched news sources on the planet. Maribel looked at the press secretary as that woman's face slowly drained of blood then shrugged and joined Eloise in her exodus. It was a colossal disaster for all concerned. The call came to Francesca a second later. Ms. Diaz had clearly been watching too.

I didn't have to be clairvoyant to realize that Isobel was pissed and taking it out on Francesca. It took Bethany hissing at me to get my attention because I was trying to be as unnoticeable as possible.

"Get in there," Bethany whispered. "Francesca is waving for you."

A dumber man would have slinked into Ms. Silverhorn's office. A smarter man would have been hiding in the bathroom five seconds after Francesca's phone rang. I was neither. I quick-stepped it to Francesca's desk and waited.

"I'm putting you on speaker," Francesca grumbled. "He's here." I had no illusions about who 'he' was.

"What the hell have you done?" Diaz snapped at me. Francesca turned her monitor so the Mayor's Chief of Staff could see us both.

"What do you mean?" I shrugged.

"The rebellion at the damn press conference, you prick," Isobel sizzled.

"I repeat, 'what do you mean'," I glared back. "In case you missed the update, your buddy Somerset has been sitting on me since six-thirty this morning. I was at the metro – a guy killed himself – she and her partner, Ms. Giggles, pulled me out of the crowd and questioned me about the incident. Then Somerset was kind enough to drive me to work and chat me up."

"Then she polished my early morning by having building security strip and body cavity search me. I'm sure Ms. Silverhorn heard me crying in pain and Stella's fist popping out of my ass when she came for me," I related. "If it is any consolation, it hurt like hell. It also means I had zero time to launch any conspiracy against you or the Mayor because I've been in fucking CUSTODY all morning long."

"I didn't know about the school shooting before Ms. Silverhorn told me, thus I could not have known about any press conference this morning. Best of all, when I made suggestions about the press release, all my advice was ignored. Nor did I go to the bathroom or anywhere else outside of the view of my office mates.

"See, I pissed on myself when I was fisted and I'm not going to take a shit until my sphincter un-dilates, which from my experience with women violating my ass, will not be for another few hours," I finished. "Whomever made those women walk out wasn't me."

"That was uncalled for," Isobel growled. Francesca was emotionally trapped between being amused and horrified at my outburst.

"If you don't want detailed answers, only ask me 'yes' or 'no' questions," I shot back.

"Francesca, discipline this asshole," Isobel demanded.

"I actually think his asshole has had enough attention for today," Francesca successfully fought down a smarmy smile. "Is there any other part of his anatomy you think needs taken care of?"

"Do you find that response amusing?" Isobel asked Francesca. "Is his dick truly so good it makes you want to throw your career away?"




One in Ten Ch. 03



"If you had an ounce of human compassion, you'd know why," Francesca replied. 

"I don't see the need to brow beat Israel into granting me sexual favors. If we do decide to have sex, I'll let you know how good willing intercourse with him is like," Ms. Silverhorn stated. "Providing you ever have had willing intercourse with anyone that is." I had no idea why Francesca was doing this. It was beyond all expectations.

Sure, I knew women who had expressed all kinds of sympathy for me. Sympathy never translated into action. Before this, the only women to stand up for me were my Mother and Angel, and Angel was assigned to look out for me. Francesca was a total mystery.

"You need a drug test," Isobel threatened.

"But that's not why I called. The Mayor wants you to rectify this disaster. We are going to have a press conference reboot at 12:30. Create some sort of spin, give us a God damned head's up on what that is and get Israel ready. He had better not cause us a single problem either," Isobel ordered.

"Considering the day Israel has experienced, I can't endorse that," Francesca said.

"I don't give a crap how bad a day he's had, Israel had better keep his shit together and get the job done or it will be your head on the block, Francesca – clear?" Isobel snarled.

"He's my employee," Francesca snapped back. "After what he's been put through today, I should..."

"I've got this," I interrupted Francesca. "I'll do it for you."

"This isn't your call, Israel, but thank you. The professionalism of my department is my concern and you look like crap," Francesca assured me.

"That was not a fucking suggestion!" Ms. Diaz yelled then cut the connection.

"Israel?" Francesca looked me over.

"Doomsday Cult – society on the edge – have men watch out for men because women won't know what to look for," I read off my press points.

"I shouldn't – you aren't – you do realize we are supposed to make people feel better and make the Mayor look good, remember?" Francesca worked things out.

"The theory is by making bold statements, you develop a commanding presence," I stated from one of my sociology courses. "Leaders gather followers."

"We need to have something that is supportable, or at least something we can later claim to be misinterpreted," she clarified.

"That's your job," I smiled sadly.

"This is going to make it harder on men nationwide," Ms. Silverhorn noted.

"I know," I shrugged, "but sixteen young boys are dead. No matter how much I sympathize with those three men, what they did was wrong."

"I had a son," she studied me intently. "He didn't make it. Had he grown up, I would like to think he would have stood proudly and been strong. Not like you – you are all kinds of fucked up, but like that man who stood up to Isobel yesterday."

"Thank you," I smirked then winced. I was still in pain. "I guess that was almost a compliment."

"Get to work," she directed. After that, our office raced to put something together that had a remote acquaintance with reality. Bethany wished me luck as I left. Wanda, Selma and Francesca escorted me to the first floor bathroom where I prepped myself yet again. From somewhere, the office had miraculously produced a fresh set of clothes for me. 

I had to assume they broke into my house to get them. My time with security had ruined the set I had. They'd pulled my pants down around my ankles but when I pissed myself, they'd been splashed and those stains would raise questions at the press conference too many people didn't want answered. 

"Are you going to follow any part of our script?" Selma touched my arm to get my attention.

"I honestly don't know," I responded. "It depends on what they ask me."

"Why is he still working here?" Selma addressed Francesca.

"I don't know about you," Francesca mused. "This has been the most interesting 72 hours on the job that I've had in over a decade. Sure, Israel is self-destructing, but I still want to see how it ends."

We were all silent as I was handed off to the press secretary – Naomi List.

"Don't embarrass us," she whispered heatedly. By 'us' I guess she meant the Mayor.

"Too late for that," I responded quietly. She looked to me to see if I was joking with her. A fierce look crossed her dark eyes when she realized I was dead-serious. A cold streak of fear passed through me. 

We didn't even get the first word out.

"Welcome back, Mr. Jensen," Eloise Granger greeted me. I had given my reply to this some serious thought.

"I'm going to get you for this, Eloise, if it is the last thing I do," I stated deadpan. "If you make it to Monday, you will probably be in the clear."

"Planning to have a tough weekend?" Eloise bantered. Naomi was about to bust a gut.

"You have no idea," I sighed.

"You would be surprised what I know," the reporter for the Sentinel grinned.

"Ah, shit," I groaned. I was told that went out live to twenty millions screens.

"How about we let Naomi here do her job?" I recovered. No one objected so Naomi stepped up and did her spiel, which boiled down to our city sent its condolences to Denver – yay.

"Are we in any danger here?" a reporter from a conservative blog asked.

"No," Naomi assured the audience. "We are on the alert for any MRA activity."

"What do you think?" Maribel beat Eloise to the punch, asking me for my opinion. I groaned.

"I don't believe this was an MRA action. That was a ruse and nothing more. As far as I know, there is no MRA anymore. There hasn't been an established action by the terrorists of the MRA in eleven years," I pointed out. I waited a few seconds for security to come and whisk me off the stage.

"I believe these three deranged individuals used the guise of the...," I continued when security failed to gag me. "Those three men used the guise of the MRA to buy time with the Denver tactical unit. They used the time to ensure those poor young boys were unrecoverable. Those boys were dead seconds after the last woman left the building. Those men blew themselves up to escape arrest."

"What makes you say that?" Eloise grilled me.

"They hated you – women, that is – and your society. They wanted nothing less than the death of our species, a decision reached undoubtedly after decades of female abuse," I explained.

"But what makes you make that assumption?" Eloise persisted.

"I studied their actions, what they did and what they failed to do. Coupled with my personal experiences, this was the only logical conclusion – twisted as it is," I said.

"You have no police or psychological experience that we are aware of," a fourth reporter stated.

"No, I have something much better," I answered.

"I'm a man and I am deeply in tune with their sense of hopelessness and depression. I sympathize with their perceived plight, but I taking the lives of those poor children was a pathetic gesture that will not make the situation any better," I countered. "They didn't deserve to grow up in this world, but they didn't deserve to die at the hands of androcidal maniacs either."

"Are you confessing to being in the MRA," the conservative prodded.

"No," I shook my head. "I don't think there is an MRA and if there was such an organization and I was invited to join, I'd run to the police," I explained, "and that's saying something since I think the majority of the police are a bunch of misandristic, brutal thugs." 

"I wouldn't join the MRA because they are murderers. The second I start seeing my fellow humans as objects instead of people, I've become just as bad as most of the women I've ever known," I committed myself to blasphemy. 

"You sound like you hate us," Eloise smirked. She was a smart cookie alright.

"I don't hate women. I don't know most of you, but I can explain my issue with your gender with three examples. For starters, empty both your hands," I suggested. A few did. "Okay, reach out to the woman next to you and put your hand on her crotch." I thought four or five actually did it. The few victims swatted the hands away.

"What is that supposed to prove?" Maribel was losing her patience. 

"Well, most of you didn't do it, but if you were groped understand I go through that fifty times a day, every work day. When I'm walking down the street, standing in line or on the metro and even in this very building," I told them. "Every day."

"I noticed the few who were actually groped protested. I can't. No one will listen. Theoretically it is against the law, but I challenge you to cite the last time a woman was convicted of unwanted sexual contact," I added. "As women, what do you do when you see a sister pat a man on the ass or bump against his package? Do you call her on it? Do you ask if he's okay? Do you assume that since she got a free feel you can get one too?"

"That's one. Number two, last night I went on my first date in three years – sadly enough with the same woman who was my last date three years ago," I related. "Among the other fascinating aspects of this encounter, she was kind enough to inform me that during the two and a half day sexual marathon she had orchestrated to milk me for the benefit of society, I serviced 41 of her sorority sisters. Among the other fascinating aspects of this encounter, was the revelation that eighteen of those women became pregnant and I have sixteen children that I knew nothing about until last night." 

"It sounded pretty insane to me too. If you don't believe me you can check out the facts. It was the Theta Omega Sorority in the fall of my freshman year. The membership and birth records should be public record. That's not the point. The point is I wasn't even informed of my own children's births. I wasn't informed because in your eyes, fathers don't matter," I reasoned. "The decision to steal our children is totally your fault."

"Example three came this morning when Steve, I guy I barely knew, threw himself in front of the metro at our station right in front of me. He waved to me right before he leapt to his death. Why would he take his own life? I think the poor, dumb bastard grieved for his departed wife. Your society dictated his time to mourn. Instead of being given time to recover and move on he was dosed with drugs to ramp up his libido and primed him for harvest," I stated frankly

"The law decided that he was essentially a fuck toy. He decided to fuck you back and escaped by the only means available – death," I was growing both crazier and angrier.

"You say 'escaped'," Maribel countered. "He sounds like a poor, sick man in need of care. He was a suicide, not a failed romantic."

"Sick implies that you will get better or die," I met her gaze. "He was never going to get better. The cure for him was time and you weren't giving him any. The fact is, Steve committed suicide. By now the police have his suicide note and should be able to answer your questions about what his final thoughts were."

"Steve's suicide will continue to have impacts on the other men in our city. It certainly had a major impact on me. I was questioned at the metro station, I argued with the police, and was brought by a GED detective – Somerset Trainer – to City Hall," I scanned the room. "Because I had witnessed a suicide, Detective Trainer instructed building security to strip search me then anally fist me. Maybe they were afraid I had a bomb up my ass."

"I pissed on myself, cried and pretty much felt nearly worthless before my boss rescued me," I related. "I'm sure you know Stella. It was her fist and wrist inside me. Make sure to thank her for keeping you safe from a crackpot like myself, but you might not want to shake her right hand."

"That story sounds absurd," Eloise reminded the group. "Unfortunately for some people, I find you interesting Israel. I know you left the station with Detective Trainer and I know you were escorted to security room three by guards Stella Richards and Barbra Nazari and held there for over forty minutes. Afterwards, a sanitation engineer was dispatched to the room to clean it up."

"That doesn't prove anything, of course," Eloise murmured, "but it does beg the question why you, one of only a handful of men in city government, was singled out for special attention." Maybe it was the fact that we were on the national stage, Eloise added, "Maybe it is because you called Isobel Diaz a monster after she made you expose yourself in her office."

I had clearly stepped into a shit pile and I had no idea how to get out.

"Well, Mr. Jensen?" Maribel requested confirmation. "Did you call the Mayor's Chief of Staff a monster after she sexually harassed you?"

"Excuse me," I rubbed my forehead. "I need to go and clean out my desk now. Ummm...support the Mayor. She is most likely the lesser of two evils."

"Oh my God," Naomi groaned. "You did not just say that."

"Mr. Jensen," several voices called out. Ironically, I chose that moment to forget I had a microphone on.

"I flee with neither dignity nor poise," I muttered. I didn't know where the quote came from but it felt fatalistically appropriate. Selma had the presence of mind to disconnect my hook-up.

"Francesca, what angle are we putting on this?" Selma muttered.

"A simple statement that Mr. Jensen became unhinged by the suicide this morning seems reasonable," Francesca sighed. She was right.

"That won't counter what Eloise Granger said," Selma pointed out.

"Maybe we could ask Ms. Diaz to issue a formal apology," Francesca looked at Selma.

"Let's try not to stray into the realm of fantasy," Selma sighed. "Israel, is there any way you could simply disappear – forever?"

"Considering that my brethren have been vanishing steadily for the past six months, that's not a far-fetched prospect," I nodded.

"Shit," Selma muttered.

"Shit," Francesca echoed but for a different reason. We had exited the elevator and walked right into Detectives Trainer and Seger. My first thought was that they were going to shoot me. Then I recalled that I had an interrogation coming my way.

"Come with us, Mr. Jensen," Somerset commanded. I went along. I was hardly brave about it. I was scared and sweating. Even then, I couldn't find it in myself to regret the words I'd used earlier. The feeling that came from speaking my mind felt too good.

"Mr. Jensen! Mr. Jensen!" a short, young woman with big glasses and thick, wavy russet colored hair came running my way as I reached the conference room door.

"Miss," Gayle interposed her body between the woman and me, "this is a police matter. Back off."

"Well, I'd hope so," the woman huffed. "I'm Capri O'Hara from the Public Defender's office, Mr. Jensen's legal counsel."

Holy Hell. Was this the lawyer Angel Kristi had steered my way? She looked barely out of high school, much less law school. The four of us entered the conference room and Gayle shut the door.

"We are recording this interview," Somerset began. "Interview one with Mr. Israel Jensen, age twenty-one."

"Oh yeah," Capri peeped. "I should do this too – record the conversation that is."

"Do this much?" I turned to her. She was to my left, Somerset was across from me and Gayle was opposite Capri.

"This is my first independent case," she admitted.

"Been a lawyer long?" I asked.

"Two months. I failed the BAR the first time out, but most law school graduates do. Don't worry."

Worry? Why would I worry? The cops were going to gut me like a trout.

Fuck getting put on a 72 hour psychiatric watch. I was about to be institutionalized. By the smiles on Gayle's and Somerset's faces, they were thinking the same thing.

"Why are we here today?" Capri grinned.

"We are getting to that, Ms. O'Hara," Somerset replied. "Mr. Jensen, we want to question you about the disappearance of thirty men in the city."

"What are the victims' names?" Capri interrupted.

"We are getting to that," Gayle growled.

"Provide my client with a list," Capri stated firmly. "He'll review it and let you know if he recognizes any of them."

"We are trying to determine if he knows any of them right now. Since he is in the potential victim pool, we need to question him," Somerset explained in a chilly tone.

"So you brought Mr. Jensen in because he is a male, aged between 18 and 25," Capri verified. "That's gender profiling. You can't do that. It is illegal."

It seemed that Capri was, despite her youthful cuteness and small size possessed fearless, ferocious and an obstinate tenacity, the Jack Russell puppy of lawyers.

"Listen you," Gayle half-stood. "Men like him are vanishing and we need to find out why. The fate of the human race is at stake. How dumb are you?"

"That's a nice excuse," Capri responded calmly, "but hardly a valid legal reason for detaining my client. Mr. Jensen, do you wish to cooperate with the police at this time?"

"No way in hell," I blurted out quickly.

"We are done here," Capri stated with self-assurance. She stood to go as did I.

"You are not going anywhere," Somerset sneered. "If Mr. Jensen doesn't cooperate we have little choice but to put him under a 72 hour watch." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'll have him out before you finish processing him and then slap you both with an unlawful imprisonment suit," Capri growled right back. "You can't put a person into what amounts to a prison on a hunch, Detective. How has he acted irrationally or against the public interest?"

"Did you listen to that fucking tirade at the press conference?" Somerset stared at Capri.

"An expression of free speech, no matter how unpalatable to the ruling elite, is still guaranteed by the First Amendment," Capri noted. "A swing and a miss. That's strike two. Care to try for three?"

"Listen up, you pipsqueak," Gayle trumpeted. 

Whatever else she was going to say was lost as the Mayor, Ms. Diaz and two flunkies I wasn't familiar with entered the room.

"Excuse me," the Mayor gave us her best artificial smile. "I wanted to make sure that Israel was okay." 

"He is not being very helpful," Somerset got out.

"We have established that there is no reason for him to be here in the first place," Capri jumped in.

"There shouldn't be a problem," the Mayor smiled with a suspicious satisfaction in her eye. "I talked to the District Attorney and she's agreed to hold the review of this case over until Monday."

"Madame Mayor," Capri kept fighting, "there is no case."

"Miss?" the Mayor turned frosty.

"Ms. Capri O'Hara, Public Defender's office," Capri stuck out her chin defiantly.

"Ms. O'Hara, Mr. Jensen is under investigation by a joint city/federal task force over allegations of sexual misconduct with an off-duty police officer," the Mayor's smile returned.

"I remain his legal counsel until all such matters are resolved," Capri insisted. "I hope law enforcement keeps that in mind before they detain, transport, or interview him."

"It shouldn't be a problem," the Mayor kept looking at me. "I'm sure the District Attorney will clear up this matter on Monday. No charges will be filed. I look forward to seeing you Saturday night, Israel."

There it was, the 'fuck you'. If I refused to go the Isobel's freak show, not only were they coming at me with the full force of the law, they were going after Angel as well. I was emotionally confused where Detective Kristi was concerned. I felt something for her, but I didn't want to. I'd lived in emotional isolation for three years and it had become my status quo.

"I – I look forward to it," I stuttered. It was a poor lie. Four of the women in the room giving me smug smiles only added insult to injury.

"Glad to hear it," the Mayor smiled and nodded. She turned, took her people and exited.

"This interview is concluded," Somerset snickered. "Good job, Israel. You folded like a good little boy."

"Need a tampon for your ass?" Gayle chuckled. I looked away. The two GED detectives were laughing as they left the room.




One in Ten Ch. 03



"Mr. Jensen – Israel, what was that about? I'm your lawyer, you can tell me," Capri touched my arm. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"What are you doing with this case?" I countered.

"All I know is some rather frantic LOLE contacted the office. No one else wanted it, but since it was an official notification, it rolled all the way down the seniority chain into my lap," Capri informed me. "In case you are wondering, I am the junior lawyer. I couldn't pass this off to anyone else."

"Hmmm," I mused. "Thank you for your zealous representation, I guess."

"I swear by the Goddess, you would think those GED officers had never seen a lawyer before," she chuckled. "This was hardly a difficult case. Or 'is', as I don't believe this matter is over, despite the Mayor's assurances. So, back to my question, what's going on?"

"I need to get back to work," I evaded. Capri dutifully followed along, all the way to my cubicle.

"I'm not going to go away," she insisted. Since this was the first chance my co-workers had to interact with me since the press conference, there was double confusion.

Bethany came right at me.

"We need to talk," she hissed.

"Sure," I shrugged helplessly. "Oh, this is Capri O'Hara, my lawyer."

"Alone," Bethany demanded. I gave Capri an apologetic look then walked off a few steps with my current tormentor.

"You shouldn't have said anything about the children," she whispered. She meant my offspring. "I only told you because I thought you would be discreet. Now there is going to be a problem."

"Don't worry about it," I assured her. "They'll look at my public dating record and realize that over half of my sexual encounters were with you and you didn't get pregnant."

"I'm not sure exactly how many times we had sex but it had to be close to a hundred in just over two months. Then there was those forty sexual encounters over a fifty hour period that weekend. Since that weekend, I've had 27 bouts of intercourse," I related, "in a three year period. I exhausted my Mother's life insurance benefit buying out of sex at every opportunity."

"You might want to be more concerned at what other women are going to think about that," I told her, "when it becomes public knowledge."

"What do you mean?" she got pissed.

"I went from no recorded sex until I was eighteen, to a torrid affair with one woman – you," I outlined for her.

"Then I had one extensive sexual encounter were I am recorded as having sexual intercourse once every seventy minutes over a weekend. After that, I went on to having sex once every forty days," I stated. "Women who don't know us might assume something turned me off sex. A few reporters are going to question you about our relationship and that weekend at your sorority."

"Don't worry, though. They are women and I'm sure they will understand that whole sisterhood thing and how your sisters voted for you to share me with them because that's a perfectly normal and acceptable way for women to behave toward a man," I said patiently.

"You are twisting this all out of proportion," Bethany complained.

"Bethany, you are acting like you did something wrong," I sounded confused, but I wasn't. "Tell them exactly what happened and you'll do fine." Realistically, Bethany was going to suffer no public repercussions over this. She was too well connected. I could hope her society equals would be less forgiving over this embarrassment.

"Israel, I was being nice to you and this is how you repay me? You are a bastard," Bethany snarled.

"If you never want to talk to me again, I'll understand," I tried not to sound too hopeful.

"I'm definitely considering it," Bethany threatened. "Seriously, you've had one bad sexual encounter and you are letting it screw up your entire life. Oh, Francesca wants to see you too."

That's right. Being chained in a basement, constantly pumped up with drugs and repeatedly raped for almost three months was 'one bad sexual encounter'. I gave up on trying to explain anything to her. There was nothing in it for me save anger and I already had enough of that in spades. As I went to Ms. Silverhorn's office, Capri caught up but kept silent.

"Ms. Silverhorn?" I called out as I stuck my head into her office. Her eyes flashed from Capri then back to me.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"I'm going to Isobel's function Saturday night," I confessed. 

The look she gave me was virtually unknown to me – she looked as if she'd let me down.

"I'll get through it," I told her confidently. "I always do."

"You shouldn't have to, Israel," Francesca responded. "Take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. We'll see you on Monday."

"Thanks," I said. I wanted to gain the self-worth that came from doing a job I had trained for, but I needed a break since my whole life had pretty much been spiraling down the toilet since Monday morning. I double-checked my desk before departing the office. No one said 'good-bye'. I couldn't blame them. After the press conference, I was toxic.

City Hall security tried to shanghai me as I tried to leave. Capri went after them like a weasel scenting blood. She threw so much legal code, precedent, and Supreme Court ruling at them, I think they released me just to shut her up. I couldn't even figure out why she was still with me – unless it was sex – shit.

"I've got it from here," I assure her.

"If you want me to go away, tell me what is going on. We can start with why those two GED detectives have it out for you, what in the hell was going on at that press conference and finish up with why the Mayor has a personal interest in what you are doing this weekend," Capri grilled me.

We were walking down to the Plaza metro station and I was contemplating what I was going to say to Capri when Capri's phone rang.

"Hello – yes, Mrs. Casey – but – I understand, but – I don't want to be reassigned – but," was Capri's side of the conversation. I didn't feel like eavesdropping but I was getting pissed.

I snatched the phone out of her hand.

"Who is this?" I snapped.

"Who is this?" the female on the other end regarded me.

"I'm Israel Jensen, Ms. O'Hara's client," I glared.

"I'm Deputy Public Defender Tamara Casey. My unit handles male-related cases," she explained in a thoroughly professional manner. "Since this case has merit, we are assigning a more senior member of the Public Defender's office to your case – someone with experience in these matters."

"Thank you, but no thank you," I replied. "You dumped this dog of a case in her lap. She clearly didn't want it, but she's done her job admirably. I'm keeping her."

"Oh...that's not your call to make, Mr. Jensen," she related. "It is the 'Public' Defender's' office and we assign cases to our court officers based on merit and experience."

"Now Tamara, we both know that's bullshit," I mocked her. "I don't know who has leaned on you and I don't care. Ms. Capri has faced down two GED sociopaths and kept me from my second security physical violation of the day. What I also know is that I'm heading home. If Ms. O'Hara is removed from my case, I'm not going home."

"I'm going down to Eloise Granger's desk at the Sentinel and relaying this entire conversation," I promised. "She's going to want to know why a lawyer who has done a bang-up job for me and who I have requested to stay on my case was removed." I had no clue how effective that threat could be. As far as I knew, Eloise would laugh in my face. 

"Mr. Jensen, you have no idea what you are doing or the legal ramifications of your actions. If you are refusing the PDO's help, so be it," Mrs. Casey told me.

"I'm not refusing help, Mrs. Casey. I'm requesting that you not take Capri O'Hara off the case. Since it is painfully obvious that you attempted to give me the worst representation possible and that backfired in your face, I'm not going to take the chance that you replace her with someone less competent or with their own agenda."

"We are not a private law firm. We don't represent the public based on personal preference," Tamara countered. "If you want a choice, hire a private lawyer."

"With what? I'm damn near broke," I answered. "I'm the type of person you are supposed to represent."

"Then let us represent you," she treated me like a small child. Capri held up her tablet. On it were the words 'ask for a Change of Counsel hearing'. If I used those words, I'd get Capri in trouble. I had to think quickly to get my point across so it seemed like Tamara's suggestion.

"Listen, Tamara, Ms. O'Hara is my counsel of record, right?" I adlibbed. "Since that is the case, I want a judge's decision on whether or not I change my lawyer. What is it called?"

"It is a Change of Counsel hearing," Tamara snipped.

"Fine, before you replace Ms. O'Hara, I want one of those," I demanded.

"Very well – request noted. Give the phone back to Capri, please," Tamara sighed.

"Yes, Ma'am," Capri said after the phone returned to her grasp.

"No, Ma'am, I have no idea how Mr. Jensen developed his legal expertise. His juvenile records are sealed and he has no current legal complaints," Capri stated. "I was in the process of figuring out what the current problem is when you called. Yes, Mrs. Casey, I'll have a report as soon as possible – as soon as I know anything. Good-bye."

"You haven't done me any favors," Capri studied me.

"Lady, I'm herbicide to every blossoming career I come across," I noted. "Where do you want to go to hear my story?" It was an exhausting process that led us back to my place. I didn't want to go, but the taxi ride to my place after my date with Bethany had made going out to eat a financial impossibility.

(Later)

She sat in the chair that 'L'ed the sofa by the door while I sat on the carpet with my back to the wall opposite her. We went over my tale. Capri worked hard at not being judgmental over the crap I'd been through. Around five, while she was firing off a whole slew of information requests from a dozen agencies, I decided to make us some dinner.

I was cleaning up the place when Capri finally addressed me in a non-professional manner.

"You are awfully clean – almost OCD," she noted.

"It makes it easier to tell if someone has been in your place," I explained. "People can't resist the impulse to move a few minor things around in other people's dwellings."

"That sounds – careful," she stated.

"You can say it. It sounds paranoid," I allowed. "Its paranoid right up until you discover that a female college student has bribed a security guard to access your room because she wants a second date. When you realize your lock doesn't lock, you get worried fast."

The doorbell rang. I checked and it was Kuiko. I unlocked the door and invited her in over the intercom. I was more worn down that suffering a major attitude shift toward having people in my condo. Preparing my mind for Saturday night was making details once crucial to me have far less importance. Kuiko came breezing in then stopped suddenly when she saw Capri. She shot me a look caught between worried and fearing I'd been leading her along about the whole 'girls not wanted in my condo' thing.

"This is Capri O'Hara, my lawyer," I made introductions. "She's from the Public Defender's office."

"I'd ask you what the problem was, but I've seen you in action the past four days and I know it has to be something bad," Kuiko was clearly relieved. "Can I have a hug?"

"You have to ask permission to hug Israel?" Capri inquired suspiciously.

"How much does she know?" Kuiko asked me.

"She's my lawyer. She knows about me as much as any other person does," I answered.

"In that case, you must know he has proximity issues," Kuiko turned to Capri. "Haven't you tried to touch him yet?"

"No, I'm his lawyer," Capri regard Kuiko critically. "That would be unethical."

"Your loss," Kuiko grinned. "Israel, can I have that hug?"

"Sure," I gave in. I liked Kuiko but my ass still hurt so it was a close call. To her credit, Kuiko took her approach slowly and with care, resting her hands on my hips and making eye contact before pressing against me.

I gently wrapped her up in my arms, her head pressed against my chest. She was playing nice and still so I convinced my nerves to calm down and let my hands roam. Fear warred with primal instinct. Instinct won out. I stroked down her back ribs, over her lower back and rubbed her buttock. I finished that off by cupping that firm, tight flesh and giving it a squeeze.

Kuiko moaned against me, breathing heavily and kissing my chest lightly.

"Ummm – okay," I murmured. "Is that enough?"

"A few more seconds," she pleaded. I didn't stress the point. This was a big deal for me and Kuiko knew it. This wasn't trivial for either of us.

"Mmmm," Kuiko purred one final time before backing up. "Thank you Israel, that was nice."

She wasn't looking up and I knew why. Her face screamed for sex and she was mindful enough not to push me too far, too fast.

"That's some hug," Capri spoke up.

"He's our only guy," Kuiko bragged, "but he needs our patience. He gives us hugs to tide us over until he's ready."

"'Our only guy'?" Capri smirked. "He doesn't read as attached."

"No," I clarified. "She means I'm the only guy in a two block radius."

"That's not right," Capri muttered.

"Been there, done that, had this discussion before," I sighed. "With Steve gone, there are only eleven of us left."

"You misunderstand," Capri persisted. "This is illegal. The city can't leave this district so deprived."

Kuiko perked up, but I didn't.

"No other district will help this one out," I informed her. "They will use ten year old quotas to keep their men even though the city itself is understrength." Capri mulled that over. Since she didn't tell me I was wrong, she must have agreed.

Capri stayed behind when Kuiko and I went to the gym, saying she'd make a few more calls then let herself out. She was still there when we got back. I didn't call her on that, but I didn't call Kuiko on following me home, either. The conversation roamed all over the map so I was caught off-guard when Kuiko asked me if it was alright to talk about my 'dating' history.

I think my mouth must have dropped open at that request. Since I had never expected to be asked, I had no ready response. Reciprocity won out over a sense of degradation. If Kuiko was going to give me the consideration due all human beings, I had to reward her.

"Okay," I said. "Don't get too graphic though."

"Did you read about the girl with the three orgasms!" Kuiko uttered excitedly to a woman she barely knew – Capri.

"Yeah," Capri leaned forward intently, "I admit I thought it was total hysteria when I first read it. Come on, what guy does that?"

Mind you, I had no idea who they were talking about. I never, ever read my reviews. When I was with Bethany, I didn't care and afterwards, I didn't want to know because I found it defiled me all over again.

"Was it real?" Capri questioned me.

"I have no clue who you are talking about," I replied. Neither girl believed me. "Listen, I never read my reviews and I try not to remember names." Capri answered that by showing me a picture of the girl. Shit, I knew who she was. Kayla was one of the failings of my abstinence policy; namely that if I deny myself sex for four months, I get terribly sexually frustrated.

My look said it all – I had done the deed. I imagine there was a time when a guy would have given a knowing, triumphant smile over his conquest. That was not the look on my face. No, I was ashamed – almost despondent. I walked over to the far corner, put my back to the walls and sat down. I followed that up by pulling up my knees and resting my head on them.

"Israel, I'm sorry," Kuiko murmured.

"I asked for it," I reassured her.

"So it really happened?" Capri pressed. I took a deep breath.

"That's one of the conflicts of my existence," I explained.

"I don't want to have sex so I hold out as long as possible. When I do have sex, I don't want to treat the woman as if she's some faceless nonentity. I try my hardest to keep my lousy experiences from ruining the moment for the girl since I always chose them," I continued. "I don't aim for any set number of orgasms, merely to make her feel good and then...do what is required of me."

"Isn't refusing to give a woman a second chance with you rather cruel then?" Capri noted.

"Of all the crushing issues of my life, that's never been one of them," I confessed. "I wouldn't be with them at all if the law didn't require it. Making me give a repeat performance to a woman based on the fact that I gave our sex my all hardly seems fair."

"Have less impressive sex," Capri suggested.

"No!" Kuiko protested. "I've never had an orgasm and with my dating history, I'm never likely too. If that was a joke, it wasn't funny."

"Kuiko, you are high-strung," Capri grinned. "You might want to try yoga."

"I do yoga," Kuiko pouted then, "I can put my ankles behind my ears," she perked up and looked at me. Oh, God. "Want to see?" I resisted the urge to sob.

"Kuiko, I know you're putting a great deal of effort forth on my behalf," I pleaded, "but stop trying so hard. I swear I'm going to try and stay here as long as I can."

"If there is a chance to be had, you'll have the opportunity," I promised her. Instead of looking pleased, Kuiko looked disappointed.

"I went overboard again, right?" Kuiko muttered.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" Capri interrupted. "Showing a man your camel toe could be seen as a sign of desperation."

"Kuiko, it was a bit too much and Capri, I get to decide that, not you," I responded. "Kuiko's worked hard to live within my rather extreme limitations. Damn it, I know I'm fucked up and I barely make sense to any woman. I don't like being this way, but I can't push back the clock. Working with what I have is all I can do."

"See," Capri observed, "that little speech is why I can't tell how crazy you are. I know you are nuts, but there is barely rational and then there is the kind that puts you in the looney bin." 

"You've been studying me," I put things together, "to see if the GED is right."

"Yes, pretty much," Capri acknowledged.

"I am required to give you the best legal defense possible and if you are insane, it is my responsibility to see you get the best help possible," Capri informed me.

"Wait," Kuiko stood up, "you've been preparing to have Israel taken away?" She was clearly becoming furious.

"Yes," Capri responded boldly. "If Israel needs more help than hugs can provide, someone needs to get him that kind of aid. Unlike you, I don't see him as a cock preparing to enter my pussy, but as a human being put under a great deal of stress."

"I know Israel needs help and it's our fault that he does," Kuiko growled.

"When has the criminal justice system handed out anything but pain to Israel?" Kuiko kept at it. "If you cared about him, how could you believe that putting him in any kind of cage, no matter how padded, would do him any good?"

"Are you willing to make that call after knowing him for four days?" Capri challenged her.

"No. I'm willing to let Israel make that call after knowing him for four days – five now," Kuiko replied. I was wondering how badly this was going to turn out then Capri grinned.

"Good answer," she told Kuiko. "The main thing is that we respect his wishes. I was worried when you came over. I wanted to know Mr. Jensen had a safe haven to fall back on because he sure runs the gauntlet at work."

"Ah – you were testing me?" Kuiko tilted her head in confusion.

"Kuiko, I was addressed or confronted by more city brass than even knew my name this afternoon in the process of defending Israel. I am most likely in the greatest post-Plague legal battle no one will ever hear about," Capri smiled. "I relish the contest. It makes all those long hours school worthwhile."




One in Ten Ch. 03



After that, the two women got along okay, if not fast friends. Capri kept working away – I wasn't her only case. I wasn't sure why she wouldn't leave but I wasn't sure how to make her leave. Sometime past ten, Kuiko fell asleep on the sofa and I let her sleep. I remained in the corner except for getting Capri and myself something to drink and a trip to the toilet.

Detective Angel Kristi came to my door a bit past midnight. I let her in as Capri stirred from a light sleep in the chair. She scanned the room, took in Capri and Kuiko (still asleep) then looked at me. I motioned her over because I didn't feel like shouting across the room.

"Capri O'Hara," I made the introductions, "this is Detective Angel Kristi, the police officer who called you."

"Angel, this is the public defender you got for me," I added. "She's really good." Angel swung around the sofa and walked over to me.

"Are you okay?" Angel asked.

"Hi, nice to meet you," Capri yawned.

"As long as you have a loose definition of okay then I'm okay," I sighed. I reached up, waited for Angel to put her hand in my own then pulled her down into my lap, her legs straddling my own.

"Israel, don't," Kristi whispered.

"I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to do what a normal man should be able to do," I explained. "I'm trying to put away my fear long enough to have something worth remembering." I held one of her hands in mine. My other hand reached around to the back of her head and pulled her close until our lips gently touched. 

Her free hand stroked the side of my face. Tears rolled down my cheeks. When I momentarily broke our kiss, I realized she was crying too. I didn't know if this was pathetic, tragic, or both. Those thoughts were pushed aside so I could enjoy the simplicity of the moment – a boy kissing a girl. It was an innocence that had been torn away from me long ago, so I held onto this shade as long as I could.



One in Ten Ch. 04



*I have been asked a very good question: if men are so rare and valuable, why aren't they treated better? One reader provided the best answer. In the American West in the last half of the 19th century, in many areas men outnumbered women 10:1. Women enjoyed protection because of their rarity, but they had no control over that protection. The gained no excessive economic or political power. They were still vulnerable to the powers that be but, in general, their rights were respected. They could not vote, sit on juries, or run for most public offices. In some ways, men in this imaginary world have it better. In other ways, they have it worse. This is a tale of dark fiction after all.*

*Would you rather take shelter under a prison roof or stand outdoors in the uncertain storm?*

I didn't know what was stranger; waking up with a woman in bed with me, or not freaking out over having a woman sleeping in bed with me. To add to my confusion, whoever installed the AC unit in this complex had to have been the lowest bidder and cut some corners putting the units in. My bedroom was okay for a single occupant but with more, it was sweltering.

It was hot enough that my blanket, never used, had been kicked off the bed before last night's bizarre experiment began. The sheets followed fifteen minutes later as both Angel and I were stifled by the covers. Removing pants was less an act of sexuality than a surrender to the desire to cool down. The shirts were an afterthought.

If anything, Angel Kristi's choice of lingerie was a clear indicator that sex was the farthest thing on her mind when she came over. They were very utilitarian. Her bra was a bit worn and thick, designed for sweating under an armored vest, while her panties were boy-shorts; both medium grey. I turned my head to look at her, to take in her sleeping face and golden hair.

What I got was a pair of piercing grey eyes studying me intently.

"How are we doing?" Angel whispered.

"I woke up remembering it was you," I told her. "I was good with that. How are you doing?"

"I'm not sure," Angel admitted. "We left on pretty lousy terms Wednesday night."

"Now I find me in bed with you," she looked intense. "I find myself balancing how much of a potential bastard you are with the fact that you are trying hard to be a decent man."

"I used you because I needed a reminder that there is good in the world worth hanging on to," I said.

"I know," she finally cracked a smile. "You had better know that if you tried to use me for sex, I would have kicked your ass."

"Before or after?" I inquired.

"After," she rolled her eyes. "You confuse the heck out of me, but I'm not stupid." Right then there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Israel, it is Kuiko," my Asian neighbor called out. "I think you are going to be late for work."

Capri O'Hara, my lawyer, had departed shortly after Angel arrived, but I had let Kuiko remain asleep on my sofa. It appeared she was awake. I sat up in the bed, cross-legged.

"I'm ah - I have the day off," I informed her. "Also," I struggled, "come on in." Kuiko couldn't have known Angel was in here with me and I wanted to get this awkwardness out of the way.

The door opened cautiously then Kuiko took a tentative step in. I was searching for the words that would make sense for the three of us while Angel rolled onto her other side, facing the door.

"Oh..." Kuiko's gaze flickered from me to Angel then back again. Then she positively glowed with happiness. "Does this mean you are better?"

"Not yet," Angel chuckled. "We slept, that was all."

"But you slept together nearly naked," Kuiko remained upbeat. "That has to be progress, right?"

"Yes, it is progress," I confirmed.

"Are you wearing underwear?" Angel studied Kuiko. The younger girl blushed.

"Yes," Kuiko muttered.

"Is it a thong?" Angel questioned.

"Yes," Kuiko sighed. Angel looked over her shoulder at me. 

"Why are you putting up with her?" Angel asked me.

"She pretty much saved me from the GED the first time around," I reminded her. "She's also wearing underwear which is an improvement over Wednesday night."

"Kuiko, what were you wearing Wednesday night?" Angel glared at the young Asian.

"Black butt shorts," Kuiko muttered.

"Don't forget the crop top with no bra," I tried to make that sound jovial. "It was a - um - improvement over the wet hand towel she came to the door in."

"A wet hand towel?" Angel grumbled at Kuiko.

"Hey," Kuiko pouted. "I was in the shower when Aniqua told me there was a man at the door. You should be happy I didn't punch my way through the wall stark naked."

"Going to woman's dwelling, seeing her naked, asking her for help, letting multiple women in your dwelling, kissing a woman and now sharing a bed with one...you've come a long way since Sunday," Angel regarded me. "Is it a long way up or a long way down?"

"He's getting better," Kuiko insisted rather hopefully.

"I'm going to Isobel Diaz's party Saturday night," I answered. Angel knew what that meant. I'd given up on that fight. She didn't know why but I was afraid she was going to try and find out.

"Oh, are you still going to be able to make the Complex party?" Kuiko asked.

"Isobel Diaz's party is one of those events where rich women use eager young men like prostitutes," Angel interrupted and she was pissed.

"Wha - huh - Israel, why would you do that?" Kuiko sputtered.

"I screwed up," I sighed. "They came at me with more than I could fend off."

"I'm calling Capri to find out what's going on," Kuiko declared.

"She can't tell you anything," Angel stated. "She's his lawyer."

That was pretty much the end of that conversation. The rest of the morning was stilted as Kuiko was confused and Angel was trying to dissect my soul. We trekked to the grocery where I got a pleasant surprise. Francesca had advanced me part of my pay so I didn't have put anything more on credit.

On the way back, the three of us were graced with the presence of the two patrolwomen who had busted into my house on Wednesday.

"Bracelet," the one I had identified as the 'talker' the first time out demanded.

"I'm Detective Angel Kristi," my favorite cop identified herself. "What is this about?"

The two patrolwomen looked uncertain about talking in front of us 'civilians'.

"We lost three more last night," Cop One finally admitted. "We've been asked to keep tabs on the one's left."

"Who?" Angel snapped.

"Ummm...I'm not sure," Cop Two started to say.

"He's the one I'm watching and he knows the score. The other chick is a blind, deaf, mute," Angle grumbled. If Kuiko had a disability, I wasn't aware of it.

"Cabot, Estevez and Simpson," Cop One informed Angel who looked stunned.

"What the fuck?" Angel growled. "Estevez and Simpson were in a high-rise and we had 'eyes' on Cabot." That was rather rhetorical since it was highly unlikely that two patrolwomen in our district would be tied into what was really going on.

"What is his status?" Cop One inquired. They damn well knew my name but I didn't rate civility.

"He who? Am I to pick a random male in the district, or do you have someone particular in mind?" Angel glared at them. The two other officers looked uncomfortable.

"The guy standing next to you," Cop Two pointed.

"Do you know his name? Are there so many males in this neighborhood that you don't know them all?" Angel was getting furious. "There are - what - eleven of them?"

"Israel Jensen," Cop One confessed. "How is Israel Jensen doing? Have you noticed any odd activity around him?"

"Odd - yes," Angel glared. "We were in bed all of last night. No one stole him while we slept."

"Wait, you didn't scan him?" Cop Two blinked. If we had sex, Angel was supposed to scan my bracelet so the whole female world would know.

"We were in bed. We did not have sex. Is that so hard to believe?" Angel countered. The cops looked at me then to Angel and finally glanced to Kuiko before ending back at Angel.

"Oh, we didn't know," Cop Two muttered.

"No, I'm not a lesbian," Angel snapped. "I like him. He's my friend; that's all."

"Really?" both cops gulped. Angel shook her head in disbelief.

"No, he's not gay either," Angel groused. "Fine, we are going to take a vacation down to the Gulf of Baja when this case is over and spend a whole week on the beach having wild passionate sex because Israel is famous for giving ladies multiple orgasms."

That work of total fiction the cops believed because a man would gladly trade sex for safety, but would never go to bed with a woman solely to get a good night's rest. I had woken up on a strange, dreamlike place. Stepping outside my condo had brought the world creeping back in around the edges. The cops put their stamp on my harsh reality.

I had responded to my life all week by lashing out. By the suspicious looks the two patrolwomen were giving me, I could tell they were waiting for more of the same. What separated today from so many other days was late last night and this morning. I couldn't admit that I might have honest affection for Angel, but I now actually had hope that I might.

They couldn't steal that away. I could still screw it up, lose it, or give that hope away, but they couldn't take that from me.

"Officers," I spoke up. "I apologize for blowing up at you on Wednesday. You didn't deserve that."

"You need to correct your attitude around law enforcement," Cop One cautioned me.

"I disagree with that," I smiled warmly. "The police should always be held accountable. I simply blew up at you without giving both of you a chance to show me what kind of people you are. If you treat a law-abiding citizen like crap, you can expect the same."

"If you are really concerned about men disappearing, you might want to consider that if you continue to act like assholes, men will be afraid to talk to you. That makes the whole law enforcement effort far less effective," I pointed out.

"You haven't learned a damn thing," Cop One glared. I held up a hand to stop Angel from picking up my defense.

"If by some mystery you think your current attitudes are getting the job done, so be it. How many more thousands are going to vanish before you figure out that you haven't learned a damn thing either?" I reiterated. The cops looked to Angel to defend the Metropolitan Police's policies.

"Don't look at me," Angel shrugged. "It's obvious we are losing the struggle to keep the men of this city safe. He knows it. I know it. You know it. The difference is, Israel is relatively powerless to change the situation. He doesn't have the weaponry or training. We are supposed to protect him yet he's afraid to let us in his home."

"I know what you are thinking," Angel leveled an angry gaze at the two patrolwomen. "We don't need his permission; we can override his lock and security whenever we want so who needs to give a crap how he feels? Tonight when you go home and find those two Internal Affairs detectives in your living room waiting for you, do an emotional gut-check."

"IA can't..." the second cop trailed off.

"Yet we can jack Israel's lock whenever we feel like it," Angel emphasized. "In theory, we need probable cause, but when was the last time any officer was reprimanded for going into a male dwelling?"

"But you are one of us," Cop One pointed out. "You can do it too."

"Yes, and I did it to Israel," Angel sighed. "Now that I actually know him, I feel pretty sick to my stomach for doing it to him as well. There is no place he feels safe. There is no place he feels he has any privacy."

"You want to know why he's pissy? He lives in a fucking fish bowl, 24/7," she stressed. "You may not give a crap about his feelings, but your district has lost more young men than any other. Likewise, you have the lowest number of male complaints - which is why the fuck I am here - because the Police Commissioner doesn't believe you patrolwomen can do your job."

"That's not fair," Cop One protested.

"What have I missed? You've lost half of your remaining male population and there is not a single sign that ANY male in this district is willing to talk with any of you," Angel spat. "That's a complete disconnect."

"Your solution is to sleep with the guy?" Cop Two countered.

"No," I joined in. "Her solution was to tell me the truth so when she offered to help, I accepted it." That was not a total lie but Detective Kristi and my relationship had been far rockier than I was letting on. "We are not having intercourse."

"I was in his bedroom this morning," Kuiko informed them. "They were clothed, in bed together, but there was no smell of sex. Trust me; I fantasize about the smell of sex. I would know." The cops were definitely trying to expand their minds to encompass the dichotomy of what stood before them. "I'm not having intercourse with Israel either - yet," she added hopefully.

"Well, that's nice," Cop One started to disengage. "Have a nice day."

"Wow," Kuiko wondered after those two had moved on. "I've never talked to the local police before in my life. Is this what it is like for you, Israel?"

"I get stopped by LOLE's all the time," I answered. "It is part of life if you are a guy."

"Angel," Kuiko looked over at our companion.

"All the damn time," she confessed. "I'm not proud to admit I've hit on a guy during a routine stop as well. We even had sex later." Kuiko looked at me to see how upset I was.

"Happens all the time," I comforted Kuiko. "I'd rather have Angel tell me the truth than leave me wondering if she ever had."

The rest of the morning and early afternoon was disjointed. I was operating at the emotional level of a sixteen year old boy. Sure, I had a relationship when I was eighteen, but that was layered in deception and anguish. Angel Kristi was stymied by a well-developed sense of aggression and self-assurance plus the baggage that a man was more a prize than an individual.

When I started slipping back into my shell, her instinct was to shake me like a small child and demand that I snap out of it. That was the wrong thing to do. I would either retreat farther inside, or come back screaming at her. Venting your anger is good. Unleashing my pent up rage on a woman I was in emotional turmoil over was unhealthy both physically and mentally.

Kuiko would hide like cat when we exploded. Once we had both settled down, we'd spot her peeking around a corner or from behind the chair or sofa. At first Angel wanted Kuiko to leave. She was starting to feel territorial - a negative indicator in my book. I pointed out we (Angel and I) would probably vent our frustration by engaging in angry sex and we both agreed that would be a total disaster.

That revelation stunned the three of us. Girls were supposed to have sex with guys. Turning it down was virtually unheard of and difficult to explain to outsiders. Yet here Kuiko, Angel and I were all agreeing that sex would destroy our budding relationship. Angel decided that Kuiko should stay, I didn't get irritated over her taking that decision away from me and Kuiko proved to be a total spaz.

I didn't think that Kuiko's problems were so much her sexual expertise, her moderate breast size or slender body. She was emotionally all over the place and she invested too much passion into every little gesture. It could be overwhelming and since a guy didn't have to be patient with a girl with little to offer economically, it was easier for my gender to dump her and move on.

Shortly after Angel left, I was sitting on the sofa, logged onto the City Hall server - I wasn't working but PR people were supposedly always on the job - when I looked over and caught Kuiko peeking over her tablet at me. She immediately ducked down to hide her face.

"Kuiko?" I said.

"Yes?" she mumbled somewhat fearfully.

"I like you," I told her. There was nothing more to it than that. She put her tablet in her lap and stared at me for a long time.

"Really?" she whispered. I nodded. "Can I sit next to you - at your feet, I mean?" she corrected.

That was more proximity than I felt comfortable with but my life expectancy was dwindling beyond my control so I figured 'what the hell'.

"Sure," I conceded. She came to me with deliberate slowness then slid down next to my legs with her back to the base of the sofa.

"Thank you," she looked up after a few minutes.

"What for? You are my friend," I consoled her.

"Really? Thanks. I didn't have many friends in high school and never a boyfriend. There were only seven boys in my graduating class. I had sex - once - and that was a disaster," she sighed.

"Have sex much since then?" I hesitantly asked. 

"Yes - almost twice, but the second time another girl swooped in and took him away," she complained.

"That's not fair," I agreed. "You have a nice body and a positive personality."

"She had a car," Kuiko explained. "A very nice car." Long gone were the days in North America where every family had their own conveyance. The Plague had moved us into large, compact metropolitan areas. After all, how could women date us men if we were spread out all over God's creation? Instead of cars, we had a very nice public transit system.

The fact that it limited and tracked the majority of the population's mobility never entered the authorities' minds... 

"I like having you as a boyfriend," Kuiko mused happily. That snapped me back to the here and now.

"Even though we are not having sex?" I clarified.

"Oh yeah," Kuiko smiled at me. "I like being around you. It feels nice. See, we have the opposite problem. Girls won't leave you alone, but guys walk right by me as if I'm not there. Sometimes it makes a girl feel nice to simply get a guy to smile at her."

Wow, that was a complex discussion I didn't want to get into. If a guy smiles at a girl, she thinks he's interested. She immediately closes in to engage him in conversation. The thing is, the guy has his own life to attend to. It isn't like he's riding the metro, or walking the streets, looking for a hook-up. If he is, he'll talk to a girl he likes first, or go to a club.

"If you need a smile, or a hug, let me know," I promised.

"I'll do that," Kuiko grinned...and then she went back to doing her own thing. No pressure on me to perform...I really didn't know how to take that development.

"Kuiko, what do you do for a living?" I inquired.

"I'm a welder," she looked over her shoulder at me once more.

"You don't look like a welder," I said.

"What's a welder supposed to look like?" she smirked.

"I don't know," I furrowed my brow. "Big, burly and tough looking? Is Aniqua a welder too?"

"Nah, Aniqua's the Office Manager at the shop I work at," Kuiko informed me. "Basically, she manages herself, and the books and any other problems that come up that our cheap-ass boss won't take care of. I get Union minimum and I'm still a Journeyman, so that ain't much. I'll get my license in two more years though."

"When that happens, the Boss has promised to fire me because she's not going to pay me more and the Union won't let her pay me less," Kuiko grumbled.

"Isn't there someone you can complain to?" That was rich coming from me.

"No way," Kuiko shook her head. "She's all Mobbed-Up. I don't want to get my legs broken."

"Is crime bad in the city?" I wondered. Me, I was still more afraid of police violence than any random robbery. That fear also kept me from doing anything illegal.

"Yep," Kuiko chirped. "There are the average street gangs on motorcycles." Neighborhood gangs were another artifact of the past. 

The city had surveillance everywhere. If you were a criminal and stood on a street corner or doorway, you were begging the cops to come get you. In this day and age, street gangs remained mobile.

"They are not so much a danger to me as to you," she added. She had that right. "Beyond that, there are a few minor operators doing designer drugs, weapons and illegal tech, but they also stay on the move."




One in Ten Ch. 04



"Finally, there are the four big crime families," Kuiko sounded all spooky, "but the biggest by far are the Keverich. When the current Mayor was the District Attorney, she put the head of the Keverich crime family away. Not on anything big - like murder, drugs, extortion, prostitution, bribery, or - well, shit like that. No, they put her away for running off-hours gambling parlors."

"Old Maria is finishing up a seven to fifteen year stint at some spa down south," Kuiko chuckled ruefully. "When she gets back, fucking heads are going to roll."

"She's not a big fan of the Mayor I take it," I questioned.

"Her and Diaz both," Kuiko answered. 

"Rumor has it the Diaz flipped on her but no one still breathing, outside of Diaz and Maria, knows the truth of what really happened," Kuiko winked. That tale had everything in it but the plucky, persistent yet bumbling male investigative journalist. Detective Kristi could play the female officer who saved the poor sap's life and the last 20% of the novel would be devoted to his sexual gratitude. It was every trashy crime novel written in the past forty years.

"Hey!" Kuiko perked up. "Maybe you could use that feud to fend off Isobel Diaz?"

"Horrible, horrible idea," I insisted. "Those are two women with their own private armies. I'm a male who has never thrown a punch in anger all my life. I lived in the suburbs until recently. I've been put in a hospital but never put anyone in one."

"Diaz can make me disappear into the mental health system. Maria could make me disappear BENEATH the foundation of some building. Are you getting the picture?" I glared at Kuiko who wilted. "I didn't want Isobel to notice me, but she has. There is no way that having Maria notice me would make my situation anything but worse."

"Sorry," she meeped.

"Kuiko, don't worry about it. I'm not angry with you," I assured her. "Neither one of us are criminals so getting involved with them would be unwise."

"Are most guys like you?" she half-turned and sighed.

"We are people, Kuiko, both good and bad," I reminded her. "I'm sure some are just as kind as you while there is certainly an Isobel Diaz out there wearing a male's face."

"Oh, that's pretty scary," her eyes grew big. "I guess women don't want to think there are truly evil men out there."

"Too few women give a crap what is inside a man's soul," I told her. "I can't be too angry with you over that. If a guy turns out to be a total bastard, can any of you afford to throw him back?"

"I hope you always get a chance to choose," Kuiko smiled timidly.

"First I survive the Complex party then I survive Isobel's affair then I get ready for Monday at work," I muttered. "Choice comes...later."

"Cheer up," she snickered, trying to dispel my darkening mood, "you have friends now that will help."

"That's a concept I need to get used to," I groaned.

"That's the best part about living here," Kuiko grinned. "We'll be patient."

That fairy tale collided with Fatima, Carrie and Ambrosia showing up at my door while Kuiko was back at her place changing and gathering a few things for a group effort at dinner. I almost triggered the 'unlock' without looking - almost. Being afraid for so long had its benefits. I seriously thought about not answering.

It was still too bright outside for my interior lights to come on. It wasn't like I had any means of transportation to suggest I was in the area.

"Hello, Ladies," I gulped over the intercom. "I'm a bit busy right now. What's up?"

"Hey Israel, can we come in? You weren't at the station this morning, or on the return trip, so we wanted to make sure you hadn't vanished," Fatima spoke up.

I was wondering what was the best way to say 'I'd rather have my bones ground to dust than open the door' when the dilemma was solved for me. A furious Angel came storming up the stairs and into the scope of my door's security screen.

"Get the fuck out of my way," she snarled at the three then she pounded on the door with her fist.

"Open the God damn door, you Idiot," she yelled at me/the door. Oh, I knew that wasn't a good sign. I barely noted a second woman coming up behind Angel appearing to be terribly concerned.

"Who the hell are you?" Ambrosia snapped at Angel.

"Metropolitan Police," the second woman waved her badge around. "Please stand back."

"Israel!" Angel was almost frothing at the mouth. I opened the door against my better judgment and all common sense. Angel stomped her way into my apartment...and right past me toward the bedroom.

I didn't think she wanted sex. She was burning off some serious frustration, my place was small and the greatest stretch of walkway ran from the front door into my bedroom. The second woman came in at a more cautious pace.

"Good-bye ladies," she said to the three at the door. "Remember, if you are out here when we get back, I'll arrest you for loitering."

"Detective Seneca Poole," she introduced herself but didn't offer to shake or look even marginally pleased to see me. Angel came tearing past us, turned, snarled at me, then about faced and headed back. "I don't know what you did but I've never seen her so pissed in the three years we've been partnered."

That brought Angel back around, still horribly frightening and unhappy.

"You want to know what he did?" Angel seethed. "You want to know? This bastard agreed to go to Isobel Diaz's party tomorrow night!" I didn't understand that complaint because she had known about that for hours. Seneca looked my way, clearly as confused as me.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?" Angel stabbed me in the chest with her forefinger. "Do you think I'm stupid? Did you forget I'm a God-damn detective?" I was stumbling back and starting to shiver. "Aaaarrghhhh!" she screamed, barely holding herself back.

"Okay, you've scared the fuck out of him," Seneca griped. "Why don't you finally tell me what is going on?"

"I'm under investigation," Angle kept glaring at me. "I'm under investigation for having an inappropriate liaison with a material male witness."

"Did this asshole turn you in?" Seneca scanned from me to Angel.

"No," Angel spat at me. "He buckled under to Isobel Diaz so they would drop the investigation against me - you moron." I was the moron in question.

"How did you find out?" I muttered. I didn't want to have this conversation because I couldn't make sense of any part of what I'd done. I certainly couldn't explain it.

"Somerset told me," Angel was slowly cooling down. "She laughed at me as she told my how you had folded up like a good little boy after the threat."

"Wait," Seneca stammered. "He stood up for YOU?" I took from that question that Detective Seneca Poole had a rather low opinion of me, if not all males. That I would leave myself vulnerable for Angel was clearly an impossibility in her mind.

"Yes he did, Seneca," Angel glared at me.

"Fuck you, Israel. I can take care of myself - a hell of a lot better than you can," she sizzled. "You - you - you didn't have to do that."

"The Mayor threatened me, Angel. What was I going to do?" I sighed.

"For starters, you don't make decisions for me," she snarled.

"Yet, it is okay for you to make decisions for me?" I pointed out.

"Yes, because you are a 21 year old fresh out of college who has been in the city six days," Angel snorted in frustration. "I am thirty, I have three years in as a patrolwoman and five as a detective and this city is and always has been my home. I think I know what's going on here better than you do."

When she put it like that, she was almost totally right. If you get discriminated against for so long, you start assuming you will always be discriminated against. Angel had just slapped me upside my sensibilities with a logical, if passionate, argument. The only thing was, she was 'almost' right.

"If you think Isobel Diaz won't squash you like a bug, you are so mistaken," I addressed Angel. "She's not your garden variety misanthrope. She's a monster, she's evil and with one phone call, she had you under a federal investigation."

"That's not important," Angel snapped back. 

"The mental state you are going to be in Sunday morning is," Angel pointed out.

"Angel, we've been down this road before - top of my class, remember?" I said.

"You sure are a mouthy bastard," Seneca mocked me but then, "Top of your class? What community college did you go to?"

"Seneca, he's not mouthy, he's opinionated," Angel sniped - at me. I noted Kuiko approach the door and activated the lock for her. She strolled on in.

"Hey everybody. Hey stranger," Kuiko waved. She has a small sack of something.

"Whoever you are, this is a police matter," Seneca commanded. "Beat it."

"I'm his friend," Kuiko bristled. "Who the hell are you?"

"She's my partner," Angel informed her. "This is Kuiko. I'll explain later."

"A cop? Whoops - sorry about the whole 'who the hell' thing," Kuiko gulped.

"Back to the matter at hand," I grumbled. 

"Detective Poole, I went to Bowden. I was the first male Valedictorian in sixty years. Blow it out your ass, Bitch," I glared at her. There I was, busting my head pointlessly against a wall again for no reason I could accept.

"Bowden? Bowden is a real college," Seneca queried. 

I shouldn't have been surprised or angry. Even before the Plague, more women were seeking higher education than men. The Plague was a scholastic killing field for male education. Not only did most of our intellectual elite die, in the chaos after the dying began, it made more sense to admit women over men since odds were that most of your guys would be in a grave by graduation.

After the tenth year, even after the mass die-offs stopped, society took few chances. A whole generation of men went under-educated out of fear they would perish as well. Men had been struggling up the educational ladder ever since, but we were massively under-represented in most professional callings - things like lawyers, engineers and doctors.

Two consequences of being under-educated were our lack of political awareness and the disparity of economic power. We were paid less on average than women and we owned less of the economy than our population would have warranted. This, in turn, reinforced in men that the best way to get ahead financially was to marry well.

This worked out fine if you were a woman in the top 10%; not so much if you were in the bottom 90%. A man graduating well and trying to make his own way in the world didn't fit into that mold and ours wasn't a culture that put a high premium on male independence.

"Yes, it is. I read, studied and made really good grades," I reasoned.

"When I graduated, they gave me a pat on the head, a dog biscuit and a diploma," I added sarcastically. "In retrospect, I should have treasured the pat on the head and kept the dog biscuit for emergency rations because it turns out my diploma isn't fit to wipe my ass."

"Wow, you're bitter," Seneca noted.

"Bitter?" I countered. "Give me your security code. I'm going to go to your house, stomp around the place like an elephant, raid your refrigerator, and leave a used glass and plate on the counter so you wonder what the fuck happened to your sanctuary while you were out."

"Let me rephrase; you are bitter and angry," Seneca corrected herself.

"And this is going to be the wing-nut that is going to Isobel Diaz's party," Angel groaned.

"Oh - I see the difficulty," Seneca nodded. "You are never going to see him again. That could be a problem considering your current assignment."

"What! We are going to lose him?" Kuiko squawked. "No way - no how!"

"Kuiko, do you like me?" I muttered.

"Yes, but..." she got out before I held up my hand.

"Not showing up for the party isn't an option," I explained. "I told the Mayor I would go. I have to work in that building, with those people. I'm vulnerable. Going or not going won't change that, but I have to try."

"God, I want to beat you into the hospital," Angel barked. I didn't want to believe she meant that but that didn't stop me from shivering, my eyes opening wide and stumbling back. Even as the last words tumbled out of her mouth, Angel sensed her mistake. "I'm sorry, Israel," she pleaded. "I just - I'm worried about you and I'm not used to feeling so powerless."

"I need to go to my room," I whispered, turned and fled.

"Oh shit," Angel sighed behind me. A few minutes later, she knocked on my door. "I'm sorry, Israel. I truly am. I have to go back to work now, but...do you want me to come here when I get off?"

I had been thinking about that. I kept trying to convince myself that she hadn't meant that threat of physical violence. Acting combatively was her way of dealing with stress. I found myself trapped between my past mistakes and my dim hope for the future.

"I'd like that," I responded to the voice beyond the door. 

(Saturday)

Three things were obvious to me as I woke up. Detective Angel Kristi was a light sleeper. There was no worry about me waking her and her accidently lashing out - I'd done that for years. Angel was wearing a dark pink panty/bra combo. Last night she had muttered an excuse about being backed up on laundry. I chose to believe her.

Finally, I had to do something about our relationship, if that is what we had. Her outburst yesterday had scared the crap out of me, but it had gripped her in an emotional paralysis. Despair had abandoned me for greener pastures. I'd go to the party, take drugs and become lost in the sexuality. I would recover, hate myself a little bit more and go back to work.

A few days later, maybe a week, two if I was lucky, I'd repeat the process. I would either fail spectacularly and Isobel would ring out what little happiness existed in my life or someone I didn't know yet would collect me and become the most important thing in my life. As long as I kept performing up to a certain level, I'd be fine but every time they would become a little less human in my eyes and I'd try a little less hard.

Eventually I would fail and be cast out. It wouldn't matter. Israel Jensen would have been washed away with all the other detritus of our society. I'd become a contributor, a sperm donor with a desk, a paycheck and a punch card for my social calendar. I wasn't there yet, so I had to keep struggling to find a way out.

In a strange way, I'd invested so much of my week in resisting, it was more logical to keep at it than to turn back now. I certainly wasn't going to lose any slower if I backed down at this juncture.

"Good morning," I greeted Angel as I rolled onto my side, facing her.

She was on her stomach, arms crossed over her head, under her pillow. Her grey eyes were in their normal, soul-piercing gaze.

"Hello, Israel," she responded. We remained silent for a few seconds.

"I'm going to kiss you," I told her. If I had asked, that would have passed the decision from me to her. I knew what I wanted. I doubted she could come to grips with her desires.

"Is that really a good idea?" she inquired.

"I don't know, but I know I'm going to kiss you if you stay," I said. 

"Israel," she started to protest. I leaned in to kiss her. Angel tilted her head up so our lips could meet. I swept past her lips, brushed her hair to her far shoulder then kissed her behind her right ear.

"Israel?" she questioned. I ignored her, instead kissing to the base of her ear then up to the top. I kept her hair pushed back with gentle strokes of my hand. "Israel?" she tried again, more softly this time. When that didn't work, she lowered her head back to the pillow and started to relax. After reaching the top of the ear-base, I kissed the top of her ear rim.

I carefully made my way down to the earlobe, which I sucked on and bit.

"Israel?" she murmured. I imagined that she felt in her role as guardian, she had to offer some sort of resistance. I moved my lips to her jawline. She tried to kiss me again, but I went in the other direction to the back of her neck.

Her bra was unhooked before she even knew what was going on. Angel bit back a comment - another cautionary note. She knew we were past that now. I was dedicated to one course of action and she was going to make her last stand right before the moment of copulation. My secret weapon was timing, or more accurately, the fact that I was drawing out this seduction.

For three years I'd starved myself, devoting my barren sex life to the women's pleasure then my own quick release. I didn't allow myself to enjoy the act of intercourse with the freedom I had enjoyed with Bethany. On weekends we would have sex for hours. Not actual penetration, but the art of touching, smelling and tasting your lover the way sex was meant to be - unrushed and done with total devotion to your partner.

After the sorority I couldn't hold off the demons long enough. Besides, the desire had evaporated in me. I didn't want to remember anything about the women I was with so getting to know them was a passionate dead end. I did the best I could for my own sake, because I knew I could and it was a gift that I could give up, but they couldn't take that away.

By the time I reached for her panties, Angel was sweating extensively. It had little to do with the room temperature. I had ran my hands over every inch of her from the top of her head, all along her back and sides. I'd rolled her a quarter way over on each side so that I would be less contorted as I concentrated on her scent and taste.

I worked her underwear down. She pushed up with her knees until I reached there, then with her toes until I got the clothing all the way down. Angel started to roll over but I placed a hand with slight pressure down on her hip to keep her in place. I kissed her on the tailbone, migrated to each cheek while I started to masturbate her from behind.

"Israel - I'm close," Angel warned me with quickening breath.

"Go with it," I cooed. "This is about you. We don't have anywhere to be until noon."

"Oh...oh...okay," she moaned. Two minutes later she hit her climax. My lips weren't even down to the back of her knees yet.

It was nearly midday when Roni rang the doorbell. I buzzed her in. Angel was coming out of the bathroom, dressed in pool attire and using a towel to dry her hair. I was coming out of the bedroom, a towel still around my waist. I was on my way to my dryer for my shorts. I normally don't wear any so I had to wash the 'storage musk' out of them.

"Hey you two," Roni called out. "Angel," she hesitated, "your hair is wet."

"Yes," Angel grumbled.

"And Israel has a towel around his waist and his hair is damp too," Roni grinned wickedly.

"That would be because we took a shower," Angel glared.

"Screw this," Roni chuckled. "Israel, get over here." I was clearly uncomfortable. "Please," Roni added. Reluctantly I stepped her way and presented my wrist.

"Hold on," Angel growled. She stomped back to the bedroom, retrieved her phone and scanned my wrist once more. "Don't make me punch your lights out," she challenged Roni.

Roni scanned me then took a step back.

"Oh - Fucking - Goddess!" she exclaimed. I was pretty sure Angel was about to deck her.

"Don't make a big deal about it," Angel threatened Roni.

"Big Deal?" Roni gasped. "I'm stunned you can still walk."

"I'm going to get dressed," I muttered. I didn't want to hear that conversation. I didn't want to be any part of it. I had done what I had done and I wasn't going to be ashamed about it - I promised myself that. I gathered up my clothes, retreated to my bedroom and quickly got dressed. The two ladies had resolved something by the time I came out.

"You look nice, Israel," Roni tried not to grin too broadly. I hadn't worn these clothes in three years. I was uncertain why I had kept them. It was a tribute to the North American Federation's physical regimen policies that I could fit into them as if I'd purchased them yesterday.




One in Ten Ch. 04



"Bethany Fremont bought them for me," I replied. I would have thought that would be a conversation killer.

These were nice clothes. There was no way I could have afforded them on my own. Without a scholarship I couldn't have swung the tuition at a college as nice as Bowden.

"Why didn't you get rid of them?" Angel asked.

"I put all her stuff in boxes, I put the boxes in my closet and I didn't look at them for three years," I informed her.

"I tried to act like they weren't even there. I couldn't touch them. The closest they came to the dumpster was when I was loading my rental for the drive here," I related. "I thought that time of my life was behind me and I needed the clothes, so I kept them. Now, after confessing all this, I feel like a total retard."

"Don't," Angel insisted. "You have to work with her for now so keeping your clothes doesn't matter."

"Besides, she didn't wear those clothes," Roni added. "They should remind you of you, not of her. We have to get to the party. Olga is bringing Jean Paul and if he's the sole guy there, she's going to be pissed."

"Olga?" I queried. If a woman could get pissed with you, a man need to know what she could bring to bear.

"Public Utilities Department," Angel explained. Power, sewer, communications - oh joy. Since she lived in this complex, she most likely worked in the field as opposed to an office.

The trip to the complex's pool set my nerves on edge. At the office, I could pretend to hide in my cubicle. At press conferences, I had my college training to keep my fears in check. On the metro, I could create a veil around myself to ignore all but the most intrusive female. Here - I was going to have to interact with women coming at me from all directions.

"I've got you," Angel whispered into my ear. She must have sensed me starting to shiver. Whatever courage I could work out from that promise was set aside as a blur came charging at me.

"You came!" Kuiko squealed. "I was afraid you would be overcome with a rare bout of common sense."

Panic was overwhelmed by the phrase 'rare bout of common sense'. I snickered nervously.

"Hug?" Kuiko vibrated. The complication wasn't hugging Kuiko; it was having to hug every other woman at the party. I assumed that Jean Paul would go without. I opened my arms and Kuiko cautiously flowed into my embrace.

The tender moment was destroyed when Kuiko took her first deep breath of my aroma. She really was a total spaz.

"You've had sex!" she squealed even louder. Oh shit! I was sure that the Deli three blocks down didn't hear that.

"I outta shoot you," Angel hissed at Kuiko.

"Really, that's so cool," Venus hopped up. "It didn't even take you 28 fucking days either."

As the girls started closing in, Kuiko realized the enormity of her mistake.

"Oh my Goddess," Roni gasped in real, fearful understand. "This is what your life is like."

Yeah, it was different for Roni when the sexual liaison that the guy was trying to keep quiet about was with her best friend.

"Bracelet," Samantha demanded. There was nothing I could do; it was the damn law. She scanned my shackle, blinked then looked up at me.

"Really?" she turned to Angel. Detective Kristi was stone-faced. "Four times?" I had started out intending to have one long, sensuous erotic session with Angel. I took my time. I really took my time. For an hour and a half we took comfort in each other's bodies and energy. When we finally finished, we were exhausted and Angel Kristi had a new definition for love-making.

We rested for a bit then mutually decided to take a shower. Half way through the process, I suddenly found her staring at me excitedly. That was round two - brutal, raw and feverishly carnal. We cleaned up, went back to the bedroom, trying to figure out what had just happened - the thing in the shower. We seemed to have a positive consensus concerning our first encounter.

She turned to me, our hands touched. We couldn't find the words so we filled the void with a kiss. Thus began round three. Angel was more dominant that time around because that was her nature and I had been willing to submit somewhat without losing my sense of self. Angel was so enraptured and grateful for the experience, that it made it all worthwhile.

We agreed we needed a shower once more. We agreed we could do it together without worrying about having intercourse again. We were doing okay until Angel was washing her hair. She put the shampoo bottle in the holder but as she did so, she tilted her hips back and her buttocks pressed against my slumber prick. Thus began round four.

Next thing I knew, I was powerfully aroused, I had her pressed face-first against the shower wall and I was slowly pumping in and out of her while she pushed back with every stroke. We were lucky we didn't turn into prunes after all the water that ran over our bodies. Angel and I were still trying to put some sense or reason to the morning when Roni showed up.

"Angel, you cured him," Venus declared.

"No, I didn't," Angel countered.

"Who did then?" Samantha pressed.

"He's not cured," Roni stepped up.

"But he had sex four times in the last five hours," a different women said after looking over Samantha's shoulder. "He has to be cured."

"No!" Kuiko shouted. "He's in love." That was not a concept I was willing to face. Love had been so terribly cruel to me.

"Calm the fuck down," Angel commanded. "Israel and I are not..." she stopped. "Israel, are you in love with me?" she touched my arm and inquired in disbelief. See, me being in love with her would make the entire past two days of our lives make sense, so we both denied it. With my life lessons in mind, I did the only thing I could. I turned and walked rapidly back toward my condo.

"Israel?" six different female voices called out. No one seemed to get the message that walking away was a clear signal I wasn't going to have this discussion. I picked up my pace. I made it inside my place, but was at a loss how to continue further. My domicile wasn't safe. No place in the city was safe for that matter.

I was staggering around the living room, trying to reason out if the bathroom was safer than the bedroom when the doorbell rang.

"Israel, we need to talk," Angel requested. I found it remarkable that there was this confidence within me that if I told Angel to leave me alone, she would.

I flicked the lock and she came in. We had this détente for several minutes before Angel gave up on attempting to bring order out of the chaos we were immersed in.

"Israel, if you - if you like - no, if you care - I mean, if you - have feelings - no damn it - if you love me - I - I wouldn't mind - no, I mean, I would like that," she stammered.

"You realize this makes our lives worse, not better?" I reminded her. Being in love meant there was something else that could be taken away from us. Love was an intoxicating fantasy. In reality, love, loyalty and devotion were counter-productive to what men were supposed to do. Women could hold the desire to fall in love, but to wish a man to fall in love with you was selfish.

"Worse?" Angel groaned sarcastically. "Telling my superiors I've fallen for they guy I'm supposed to be watching over is going to go over like an ember on a glacier." It took me a second to realize that was Angel's way of saying she loved me without using those exact words. "What are we going to do if I am transferred?" 

"You move in with me, I guess," I replied.

"Israel, you wouldn't let me in your condo when we first met. We were shouting at each other yesterday," Angel made excuses. I didn't know if that was to give me an out or convince her not to make the commitment.

"Any relationship with me is going to be far from perfect," I told her. "I'll give you everything I can. I can't promise more than that."

"If I wake you up in the middle of the night wanting sex, what will you do?" she sighed.

"Scream," I answered honestly.

"Oh," she snickered ruefully. "This is nuts. We are so wrong for each other, but - if my boss blows up and I don't move in, Kuiko will camp out on your doorstep in a misguided attempt to protect you."

"I've never been more worried about someone I think honestly cares about me doing me harm by accident," I related to Angel my feelings toward Kuiko.

"I - um - see where you are coming from," Angel nodded. "If she stays over for the night, she sleeps on the sofa. I find her less irritating as I get to know her, but I don't trust her."

"Okay Angel, being referred to as a possession makes me uncomfortable," I explained.

"Fine, I'll put in an Attachment Request on Monday," Angel decided.

"Please refer to my last statement," I expressed my concern.

"You don't want to become attached?" she worried.

"I don't know what that would mean to you," I reposed. "If you think it means you can better protect me, I have to say 'no'. If you want to do it so we can hang out together then I'm okay with it."

"You are giving me conditions? Do you think you are the only man I can get with?" Angel grumbled.

"I don't care, Angel," I held my ground. "You aren't a contest to me. I'm not measuring you against anyone."

"If you must know, I can get with a woman who is richer, can protect me better and make my life easier. I don't think I can find someone who can care for me more than you do though," I explained. "I certainly don't want you because you are a cop. I want you because you scream and yell at me, but then you apologize and mean it."

"There is no way you are going to let me be in charge, is there?" Angel stared at me intently.

"I sincerely doubt it," I confessed. "It's not just you. I don't know if I will ever release all control to a woman again."

"I swear to God, Bethany Fremont and I are not finished," Angel pledged. I didn't want Angel to harbor a grudge against Bethany, but I wasn't about to become combative with Angel over the matter either.

"What do we do now?" Angel muttered.

"We go back to the party," I sighed. "I couldn't forgive myself if I left Jean Paul alone."

"You don't even know him," Angel questioned.

"On the off chance he is anything like me, I can't leave him alone," I told Angel. With that, we returned to the party and the flaming Perdition that was feminine civility and need.

(Saturday Night)

For the life of me I couldn't figure out how I ended up with six women in my tiny condominium. Even the delusion that I could control my own household was collapsing around me. I put my dresser against the bedroom door before changing for Isobel's meat market affair. The absurdity of it made me giggle nervously - I was barricaded in my bedroom so I wouldn't get molested as I dressed for an outing where I knew I would get molested.

Outside of my bedroom, I was the victim of the whole 'coterie' mentality among women. Angel and Kuiko made perfect sense and natural allies in creating a protective/possessive bond around me. Expanding upon my growing feminine network, Aniqua and Roni were organic additions, being friends and roommates of the first two.

Venus and Samantha had been included out of necessity. The first four couldn't keep an extended cordon around me to stop the other complex mates from crowding in. If those four closed in too much, it defeated the purpose of trying to limit my proximity anxiety. By some arcane process, Venus and Samantha had been the ones who migrated from the intruder side of the equation to the containment side.

Once dressed, I moved my dresser and returned to my crowded living room. I was confronted again by my fundamental ignorance of female communications. Angel and Kuiko could (almost) freely approach me. Roni and Aniqua had thrown a certain level of compassion and respect my way. My comfort level with them was established. Samantha and Venus were on the other side of the emotional dividing line - their desire for sexual contact was their first priority.

In no way I could fathom, the first four had decide on how much contact Venus and Samantha could have. I wasn't consulted. Hell, I wasn't aware of the actual conversation where that had been decided, but it clearly had. Venus and Samantha staying within those invisible guidelines - if they had strayed, I assumed the others would intervene - was more understandable.

If any woman broke the rules, the other five would expel them from my presence. My opinion was not sought out and I wasn't overly offended by my circumstance or insulted by the way I was being treated. In society, women naturally protected their interest in men. At least I had the choice of my 'shot-callers' - Angel and Kuiko aka the Odd Couple and the by-rules of this little group included not pressing me for sex.

I may have fallen in love with Angel, but it was Kuiko who opened my eyes. Sure, I was still primarily a cock and balls show. As my odd little Asian friend had showed me though, I could contribute a great deal to the peace with hugs, a smile and interactive conversation. I had the impression this was a totally new approach to most of the women with me - everyone but Kuiko.

Promptly at 8:15 pm the doorbell rang. The security system showed me a trim, strongly built woman with black hair and a crisp, coal-grey pant suit and white shirt at the door.

"Hello?" I greeted her cautiously from the other side of locked door.

"Mr. Jensen, I am your ride to the function tonight," she said. At least she didn't sound haughty.

"Israel, open the door - stand to the side," Angel ordered as she stepped out of the kitchen. I did as directed because I hadn't a clue what she was up to and it was too late to argue.

"Hey there..." the woman got out.

"I'm Detective Angel Kristi of the Metropolitan PD," Angel brandished her badge in her left hand. 

I noticed Angel's right hand was behind her back.

"Show me some identification please," Angel directed.

"That is hardly necessary in this situation," the women smiled calmly.

"Let me rephrase," Angel glared as she whipped out her pistol from behind her back and pointed at the strange woman's head.

"Show me some God-damned ID right now or I'm going to paint the door across the hall with your skull and grey matter," Angel menaced convincingly.

"Whoa now," the woman raised her hands. "You've..."

"Wrong answer, Asshole," Angel's trigger finger tightened.

"Wait, I'm a cop!" the woman blurted out. When Angel didn't fire, she continued. "I'm pulling out my badge with my left hand, okay?"

"Nice and slow," Angel cautioned. "Hand it to Israel." The woman produced the badge as promised. I read the identification out loud - it was bad news.

"Sergeant Eliza DeMosa, Metropolitan Police Force. Executive Protection Detail," I read.

"See, I'm a fellow cop," Sergeant DeMosa started breathing again. "You can put the gun away now."

"Hardly a fellow, you fucking pimp," Angel snapped. I handed the Sergeant her badge back.

"What is your problem?" DeMosa shot back.

"You are dragging a man against his will to a whore fest - like you didn't know," Angel sneered.

"What?" the woman looked to me.

"It was this nightmare or a 72 hour psychiatric watch," I told her. "You don't need to put me in restraints, but please don't pretend I have a choice in this matter."

"Ummm - okay," Eliza replied. "We need to go now." I guess she had her orders.

"Sergeant, I want you to know that if Israel comes back fucked up, or doesn't come back at all, I'm looking you up," Angel promised. "No one else - just you."

"Detective, you need to have your hormone levels checked," DeMosa responded.

"Sergeant, you are about to run off with a twenty-one year old male," Angel snarled as she stepped forward and pressed the barrel of her pistol against Eliza's forehead. "If he gets damaged or vanishes, no one you are working for now will save you from the federal investigation that is going to land like the space station on your head."

"They are going to be more than happy to let me at you in an interrogation room where I am going to shove a cattle prod so far up your ass your teeth glow," Angel grew deathly calm. "If something happens to him, come at me guns blazing, flee to Amazonia, or swallow your piece because you will find no mercy from me. Clear?"

"As crystal, Detective," DeMosa answered. Angel stepped back and lowered her gun.

"Israel, be careful and keep your hopes alive," Angel said. As I made to leave, Kuiko ran up and hugged me, burying her head in my underarm.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she repeated. "Sorry to crowd you, but please take care."

"It is okay," I sighed. "I have friends now." I didn't believe that would help me. In my experience, you are always alone in the dark. It was what Kuiko wanted to hear, so I said it as I petted her hair. I had to push her away before I could make my way out the door. Eliza and I walked in silence until her car pulled away from the front of my place.

"That is quite a little fan club," she noted jokingly. She had a gun pressed to her head a minute ago and I doubt she had sweated at all. "Phone," she directed me to hand mine over.

"Are you going to cause Detective Kristi problems?" I gave her my phone but deviated from the question.

"She put a gun to my head," she snorted. "Yeah, what she did was insane." With one hand, the latest cop in my life flipped my phone open and popped out the battery/GPS. She dumped the chip in a box then closed the lid.

"If you do, I'll claim you tried to kidnap me and she acted in my defense," I reasoned.

"What? No one cares what you say," Eliza shook her head. "The security system will have recorded it all."

"Nope," I chuckled dryly. "After all, then some important people would have to tell a Grand Jury exactly what you were doing at my door this evening."

"I was taking you to a party," Sgt. DeMosa said.

"What party? At what address? Why did you feel it necessary to take my phone away from me and deactivate my GPS?" I countered. "Who was at this party and who told you to come get me? After all, if this was official police business, why wouldn't the appropriate authorities have alerted Detective Kristi, my assigned watcher/guardian, that another police officer was coming over?"

"Damn," she actually sounded impressed. "I guess she's off the hook then." It was the never-ending saga of women assuming men were one step above illiterate subhuman savages. "I like you, by the way."

"Like me? We don't know each other," I worried.

"At the press conferences this week. Unlike everyone else, you sound like you know something and aren't afraid to tell people the truth," she related. "I did a stint in White Collar Crimes before moving over to EPD (executive protective detail). Trust me, suits lie all the damn time about everything, big or small."

"Why are you doing this - tonight?" I inquired.

"I want to make captain one day," she told me. "That means kissing some political ass."

"I'll let you know how it tastes," I muttered. There was nothing else to say. This was the benign indifference that pervaded this culture. 

She knew something bad 'might' happen to me but since she didn't have to witness it, she'd let events take their course. She had her life to live and I was a man. The comfortable assumption to make was that I was doing what I need to do to get by as well. Eliza didn't seem to be a bad person. She didn't have to be. All she had to do was not get involved and she was doing that admirably. 

Sergeant DeMosa dropped me off in front of one of those high security towers I would never, ever be able to afford to live in. It was designed to withstand hurricanes (if one ever came this far inland), earthquakes and the collapse of civilization. You would need an armored battalion to break into this place, or an elite team of Special Forces.

Two women detached themselves from the structure - it had a one-way mirrored face - and rounded me up without actually touching me. No one said anything. We had nothing to talk about. I sensed a greater deal of menace than I received from normal cops so I made the guess that they were ex-military.




One in Ten Ch. 04



As I entered the channel into the structure, I was bombarded with every ray and particle of the electromagnetic spectrum to confirm the most insidious thing on me were the crowns on two of my teeth. I had swallowed the pills in my mouth right before entering. See, if you took too many anti-nausea pills at one time, it made you vomit. 

I was counting on that, but the clock was now ticking before this overdose kicked in. I had to throw up in the narrow window between being fed my aphrodisiacs and the time it took them to dissolve in my stomach and get into my bloodstream. The only weapon I had was my wits and I wasn't going to surrender that without a fight.

"Hold up!" a male voice called out before the doors shut. One of my two minders hit the 'door open' button and a well-tailored man with frosted blonde hair slid in gracefully. I've been told I'm good looking by a fair number of women, but this guy was freaking gorgeous. On second glance, I realized he wasn't handsome, he was pretty - sculpted so.

"Hi, I'm Gil," he offered his manicured and pampered hand. I looked and gave a weary smile, but did not shake his hand.

"I'm Israel," I replied.

"I know," he smiled with his perfect teeth. "I've seen you on TV. You are weird."

"Thanks," I shrugged.

"It wasn't really a compliment, Israel," he smirked.

"I'll get over it," I shook my head. "You come to these often?"

"All the time," he gleamed knowingly. "I often get special requests."

"Nice," I said non-committedly. "Where do you work?"

"Parks and Recreations," he grinned.

"Live near here?" I persisted. Hell, the legitimate head of P&R couldn't live in this neighborhood.

"Yep; five blocks down. Drove my car here too," Gil bragged. He drove his car - five blocks.

"Nice ear rings," I pointed out. Diamond studs.

"Yes. They were a gift," he touched them fondly. I wondered how many facials that cost him.

"Nose stud?" I looked him over. He nodded.

"I see you have a piercing for a nose ring," I continued. "Going to put it in later?"

"Yes," he responded with far less enthusiasm.

"Prince Albert? Cock stud?" I inquired. "Does the cock ring go on later too?"

"What are you getting at?" Gil was becoming decidedly less friendly.

"You have more cock-jewelry than a pole dancer, you have your face cut to look like a much younger boy yet you're in - what - your late twenties/early thirties?" I continued. "You wear the crumbs off their tables like freaking prize possessions and you dare call yourself a man. I'm sure Washington, Hathcock, Gordon and Shugart would be proud."

I was pretty sure Gil barely had a clue who the first man was. He was at a total loss as to who the other three were. They hadn't even been famous in their time. Those three did share two things though; they were all very dead and all had adopted peculiar vocation for dealing with their enemies.

"It is your first time," Gil countered vindictively. "You'll learn."

"No, I won't. Ask anyone who knows me knows - I refuse to learn anything," I snarled. "I do know this; in a few weeks, maybe a year or two, you are going to tumble down. Women farther down the hierarchy who settle for cast-offs and hand-me-downs will take you in for a short while."

"Then you will tumble again, farther and farther down until you find a middle class women who doesn't mind that you are a washed up whore. Because, you will always be a whore," I glared at him. Gil pushed me and I stumbled back. My minders did nothing. Gill assumed something that might have been a fighting stance.

"I've been trained to defend myself, Jerk," he smirked. He had instruction alright, but I doubted it was really effective. His female trainer would be far more interested in pumping up his testosterone levels than any actual training.

"You are a dancer, not a fighter, Numb-nuts," I snapped back.

I whipped out my belt, folded it in two and got ready to wail into the bastard, but when I hauled back for the first swing, one of my female minders reached out and grabbed my forearm.

"Oh, now you show some initiative," I bitterly remarked.

"Not the face," she instructed. I nodded then kicked Gil in the nuts.

Whomever had taught Gil how to fight had failed to drill in any combative reflexes. I was on the mark. Gil's eyes bugged out, he whimpered then toppled over like a rotten tree in the forest. I was slammed into the elevator wall by my first minder.

"You said nothing about the balls!" I screamed, trying to stave off the beating I felt coming my way.

"Kick his ass," Gil rasped through the pain from the carpeted floor of the lift.

"We don't work for you," my second minder mocked Gil as she yanked him back to a standing position.

"If I let you go, are you going to stop acting stupid?" minder one asked.

There were no words I would dare let out of my mouth considering the multiple poor choices I'd been making so I nodded instead. She let me up. She pointed to the belt I'd dropped when she slammed me. I knelt down, picked it up and offered it to her. She shook her head so I stood and put it back on.

Gil looked at me with hate-filled eyes. There was something else there too. He'd convinced himself that selling his body made him part of the powerful women's little club. He had just learned he was little more than a hood ornament on last year's model. He wasn't even a person in their servant's eyes. My return stare told Gil I was laughing at him on the inside.

My options were either derision or pity, and I was all out of pity for parasites like Gil. He was the stereotype that women accessed whenever they wanted to reduce male humanity to trophies in their minds. Men would give up our sexual beings for trinkets. Once the sperm left our bodies, we ceased caring what happened. We were all off to the next bauble.

To that way of thinking, male whores were the 'honest' ones. The rest of the male population simply hid it better, or refused to admit what we were really all about. Men like Gil made it that much harder for the majority of males who were nothing like him. Worse, Gil's lifestyle rarely worked out well in the end. He wasn't even helping himself.

Gil wobbled out of the elevator first. My minders had to push me, I was so scared. I would have administered cunnilingus on both of them if I thought that would let me take the elevator back down. A woman in a tuxedo waiting close by. She let Gil pass but approached me.

"Mr. Jensen," she smiled pleasantly. "Please come this way and welcome to the party."

"I'm Tia and I'll help you through all the things you need to know before the party starts," she rambled on. "The patrons will know you are a little nervous - and a little tired," she winked, "so try to relax and enjoy yourself." Wondering what drugs she might be on took a back seat to the wink and the 'little tired' remark.

The four of us went around one of the turns in the corridor then through a door into a dressing room. Several guys were in various stages of undress and by the suspicious looks I received, Gil had already blathered about me. She handed me a wrapped tuxedo.

"Here," she kept with that warm, friendly smile, "put this on. I don't need to ask you if you've showered, but do you have any cologne or perfume?"

"No," I muttered. This was getting bad. "Where do I change?"

"Just do it here," she instructed.

"Can't I have some privacy?" I all but begged. With friends around me, I'd still barricaded myself in my bedroom to change a few hours ago.

"It's not like it is anything we haven't seen before," she giggled.

"I don't know you and I doubt you've seen me naked before so could I please have a secluded spot?" I repeated. Tia laughed at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stifled that laugh with her hand. "No private rooms though. I apologize."

"No cologne or perfume," I repeated. I put the suit bag on a hook, zipped it open and began sorting through the costume I was supposed to wear. It was a nice tuxedo - most likely silk or some sort of silk blend. Their choice of underwear was...economic on materials used...I was beginning to hyperventilate and the room was starting to spin.

"Problems?" Tai asked nicely. I shook my head. She pulled out a small pill box from inside her vest and popped out a pill. "Take this, it will help," she proffered up something to me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It helps with anxiety," she informed me.

"No thank you," I mumbled.

"It really will help," Tai insisted in her pleasant tone. "It won't affect your ability to perform; don't worry about that."

"Please," I begged.

"Listen Israel," Tai became harsher, "you can take this or they can make you take it. I don't want that and neither do you." She was smiling again. No choices.

"You haven't identified yourself as an EMT or physician," I stared at her. "So, I decline your attempt to peddle your crap on me. Beat me up if that makes you feel better. You are nothing but animals anyway and we should all stop pretending you are not."

Tai shrugged.

"Hold him," she told my minders. My resistance was feeble and I obediently opened my mouth when they twisted my head in position. A cop would have known better but neither the two women restraining me, or Tai, were cops.

When Tai presented the pill, I extended my tongue. She was still giving me that pleasant, kind smile as I took the pill in.

"Let me see inside your mouth," Tai commanded. I showed her, she looked around to see that I had indeed swallowed the poison. The clock was ticking.

"Your continued resistance makes no sense, Israel," Tai scolded me patiently. Something inside me cracked.

"When you are reduced to a skin-bag of meat impaled on a metal rod for days, you'll understand what it is to not give in to putrid wastes of humanity like yourself, Tai," I grinned angrily.

"Until then, you don't get to question what makes me keep fighting. You are simply too ignorant to understand and I don't have the time to torture you enough so that you get it," I added.

"They are going to love your passion," she snickered. She motioned the guards to let me go.

The rest of the dressing process was quick and quiet. I could feel my stomach twisting and lurching, seeking release. Most of the men had evacuated the room by the time I was done. My first stop upon leaving was meeting Isobel. 

"You've already been a pain in the ass and you've barely been here ten minutes," she regarded me thoughtfully.

I had no reply. I need to speed things along.

"You look nice," Isobel looked me over. "It is nice to see your eyes so alert after your marathon sex session with Detective Kristi. After seeing that many of the ladies have expressed an interest in you." I couldn't keep the humiliation and sense of violation from my face.

"You had no right," I whispered.

"Israel, I promised to destroy you and I am, one piece at a time," Isobel glowed vindictively. "Consider this your first installment." They had hacked my security system illegally and showed it around Isobel's clientele to up my value at the upcoming flesh auction.

How could I have possibly believed that my private, sensual moments with Angel would remain so? Isobel knew about the sorority sex tape and this was a clear imitation of that degrading experience. I refused to become submerged to this latest assault against my identity.

"Here you go, Israel," Isobel offered me a pill and a glass of champagne. 

I took the pill and a long pull on the glass.

"Will this make me forget?" I whispered vacantly.

"Oh no," Isobel. "This lets you remember everything. This wouldn't be any fun if it didn't."

"At the end of this, I really think I'm going to be dead, Isobel," I muttered, "but you will still be the monstrous, twisted evil sow you are right now."

Isobel's left hand lashed out, her hand gripping my throat and started to strangle me.

"I like it when they fight back," she snarled in a darkly passionate outburst. She must have held me there for thirty seconds before Tai cleared her throat. Isobel let me go. "Get him out of here."

As Tai, my two minders and I approached the last door to the 'reception' room, one of my minders held me back.

"Where did you hear about those names?" she asked. I had to assume she was referring to my little talk with Gil in the elevator.

"Civics 304, my junior year at Bowden: Studies in Character," I responded. "The study of the last two led me to history of other Congressional Medal of Honor winners as well as men of that profession. It isn't like I could ever be in the armed services, but it is still my history."

"Did you ever learn any other names?" she asked. Her partner and Tai looked irritated.

"Do you mean like Walker?" I questioned. She nodded. "Where did you learn the names?"

"It was in the graduation hall where I went to school," she regarded me. At least not all male history was being swept away, I thought. It also told me the woman was trained as a Special Forces sniper.

Tai took me through the final door and introduced me to the room. At first glance, there appeared to be twenty men and twelve women as 'participants' and around fifty party guests. This way the guests had to 'compete' for the party favors. Not that we would appreciate that largesse - Isobel would.

"Ladies, this is Israel Jensen," Tai announced. "Don't be too rough on him. It is his first time, though not his first time today." She turned to me and quietly added, "Israel, I hope you have a good time tonight."

"Tai," I whispered back, "I hope your car battery explodes and burns you to death."

She giggled, patted my ass and began to circulate the room. Me? I spotted what I needed and made a bee-line for it. I was almost at the balcony when a woman came out of one of the many padded chairs in the room and grabbed my arm.

"Hello there, I'm Magdalena but everyone calls me Maggy," she smiled.

She was somewhat short, heavy but curvaceous - voluptuous, I supposed. She was maybe in her mid-thirties with short, wavy black hair, expensive jewelry and wearing a backless, silver gown with deep cleavage and breasts that clearly needed support.

"Nice to meet you," I mumbled. "I gotta go." If I didn't I was going to spew all over her.

I broke free and ran for what I was praying was a balcony. I stepped into the city's cool night air, found what I was looking for - a planter - and vomited into it. Whatever male had spread this recipe for avoiding being drugged failed to mention the sheer pain of having your stomach attempting to exit your esophagus. I was back in my dorm room in the aftermath of Bethany's sorority function all over again.

I was still bent over with both hands resting on the sides of the planter when a voice spoke up from right behind me.

"If you are finished, you can have my drink," she offered. I nearly vaulted the planter. Only the height of the shrub kept me from trying.

I spun around to face a woman of indeterminate age with blonde hair and blue eyes. She had an odd, lopsided quirk to her lips, a daring, floor-length red dress and a gold and diamond chocker. Her features were hauntingly familiar but I was too scared and physically discombobulated to figure out how. She was extending a long stem glass of something my way.

I gingerly took it and walked over to the railing. It was as high as my ribcage so jumping over wasn't going to be easy. I wasn't so disillusioned with my life or my chances here to embrace the seventy story fall anyway. After taking a deep swig of the alcohol, I swirled it around my mouth, spit it back into the glass and throw the whole deal off into the night.

"Wine not up to your standards?" the lady in red mused.

"It is probably pointless, but thank you. I'm Israel Jensen," I responded. "I don't take anything I'm going to put into my body from a woman I don't know. Your kind has the annoying habit of dropping the dope of your convenience into things coming my way."

"Delilah," she tipped her head in greeting. "Delilah Fremont."

"Any relation to Bethany Fremont?" I requested.

"She's one of my daughters," she replied. "I understand you two aren't getting along right now."

"Kind of in the way that Boadicea didn't get along with the Romans," I stated. Considering that the Celtic British Queen had started her rebellion after being raped, this was somewhat apt. 

"Ah - rumor has it you were irreverent," Delilah mulled over. "Have I done anything to earn your ire?" That was a bit of an odd thing to say and definitely far cleverer than anything Bethany would have come up with.

"Beyond living long enough to breed - nothing I can think of," I shrugged. 

"Oh, very well, I can understand that impulsive reaction," Delilah allowed. "Don't you believe that men should still try to replenish the Human Race, despite personal tragedy?"

"No." That word pretty much summoned everything else I might have said.

"That is an awfully bleak epitaph for our species," Delilah didn't sound angry or offended.

"Quite frankly, I haven't seen a damn thing this entire week that would make me lift a finger to save any of you," I started back at her. "The few women I have found worthwhile can't be saved by me and won't be saved by you. My only regret is that the worst of you won't die in the bone-wracking agony you so richly deserve."

"This doesn't qualify as participating in the party, Israel," Isobel murmured threateningly. She'd snuck up on me as well. "Monday is starting to look very complicated." She had Tia and my two minders with her.

"Wait," I gulped. "She's a guest - Delilah, I mean."

"Mr. Jensen and I were discussion funerary rights as well as future mortality projections," Delilah intervened urbanely. 

"Dr. Fremont, I wasn't referring to Israel's dubious ability at conversation but at the fact that he seems to have purged his medication," Isobel clarified. The ever-present surveillance system had boned me again.

"I concur with that," Fremont nodded. "He's not sweating, his pupils aren't dilated and his breathing is steady. It was probably some sort of IG medication - probably an anti-nausea drug."

Isobel glared over her shoulder at my minders.

"We didn't see him take anything," minder one stated.

"Isobel, those kind of drugs take ten to fifteen minutes to work. He may have done it before he entered the building," Delilah suggested.

"Israel, all your little ploy earned you was a stomach crap. Tai, dose him," Isobel commanded. What the fuck was I going to do? I edged down the railing but there was no visible egress from this place.

"Why?" the woman who I had shrugged off earlier asked. I was too fearful to try and figure out where she'd come from.

"Standard policy," Isobel answered icily. "He needs the 'pick me up' and his mood is a bit unstable." Isobel was explaining herself?

"Previously submitted evidence suggest Israel has no problem performing," Maggy grinned. "Standing up to you is hardly a reason to dope him. Besides, a spirited man really screws you up inside - or it used to Isobel."

That was far more than I ever wanted to know. Usually you fight back to scare off your attacker. What the hell was a man supposed to do when it excited the aggressor instead?

"That's enough," Isobel seethed after she turned on Maggy. "We need to talk."

"Until you come back, I'll keep an eye on Mr. Jensen," Delilah spoke up.

"There is no need to drug him," Delilah stated.

"I concur," Maggy added.

"Fine," Isobel conceded poorly. In a few seconds I was left alone with Delilah again.

"Some men would make a gesture of gratitude," Delilah studied me, "or be curious about what happened."

"I wouldn't be here if you didn't feel entitled to hold functions like this, so thanking you would be disingenuous," I answered. "As for the rest. I don't want to know any of you. I don't want to know anything about you. That you are stewards of our dying culture is wish fulfillment, or karmic justice."




One in Ten Ch. 04



"Do you really think that, or are you lashing out because of your own personal injustices?" Delilah argued. "My parents were both medical researchers when the plague hit. My father died in year four, working right up until the end. The day after he died, my mother went back to work. I've followed in their footsteps, looking for a cure."

"How is that working out for you?" I remarked.

"Ever heard of a drug called Carabolix 37?" she countered. Something tickled at the back of my brain but I couldn't figure out the what, why, or where of that memory.

"No," I lied.

"It was the last anti-viral to be cleared for live trials," she informed me. Live trials meant men being experimented on. "It was tested twenty years ago. I worked on it. Of the eighteen men in the trial, nine died from massive organ failure, eight developed a highly aggressive form of testicular cancer and had to be castrated to save their lives."

"The last subject died of massive testosterone toxicity. We couldn't suppress his testosterone production fast enough to save his life," she related.

"Okay, beyond being a very depressing story, why are you telling me this?" I worried.

"Forty doses of Carabolix 37 were saved for what we would hope would be future research," she started.

"Twenty doses were stored at our research facility close by," she gave a sliver of a smile. "The other twenty were left at the research hospital where the trial was performed - St. Jerome's." That made no damn sense. When I was rescued by the police from the Aurora Slasher, they took me to St. Jerome's - because it was the closest hospital.

Still, I couldn't imagine the doctors and staff using it on me. That made less than no sense.

"Very recently we went looking for both stockpiles. The one at our facility is safe but the one at St. Jerome's is missing," she was prodding me along. I didn't know where.

"What do you think happened to it?" I muttered.

"I think someone who mistook it for a fertility drug stole it," she regarded me slyly.

"How many doses did each test subject take?" I whispered.

"One," she was starting to smile.

"Why am I still alive?" I mouthed. The breath to power the words wouldn't come.

"Now that would be the intriguing question, wouldn't it?" Delilah looked at me in a startling motherly way. I fell down. My knees turned to water and I folded like an accordion. I was in that basement, she was talking to me as she bathed my body. She wanted me clean. She took a vial out of the small refrigerator down there, filled the syringe and came at me.

We were going to make a baby, she promised. We were going to make many baby boys. She shot me up, it hurt like hell - like my whole crotch had been set on fire. It hurt for days. I begged her to stop but she kept injecting me. The pain got worse and worse and worse until one day it simply vanished.

When the law came for the Aurora Slasher, they didn't even know I was alive. Only after the stampede was over did one officer get assigned to search the basement for evidence. When she saw me, she first thought I was a corpse. Only when she flashed her light in my eyes did I blink and turn away. There was a lot of yelling after that.

My first question to the EMT's was if 'she' was still alive - she was. I then asked about our baby. I wanted to know if our baby was okay. They had no response for that, so I feared the worse - she'd miscarried during the fight. It wasn't until the Federal investigators talked to me the next day did I learn that the Aurora Slasher could never get pregnant. There was no baby. There would never have been a baby and all I'd been through had been utterly without purpose.

It had taken eighteen months to submerge all of those painful memories yet here they were, back again. 

"Israel," Delilah called out to me quietly. "Israel?" Using every tool at my disposal, I jury-rigged my psyche back together and forced my way to my feet.

"So you do remember," she mused triumphantly.

"If making me remember any of that was supposed to inspire me to give a crap about any of you, you were sorely mistaken," I growled.

"If you want to see your children, I can help with that," Delilah offered. "In turn, you could help me help all of us."

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted her to realize how fucking sleazy and evil she was for using my offspring as a lure to carve off another piece of soul by helping any of them.

"I need to think about it," I mumbled.

"Very well," she agreed compassionately.

She wasn't even putting any time pressures on me. It didn't make her one of the good ones. It made her one smart predator. Bethany had inherited some of that subtlety but was too over-privileged to appreciate it.

"What do you do?" I asked. Doctors and researchers were well paid but not paid enough to end up here, or so I believed.

"I'm majority stockholder in Augsburg Pharmaceuticals," she informed me. God, I'd been dosed with a variety of her concoctions multiple times in my life. AP was also famous for the creation of 'aggression suppression' drugs - things they used on male prisoners to keep them in check so they could be used for breeding. That shit was so nasty you had to have your civil rights voided by the courts first.

I was struggling to keep my breathing under control. I'd given up on my heart rate.

"If you have an anti-viral that works, why aren't you doing something?" I blathered.

"I don't know why it works, for one," she explained calmly, "and if this was to become public knowledge before we had manufactured an appropriate supply, the governments of the world would void my patents and create their own batches."

I couldn't tell her, but that was the best impetus I'd ever heard for me committing suicide and I'd literally been through hell. Killing myself was a pointless surrender. Stopping Dr. Delilah Fremont from leveraging my horrific fortune into an economic windfall was worth it - almost. I simply didn't know if a seventy story fall would render my testicles beyond recovery.

"Have you ever wondered that it was someone just like you, trying to play God, who started the Gender Plague in the first place?" I inquired somewhat hopelessly.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Dr. Fremont responded instantly. "It really is a masterpiece of genetic engineering," she grinned happily.

"It is specific in its targeting, it mutates randomly and it grows in potency with each hundred or so permutations," she added. She admired the damn thing. I was sorting through that when the words impacted me.

"It's getting tougher?" I gasped.

"Yes. It is damaging male spermatozoa, increasing the likelihood of female births. Successful male inseminations suffer from a higher rates of fetal mutations and miscarriages," she informed me.

"Why tell me this?" I wondered. "I'm hardly a fan."

"You are a compassionate survivalist, Israel," she profiled me. "You are angry now, but you seem to get over it and let your compassionate nature shine through. How many boys will die in their first year if you do nothing? You may hate me and Bethany, but you don't hate your daughters. You don't want them to grow up never knowing the loving touch of a male lover."

Once, way before I was born, they might have called me a 'nice guy'. I wasn't sure what it would have meant back then but tonight it was a weak-willed male who caved-in to the desires of the women around him.

"Compassion only goes so far," I struggled to articulate. "If I say no, what do you do next?"

"That's the rub," she shared a secret smile. "Thirty years of research have not been totally in vain. We know one of the key causes of the plague's mutation - physical and mental stress."

I stared - I stared - I stared then I laughed loudly.

"You treating us like second class citizens is finally biting you in the ass?" I tittered insanely.

"We made logical decisions designed to save the human race," Delilah reasoned calmly. "There were factors we didn't take into consideration. Besides, the majority of men don't seem to mind so much."

"If that was the case, we wouldn't be dying out," I countered.

"Still," I reasoned, "if women," at least the women in charge, "know, why aren't they doing something to make the lives of men easier?"

"Please, Israel," her eyes danced. "Where would it stop? Men would demand everything and the female population has come too far to give into male extortion now."

"We are not going to roll back the clock two hundred years on women's rights," Delilah said. "So we keep a lid on things until a cure becomes available. That's where you come in. You are a very promising lead."

"A promising lead to what?" Maggy asked, rescuing me from this mortifying conversation.

"For finding happiness," Delilah smiled at me.

"Interesting. Does that apply to all of us, Dr. Fremont, or just you?" Maggy inquired.

"Neither," I fought for my center. My mind raced but my thoughts were focusing down to a few salient points.

"You have a jammer," I said to no one in particular.

"Of course," Delilah nodded in appreciation of my non-idiot-hood. "Not everything needs to be committed to electronic memory."

"That sounds positively criminal," Maggy purred.

"Lady - Maggy, you have no idea," I muttered. She found that utterly amusing.

"We will talk more about this later, Israel," Delilah winked. "Try giving Bethany one more chance. She could be useful to you."

"I look forward to having no other options," I gulped. Delilah laughed as she left me out on the balcony with Magdalena.

"From what I've heard, you are an oddity for one of these functions, Mr. Jensen," she said.

"First time here," I noted absently.

"For both of us it seems. That's not what makes you so appealing though - or your very fortunate lady friend," Maggy smiled.

"The fact that I'm acting like I don't want to be here?" I hoped.

"I doubt it. It is the fact that you are tip-toeing on the precipice of sanity, Mr. Jensen," she clarified.

"You can call me Israel," suggested.

"You can call me Maggy," she reiterated. 

"I think I'll call you Magdalena. Maggy is a nice, warm, friendly name. Magdalena reminds me that behind your glittering teeth is a soulless carnivore," I told her.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?" Magdalena regarded me studiously.

"Nope," I shrugged. "I'm not terribly interested in knowing who you are either. I didn't come here to get nice and cozy with the dark side of human nature - sadly, I failed in that desire - and all of you have the misfortune of being found both useful and morally pliable by Isobel Diaz, which puts you all in the aforementioned 'dark side of human nature'."

"You really don't know who I am?" she blinked in shock. "I would normally assume you were a trap set by Isobel, but you really don't seem to give a crap who I am."

"Good. We are on the same page," I noted.

"Israel, I find you fascinating," Magdalena declared. "This doesn't happen often. In fact, the last time a male truly interested me I was...nine."

"Oh," I groaned. "For the love of God, tell me what it is and I'll correct it. Whatever it takes for you to turn around and walk back inside - forgetting everything I've said and done that you find the slightest bit interesting - please tell me what it is and I'll do my best to do it."

"No, I don't think so," she smirked. "I am a soulless carnivore, as you mentioned."

"I'm not sure what it is about you that I like, but there is something there," she mentioned. "Until I find out what it is, I'm going to keep an eye on you."

When you build a levee to withstand a flood you do it in anticipation you know how high the river will rise.

From the age of sixteen, the water had been rising. There was no design to it; all chance. Chance had led me to Bethany Fremont. Bethany had led me to Isobel Diaz. Bethany and Isobel had led me to Delilah Fremont. Isobel had also led me to Magdalena, whoever she was, except in the politics of female status, Magdalena had brought Isobel to task over me and Isobel didn't like that. 

This might leave me to believe that Magdalena could shield me from Isobel. Unless all of this was an elaborate psychological ploy to raise my hopes only to slap them down at a time of Isobel's choosing. At that rate, I wouldn't need for GED to put me away; I'd fracture my mind all on my own. To get out from under this, all I had to do was not take the bait. 

Paraphrasing what I had told Kuiko, using the lion to drive off the leopard doesn't do the zebra any good. Even if Magdalena was a real enemy of Isobel, giving her a tool to use against the evil sow didn't make me anything better than a tool. I turned and leaned over the railing.

"You are not going to jump, are you?" Magdalena moved toward me.

"Are you encouraging me and angling for a better view," I muttered, "or are you trying to stop me on the off chance I've lost my mind?"

"I've seen enough death," Maggy told me. "Normally I can tell the type - the ones who have given up hope, but you are - what's the term - a Janus?"

"Do we really want to discuss the state of my mental health or how it was shaped?" I questioned. I caught some movement behind me, by the door. "Wouldn't you rather explore your favorite body oils and silk sheets versus cotton blends?" It was my two minders. "Oh look, your friends are here," I turned to the two ex-military security types.

"They are not my friends," Magdalena informed me.

"I don't care. Four-ways cost extra," I joked feebly.

"How much would that be?" Magdalena regarded me.

"Not a clue," I sighed. "Until tonight, I had successfully avoided being a prostitute."

"Do you know the first thing about prostitution?" she stared intently, even angrily.

"I doubt four year old boys want to grow up to be whores," I stared back.

"How did you come by this insight?" she countered.

"I know what it is to be a man, have someone demand sex and not being able to say 'no'," I expressed with sad eyes.

"It is a business after all," she pointed out. "As a chef, you don't always get to determine who your clientele are either. You still are expected to prepare a meal."

"You sound like a pimp," I enlightened her. Magdalena smiled and snorted in amusement.

"I've been called worse," she admitted.

"I don't think those two are going to leave us alone," she added. "We might as well go inside."

We went inside and I vaguely remembered meeting various women, none who I could have described five minutes later. It was a testament to how far I'd fallen in the past few hours that I didn't even flinch when I was 'bid' on - all in the name of some charity - and bought.

Perhaps I should have worried about Magdalena buying me for the evening. Maybe I should have noticed how not very many women, or teams of women, vigorously pursued the bidding for me. In retrospect, I should have been impressed, but there were things I would only find out later that I didn't know then. 

As I said, I really didn't care what was going on until I was alone with Magdalena once more.

We walked into the penthouse reception area - I'd come in the servants' entrance, where we picked up two frightening women. They were dressed in casual chic but possessed the characteristics of very hungry wolves.

The first one was tall, almost as tall as me. Her dusky skin spoke of a parentage on four continents. She had black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that went half way down her back. She looked me over, then through me, never saying a word and barely acknowledging me. I called her Silent for lack of given name.

The second girl was shorter, maybe 5'6 with tanned skinned, short cropped black hair and barely contained rage. She had a flame tattoo that came up the left side of her neck but the same design was also on her left hand, making me wonder how connected they were. I called her Flame because I felt that asking was the best way to get my head torn off.

We were in the bedroom of one of the tower apartments, two stories below the penthouse, when Magdalena finally spoke. 

"Well?" she inquired. I put on my best game face, slapped some asbestos on the Hindenburg and got ready inside and out to perform. 

I had my jacket on the back of the chair and the bow tie unraveled in my hands when she held up a hand.

"No, I want the face," she insisted. Sensing a lack of understanding, she clarified. "The face you gave to that woman this morning."

"Oh," I mused then, "That's not going to happen."

"Why not? You walked off the elevator willing, didn't you? You didn't protest when I paid for you, did you? So why can't you uphold your side of the bargain, Mr. Jensen," she studied me angrily.

"You haven't earned it," I shot back. "Hell, you weren't even supposed to see that. It was a private moment between me and someone I hold honest affection for. I have to accept that the image was stolen from me but I don't have to like it and I certainly don't need to pay the thief for the pleasure of them stealing it from me."

The two female 'friends' had appeared at the door. Perhaps I had been ranting a little too loudly.

"What do you mean 'I haven't earned it'?" she questioned.

"God - that you are even asking that," I shook my head. "You are a businesswoman," I tried a different approach.

"There were over thirty people upstairs who were more than happy to spend the night with you, if not the whole damn weekend - ready, able and most likely, willing. Yet you chose to invest in a man clearly miserable with the whole situation, who has shown no carnal, emotional, or social interest in you," I explained.

"Now you claim to be unhappy with what you paid for?" I countered. "You didn't pay for the guy in that video. You couldn't afford him. No, you paid for the poor slub who couldn't find a way out of appearing tonight - who had to leave that woman and the warmth of her body next to mine, to come here to be with a woman I neither know or care to know."

"The man you claim to want is back there with her still. She's holding him safe until I return and I get to be him once more," I glared. Magdalena stared at me with very cold, almost lifeless eyes.

"Want me to beat him up some, Little M?" Flame asked Maggy.

Magdalena weighed her response as Flame closed in. I imagined she expected me to do something; defend myself, run, throw something, beg forgiveness - something. I stood there. The physical options were pointless and I'd be begging as soon as my pain threshold was breeched. 

In a perverse way, seeing how much more pain I could take this time was all I had to look forward to. There was no winning, or showing them how tough I was. I wasn't that kind of man and if there were any like that anymore, they were keeping their heads down.

"Not the face or hands," Magdalena instructed and the pain began.

Physical violence against men was a rather rare thing. Sure, I had been bullied by girls in middle school. Girls are bigger and stronger at that age plus they are working out their hormonal shift where boys are concerned. Not only do teachers look out for you, but boys tend to form cliques covering multiple age groups.

Since we were so few, it was only natural that boys would create our own little social order. It wasn't anything sinister or subversive. It was our experience with being 'manly' and 'macho'. We could roughhouse, talk about girls, sports and do stupid guy shit that drove our mothers nuts when they found out.

I had no idea how many men Flame had beaten up in her career. Maybe men and women are identical in the weak points in our bodies. Flame seemed to know them all. To be somewhat fair to her, I forgot to scream until after all the air had escaped my lungs. I was also somewhat obsessed with the craziness of it all.

Who beats up a guy for refusing to have sex with them, or has some flunky do it for them? I had to wonder if I walked into situations like this - was this my fault? Was there something about me that attracted the worst kind of women?




One in Ten Ch. 05



 (Thanks to PokingFun for her editing on both this and last chapter - sorry PF)

(Thanks also to Bryan, Charles and John for help with feedback and ideas and this and last chapter)

*The Titanic was sunk by snowflakes that fell long before mankind first forged iron*

*Yes*

I had made the pledge to abandon my society. The message deleted itself.

"Who was it?" Angle mumbled. I couldn't tell her the truth. She was still a cop.

"Wrong number," I yawned. I double-checked my call log and, as promised, there was no record I could access of the call ever coming in.

The fantastic nature of it all allowed me to go to sleep within seconds. The betrayal of my tiny group of 'friends' didn't bother me. I was hardly making their lives better. If I had meant anything in their lives, they would treat the next man they came across with the same sense of respect and understanding they'd shown me. If not...

The doorbell went off a bit past seven in the morning. I flicked on the monitor to see who was there while Angel sat up muttering various expletives. I didn't recognize the two women but I was becoming familiar with the clothes emporium the gang used.

"Good morning," I yawned.

"Mr. Jensen, Detectives Riga and Kwan of the GED," they introduced themselves. Angel snatched the remote from my hand.

"Po, this is Angel," she spoke up. "Make a note that I am on premises."

"Sure thing Angel - duly noted," Detective Kwan grinned.

"Kwan is a friend," Angel gave me a tired smile. Her friend maybe, but as her partner Seneca had proved, being a friend of Angel didn't seem to transfer over to me. Kristi took her badge and gun from beside the bed and headed out to the door. I heard her activate it and the two cops come in. Me - I was more concerned about a dozen things including my little text message that was only a few hours cold.

I slipped on some jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt before going out to my 'guests'. Our exchange was curt. I was tired and tired of cops. I didn't warrant civility from their perspective.

"What is this about?" Angel inquired.

"It is a 3307," Detective Riga responded. That was rude.

"Under-age sex?" Angel seemed confused. "I'd like to watch over this one, if that's okay?" It was odd to hear a cop requesting something from a woman that wasn't a request. Riga was resisting.

"Sure," Kwan nodded. "You are his ghost after all." I assumed that 'ghost' meant the minder the Metropolitan police had placed on me.

"Let me get some fresh clothes on and I'll be right back," Kristi told them.

"Sure," Kwan agreed.

"What's he like?" Regina smirked as Angel passed her. Angel jerked to a halt and I could sense the tension boil up inside her. "You haven't posted any reviews yet."

"Have you ever considered how demeaning that is for him?" Angel turned on Riga. Their faces were only inches apart. "We are all in the same room and you are treating him like a piece of furniture or a slab of meat."

"Back off," Riga glared. "All the guys have them. It is no big deal." Angel laughed.

"No big deal?" Angel snorted. "How many did we lose last night?" Riga balked.

"Eight," Kwan revealed softly. I wasn't shocked - I was past caring. I did smile.

"Shit," Angel muttered.

"What are you smiling about?" Kwan glanced my way.

"I hate you - cops that is," I grinned. "Every loss for you is a victory for mankind in my book. Detective Riga, I'm sure if you come home this evening and find that someone broke into your home and stole your TV, you'll miss the TV more than any of the nameless men that are no more than a case file on your computer."

"Your attitude was noted in your file too," Kwan sighed.

"I'll be right back. Israel...try to not start anymore fires," Angel groaned. She departed for her condo across the hall.

"My distain and distrust for police is in my file?" I kept grinning. 

"Good, I'd hate for us to get off on the wrong foot," I said. "I'll tell you right now, I'm going to be as little help as possible because I have zero belief you have my best interest at heart. If you'll let me, I'll get some socks and shoes on. Then I'm going to call my lawyer. I'm pretty sure that at 7:15 on a Sunday morning, she's got nothing better to do." I started heading for my bedroom.

"Jerk, you need to be adjusted," Riga growled. I turned around and walked right at the two GED detectives. Their hands gravitated to their Tasers.

"Back off," Kwan cautioned me. I stopped, staring into Riga's eyes.

"You're pathetic," I sneered. She popped me in the ribs. It was an automatic response to having her authority mocked. 

It wasn't particularly hard. The blow was meant to shock me and erode my willingness to resist. I gritted my teeth and fell over - all the way over. The two cops stared down at me.

"Oh come on," Riga chuckled. "I didn't hit you that hard, you wimp." I came back with a feral grin. I forced myself painfully back to my feet.

"A pathetic, evil, brutal thug who would rather beat up a defenseless man than save a life," I ground out. Riga looked to Kwan in confusion. "Come on Cop, your partner will never report your abuse. Why are you stopping now?"

"What is your problem?" Riga studied me.

"You punched me for giving you a poor job review," I grunted, "and you are asking what my problem is?"

"Go get your shoes, Mr. Jensen," Detective Kwan commanded. I retreated, making the call to Capri O'Hara, my Public Defender lawyer, once I was there. 

She didn't ask. It was clear that I'd woken her up and she was a bit cranky about it, but she agreed to meet me at the GED offices. Angel was coming in from the front door, looking a bit disheveled, when I came from the back.

"He's really annoying," Riga commented. "I don't know how you put up with him."

My most recent bout of pain must have shown on my face.

"Israel, are you okay?" Angel studied me.

"We had to tune him up," Kwan answered. "He got in our faces." Angel flinched.

"Who hit him?" Angel asked in a low growl.

"It is not worth it," I begged her.

"I hardly touched him," Riga confessed.

"You hardly touched him," Angel repeated, still looking at me. "Israel, lift your shirt."

"No," I sighed.

"Israel, they'll never learn if you don't try," Angel pleaded with me. I lifted my shirt.

"Mother-fucker," Kwan whispered. "What happened to him?"

"There was no report on this," Riga added. My torso was a roadmap of pain.

"You still think he's mouthy?" Angel grumbled.

"He's not jerking your chain," she glared at her fellow cops. "He really hates us and he has no faith in any level of professionalism from those in our occupation. After spending a few days with him, I have to agree. We treat men like shit. No one cares and by the way you are looking at me, like I've lost my mind, I can tell you don't understand."

"Damn it Angel, I told you to take this to therapy," Kwan intervened. "This guy is screwed up, but your reaction is normal. You want to protect him, but this isn't the way. He needs professional help. Write him up." That was terribly chilling.

"Po, he never crossed the line. You know that," Angel said with a level of disbelief.

"Angel, I think we are back to why I don't trust any of these bitches," I tried to sound defiant.

"Mr. Jensen - Israel - I believe you were raped in college by forty-one women. You never received treatment for that tragic event, but you clearly need it," Po Kwan regarded me. "You need help." I laughed. It hurt, but I had to.

"No crime so this is not your jurisdiction," I stared back. "If there is a crime, draw up warrants for the rapists and the security personnel who covered it up. Start making some arrests. Those women are hardly master criminals." Kwan didn't immediately respond. "You are not going to do that which leaves you with a dilemma."

"You can't legally commit me because you women cover for each other," my face twisted in distain. "You may think I'm nuts, but without admitting the root cause, the police are powerless to act on that information. My lawyer will bust open your ovaries if you try to put me away illegally and I won't voluntarily commit myself."

"Angel, help me out here," Kwan urged.

"I think we are back to why I don't trust any of those bitches," Angle parroted me. "Po, you can't get a sexual exemption without a criminal charge to present to a judge. We both know that. That means you are willing to drug him, basically wiping out the man he is."

"You didn't used to be like that," Angel bashed her friend. "You are supposed to be a freaking expert on Male Rape and Recovery. I brought Israel's case to you because you used to consider the man in the equation. Now you are coming across as a flesh peddler."

"That's not fair. There are mounting pressures to get results," Kwan replied.

"Results? Israel has been operating above and beyond code," Angel countered. She was referring to how often I was having sex.

"Did you listen to your boy on Thursday?" Riga rejoined the clamber.

"That's politics," Angel fought back. "Since when did the GED handle First Amendment issues?"

"Since the very existence of the GED's bothers me, why don't we figure out why they are knocking on my door so I can get back to my life?" I interrupted.

"Excellent idea, Israel," Kwan sighed with relief. Since no one complained, off we went. I traveled with the two GED officers and Angel followed behind.

In short order, I found myself in an interrogation room downtown at the Police Plaza station. Even early on a Sunday morning there seemed to be hundreds of cops around. I'd made my desire for legal representation and Angel had assured me she'd be close by, monitoring the situation. 

That stopped helping after a few minutes. I was alone in the presence of my enemies - on their home ground and at their mercy. My rational mind was telling me that a race was on. They would want to talk to me before my lawyer arrived. Kwan and Riga came into the room, acting casual and trying to put me at ease. Riga offered to upload something to my computer.

"You want me to surrender my right to counsel?" I snorted. "No way."

"Very well," Kwan graciously allowed. "Detective Riga and I are going to have a conversation while we wait for your lawyer to arrive. Don't mind us." They began to go over my case. Apparently, me, or someone using my identity, had lured two fifteen year old girls to a club for the purpose of sex.

The girls met someone who was supposedly representing me. He had tried to lure them from the club, but one of the girls became concerned and contacted security. Security grabbed the guy, questioned everyone involved and contacted the police. Thirty minutes with the GED and the culprit had folded like an origami crane.

Why had they waited so long to contact me? Well, they had tried. My phone wasn't working. They had progressed logically and made a bracelet ID request. Routine right? Their plea went straight to the EPD (Executive Protection Detail) of the same Metropolitan Police Force and got no farther. My alibi for not being involved seemed to be a non-starter.

Then my bracelet logged my sex act at midnight with Magdalena "Little M" Keverich, one of the biggest mobsters in the city. Theoretically, that was an alibi but it seemed Magdalena wasn't returning GED calls at the moment. Had I been terrified as opposed to emotionally numb, their little dog and pony show might have worked.

I rested my head on the desk so Riga slammed her palm down next to my head.

"I thought I saw a cockroach," Riga grinned. I smiled back.

I wanted make a snappy comeback like 'you must have been looking in a mirror,' but that was more than my shot nerves could deliver. Instead, I mustered up enough defiance to cross my arms on the table and rest my head on them. Riga tried to get the banter flowing once more, but Po stopped her. She knew I was past being tricked into a questioning session.

They departed and fifteen minutes later Capri arrived looking harried yet alert.

"Don't worry, Israel," Capri smiled warmly. "I've looked over the case and they already have a complete confession from a co-worker of yours - Troy Berry."

"What?" I struggled back to clarity.

"Your co-worker hacked a few of your files, found pictures of you in college and created a Sexbook page for you, but with his contact numbers," Capri kept her tone gentle.

"Why?"

"Well, as I warned you - have less impressive sex," Capri tried to joke.

"Troy's reviews were - hmmm - less than stellar," Capri stated. "Okay, apparently he's a freak with a hair-trigger. He likes women to do degrading things. Added to that, he had a 'virgin' porn collection that even the GED found to be - extensive." 'Virgin' porn was basically a girl's first time sexual experience.

I had heard some went beyond normal. Things like slavery (the male enslaving the young woman - women holding men in captivity was a totally different 'healthy' genre), rape (man on woman), the mythical male sexual dynamo disguised as a neighbor/teacher/hitchhiker, and even 'long lost father' scenarios.

"Troy used your identity on Sexbook to attempt to entice under-age girls for sexual encounters. According to what I was shown, he/you were romancing ten girls in the local area. They seized your home and work computers, both of his, plus Sexbook handed over their records," Capri informed me. It was taking me a few seconds to digest all of this.

Troy had moved fast, but then Sexbook was clubbing on steroids. I had made the news Tuesday. On Thursday, I had my rant on National Television. By accident, I had become a bad boy - a firebrand preacher cursing the establishment. 

"At last count, you have over 17,000 friends," Capri added.

Not only did I not want the attention, some shithead had been talking to God knows how many women, promising things in my name.

"Can I see Troy?" I mumbled.

"I don't advise that on the grounds you'll try to kill him in front of numerous witnesses," Capri gave her legal opinion.

"Why did he do this?" I wondered while meeting Capri's gaze.

"He's a pervert and you are a young, good-looking guy who tries to treat women decently," Capri reasoned.

"Fine, where did he get any pictures of me? I don't keep any," I told her.

Carpi dialed up her tablet and showed me 'my' page.

"First off, what is this thing still doing active?" I asked bitterly.

"The account is in your name," Capri stated. "They can't cancel it without a court order or your consent."

I had 324 unanswered 'requests'. My chat log was a hydra nightmare. How the fuck did fifteen year old girls even get on this site?

"How do I cancel this?"

"Call them first thing Monday morning and...use the proper credit card - whoops," Carpi gulped.

"I'll start on a court injunction now," Capri said. I nodded as I opened my picture page. I shivered and was profoundly grateful I hadn't eaten yet. "Israel?"

"These," I gulped, "are Bethany Fremont's - they are from the collection she took of me when we were dating." Some of these were really, really private - barely on the correct edge of pornography.

It would have been easy to believe this was done on purpose. Bethany wanted to hurt me so that I would behave. She didn't want to share me with the world.

"Have the police check to see if Troy hacked Bethany's system too," I told Capri. "After she dumped that video of me, he probably figured she had other tidbits of my past."

"We don't need to," Capri suggested. "They are not going to bring charges against you and are not required to assist them in their job." The GED wouldn't want to climb the legal barricades that defended Bethany's home system but her work computer was more vulnerable.

"Sure," I shrugged. "Can I leave?"

"There is the matter of a member of the Organized Crime Taskforce wanting to talk with you," Capri smirked. "Care to tell me what that is about?" I showed her my wristband. A scan and a whistle later,

"I am not holding you responsible for any of the shitty things that have happened in your life, but have you ever considered that you live under a curse?" she poised. 

"That joke isn't funny," I mumbled.

"I wasn't joking," she said in all seriousness. "Your luck is horrible."

"Thanks for pointing that out. I am not talking to any more cops if I can help it."

"I'll go tell them," Capri stood. She exited and was gone about three minutes.

"Now they want to give you a physical," Capri questioned. "Is there anything I need to know?" I stood and took off my shirt.

"Oh God," she gasped. "What happened?"

"I don't want a talk about it and I don't want a physical," I responded. "What can you do?"

"Have any of them seen you like this?" Capri asked.

"Yes - Detective Angel Kristi had me show GED Detectives Riga and Kwan."

"Okay, saying 'no' is wrong," Capri mused. "They'll charge you with self-endangerment. Let their doctor look you over, determine these are not self-inflicted, then refuse to press charges."

"Don't give them anything," she continued. "Don't make anything up. Tell them your lawyer has advised you not to make a statement at this time. Screw them - force them to make a case first. Since they don't have a cooperative victim, they need a crime scene or witness. Is that going to happen?"

"Not likely," I looked down.

"Fine; let's go then," Capri reached for the door. "Your cop friend Angel - she's not your friend. You wouldn't be going through this latest indignity if it wasn't for her." It was nice of Capri to express that, but I'd already figured that one out. 

She still wanted to punish the people who had abused me, but she'd sacrificed me to do it. The OCT cop was pissed at being blown off by Capri. Riga, Kwan and Angel went down to the medical office with Capri and me. Angel tried to talk with me, to be supportive but I ignored her. I was being petulant, but then I would have been going home if it wasn't her stunt with me showing off my bruised chest.

The exam and resulting argument was fatiguing. Capri was my strength; my sword and shield who refused to give an inch in my defense. In the end, I kept my anger and sobs to myself and exited the station in one piece.

"Let me take you home," Angel said, touching my elbow.

"No," I looked her over, too tired to give a fuck. "You go home. If you are going to let the shit go when I tell you to let it go, come by once I'm home. Until you can do that, stay on your own side of the walkway, please." Angel blinked then turned violently on Capri.

"What the fuck did you tell him?"

"I told him that by showing your GED buddies his bruises, he was forced to endure yet another strange women running her hands over his body, you idiot," Capri shot back. "That's great instincts if you are a cop - lousy ones if you are his friend."

"Israel had the crap beaten out if him," Angel countered. "Detectives Kwan and Riga had to know what shape he was in."

"Why?" Capri snapped. "Why couldn't Israel tell them? Why did it have to be you?" Angel had no immediate response to that.

"It was because Riga hit me," I filled in the blanks for Capri. "She wanted to show both of them that it wasn't okay to pummel me - because someone had beat them to it."

"Do you want to go back inside and press charges?" Capri stopped us.

"Ms. O'Hara, if the woman who tells me she loves me isn't going to arrest a cop who beats me up the moment that cop confesses to the deed, why in the hell would I waste my time making charges that never could be proven?" I sighed. I looked at Angel.

"I'm not asking you to not be a cop. I'm not asking you to be someone else. I love you the way you are, but I do ask that you be honest about what you do and what that means to me," I looked upon her with weary eyes. Capri was far less polite.

"Angel, next time you are about to do something questionable, ask yourself this; would you do it to the Mayor on live television?" Capri growled.




One in Ten Ch. 05



"If the answer is 'no', you should ask yourself why the hell you are doing it to somebody who needs your protection a whole lot more," Capri kept going.

"It is not that black and white and you know it," Angel glared.

"Why not?" Capri jutted her chin forward.

"Listen Detective Kristi, I think you are a good person. I think Israel likes you - though I can't fathom why," Capri explained. "But you and I are faced with compromises every day, choices Israel doesn't have. It is only grey because you let it be grey. That is the reality of the situation. I've chosen to keep this case and my career is over because of it."

"I know exactly what I'm doing and it's not because I have a fatal fascination with Israel's irrational personality," Capri grinned viciously. "Not a single lawyer in the Public Defender's office wants to consult with me on this case. I find that disgusting. They tell me we need to survive as a race. Wrong. What we should be asking is do we deserve to survive as a race."

"Not everyone can afford the price of your morality," Angel stated. "Are you sure Israel can? Israel, can you?"

"With me it is easy," I said. "Morality costs me nothing because I stopped caring about what they are going to do to me. I have no future here anymore. If there is an 'us', it won't be in this callus society."

"What are you going to do?" both women asked.

"Live free of fear for starters," I felt relieved to get those words out.

"Let's get you home," Angel requested.

"It will take me twenty-seven minutes," I responded. I took the metro every day after all.

Angel gave an anguished groan then stormed off. Capri walked me to the station.

When I got home, Angel was waiting on the sofa. My 'freak out' neurons were so flat-lined I simply walked past her and got lemonade out of the refrigerator and took my place in the corner of the living room.

"Israel, I have to be a cop. It is the only thing I know how to be," she started.

"I understand," I shrugged.

"Then let me help you," she insisted.

"Angel, you need to understand that in most cases you can't," I met her eye to eye.

"I don't want you to. You have to accept that. If there is a legal problem, you aren't in the room with those people - your friends and colleagues, I am. If there is a prosecutor, she's one of them. If it is a judge - the same. A jury - twelve of the same people who see me as an ejaculation machine who gives 'good sex'."

"I don't want you to beat yourself up over this," I continued. "You make me very happy and that's something I wasn't sure I'd ever experience again. The reality is that you can't watch over me twenty-four/seven. It will be the same commuters, the same cops like Riga and those two patrolwomen, and morally bankrupt leaders like the Mayor."

"If you really care about me and my free will, let me fight this war with the skills I've earned dealing with this prejudice all my life," I stressed.

"Israel, look at yourself," Angel came to me. "You aren't winning."

"I'm not winning in a way you would understand," I looked up at her. "Trust me, I'm winning the only victory I can achieve."

I finished the lemonade then answered my messages. It was the 'usual' gang plus a few co-workers, commuters and Ms. Silverhorn, my boss. I invited the girl gang over, lied to Francesca about how last night went and how I was looking forward to work on Monday. The ladies responded in different ways to Angel's anger with me.

Venus, Samantha and Aniqua sensed an opportunity. Roni was sticking with Angel while Kuiko hovered around nervously. In that moment, I wanted to go back on the drugs and let all of this go away. I could commit myself and all of this would stop. Confronting this terrible weakness breathed the dwindling spark in my intellect back to life. Top of my fucking class.

I had been sitting in my corner when I popped up.

"Ladies, please give me some forbearance. There is something I need to do. I need to get some items from the store then I'll be right back. I'd appreciate it if you went back to your places, get your computers and return here," I looked them over.

"What is all of this about?" Venus was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"I can't tell you everything yet," I evaded "but I plan to make myself a pain in the ass for as long as I can get away with it. I need help getting the ammunition to fight with."

"Is this going to be illegal?" Aniqua asked.

"Eventually...I withhold comment because I don't want to lie to you," I answered.

"Sounds fun," Kuiko nodded with a grin. "Come on girls, what do we have to look forward to? Thirty-five years at a lousy job, maybe a child and ending up in some retirement complex exaggerating about the four or five sexual encounters we had in our lives?"

"Crazy-K," Aniqua sighed. "This isn't a game and there ain't likely to be a happy ending." She stared at her friend for several seconds. "All for some cock we have never had?"

"Aniqua, you were the one who told me how furious you were when you saw the fear in Israel's eyes," Kuiko reposed. "Feelings are pointless if we never act on them."

"I'm going to regret this," Aniqua groaned. The rest of the group looked around to see who was going and who was staying. No one was making for the door.

"Okay Israel, it looks like we are all in - to what I have no idea," Roni smiled. "Next?"

"Computers for the rest of you," I instructed. 

"Look up any birth records for the past ten years; forget North America. Look at South America and Asia primarily. You need to look for abnormalities like duplicate figures or low production for male child products."

"What would those be?" Venus asked.

"No clue. I've never even contemplated caring for a child," I shrugged. Long, long ago, childrearing was 'women's' work. Society was moving away from that model with men taking greater parenting responsibility when the plague broke out. In this day and age, having a father at all was a rare luxury. Women took care of their offspring because no one expected the man to hang around.

"Angel, we need to go get some supplies," I requested.

"What are we going to get?" she inquired even as she stood up to join me.

"Less surveillance," I gave a wan smile. She nodded. We'd had a part of this discussion earlier. For the government to access a home security system took a warrant but it was ludicrously easy to find a judge who would grant one on a male for the flimsiest of excuses.

The blind spots in external systems were much larger in neighborhoods like ours - places where we could talk openly.

"I'm not going let you run off a cliff, Israel," April announced. I shook my head in resignation.

"Why is it so hard to believe I plan to live a life worth living?" I regarded her.

"You are a wounded individual. You've made some life choices I have a hard time understanding. You are picking fights with cops," Angel looked pained.

"Why haven't you written me up yet?" I murmured. "It would be a lie, but no one would call you on it. If I'm out of order, shouldn't a police officer have me corrected?"

"It is not that easy - not with you," she admitted.

"I'll make it easy on you," I said. "Are we in a safe place?" Angel nodded. "The 'Vanishers' contacted me last night. I took them up on their offer to get out." Angel put a hand on my chest and stopped my forward process. 

Her face went through the permutations of 'was he kidding', disbelief and finally that sick sense of despair that I had abandoned everything she'd devoted her life to.

"Israel...," she whispered. She didn't ask why.

"Your lack of faith in my love for you is disappointing Angel Kristi," I put my hand on hers.

"I love you. I'm not bailing without you...and as many of the others as I can convince to come along," I tried to smile.

"They don't take women," she was clearly back to thinking I was unhinged.

"I'm not going with them," I chuckled painfully. "They're just another bunch of women telling me what to do. Fuck that. I'm saving myself."

"But...what...why agree to their help?" Angel sputtered.

"Do any of us have the skills to disappear?" I smirked - painfully yet again. "I don't think so. That means, to escape, I have to use them as much as I can without being snared."

"This is completely insane," Angel tried to convince me.

"Angel, you are questioning me running, but the only other option is to see whether they break my body before they break my mind," I explained. "I need to disappear to survive. Think about it. Besides, all I need them to do is get me out of the city. I already know how to defeat the bracelets."

"How?" Angel still looked disbelieving. 

"Angel, I was held prisoner for 87 days. How come the cops didn't find me if I had a bracelet?" 

Angel blinked and her mouth opened in surprise.

"Oh fuck...how?" she inquired.

"There is a flaw in the system, not the hardware," I related. "If you cut the bracelet, or forcefully remove it, the device lets off an emergency alarm...unless the wearer is both dead and verified by a corner to be dead."

"She killed you," Angel muttered. The 'she' was the Aurora Slasher. Angel was a pretty good detective too.

"Yep. She injected me with God-knows what which flat-lined my vital signs. Four minutes later, the bracelet dutifully recorded my death and went into storage mode. It was given a coroner's code, shut down and then she cut it off me - no problem. Finally, she revived me," I told her. "That didn't work on all her victims - some didn't make it back."

"If the authorities know about the flaw, they would fix it," Angel reasoned.

"Recall eight million bracelets? Over a flaw that even most cops don't know about?" I pointed out. "Only licensed coroners and Federal Investigators know that trick. There simply aren't enough male homicides for others to figure it out."

"Ugh...you've pretty much annihilated any hope of me getting a good night's sleep for the next week or so," Angel murmured. "Is there anything else you want to hit me with?"

"Yes...I want to have sex with Kuiko," I said as I started walking again.

"We are not attached," Angel got out a few seconds later. "You don't have to ask."

"I respect your feelings Angel. I don't want to hurt you," I shrugged. "I know I do, but I don't like it."

"Okay, but why Kuiko? Aniqua is...more of my body type," she was studying me.

"Several reasons," I related. 

"I think it will help the group's tension level if I'm with someone besides you occasionally. I also think she's trying really hard to respect my space. Lastly, but most importantly, I think she'd be fun in bed," I finished.

"You are slipping," Angel stated softly. She was referring to my mental state.

"Yes. Either I go full throttle, or I go numb," I tried to make her understand. I was a rape victim. I would never stop being a rape survivor, but I could try to stop being a victim. Full throttle wasn't fighting through - it was stealing something good from the demons. It was a little more fuel to keep the fire going. 

I had no illusions that the demons would be banished by a woman's embrace. That was a fantasy. As Angel said, I was wounded...but I wasn't dead; not yet.

"Okay," Angel conceded. "I'll stick with you...but I'm still going to give you hell when I think you are acting crazier than whatever the fuck is normal for you. Deal?"

"Deal," I smiled. Maybe she was starting to understand me, or trust me.

The journey to the store and back again was comparatively easy. Angel even agreed to front the bill though she couldn't figure out why I wanted surgical tape and wooden curtain rods cut into twelve inch sections. I told her 'I have a plan' which did nothing to ease her mind.

When we returned, the rest of this little troupe was actually working diligently at the task at hand. Once I had the supplies stashed away - except for the dowels - I was working on those, I put the 'Kuiko Method' into play. Venus was the first recipient. I quietly moved up behind her and began massaging her shoulders.

She was about to come back with a snarky remark when she turned and realized it was me. 

"You seem tense," I said. "Would you like a massage?" Venus nodded. In reality, you went after men until you got one. Only in romance novels were men overtly sensual. Venus was working cross-legged beside an end table as I maneuvered behind her.

I knelt behind her, my legs spread to either side of her hers, my crotch against the small of her back while my hands caressed her shoulders. I moved along her upper arms, neck and mid back while Venus murmured contentedly. After roughly fifteen minutes, I finished up by wrapping my arms around her abdomen and kissing her on the nape of her neck.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently.

"Oh - oh yeah, thank you," she sighed happily.

"Thank you," I responded. I pushed off her back and stood. All the other women were looking at me with varying degrees of desire. Only the twinkle in Roni's eyes revealed that she had figured out what I was really up to.

I moved as sedately to the bathroom as I could. Once inside, my resolve slipped and I shivered. It was not their fault. It was none of their faults. I had to believe that. I had to shore up my mind with that understanding. I couldn't fold up. I had to keep it together. I went back out. It was Aniqua's turn. A smile, a few words and some light contact. I could do this. Compared to what I planned to do on Monday, I had to shore myself up now.

(Monday)

Angel told me to stop whistling as I got dressed. She had stopped arguing with me about what I was going to wear last night. I think in the old days it was called a hymn before battle and I was certainly prepared for a fight. I called Kuiko before I left and asked if we could have privacy at her place for about an hour when she got off work, provided I was still eluding police custody. She was more than happy to oblige.

I trekked to the metro station with the jauntiness of a sixteen year old - not a care in the world and the mind of a maniac. My neighborhood was no longer running off a cliff - we were in free-fall. It turned out two of the eleven surviving males in my district were homosexual. It was bound to happen in any population of large enough size (as in the total number of males in the country).

Mind you, Farad and Jimmy were doing their part. They had sex with woman and were apparently rather good at it, performing above standards and more than the required once every twenty-eight days. That didn't matter. They were homosexuals and they had to be corrected so a tactical unit went after them Sunday afternoon.

Unfortunately, both Farad and Jimmy knew something was up, or were simply sick of the sneaking around. They had a plan. They had converted a van into a mini-mobile home, complete with multiple propane canisters. They also made zip guns to defend themselves. The tactical team knew about the guns, but not about the canisters so they went in with rubber bullets.

Sadly, rubber bullets penetrate propane canisters and electricity (aka Tasers) ignites the gas. I'm not sure how many canisters they had but the resulting explosion vibrated glasses in my condo a kilometer away. Scratch two more sperm-jockeys. Now there were only nine of us (actually, only eight, but I didn't know about the one who had vanished a few hours earlier - yet).

Inside my mind was a beaten, whipped and shattered eighteen year old boy rattling the bars of his cage and screaming at me to stop what I was doing. He begged me to save myself the humiliation and pain. I couldn't listen to him anymore. Hiding hadn't been surviving; it had been delaying the inevitable. I wasn't fighting - that would be stupid. I was resisting.

I was wearing really nice jeans, courtesy of Bethany, a nice white shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up, with a tailored jacket over one arm and a satchel strapped across my body. I also had a twelve inch baton with the handle taped to give me a firmer grip. I smiled, nodded to a few ladies and even said 'hello' to a few others. Basically, all the wrong things for a man to do - unless he's a prostitute.

I doubt any of them noticed the baton. That wasn't the wood they were looking at. The first one wasn't even remotely difficult. The predators had gotten sloppy, lazy, arrogant and careless. She was blonde, mid-thirties maybe and I'd seen and been groped by her before. She breezed up behind me, patted my ass and was about to say 'hey' or something like that.

I snatched the hand that had just touched me, yanked it up and smacked her in the head with the baton. It was meant to sting, not crack her head open and I'd been practicing last night.

"Ow! What the...?" she squawked.

"You sexually assaulted me; I was defending myself," I grinned savagely. "We can check the video from the camera I'm standing well in view of if you like."

"You hit her," Fatima came sputtering my way.

"It would certainly look that way, wouldn't it," I kept smiling.

"Why?" 

"She sexually assaulted me," I reiterated.

"All I did was touch you," the first woman said.

"Check your laws, ladies," I used my authoritative tone. "Touching another person without their consent is assault. Touching a person in a sexual zone - in my case, the lips, pubic area or...buttocks is considered SEXUAL assault."

"Also according to the law, I am allowed to defend myself, or another person under threat of harm, with enough force necessary to remove myself, or that person, from danger," I lectured.

"All she did was touch your ass," a third women joined in. They were really starting to gather around now. The metro was almost here.

"And I hit her with a stick for doing it too," I glared at her.

"You can't run around beating people with a stick," Fatima threatened me.

"As long as it is in self-defense, I most certainly can - as can any citizen," I pointed out. "What twisted evil thought process could make any of you think you can touch another person against their will? Come on now, that's just sick."

"But you are a guy," a fourth woman struggled and failed to make sense of the situation.

"That's discrimination and that's against the law too," I flashed her a bright smile. The metro arriving put an end to the conversation, but I had to put knots on the foreheads of two more women before I made it to my seat.

The Metro Cop came for me two stops down the line. I wasn't belligerent, I handed over the baton when requested and I watched her fend off the angry commuters around me. I had the law right. I explained that I couldn't afford a taxi so this was my only way to work. The police officer informed the women that I was legally correct and to stop antagonizing me - hallelujah.

The best part was after the cop left and the metro started rolling again. The women were seriously looking for some payback. I grinned, unzipped my satchel and drew forth my second dowel. They looked flabbergasted.

"Yeah bitches, I'm smarter than you are," I chuckled. None of them harassed me.

It wasn't much of a victory. In their minds my resistance was all my fault, not theirs. Anyway, groping was something women did casually. They weren't expecting a connection. I had robbed them of their second shot of espresso in the morning, that's all. Or, it would be all, if it was only me. As I told a disbelieving Angel, I had a plan.

Coming out of the metro stop by City Hall, I caught sight of a woman who nearly caused my heart to freeze in fear. It was one more step and I took it. She saw me and looked cocky. I smiled and headed right toward her. I imagined she was about to inflict (further) pain on my person when I wrapped her up in a hug. Her colleague looked equally dubious as to my intent.

"Flame!" I greeted her. "How the hell are you doing?" I kept my arms around her, titling back so we could make eye contact while my crotch was pressed against her stomach. I hadn't realized how much shorter she was than me during our first encounter - the one where she beat me half to death.




One in Ten Ch. 05



"We need to talk," Flame regarded me quizzically. She was insane, if not insane like me.

"Sure," I nodded. I leaned in, kissed Flame, aka Brigit, on the lips then turned us so that we both faced up the sidewalk to City Hall. She slid a hand around my waist and I followed suit.

"Miss me?" Flame teased. 'Every time I breathe' was the proper reply.

"With all the sane chicks around me," I sighed. "I think you're the only one who understands." Flame found that hilarious. She was a raving psychopath after all. My hand started stroking her ass. Flame actually leaned into me in what might have been construed as a romantic gesture. I sure as hell wasn't going to ask her.

The three of us arrived at a doorway somewhat off the well-traveled path.

"Little M wants to see you," Flame purred, holding me face to face and close. "Prometheus' at 12:30 tomorrow for lunch." Flame's buddy still looked like she expected me to rabbit at any second, which I found oddly amusing. Where would I go?

"Are you going to be there?" I murmured to Flame.

"Yeah," she rubbed up against me.

"I'll show up," I agreed. I kissed Flame again but this time with much more passion. As I broke it off and returned to the route to work, I smiled at the other mobster.

"I know, she's going to end up driving an ice pick through my eye somewhere along the line, but it will be worth it," I referred to Flame. I couldn't tell what the goon thought.

"I love this guy," Flame laughed and slapped her buddy. "He's tons of fun." Until that encounter, I thought nothing could make me even remotely happy to city CH Security.

They did their usual rigmarole but when they came to my small collection of batons, they become curious.

"What are these for?" one asked me.

"They're curtain dowels, with surgical tape so they don't slip," I replied innocently.

"They are awfully small," she noted.

"Small windows," I bantered back. She put them back in my satchel and handed it to me. Had I given a crap I would have complained to Francesca about the intellectual quality of our security force. Admittedly, curtain dowels aren't great weapons, but still, it is a 12" freaking stick.

I whistled as I left, in the elevator and down the hall to my work station as if this was the best day ever. Bethany homed in on me immediately.

"What are you wearing?" she blinked.

"Clothes you bought for me some time ago," I replied pleasantly.

"That's not proper work attire," she explained.

"Yep. You got that right. Is there any other obvious things you want to point out, or can we get to work now?" I kept grinning.

"Israel, what's gotten into you?" Bethany was getting annoyed.

"You are right," I nodded. "That is a problem we should address. Come with me," I demanded as I grabbed her by the wrist and started to drag her out of the office.

"What's going on?" she resisted.

"As you pointed out, there is a problem of what's gotten into who and I think I can correct that," I said happily.

"We are going to have sex - now?" she gulped.

"Now or never again," I told her. "Your choice." She had claimed I was the best dick she'd ever had and I was about to find out if that was true. She came along meekly. I rushed us into the Women's Room, pushed her into a stall and bent her over a toilet.

"Israel, I'd like - Ow!" she yelped as I yanked her panties off. Unless she had a spare set in her desk, Bethany was going commando for the rest of the work day. She tried to turn around but I wouldn't let her. Thankfully, Bethany always warmed up quickly because I had neither the desire nor time for some good cunnilingus.

I did have time for a good hard fucking though and I slammed the hell out of her. Bethany tried to remain in control and quiet but I knew all her weak spots and I doubled up on them all. She was howling and screaming to Goddess Almighty just like the old days. If she thought this was an apology, she was sorely mistaken. She was sore alright and this was punishment.

Unlike all my previous efforts which had been fuelled by love, this fucking was driven by hate, rage and a desire to inflict pain. Bethany couldn't even grasp the significance though she felt this was something new for us. Bethany didn't even care that she was being screwed by a man who was clearly unhinged.

Only after I left her a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor did she wearily look up and realize I was still hard.

"You didn't cum," she whispered. She was pretty hoarse.

"Of course not. I'm not letting you or your mother within a thousand meters of my sperm," I patted her on the head. "Let's get to work."

I showed up thirty minutes early to work because I was in my second week of training. Bethany and I were seriously late getting back to our desks. No one said a thing. They just looked. I took perverse pleasure when Bethany actually stumbled getting to her station. She looked like she'd been hammered by a hurricane and couldn't decide if she liked it or not.

I think way back when, they called that a grudge fuck. I hadn't surrendered to Bethany, I had used her like she used me - for my own selfish reasons and profit. I had unleashed plenty of negative energy that would complicate things later. I needed to be as reasonable as possible and she'd helped me with that - by giving me her body and letting me use it as I wished, if not how she intended.

I didn't feel bad about it one bit. I hadn't lost ground. I hadn't turned Bethany into a faceless entity. I had come at her knowing right who she was and what she deserved, from one royally pissed off human being to another, 'should have been more fucking careful about what she asked for', human being.

I didn't last two minutes at my desk before Francesca summoned me.

"Care to explain?" she scanned my clothing.

"All I can say is that I apologize if I disappoint you, Ms. Francesca Silverhorn. You have tried really hard to be decent to me," I gave her the first genuine smile of the morning.

"But?" she waited for it.

"But, in next year's dictionary they are going to have my picture beside the definition of 'aggressive'," I shrugged. "It will probably do double billing with 'dumb ass'." Francesca laughed. She didn't even try to hold it in.

"Good luck with that Initiative, Mr. Jensen," she chuckled. We were both going to Hell. "There is a press conference at ten-thirty concerning the Federation's new program. It is called Men's Action League. It plans to further invest men in the governing process."

"Wow, my career is going to end sooner than I thought it was," I snorted in amusement.

"Anything else I need to know before I go, Captain my Captain?" I really liked her.

"GNN and a half-dozen other stations are covering this live. You're microscopically famous now and yet they sense an epic public relations catastrophe in the making," Francesca fed me the news, "and they want to be there when it happens."

"I won't let you down, Jeffe," I smirked.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she shook her head. "But, I'm starting to think the future isn't going to be all that bright and cheery anyway." I gave a crummy salute, about-faced and returned to my desk. There was a notice on my computer to contact Ms. Cho.

Damn it, how was I supposed to get any work done? I called and she told me come right up.

"Are we ever going to finish what you started last Monday?" I teased. Was it only one week?

"Maybe," Ms. Cho sounded coy. Fat chance I'd ever do anything with her. She was an evil henchman.

"Okay," I laughed because she didn't have a clue to her own barbarity. I warned Francesca where I was off to then headed up to the Mayor's Chief of Staff's offices. Ms. Cho gave me a smile then waved me in. Whatever Isobel was going to say was lost when she caught sight of me.

"What are wearing?" she snapped.

"Clothes?" I responded. That didn't seem to mollify her. "Casual clothes?"

"Get into the proper attire before the news conference and you'd better not fuck it up or what security did to you Thursday will seem like a walk in the park after I get through with you. Do you understand?" Ms. Diaz growled.

"I understand," I parroted back. I understood that I didn't give a damn about what she said. Come on, it wasn't like I woke up thinking this was Sunday. I knew exactly what I was doing, who it would piss off and how little I would care about that.

"Fine. Now what did Magdalena Keverich want with you?" we got down the reason I was there.

"Me in particular? No clue. I know she wasn't happy with my performance, she likes people to watch and she's very demanding," I informed Isobel.

"What did she want to know about me? About us?" she pressed.

"Us? Lady, there is no us," I grew angry. "I don't know you and I don't want to know you."

"Screw it all, I didn't want to go to your damn party, I didn't want to meet her and I certainly don't want to relate my shitty experience to you," I added. "Let me straighten you out; if you were drowning, I'd toss you an anchor. If you were asleep in the tub, I'd pour in quick drying cement then hold you under with a broom." 

"If you were paralyzed, I'd cover you in honey and leave you in the path of army ants. Are we clear now?" I growled. "I hate you. I hate what you represent. I hate this whole sick society that allows you to exist and prosper."

"You didn't answer my question," Isobel kept trying to break me with her eyes.

"Ugh," I sighed. "I don't know anything but if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I don't know in what nightmarish fantasy you imagine that woman would tell me ANYTHING, but glaring at me isn't going to help. You can't touch me."

"I can't?" she replied sinisterly.

"Yes, Ma'am. I've made my peace with God and said good-bye to the ones I love," I snickered. "I'm bulletproof." I saw the light go off in her eyes. She finally realized I'd lost my mind. There was no rational response to my challenge because I was no longer rational. Circumstances had intervened so that I simply couldn't 'go away' either.

There were too few men left and I had a flicker of popularity. She wanted to believe that she'd get me later, but she had looked into my soul and knew I had no 'later'. This was it. Her ability to grind me up was only a threat if I planned to leave anything to be ground.

"We are done here," I dismissed her. I turned and walked away.

"We are done when I say we're done," she seethed. I already had the door open and was half-way out. I raised up my left hand like a sock-puppet.

"Did you hear something?" I asked my hand.

"It sounded like a feminine 'poof'," my hand responded in a shrill voice.

"Whatever it was," I nodded sagely to my hand, "we had better not hang around in case it stinks up the room." There were six people and Ms. Cho in the office, staring at me with wide eyes. I could hear Isobel's blood boiling. "Have a good morning everyone," I waved to the room and quickly exited the main door.

I decided that the elevator was a trap so I took the stairs instead. I didn't get two feet inside the door before Selma pointed me to Francesca's office.

"Oh, Goddess," Francesca moaned. "I'm stunned my screen didn't melt. What did you do this time?"

"Ah - ummm, ah," I struggled for the words. "I dismissed her from our conversation and while exiting her main office, I insulted her with a hand/sock puppet - in front of witnesses."

"Wow...you do realize you now qualify for two minority hires; you are male and clearly mentally handicapped," Francesca tried not to smirk.

"You are welcome, Boss," I grinned.

"Oh, and she wants you in proper attire when you get on stage in...twenty minutes. I promised her you would be. Do you plan to change?" she inquired.

"Nope," I rolled my shoulders.

"Okay," she nodded. "Just checking. You need to be briefed by Selma on the latest developments. Are you and Bethany reconciling?"

"Noooo..." I drew that out. "I used her for my own carnal frustrations, that's all."

"We know," Francesca looked amused. "We ALL know. We had some women from the second floor come up to see if someone was dying, or being murdered. In the future, you might want to offer another girl in the office a chance - take that as a suggestion."

Hmmm, second floor. We were on the fourth floor. This building had pretty good acoustics. I walked over to Selma. You know your co-workers respect you when they attribute God-like powers to your actions.

"We are going to die, aren't we?" Selma stared at me intently. "We are going to lose our jobs and be blackballed from anything associated with broadcast and internet journalism, right?"

"We may go down Selma, but we will take a whole bunch with us when we go," I assured her.

"That is no comfort whatsoever, you idiot," Selma glared. "Now, here is what you need to know..." she began. That's when I learned that my district had lost another one, leaving us at eight.

According to the geniuses who developed the sex quota system, I now had to service 625 woman. I wasn't sure how that was supposed to work. That was nearly two women a day, every day each and every year until I died. By law, I only had to have sex 13 times a year which would mean each woman could only expect sex once every five years. I sensed a flaw in the plan.

"Stop giggling," Selma hissed. "You are scaring the crap out of the girls." Ah, a few people were counting lifeboats on the Titanic it seemed. I stopped being 'unmanly' then gave Selma the mathematical data I had just come up with.

"Oh damn it," she groaned. "Don't bring this up."

"Fat chance," I grinned evilly. Selma threw up her hands and stormed off to Francesca's office. A minute later Francesca and Selma came out.

"Ladies, anyone who wants to retroactively call in sick today and avoid being associated with this fiasco, you may do so," Francesca Silverhorn announced.

The two married women and a third older lady gathered their belongings and left. I was surprised Selma stuck it out. As far as I could tell, she hated me.

"Israel, can you give us a clue as to what we should be preparing for?" Tabitha inquired with a surprisingly upbeat attitude. I looked to Francesca who gave me a motherly 'go ahead'.

"Short version, we are going under - this society," I started off. "The government is lying about male births, covering up the increasing rate of male miscarriages, and that the Gender Plague is getting stronger and at an increasing rate. It is not just here, but all over the planet. Humanity is sliding into extinction."

"The immediate concern is that if you are in the economic bottom 90% of the female population, there are not going to be enough men for you and the crunch is setting in," I explained. "My district is slated for 125 males my age. As of this morning, it has eight." I let that sink in.

"Can't the men work harder?" Wanda stepped up. I wasn't insulted - too much.

"I hear they are going to tighten up the Gender Inequality Act - move the cycle to fourteen days," she added.

"Wanda - good question and that's the beauty of this disaster," I was darkly mirthful. "The governments have known this for almost two decades."

"The cause of the Plague getting more deadly is stress. The more you stress your male population, the quicker your male birth rate plummets," I stated. "It becomes a vicious cycle. Your birth rate drops - you put more pressure on the males which makes your rate plummet faster."

"What do we do?" Bethany mumbled.

"Ask you Mom, Bethany. She is the one who told me most of this stuff," I let the room focus on her for a moment. "What do we do? I don't know. Women started down this path forty years ago when they passed the Gender Inequality Act." 

"If you could have been saved, that train came and went twenty years ago when your scientists first figured out what was happening. Ten years ago they stopped enforcing the gender quotas in twelve of the poorest districts of the city. Look it up if you don't believe me," I said. "Look under registered complaints, not the official city records."

"Until last year, every time a district accumulated enough complaints, they rotated a group of guys in but all they did was steal them from other poor, under populated areas," I revealed.

"What happened last year?" Selma spoke first.

"As far as the people I worked with can tell, they stopped giving a crap," I sighed.

"Too many districts were perpetually below 80%. They started quietly padding the higher income districts first. When the marriage rate spiked this Spring, the system began to fail. The pressure was building up on low income men, so when the opportunity arrived, they pledged their nuptials and bailed out of their already reeling neighborhoods," I continued.

"As of this moment, I am one of eight men in my age group in my district. There are supposed to be 125. My district is extreme, but virtually all the other poor districts are running between 20 and 30% of their quota," I kept watching the faces pale around me. "You can also look at the school roles for any 'track' in the public school system."

"You can see a consistent decline in the male population by going back each class year," I had them now.

"How come no one has spoken up on this?" Francesca questioned.

"Why? What would it accomplish? Who wants to be the first to stand up on the sinking ship and scream 'we are all going to die!'?" I replied.

"Why are we doing this?" Selma shook her head. "We aren't journalists. We are part of the civil government. We are supposed to keep the people calm."

"Who are you serving by hiding the truth?" I asked calmly. "No one in my neighborhood, but you are helping the people upstairs - the ones lying to the rest of you."

That was my best pitch. The people around me were civilian bureaucrats. They were not non-conformists, anarchists, public crusaders, or dispatch riders of the Apocalypse. Outside of Bethany Fremont, none of them appeared to be politically motivated. They had nice, safe lives and I was a raving lunatic.

"Francesca?" Tabitha pled with her leader for direction.

"Israel, do you have anything else?" Francesca pressed me. I had one ace left up my sleeve and I had saved it for this - debate.

"Argentina," I told Tabitha. 

"Check out their government's Department of Public Health's population projections. Not what is published with the WHO, or UN, but what they are telling their own people," I told her. Tabitha turned to the closest system and began typing away. She was our research whiz so it didn't take her long. She put her hand to her mouth.

The other women gathered around Tabitha and began reading the translated document. No one congratulated me for being right. I had just murdered their hopes of great-grandchildren, if not their grandchildren.

"Selma, start working up a public release on whatever factual data we can gather," Francesca took charge once more.

"Focus on what we can do to make the best of this situation. We have to have hope, but pedaling lies at this point will be counter-productive," she laid out a strategy. "Bethany, you are coming with Israel and me." When Bethany joined us, Francesca told her to stay put then retrieved her purse from her office. Before leaving, I got a baton from my satchel and stuck it in my back pocket.

"Aren't you going to change?" Bethany questioned.

"No time," Francesca answered for me. As we went down in the elevator, I flashed Francesca a smile that Bethany missed. Bethany wasn't there for support. She was with us because Francesca didn't trust her not to tip off the powers-that-be if she was left alone.

Security was likely to mug me on the stage as it was. Being jumped before I could get before the press would be disastrous for my little band of rebels - technically Francesca's band of rebels. Francesca maneuvered me on stage before the Press Secretary, Naomi List, knew what was going on.




One in Ten Ch. 05



Eloise Granger looked like she was about to fall out of her chair laughing - she looked poised, but I could tell. She felt entitled to ask me a question before things got started.

"Casual Monday's," Eloise grinned.

"I woke up in a good mood this morning," I smiled back. 

"The cops blew up two of my homosexual neighbors yesterday and then another guy took an unscheduled vacation to Goddess knows where last night. I'm now one of eight."

"You find that amusing?" another reporter groused.

"Lady, I was being sarcastic," I responded.

"There are supposed to be 125 men of my age in my district. There are eight. If you don't think that scares the crap out of me, you need to cut back on whatever medication you are taking," I stared at her.

"Can we please start the press conference?" Naomi interrupted.

No one protested so she did her short spiel then introduced the Mayor. The Mayor intentionally snubbed me. She had more than the usual number of lackeys today, including the Police Commissioner and a woman who was probably important, but I didn't have a clue who she was. Isobel was in the background, sending evil wishes my way.

The Mayor unveiled the new Federation program: the Male Action League. The message was 'the government cares about you helpless males - we really do. We care so much we are going to give you a state-sponsored arena where you can do your state approved complaining so that we can keep ignoring you'.

Those weren't her words, but that was the gist of it. It was long on promises. It proved not a single avenue for men to actually help themselves, or even lobby for the redress of grievances. Zip-zero-nadda political, or legal power. In theory, rallies would be a good place to round us up if they felt like it. 

In a short while, most men would figure out they were wasting their time and stop showing up. Then the women could blame the men for our indifference. As the Mayor started taking questions, I could see Eloise preparing like a panthress to strike but the Mayor was avoiding her. She couldn't avoid Maribel Cartwright from GNN, they were the freaking World news leader.

"Maribel," the Mayor tried to sound pleasant.

"Israel, what do you think of this development?" the reporter addressed me.

"Mr. Jensen is not really an expert on this policy," the Mayor jumped in.

"Madam Mayor, he's a man. This is a policy that concerns men - solely men in fact," Maribel countered.

The Mayor looked like she was being force-fed lemon rinds.

"Make it short, Mr. Jensen," the Mayor commanded.

"I'll take that under advisement," I joked. There it was, my break with reality. I wasn't a great speaker, an intellectual or even enlightening.

I was their dancing bear, the monkey with the unseen organ grinder and the tap dancing sensation. The all-female press corps wasn't leaning in for information. They had gathered for a train wreck and I hadn't planned on disappointing them.

"This thing - it is kind of insulting to call it a policy - I'll call it MAL, is stupid," I began.

"Don't you dare!" Francesca screamed at the top of her lungs. The security that had been closing in on me unseen, froze up. The Mayor looked around confused. Isobel tapped the Police Commissioner.

"Take him off stage," the Police Commissioner directed the security guards. They started closing in again.

"No," Francesca shouted again. "If you wanted him gone, you should have brought some damn police officers, you Moron!" The security looked uncertain.

"Shut up!" Isobel shouted at Francesca. "Get him!" she then yelled at security.

"No," Francesca growled. "City Hall Security are Civil Government employees - not part of the police department and not political appointees."

"As the ranking civil employee here, I'm telling all civil security personnel to back down - immediately," Francesca snarled angrily.

"Fine," the Mayor snapped. "You are fired."

"File the proper paperwork, you Incompetent Boob," Francesca turned on her supposed boss.

"It should take three or four days," she continued. "Until then, shut up and take your medicine." The Mayor blinked in surprise over the ferocity of the attack then tried to gracefully exit the stage. "Don't any of you dare try to leave. If you do, I'll have you arrested."

"What for?" Isobel growled.

"Disrupting a public forum," Francesca gloated triumphantly. "Israel, you were saying?"

"Oh yeah," it took me a second. Francesca had really floored me. "MAL is a bad idea because it assumes men are stupid and does nothing to address the problem this society faces. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. The Human Race is dying."

"Before you consider me a hopeless wack-job," I started.

"Too late," one of the reporters called out.

"Thanks but we hardly know each other," I grinned. "I'll have to rely on you to do most of the fact-finding, but I can tell you where to start proving me right."

"In Argentina, five years ago, the successful male birth rate had slipped from the normal one in twenty, to one in thirty. Last year it was one in fifty. In two more years they predict the rate will plunge to one in one hundred. That's their government's figures. You don't have to be in health care to realize that is a clear path to extinction."

"In China, they are telling the world everything is okay. That makes Amnesty International wonder why the abortion of female fetuses have risen ONE THOUSAND percent in the past ten years. If things are okay, why are they killing their unborn female population? If you think that doesn't happen here, in this very city, answer me this."

"The sale of boy's jumpers - a friend had to tell me that's child's clothing - has dropped 30% in the past ten years in this city alone," I told them. "Are eighteen month old boys running around naked, or dressed up as girls? Girls' jumper sales have remained constant. Official birth data would suggest that someone is running around naked. If the numbers are being juggled then who has that kind of authority and access?"

"Among a few other interesting things I learned this weekend, I was told that the Gender Plague is becoming more aggressive. Fewer men are being born, more male fetuses develop fatal mutations resulting in miscarriages, and more babies aren't making their first year. The leading cause for this phenomena is stress. The more males get stressed, the less fertile they become."

"The government has known about this for twenty years," I related.

"Speaking of which, how was your weekend, Israel," Eloise smirked. I nodded and started taking off my shirt. The women paid close attention because I'm somewhat of a good looking man. My shirt dropped and the room went silent.

"What happened?" one of the reporters that wasn't normally my friend asked.

"I went to Isobel Diaz's party Saturday night, was sold at auction and when I failed to perform sexually to expectations, I was beaten until I was curled into a fetal ball on the floor, crying my eyes out. But, it gets better," I winked at the reporter who had taken my sarcasm badly earlier.

"Sunday morning, on an unrelated investigation, two GED officers came to my residence. I got into one of their faces because - having been beaten up, I was cranky. I didn't touch her but I did call her 'pathetic'. She hit me. It is called 'tuning up' by the police. If you are a guy and mouth off to the police, you will get tuned up. It is a fact of life."

"I was taken downtown, pressured about a case they had no intention of charging me in and then they forced me to have a physical examination to PROVE these bruises weren't self-inflicted. Yet somehow a toothless, gutless MAL is going to change any of this? How? It isn't and it will fail because it is nothing more than women taking care of man and you've been fucking that up for the past forty years."

No one knew what to say, so Eloise was forced to move things along.

"What do you suggest? If you think women are doing it wrong, and have been doing it wrong, what can we do?" she inquired.

"Don't know and don't care," I shrugged.

"I'm exiting this feminine Hell as soon as possible. As far as I am concerned, you are getting what you deserve due to your passive dehumanization and indifference to our dignity. There are eight women I care about in this World and only one is in this room and most of you are not her. In case you wonder how desperate I am, I received a call early Sunday morning."

"It was from the group claiming to stealing men across this nation. The text inquired if I wanted to leave. It took me about three seconds to decide and it only took that long because I was beside the sleeping form of the woman I love," it was almost the truth. Telling them Angel was awake wouldn't do anyone any good. "I replied 'Yes!'."

"Why am I confessing this now? The police have been powerless to stop these people so far and I have zero faith in them improving because current law enforcement is an institution manned by women for women. Don't get indignant - after all, what is the GED, if not a force to control men? Ever since the passing of the Gender Inequality Act, this has stopped being a country for men."

"I know it was an attempt to stave off extinction when faced by a disease we didn't, and still don't understand. Did any of you ever question why our numbers weren't recovering? Did you plan to keep us under your thumbs forever? I wear a bracelet that records my sexual history. It's hooked up to a database where women can post public comments about my sexual prowess.

"There is no such database for women. Why? Because you don't care what we think," I stared angrily at them in their numbers. "Actually, if any of you care what I think about your future actions, paraphrasing what a woman I like told me; the question is not how you keep existing, but if you are worthy of continuing to exist." There you go Capri - you are almost famous.

"This is a uniquely female decision because after generations of control, you have left men virtually incapable of defending themselves. The majority will submit because they have no choice and you lose. A small few will go down swinging, like Denver. They die and you lose. A few are going to come to grips with the reality that you treat us as less than human - at least less than you, return the favor and go somewhere, anywhere, else so that they can live in dignity as the lights go out. You lose."

"That's crap," my favorite conservative reporter chimed in. "Men do their part and they are still citizens. You're nuts."

"Really?" I pulled out my small baton. "Do you know what this is?"

"It is a weapon and not a very potent one," that woman snapped.

"Actually, it is a section of a five foot curtain dowel. I bought it from the Warehouse Depot. Dowels are on aisle L2. This," I pointed to the handle, "is surgical tape - aisle C3. Now, you take your standard five foot curtain dowel over to the saw table and a nice lady named Wendy can cut it into twelve inch sections for you."

"You cover the bottom four inches in surgical tape to give you a semi-sticky, sweat resistant surface to hold onto. You may now hang a curtain over a very small window. While you are waiting for that opportunity, you can carry it around - it is not illegal. If, perhaps, someone assaults you, you can grab them to verify they are your assaulter and pop them a good one in the forehead."

"The forehead is useful because it raises a red welt that lasts for a few hours and allows other citizens to recognize the molester for who and what they are," I grinned.

"Wait," Maribel looked at me critically, "are you telling men to start beating up women?"

"Oh Goddess, no," I declared. "The entire police force are women. There would be Tasers going off left, right and center."

"No, I'm telling everyone that no citizen has the right to lay hands on any other citizen. That is called assault. If they touch you on the lips, breasts, crotch, and/or ass, it is sexual assault. If you are assaulted, grab the offender to properly identify them, then - defend yourself. Men, if you do this and a police officer asks for it, give the dowel to them peacefully."

"If you have a large enough covered object, such as my satchel, put a spare in there. The police do not have the right to search it. Insist on your rights. If they remove you from your location or locomotion, press charges against your attacker. You will lose. You will probably end up in a cell and most likely end up on drugs," I successfully remained calm. A dozen of cops had entered the area.

"Men, we cannot out-muscle the cops. There is no victory in the normal sense. We were betrayed by women decades ago. This society is a dying beast which is bent on perpetuating its cruelty to the bitter end. Face your end on your terms; that's all I'm saying," I pleaded.

"That's enough," the Police Commissioner stepped forward. "Get him out of here."

"And tomorrow," I said as I waved farewell, "I'll talk about the cure for the Plague - Carabolix 37. Look it up. Bye now," I got out as the uniformed police swarmed me. For the sake of the cameras, they were gentle and I was not resisting. Technically, what I had done was not illegal, just counter-productive to any hope of career advancement. They even took my dowel.

Francesca and Bethany were swept up with me. We were all taken to the unused City Council chamber.

"I'm Bethany Fremont," the woman nearly wept. "You can't do this to me. Let me call my mother, please."

"Bethany, they haven't taken our phones away," Francesca sighed in exasperation. I was already on the phone to Capri. She'd seen my kamikaze act and was on her way. I noticed the cops giving me furtive looks. It took me a second to realize what I must look like - shirtless and not an unblemished spot on my torso.

Bethany was sobbing to someone who appeared to be her mother's personal assistant - Mom was busy. I noticed one patrolwoman, younger than the rest, who seemed overly curious.

"What happened to you?" she finally inquired.

"You failed me," I responded.

"What - no - how?" she rambled.

"Be quiet," an older cop cautioned me by placing a hand on my shoulder from behind.

"No," I regarded the one behind me. "I'm sitting here, black and blue, and there is no one in jail for what happened to me and there never will be. How could this possibly rate as a job success to you?"

The older policewoman squeezed on my collarbone. I grimaced as I looked back up.

"I suggest the taser if you want to make an impression, dipshit," I growled at her. "I can clearly take more of a physical beating than thugs like you are prepared to dish out." She squeezed harder, I ground my teeth to stop from screaming and pounded my fist into the back of the chair in front of me.

"Are you going to shut up now," the older cop whispered once her pressure let up.

"You insipid cow, if I didn't give into women willing to beat me to death, why would I give into you?" I seethed. Pain was coming my way again.

"Try that on me," Francesca turned, stood and looked the cop over, "or does your courageous act only encompass abusing defenseless men?"

"Sit down," two cops said simultaneously. 

"Please sit," I warned Francesca. "If you stand, they can get you for resisting." To the freshly minted cop, I picked up our exchange. "She's Isobel Diaz. I'm sure you will find dozens of corroborating witnesses somewhere between the Fountain of Youth and the Seven Cities of Gold."

"That's the Mayor's Chief of Staff," the young cop gasped.

"Don't sweat it," I grinned at her. "Do what the rest of your sister cops are doing - absolutely nothing. I didn't expect anything different from you."

"Don't let this asshole get inside your head, Passey," the older cop menaced me.

"He is getting what he deserves soon enough," she added.

"That's rich," Francesca chuckled as she sat down. "We all are going to get what we deserve. If you don't have children by now, your chances are dwindling fast."

"I have a child - a son," Officer Passey volunteered. That explained some things.

"Has he gotten sick yet?" I queried. Every boy got the plague in their first year. It killed nine out of ten of us, or so authorities claimed.

"No," she tried to sound hopefully but what she was obviously frightened.

"Oh...well, there is something that could increase his odds from the current 7 or 8% to around 60% survival, but I'm not going to tell you what it is," I glared.

"Why?" Passey's voice held a mother's despair.

"Stop it, both of you," the older cop snapped. She tried to smack the back of my head, but I slid out of my chair to my knees facing sideways.

"Why? You failed the 'do I deserve to live' test," I explained.

"You willingly sat back and did nothing while this ogre tried to break my collarbone, so I'm sitting back and doing nothing for you. You decided to forfeit your son's life when you heard a report of a crime and did nothing. You voted to cover our own ass so your ass will grow old alone in your home," I stared at her.

"But he's a man - like you," Passey pleaded. It dawned on me this may not have been her first son.

"Do you want to see your son, beaten like I am, abused by this bitch behind me while waiting to be punished for exhibiting his right to free speech? Who is more fucked up for wishing this on another human being, you or me?" I challenged her.

"Shut up!" the older cop growled. She was climbing over the seat to get at me.

"He deserves a chance to live," Passey begged. Any possible reply to that was shut down by the Ogre grabbing hold of the back of my neck.

"Stop it," she ordered. I stopped.

"Sergeant," Passey switched her appeal to her higher ranking officer.

"He's yanking your chain, nothing more," the Sergeant insisted.

"He's had five sons, three who have lived," Francesca spoke up again. "He certainly must know something."

"What is it?" Passey asked Francesca.

"He hasn't told me, but I'm starting to agree with his assessment about law enforcement. I'm being held against my will, with no idea what I'm being charged with," Francesca smirked. "If you officers are the finest examples of what it means to be human, I think we have lost the right to continue on as a species."

"You are as nutty as he is," the Sergeant said dismissively.

"This means so much coming from a woman who inflicted pain on a man not under arrest for talking - talking," she repeated. "If that makes me insane - fine. The rest of you have clearly lost touch with any shred of humanity."

Any further thoughts upon that vein were lost as the doors flew open and a host of officials streamed in. It didn't take an Ouija board to figure out they were beyond pissed. They were apoplectic. A laundry boy had just told the third class steerage passengers that the Titanic was going down, the water was death and the rich were fleeing with the only lifeboats - before the rich had actually gotten away with it.

The Captain was furious, since her initial plans did NOT have her going down with the ship. By Captain, I didn't mean the Mayor - she was a bit player. I was talking about the President of the God Damn North American Federation. Thank you GNN. To the men of our nation, I was Rich Rescorla, begging them to get out before the tower went down.

To the women, I as more like John Brown, stirring up trouble without any concern for the chaos that would followed. That was wrong. I did have concerns, but since I also had so little power, I didn't feel guilty about telling the villains exactly who and what they were. They had made this bed of lies. I had simply dropped the match on it.



One in Ten Ch. 06



 To my editor, PokingFun, for her expertise.

To Chris and John for feedback and keeping after me.

And finally, to TalonWolf, for a multitude of advice and because I'm sure he's out there with a sniper rifle making sure I write nice things about him.

Yes, there is an honest to God sex scene in this chapter. I had to make it work for the characters concerned, to both stay within their personalities and advance the story.

I would like to point out that me, the author, admires the police in my country and have always been treated civilly by them. For the sake of this story, they tend to be the bad guys. Law enforcement are often the instruments of the government and society. We could not afford them if they were perfect, and I'm not sure we would deserve them if they were.

A tidal wave is a slight tremor, a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act of the play

Isobel Diaz was in the background, on her phone, deep in intense conversation. The Mayor was trying to create some sort of damage control with Naomi List, the press secretary. The Police Commissioner was glaring at us and making every other cop in the room feel small. The last woman, who I didn't know, was staring at me intently, as if I'd done something wrong.

Check that - done something spectacularly wrong. Francesca Silverhorn, my boss at City Hall's Public Relation department, stood up even as I reached to pull her down.

"You can't hold us here," Francesca declared. "We have done nothing illegal."

"Sit down," the PC yelled. Francesca didn't get a chance to decide. The cop behind her grabbed her shoulder and neck, slamming her back to her seat.

"Boss, your first lesson on being an honorary man: don't give the police an excuse to hurt you because they gladly will," I said just above a whisper.

"Shut up, you bastard," the PC growled at me. "Both of you, just shut the hell up." Francesca looked at me fearfully. I winked then quickly mouthed 'do what they say - exactly'.

It took her a second, but she got it. We both looked straight ahead. In short order, Isobel traversed over to Bethany, pulled her aside and engaged her in quiet conversation. Bethany was betraying the rest of Francesca's office who had stayed for my little bombshell and were likely to pay for that with their livelihoods. The Mayor came at us first.

"This is what we are going to do," she began. "Mr. Jensen, you are going to make a recorded retraction then commit yourself to a mental health facility of my choosing. Ms. Silverhorn, you will resign, stating mental fatigue brought about by your sexual fascination with Mr. Jensen. This is not a debate. This is how it is."

I looked at Francesca. She looked at me. I smiled, she smiled and then we turned as one and smiled at the Mayor. We didn't bother disguising that this was a 'no way in hell, Bitch' smile either.

"Mr. Jensen, you will go first," the Mayor commanded. I kept sitting.

The cop, a Sergeant, tried to pull me up but was hampered by the fact that I still hadn't put my shirt on and I wasn't about to let her put me in a head-lock.

"Get in there," the Police Commissioner motioned Officer Passey and a third cop into the tight confines of the auditorium seating in the City Council Chamber.

"What am I being arrested for?" I called out.

"Inciting to Riot," the Police Commissioner snapped.

"NO!" the unknown woman yelled at the PC.

"I want a lawyer!" I crowed triumphantly. "I demand my Miranda Rights."

"You Idiot," the unknown woman snarled at the PC, who was both annoyed, yet afraid of this unknown woman...and every cop in the room knew exactly what had happened. This wasn't some back alley beat down, or a 'correction' inside my apartment; this was an official arrest with over twenty cops and a dozen civilians all standing around.

They couldn't all be trusted to keep their mouths' shut, so they had to respect my rights for the moment. Whomever that woman was, she had saved me a shitload of unwelcome coercion that was definitely coming down the pipeline, and she didn't look happy about it.

"What did I do?" the PC asked my unknown savior.

"Who are you, anyway?" I gazed at the woman as the cops closed in.

"She's Shelia Montanyard, Chief Civil Affairs Attorney for the Federal District Attorney's Office," Francesca answered to me. The Mayor had already buried her face in her hand. She was a former local District Attorney after all.

"You want to know what you did?" Shelia regarded the PC. "Why don't we have his L-a-w-y-e-r tell you when she shows up, because Goddess knows, we can't ask him anymore."

"Fine, I'll release him on lack of evidence," the PC tried to save herself. Isobel looked hopeful but the Mayor sobbed and Shelia lowered her head to mask her emotions.

"You created a crime," Shelia explained bitterly. "The crime and thus the criminal investigation doesn't go away - but you have managed to dismiss the man in question. Congratulations."

"Good point," I chuckled. "I'm out of here." The three cops around me weren't letting me go. "A little help here?" I wasn't planning on leaving because that would make me delusional.

"Fine, I'll re-arrest him," the PC kept on coming.

"Oh, so now you are stupid and incompetent," Shelia pointed out.

"Hold on," the PC stuttered. "We can fix this."

"How is that going to work?" Shelia snapped. "I'm not covering for you."

"Israel Jensen may not seem much of a problem for you, but he is. Better yet, this woman," she pointed to Francesca, "is about to roast your chestnuts on an open fire. Ms. Silverhorn hasn't broken the law and your Mayor better stop abusing prescription drugs, because her plan is a fantasy."

"We have various points of leverage on Ms. Silverhorn," Isobel came over, seething with hate toward me.

"Don't get me started, Ms. Diaz," Shelia turned on my despised foe. "What kind of ego-fueled obsession convinced you that a man under surveillance by a FEDERAL task force could be dragged off to one of your affairs and you would get away with it?"

"God damn it! The woman in that pirated video was a metropolitan policewoman that was assigned by the investigation to watch over him. He was screwing her. He was sleeping with her. Hell, they hang out together. How could you possibly believe she wouldn't report the entire affair? Is there something wrong with the air in this place that makes you bitches crazy?" Shelia was truly steamed.

"That's uncalled for," the Mayor retorted.

"You think so?" Shelia glared. "You were harpooned on global television a few minutes ago. It wasn't Israel Jensen's press conference - it was yours."

"But, Ms. Silverhorn..." Isobel growled.

"Who is no one anyone knows," Shelia countered.

"We had to wait for the Metropolitan Police to arrive," the Mayor was slowly going under.

"That's right," Shelia glared, "because you couldn't use the cop who was standing right there."

There is that wonderful moment when the majority of the room is going 'huh?' then realize that someone fucked up horribly. Most of the people were glad it wasn't them, but four people were the fuck-ups. Naomi, Isobel, the Mayor and the Police Commissioner were the ones. The cop at the conference who could have arrested me was the Police Commissioner, who was a cop after all.

Isobel was a consummate survivor.

"We'll expect your resignation on the Mayor's desk in an hour," she addressed the Police Commissioner, who looked pole-axed. The woman gathered up her shreds of dignity and slowly walked from the room.

"Mr. Jensen, are you leaving?" Shelia Montanyard looked my way, suddenly civil.

"Can I leave?" I asked. Shelia nodded. I was looking at the cops who reluctantly backed off. I resumed my seat next to Francesca.

"Get out," Francesca whispered.

"With a spastic personality like mine, can I really afford to turn my back on a friend?" I joked back, repeating her own description of our relationship. She was about to chastise me then stopped; I was clearly nuts. "Besides, it isn't like they are letting us anywhere near the press again. All we can do is wait, but it shouldn't be long."

"What are we waiting for?" Francesca studied me.

"The Federal Warrant to arrive," I sighed. Shelia's eyes ratcheted their intensity toward me. Top of my class - how many times does my Inner Child have to scream it?

"Could you do me a favor?" Francesca requested quietly.

"Sure."

"Put your shirt on. You may be every color of the sunset, but you have really - um - good muscle definition and it's a bit distracting," she seemed embarrassed to admit. I had to fight of that bit of fear that always popped up when women got interested in me sexually.

"I'll do it for you," I tried to sound casual. As I was fixing my buttons, a jack-ass comment slipped out of my mouth. "You do realize this pretty much negates having a nipple-rub with Shelia during my interrogation later." That went over abysmally.

"I'm married," Shelia said dismissively.

"Oh, what did you arrest him for?" I snapped off. Yes, I had just implied that law enforcement could only get a male by putting a gun to their heads, figuratively speaking.

"Counterfeiting," she came right back without missing a beat.

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter if his passion is genuine as long as his performance feels real," I grinned.

"All I need is his performance," she kept any real emotion from her countenance. "Why do you chose to have sex with a cop when you claim to hate them so much?"

"I didn't want to, but I fell in love with her," I responded instinctively. No fear.

"You love that she'll help you attempt to escape," Shelia kept coming.

"Ha," I laughed. "You clearly don't know Detective Kristi. She still believes in your garbage. She thinks you cops are going to change and that this society should be saved."

"But you don't?" Shelia tilted her head.

"Why should I if you don't, Mrs. Montanyard?" I grinned.

"I think this society has problems, but I think it is extremely foolish and selfish to abandon it when things can be corrected," Shelia explained.

"I believe that as much as I believe you are married, much less to a counterfeiter," I smirked.

"Ah...when Ms. Silverhorn introduced me, she didn't use 'Mrs.'," Shelia nodded.

"Got it in one," I acknowledged. "I loved doing this kind of give and take in college."

"Why weren't you on your Debate Team? Bowden has a good program," Shelia probed.

"Do you prefer your dildos smooth, ribbed or with those little knobs?" I countered.

"I prefer to use my fingers," she was relentless. Just then, Angel and Seneca, my cop lover and her partner, came in. Most eyes gravitated their way. 

Angel's eyes flickered to me, but then focused on Shelia.

"The warrant should be coming through any second now, Ms. Montanyard. We are here to escort the detainee," Angel related calmly.

"Gather him up and escort him over to our offices," Shelia directed.

"Wait," the Mayor finally spoke up. "We still need him. We need to fix this mess."

"No, you need to fix this mess. I need to look into an investigation that goes beyond your lack of re-electability," Shelia glared. "Besides, I'm leaving you Ms. Silverhorn."

"Actually, Ms. Montanyard, could you take Ms. Silverhorn with us - in case I might have told her something important," I all but pleaded.

"Perhaps if you prove helpful," Shelia offered, "the federal government might intervene."

"Oh - sorry Francesca. You have more courage than anyone else in this room. They will neither acknowledge it nor care. All I can offer is my thanks and best wishes," I nearly wept.

"If I had a son that lived..." she was looking teary-eyed. 

I saw that hit home with Officer Passey as well; she was likewise beyond my help.

"Mainly I couldn't trust any women on the occasional road trip the Debate Team would have taken. I also wanted to graduate early," I answered Shelia's earlier question.

"Okay," she noted. "Ladies, get him out of here," Shelia directed Angel and Seneca.

As I was being led away, Bethany called out. 

"Israel..."

"Bethany...Bethany, just remember during a volcanic eruption, duck and cover," sort of spilled out. I knew it had no relevance to our current circumstances. I felt I had to say something.

Sneaking out the back way, Seneca spoke up.

"Duck and cover is for a nuclear attack," she corrected me. "During a volcanic eruption, you run for your life."

"Really?" I appeared startled. "So, has anyone seen Capri?"

"You are not under arrest," Angel sighed. "You are being detained under a Federal Material Witness warrant."

"Wrong," I chuckled nervously. "I was arrested by the Police Commissioner herself. Apparently I'm a suspect in an 'Inciting to Riot' investigation."

The two cops looked at one another. I could tell Angel was grinning. Seneca was far less amused.

"I see good Ole Shelia hasn't enlightened you two. Now, where are we going?" I resisted giggling like an idiot.

"Fifteenth floor of the Federation Building," Angel gladly replied.

"Thanks, I'll make my call now," I glanced as Seneca to see if she'd stop me. She didn't.

"Capri, this is Israel," I greeted my lawyer buddy.

"I'm in the process of losing my job, but I'm on my way," Capri grumbled. "What are they charging you with and where are you?"

"Material Witness warrant and I'm going to the fifteen floor of the Federation Building," I supplied the pertinent data.

"I would like to say that help is on the way, but it is me and only me," Capri said.

"My boss, Francesca Silverhorn, is going down for this mess too..." I faded out.

"I'm not likely to save you or me. I certainly can't help anyone else," Capri sounded frustrated. "I believe she has some resources and can get her own legal counsel, so don't worry about it." That was pretty much that. The Federation Building was close, we parked in the garage and the elevator took us to the fifteen floor.

I couldn't help a full body-spasm seizing me when the doors opened. I had spent three years trying to be unnoticed, kept my back to the walls and eyes on the exits because I has absolutely no trust in my society to protect me. Yet here I had been in a police station, and now was at federal law enforcement office, all in two days.

It wasn't that I was here, but that I had chosen the path that led me here that really rocked the foundations of my psyche. I was the responsible one. I wasn't accidently stumbling across a car in distress. I wasn't stopping by to talk to a few of my girlfriends buddies. No, this experience was all me.

"Israel, are you going to be okay?" Angel worried.

"Over twenty thousand square feet of pretentious butch women with guns," I joked loudly. "What could possibly go wrong for me here?"

"Angel, I think your guy is unraveling," Seneca whispered to Angel.

She needn't have whispered. I had enunciated at a volume that resonated all over the office space. We had everyone's attention. More importantly to me, I located the woman, or in this case, the group of women, who recognized me. They would be my chief opponents in this hostile territory.

If you run away from women long enough, you start to figure out their hunting habits. Every coterie had a lead lioness and I could tell which one she was. She had strawberry blonde hair and pig-tails and I swear to God, she looked to be fifteen. Her eyes told a very different story. They were cold, bleak and pitiless, yet with a burning fire at their core.

She also had dimples. I had to blink really hard - twice - to make sure my mind hadn't sneaked some freaky mirage into my field of vision.

"I've got him from here, officers," a solid Latina with short-cropped hair ambushed us from the side. She was being polite. It wasn't like there were any choices being made.

"You'll be fine, Israel," Angel called to my retreating form. I couldn't build myself up for a conversation before I was taken to a small room and told to take a seat. I took in the details. The agent didn't have on a name badge - that was meant to isolate me mentally and stop me from trying to ingratiate myself to my captors.

This reinforced my subliminal demons that saw women as faceless aggressors. The room was playing into my claustrophobia. It was also soundproof, playing against my anxiety brought about by a lack of audio stimulation. What my tormentors must not have been counting on was that Sunday had put me past all of this. 

Hell, I'd screwed Bethany Fremont and I thought that would never, ever happen again. I'd done it and I'd felt fine afterwards. Dimples the Clown was going to have to do better than this. Better yet, I knew what was coming. First they would wreck my confidence, then they would be my friends who only wanted to help. The blackmail would come later. My pain would be mental, not physical this round.

I hadn't read the Federal playbook, nor was I a master of interrogation. They considered me a dog so they would treat me like a dog - a bad dog. Dimples and company weren't stupid; I imagined they were actually quite bright. Their problem was that they'd been breaking my gender for forty years and very effectively.

The critical difference was that I wasn't an MRA terrorist, or even a criminal in my mind. I had nothing to feel guilty about. They had no leverage and on a visceral level, I wasn't even afraid of them anymore - cautious yes, but not afraid. The man walking into the room was a bit of a surprise. He looked very well-dressed but casual - fatherly if your father was a college professor from an earlier era.

"Hello, Mr. Jensen, I'm Ezra Bryan," he greeted me with a smile. His hazel eyes, ensconced behind round glasses, gave off a comforting glow. He was my friend, just ask him. "I'm here to help you." See? "Can we talk for a bit?" He sat down opposite me before I could respond.

"Can I see your gun and badge?" I asked politely.

"Come now Israel, men don't carry guns. Do you want a firearm?" he remained pleasant.

"Oh," I mused. He answered questions with questions. I knew that trick well. "Where did you get your degree from, Doctor?"

"Holy Cross," he conceded. "Now would you answer a few of my questions?"

I put my hands on my thighs, lowered my chin to my chest and shut out the room. Meditation is a technique best used in an area that is quiet and safe. They had given me only one voice to tune out and, while I didn't trust Dimples, I knew how this escalation would go. 

I was safe for now. When the psychiatrist Dimples has sicked on me realized he was losing to a guy with two semesters of psychology, he broke form and did something you never do - he touched a survivor of sexual assault without permission. See, he was here to find me psychologically unsound so they could imprison me without a trial forever.

His problem was that you can't find someone insane if they are capable of reasoned discourse - thus my initial words with him - but wouldn't talk to you. Obstinate isn't a psychological disorder. It's only rude. I was meditating - someone touched me. Since I've been sensory deprived and touched by people who did me harm, this was bad.

I yelped and fell sideways in my chair. I ate the fear, ate the anger and kept my eyes down. 

"What is wrong, Israel?" the Dumbass asked with false sympathy, offering to help me up.

I got up without his help.

"Can I see your tablet please?" I countered. I could play this 'answer a question with a question' thing too.

"I'm sorry, but that has confidential information on it. Why did you fall over?" he kept at it.

I pulled my chair around to the side of the table and took a seat.

"Israel, this is not helping your cause. Don't you want the truth to come out?" he smiled in that paternal style. Yes, this was helping my cause and you didn't want the truth to come out, you Jerk, I thought.




One in Ten Ch. 06



I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and started to meditate once more. This time he touched me before I was all the way under.

"Israel, you are not helping yourself with this display," Dr. Bryan was getting a little touchy.

"Ezra, what do you call a man who sneaks up on men who do not know him, who have their eyes closed and are either meditating or asleep?" I finally spoke.

"Aren't those some kind of perverts?" I regarded him with the closest imitation of the tone he was using on me.

"Do you see people who touch you as being perverted?" he resumed is babble. I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and resumed meditating.

On his fourth unwarranted touching, I got up and walked to the door. It wasn't a normal door - it opened out. I guessed that was so someone inside couldn't bar the authorities from entry. It opened which made sense since I was six inches taller and twenty-five years younger than their pet male shrink.

Of course, there were two agents at the door as well. I wasn't planning to sprint for the elevators or closest window anyway. They were across the hallway and unhappy to see me.

"Hi," I greeted them cheerfully as I let the door shut.

"Get back inside," the African-American agent stated firmly.

"Actually, there is this weird old guy in there who keeps touching me every time I close my eyes and try to go to sleep," I pleaded. "Can you please help me?" For a second, they were both confused by my request. They had this misconception they were protectors of the public welfare.

"He's giving you a psychiatric exam," the second agent, this one of East Asian extraction, told me.

"Really?" I doubt I was very convincing in my surprise. "I was raped repeatedly when I was sixteen, so why on God's Green Earth would any healthcare professional touch me without my consent or awareness?" Take that Bitch! There is simply no right answer for that question and everyone listening in on this exchange knew it.

Five doors down, the portal flew open and Capri came bolting out at a dead run with two agents hot on her ass, trying to re-write history.

"This farce is at an end!" Capri O'Hara screamed at the top of her lungs. Sadly, Capri was a small woman and both of her pursuers where superior specimens in all the currently relevant categories.

"Israel, as your legal counsel, I advise you to not answer any further questions without me being present," she got out before they muffled her. The damage was done. I was free - in a very, very limited legal context. This act hadn't played out yet, though, because the next two people out the door were Angel and Seneca.

In retrospect, had I ever actually seen Angel in a fight before she threatened me on Friday, I wouldn't have let her back in my condo, much less my bedroom. I had no fist-fighting experience, but I'd seen a few female fight movies and TV shows - things like the Power Rangers and Black Widow: Agent of SHIELD. I was totally unprepared for the reality of this kind of violence.

Angel drove her fist into the lower back of the rightmost agent holding Capri. That woman screamed, and I mean screamed, in pain before crumpling into a whimpering ball. The agent on the left was really quick. She tried to defend herself and deflected the first blow - later I was told that was Angel's feint, but Angel connected with her chin before the woman could bring the other hand up protectively.

Angel jacked her off the ground. I was stunned the agent was still conscious. Hell's Bells, I was stunned her head was still attached. The federal agent had less than a second to rejoice in that fact before Angel's other fist propelled her over Capri and down in a heap in front of my lawyer. Seneca had no fears about her partner's combat expertise.

She had spun around to the door that seemed to hold everybody, held up her hand, put her other hand on her sidearm and was loudly begging everyone to calm down. Dimples' crowd kept pouring out of the room, their hands falling to their weapons as well. Shelia joined the mob followed by Dimples herself.

The agents beside me were in a quandary. I was a witness, not a suspect, but I wasn't someone they trusted to remain sane. I had to admire their teamwork even though it was working against me. The East Asian put her forearm to my neck and pushed me hard against the wall next to the door. The African-American put her hand on her taser and took up a defensive posture.

The only noise was the first agent's whimpers. Capri was the only one moving, shrugging off the kinks she'd earned from the grapple and stooping beside the second, unconscious, agent. Capri drew forth that woman's taser. 

"Put it down," the darker skinned agent warned.

"Put it down or we will put you down, Ms. O'Hara," Dimples spoke in the sweetest voice. I wondered if she was a Care Bear in a previous life. Most likely 'Let the Right One in' Care Bear.

"Stop with the empty threats, you pack of weasels," Capri snapped. "Now listen the fuck up."

"One of three things is going to happen," Capri started.

"I said 'put it down'," the African-American agent stated firmly.

"You are going to release my client so that we can talk, I'm going to taser you and then the cunt who is assaulting my client, or you are going to taser me," Capri finished.

"Wish granted," the agent snarled.

"You do realize that once she drops I have a clear shot at you, right?" Angel notified her.

"You don't have your taser drawn," the African-American agent stated.

"No," Angel extended her pistol past Capri. "I have my sidearm."

"Now, as I was saying, you have three options and you lose big time in the last two," Capri grinned like a vindictive leprechaun.

"She won't shoot," Dimples referred to Angel. "The odds of Mr. Jensen being caught in the cross-fire are very high."

"Irrelevant," Capri snorted. "Because I'm about to shoot you," she started raising her taser.

"Last chance, Lady," the agent warned.

"Do you want to know why you are fucked?" Capri scoffed. "See these are all government issued weapons and every time one is discharged you have to write an incident report."

"That isn't your taser. You stole it," the agent pointed out. I saw Shelia Montanyard flinch minutely.

"Hey, FedLawBitch," Capri snorted (she was addressing Shelia, I would learn later). "Just because my law school offered night classes doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Bronson v. Michigan."

Only two people understood that - Shelia and Capri.

"Bronson v. Michigan doesn't apply," Shelia bluffed.

"The Supreme Court disagrees. It has been applied two times in the past seven years and since this is a government building, the dumb bitch on the ground is a government law enforcement agent, and since Mr. Jensen is a person of interest to the court..."

"Put your weapons down," Shelia conceded.

"What?" the African-American agent blanched.

"Holster your weapon," Dimples spoke again. "While Ms. O'Hara is within her rights to shoot you, you are not within your rights to shoot her. Do you want to get tasered?"

"Oh, and the cops are covered by Bronson as well," Capri waved her hand over her shoulder. "I am an officer of the court and your two brigands were assaulting me and keeping me from my legal duties. Go after them and I'll nipple twist you so hard, Ms. Montanyard, your screams will make your law school professors fall over dead in shock."

"Noted," Shelia nodded. She wasn't giving up so much as repositioning for the next offensive. Before my time there was a military term tossed around called 'Shock and Awe'. From the look on the faces of Dimples and Shelia, they had thought they were the French army invading Monaco only to discover they had invaded Switzerland by mistake.

They thought they'd spend half a day rounding up the local constabulary then have dinner on the beach - in this case, the Federation Capital. Oh no, they could still see victory on the horizon but beyond all predictions, they were really going to have to work for it. Right then, the door to my interrogation room opened and the doctor looked out.

"Is everything fine?" he inquired.

"Oh, Dr. Bryan, I'm informing every institution on the planet that pretends to know anything about medicine and reporting your gross negligence. When I'm done with you, even the WHO won't use you to clean their toilets," Carpi glared.

"What did I do?" he looked around, shocked.

"You touched a post-recovery rape patient without their consent - repeatedly, even after he was clearly uncomfortable with it," Capri snapped.

"He is POST-recovery," the man stated.

"Were you incapable of reading his file dating from yesterday morning in which the police report my client having been beaten black and blue by unnamed assailants? He didn't press charges, but it is still an open investigation. The GED frowns on people running around and beating up men, so there actually is a use for those douches after all," Capri snarled.

Dr. Bryan had this wide-eyed, stunned expression. Eventually his gaze settled on Shelia and Dimples.

"He's not what you said he'd be," the man blathered. "His profile is all wrong. The man is totally mad, I tell you. Give me more time and I can prove it."

"Doc," I said calmly. "I suggest you exit this building as soon as possible and hurry home before they cancel your travel voucher."

"Mr. Jensen," he turned on me desperately. "You are psychologically very ill and you need professional help."

I just smiled. He was right. We both knew he was right, but I had trapped him before he trapped me. A week ago, I would have snapped like a branch in a tornado. The women around me, for good and ill, had scraped away all the scabs and scar tissue that I'd let build up over the years until all was left was the raw open wounds.

My blood was on fire and my mind a hurricane of thoughts, wants and desires. I wasn't a man grown to adulthood by continual experience. I was shards of all of those stages of my life, jumbled together into some slipshod construct that staggered forth from encounter to encounter. Dr. Bryan had lost because I could be a seventeen year old survivor one second and the man lying on the floor, laughing while Flame beat on me the next.

Had they given Dr. Bryan time to work on me, develop his skills to my condition, he would have cracked me in a few days - a week at the most. He was a psychiatrist, and most likely a good one to be working with the FBI, and I was, in fact, insane. This was my victory. I had forced Dimples to expend a weapon for no gain. I wasn't sure Angel would get it.

Two hours later found us in a much larger room, laid out in a comfortably cluttered manner. It was terrain psychology all over again. Was I to believe a federal agency as big as this didn't have clean conference rooms for us to use? As it was, Capri and I were on one side of the table. Angel and Seneca were on the edge of the table closest to the main door.

That left Dimples and company to spread out over the other half of the room. Their body language was laid back and unaggressive, they had bought this Indian-Italian fusion feast and they were bantering back in a non-gender specific manner.

"What does this tell you?" Capri turned to me as she finished a forkful of garlic pasta.

"Special Agent in Charge Enola Treyvon's (Dimples actual name) team are man-hunters," I said as I gulped down my food. By that I meant people who hunt males professionally. If you thought about it, male criminals had to be rare. We all had bracelets that any woman could ask to see on demand, thus in network, so tracing us wasn't all that hard.

Also, if we broke the law, we had to take drugs which made committing crime inconvenient. If we were violent, they had drugs for that too. A man having an illegal firearm was bad, but being a woman who gave a man a gun was much worse. Since the MRA hadn't been active in over a decade, it didn't make sense that the Federation's chief law enforcement agency would have tons of these kinds of specialists floating around.

I was about to say something else when 'nothing' caught my attention. A man has to watch where he is, how he stands, what he says, who is listening and how the women around him are acting. It is Male Survival 101. The savannah looked safe but the bushes held deep shadows.

"They were tipped off to be here by Detective Angel Kristi," I nodded to Capri.

"You do realize that sticking your dick in a garbage disposal is a crime, right?" Capri laughed.

Angel flinched. She was guilty after all. Seneca was glaring hate Capri's way. The feds were being very polite about the whole thing. I turned on Capri, mouth agape.

"Oh my fucking God!" I exclaimed. "Let me check something out." I stood up.

"I advise you to go with caution," Capri warned me. I walked around the far side of the table (away from Angel and Seneca), over to the Latina who had snared me earlier. She was sitting, but I was hardly intimidating her. I knelt before her which finally got some sort of reaction from the federal agents. They were attentive. The Latina was keeping her eyes level with mine.

"Angel," I looked toward my lover, "she uses the same shampoo as you." You see, I had no doubt that this agent had memorized every visual aspect me myself, Capri, Seneca and Angel...but scent? For a second, she turned her head to look at Angel. I backed away then stood up. "Oh sweet Lord, I wish I wasn't right so damn much. Janice Bourne," I gulped. 

See, the shampoo thing had been a total bluff.

Janice Bourne was the protagonist in a series of spy novels where the male characters were somewhat interesting for a change. In one, a guy actually kills a female assassin with pruning shears. That wasn't the relevant issue.

"They've got Cochlear implants," I clarified. 

The technology was hardly new, but it was a bit intensive and expensive so only people like the Secret Service's Executive Protection Detail and elite security agencies used it. Oddly appropriate, Cochlear implants and sub vocalization were the calling card of an evil female organization in the Borne stories.

"Wait, you mean they can talk without us hearing them?" Capri gasped.

"Bravo," Dimples applauded in a mocking way. She pushed off the glass wall she'd been leaning against.

"You are an intelligent, gifted individual," Enola nodded to me. She didn't call me an 'intelligent man' because that was an oxymoron in her culture. 'Gifted' meant my cock was over six inches long.

"How about I not lie to you because you eat people like me for breakfast and I not help you because you are opposed to every principle and virtue I hold dear?" I suggested.

"Do you want to discuss the legality of discussing my client's case while he's in the fucking room and withholding that information?" Capri snarled as she stood. Capri lit into Dimples, who treated Capri like she was noisy but irrelevant. My phone rang. It was 'MW'.

*Bravo performance, Israel. We speculate your actions will help our cause greatly. If your needs are immediate, we will know what to look for. Otherwise, we will keep in touch.*

I typed, *Fine* then hit 'Send' The countdown was on. It was not lost on me that the MW used Bravo or that in fifteen seconds this message would vanish into the ether of the internet.

"What did you just do?" Dimples addressed me intensely. I was boned. Outside of the fact that she could kick my ass and/or imprison me, she also was most likely smarter than me.

"Who me?" I squeaked. It was a horrible choice of evasions. I was guilty as hell and everyone knew it.

"Give me the phone," she beckoned urgently. I was the only one not standing all of a sudden. I pushed against the desk so that my chair tumbled backward.

The only ones not stampeding my way were Angel and Seneca - Capri was in the process of being trampled, so I rolled in the other direction. Halfway through the roll, I slid my phone under the table. By some miracle, no one saw that, so I was the recipient of the dog pile. I had to lie still and let them search me. The patchwork quilt of my psyche had other plans.

I exploded. I screamed, cried out, lashed out and was basically consumed by a sorority party flashback. Normal restraining techniques didn't work. I thrashed around so hard that I dislocated my left shoulder, tried to crack my head open on the carpeted floor and did some unhappy things to my right knee.

I was saved by one of Dimples' people. She was a criminal psychologist and figured out what was happening to me. Dimples ran a tight crew. They had me unrestrained and let me curled into a fetal ball inside a minute, or so Angel told me. As I started to match mental commands to movements I heard an unknown feminine voice telling others to 'give him space.'

My mind had been shielding me from the damage I'd received during the wrestling match so when I tried to push up, my left arm instantly gave way and I cried out in pain. There were a flurry of voices.

"What's wrong?"

"He's dislocated his shoulder. I can fix that."

"He needs to see a doctor."

"I can help."

"Don't crowd in, damn it."

"Israel should be taken to an actual doctor, who doesn't work for you." That was Capri.

"He's not going anywhere," Dimples stated matter-of-factly.

"Fine," one of the feds said, "Israel, I'm going to pop your shoulder back to where it should be. This will hurt." At that point I realized I had been screaming the entire time.

She was right - it hurt like hell when she did it but afterwards my shoulders shooting pain subsided to a dull ache.

"He needs to go to a hospital," Capri insisted.

"We have enough to commit him right now," Dimples replied dismissively.

"Do you enjoy vomiting nonsense continually, or do you save it for your demented attempts at romancing handsome young men?" Capri sneered. 

"Your case is long on vitriol, but short on substance," Dimples came back.

"You think so, SAC of 'no one gives a crap'?" Capri laughed harshly.

"You attacked my client over a phone - that's going to go over spectacularly. He wasn't trying to evade, or fight back in any manner," she continued. "Yet you beat the crap out of him and he didn't even have the phone on him. It was under the table."

"He failed to obey a lawful order," Dimples sounded bored. "That's resisting."

"He had eight armed women coming at him. He was afraid. Hell, I would have been afraid," Capri countered.

"His resistance meant we were unable to retrieve any relevant data from his mobile device," Dimples stated.

"What did you find out?" Capri grinned.

"We have his keystrokes but not the text he was responding to. There was no evidence he even had a call three minutes ago which implies secretive communications," Dimples said. "That's espionage."

"You are going to take 'nothing' to court? Your wet dreams about what might have been in that text have no legal significance, Agent Treyvon," Capri smirked. "He has confirmed he is talking to the 'Vanishers' and that he wants to go with them, but that's not illegal. He has not stated a desire to avoid the Gender Inequality Act in any way."

"No man who has vanished has complied with the GIA," Dimples challenged.

"How is he to know that?" Capri bit back. "That information is not readily available."

"He can't be bright and sane when it is convenient for you then damaged and delicate the next when it is suddenly inconvenient," Dimples explained.

"Review your mental health statutes," Capri glared. "Israel remains a functioning member of society in that he holds, or held, a job, he maintains a dwelling and he is not a threat to himself or others. Being annoyingly inconsistent isn't his problem, or the courts problem. It is your problem. He is not required to help you do your jobs."

"We can compel testimony," another FBI agent informed us.

"That's nice, Nancy Drew," Capri turned on her. "You are going to both declare the nature of the 'Vanisher' criminal conspiracy in a manner I can review, and grant my client immunity?"




One in Ten Ch. 06



"He will be charged with contempt of court," the woman retorted.

"Where did you get your law degree?" Capri asked politely.

"The University of Quebec," the agent stated proudly.

"Well then, you should know that it is a matter of official record that my client has been in communication with 'said' criminal conspiracy," Carpi started sedately then,

"So how in the fuck are you going to separate this communication, which you want to know about, from the criminal conspiracy in a manner that doesn't abuse my client's Fifth Amendment Rights?" Capri snapped angrily. "Holy Mother Mary, Israel do you have pheromones that turn most smart girls into drooling idiots?"

"Uhhhh," I groaned as I righted my seat and sat down. "I can do you one better. Dimples, your team is the best in its field right?" I wheezed. We waited. She didn't like being called Dimples.

"The very best," she finally stated.

"Yet you've learned exactly what since bringing me in?" I stared. "I typed 'Fine'."

"Angel and Seneca are lowly Metropolitan cops, not one of you hot shot feds. Seneca, what would you have done?" I kept my eyes on Dimples. Seneca hesitated.

"I would have said, 'Israel, please tell me what that call was about?'" Seneca said.

"And I would have answered honestly. Why?" I continued.

"You love Angel, I'm her partner so helping me helps her," Seneca reasoned.

"Even though she's betrayed me, and you and I don't like each other at all?" I kept going.

"Yeah - pretty much," she mused.

"And that ladies," I smirked at Dimples as I addressed her group, "is why you are losing."

"You are striding across the landscape like some modern day titans and I'm nothing but a scrap of trash beneath your feet. Your problem is that I'm not trash. Men like me are your genetic future and we think your feet stink. Oh, you were all nice and friendly thirty minutes ago. You gave us this nice, cluttered room that wasn't an oppressive, business-like setting."

"You fed us and were practicing all those little body language skills and word usage you were taught in whatever fucked-up male psychology classes you took. The second I had something you wanted, and I didn't snap-to like that pet lizard, Dr. Bryan, you pounced," I berated them, "without an ounce of concern for my physical and mental well-being."

"Despite ALL of you knowing what I've been through in my life," I grumbled. "You chose to use my weaknesses against me, to harm me, and you still have pipe dream that I might be coerced into helping you. Wake up! You are the villains of this piece. You are beating up on the weak and helpless. You are not out to rescue men. You are simply trying to give women a few more dicks to fuck before this sad parody of life comes crashing down."

"Mr. Jensen, could you please tell me what the text message was?" Dimples asked me.

"I'm not really feeling talkative at this moment. I'm a bit weirded out. I need to freaking unwind...Angel, can I have sex with Agent Dimples?" I turned to my lover. She blinked, but the surprise wasn't hers alone. I was moving way past the profile they had painted me into.

"Can I think about it?" Angel looked me over. Sadly, we were not telepathic. "I'm not comfortable with you having sex with Special Agent in Charge Treyvon." 

"Okay, Angel," I acknowledged. There was silence for half a minute.

"Detective Kristi, could you explain something to me?" the agent who had freed me earlier spoke up.

"What do you want to know, Special Agent Fraklos?" Angel answered.

"What is the dynamic between you two?" she questioned.

"We love each other. He doesn't want to become attached to me because he sees that as a form of codified possessiveness. Instead, if he is going to do something that might cause me emotional turmoil, he consults me first. It is called compassion and it is something I've never asked for, he gives willingly and another reason for me to love him," Angel explained.

"But you betrayed him," Fraklos pointed out. "You have betrayed him repeatedly. We are here because you revealed something he told you in confidence - yet, he remains loyal. How do you figure that?"

"See, that's why you are in trouble," Angel regarded the feds.

"Yes, I betrayed him, but he knew I would relate everything he told me because he respects the fact that I am a Metropolitan Detective. He hates my profession, but he loves me despite that, not because it," Angel grinned then looked at me. "I get it Israel, I finally get it. For the rest of you, Israel's been kicking your asses ALL DAY LONG."

"He even kicked your ass over the phone and I have to believe that was totally unrehearsed," Angel added. "What did Ms. Montanyard say? He was waiting for the Material Witness warrant at City Hall. He knew what he was saying, what you would do and he didn't get it from me. Israel Jensen, a man who nearly collapsed when he stepped off the elevator, is making a mockery of your sparkly little asses - and I wouldn't have thought him capable of it either."

"I apologize Israel," a tear tracked down Angel's cheek. "I should have never doubted your love for me. I'll really work on it. Oh, you can have sex with Enola, if you still want to."

"Nah, I was joking about that. She's the polar opposite of Zuiko. I mean, sure they both have only had sex twice in their lives, but Dimples doesn't want to have sex," I mused.

"Are you sure?" Angel inquired.

"It is in the eyes," I noted. "I barely register on her radar. I don't do it for her."

"Mr. Jensen, would you please tell me what was on the text message," Dimples repeated.

"There is not a single reason I can think of to tell you," I stared back.

"Detectives Kristi and Poole, please go to the main conference room and wait for your next assignment," Dimples commanded. Angel and Seneca dutifully stood and left. Capri snickered and dropped her head to the table with a loud 'thud'.

"That was so totally counter-productive," Capri mumbled playfully, "I really can't find the words to capture its essence. Israel?"

"Everything is right with the Game Plan, Boss," I snickered. "I was able tell my love good-bye, I had a nice lunch and I think there is a nap in my future."

"I'll wake you if something intelligent happens," Capri raised her head and smiled at me.

"Capri, thank you for showing up today. You know there is nothing I can do for you," I sighed.

"When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle," Capri quoted. "That was from an Englishman from long, long ago. In this case it should be 'bad women'."

"Do you really believe me that this whole, sick society needs to trundle off to extinction?" I inquired with deep curiosity. 

"I've spent my life until now competing with the women around me, never really thinking about men that much, except hoping to get lucky along the way. I never thought about a gender divide, much less an impassioned struggle by men to be free. Until I met you, I thought we were equals. After witnessing my gender's ugly underbelly, I'm a believer in your cause, Israel," she patted my arm. I didn't flinch one bit.

"I apologize for ruining your life," I patted her back. "Want to move in with me?"

"Sure. I'm about to be homeless, penniless and friendless," Capri shrugged. "Solving one of those three problems won't suck."

"You are going to make your disbarment incredibly easy, Ms. O'Hara," the Latina smirked.

"Oh, for the love of the Goddess, shut up!" Capri groaned. "If all you are going to say is stupid crap, just be quiet. I can live with my client as long as we aren't having sex, you dipshit. If every word out of your mouth is an insult to female intelligence, keep your yap shut." The agents remained outwardly calm. 

I would have still cautioned Capri about bearding the monsters in their cave, but it looked like she was having too much fun. That was when I realized she understood. None of us were getting out intact. Oh, we may walk out into the sunlight today, but there was no coming back from this for her, or me.

Francesca and now Capri - I didn't understand it. I was grateful, but I couldn't wrap my mind around women who had sacrificed everything - if not for me, for a cause they had no experience with. In the final analysis, Kuiko, Aniqua, Venus, Samantha and Roni made sense. Their future prospects were bleak. 

So was Angel, but her profession gave her an out that her economic status couldn't provide. Capri was clearly very talented and should have gone far in the legal field. She could have secured a male, and her genetic destiny. Francesca was at the top of her game. She was at the cusp of power. The odds were good she'd succeed. Even if not, she'd live well. 

She had thrown it all away for me after being in my life less than one week. For a second, it all came apart. If I had had sex with my first girlfriend, I would have missed the Aurora Slasher. If I had met someone like Capri, Kuiko, or Angel in college instead of Bethany. If I had progressed to my first job with Francesca as my boss - I would have gone for her.

"Israel?" a hand brushed my cheek and it was wet. "Israel?" Capri repeated. I'd been crying. I looked into SAC Treyvon's eyes and saw triumph.

"You will never understand," I chortled at Dimples.

"You are not that complicated, Mr. Jensen," she responded.

"Then why was I crying?" I challenged her.

"It doesn't matter. You've done well to get this far, but in the end you are still a fractured little boy in a basement wondering why you can't get your girlfriend pregnant. A few more taps and you'll come apart," Dimples stated her beliefs as fact.

At first, Dimples eyes retained that smug, superior glint. It took a few seconds to realize that mine wasn't a smile of a man collapsing. I was laughing at her on the inside. I was laughing at Flame and Little M as my body was being bruised and battered because for all their power, they couldn't save themselves and I now knew Dimples was in the same boat.

Only Dimples knew that I was one step ahead again, she didn't have her text and her ploy to remove Angel had backfired. By sending Angel away, she had removed that point of leverage. Once Angel was out of sight, she was beyond my concern. Bethany had forced me to collapse my world down into a tiny sphere where my sole concern was myself.

That was not something I had totally abandoned. Like the seventeen year old in therapy, or the man laughing through the pain, a shard of my post-Bethany world was part of the Frankenstein of my soul. A few seconds ago, my mind had betrayed me and I had cried in public for no real reason. Now, another facet raised up a wall that stymied SAC Treyvon.

Best of all, I was keeping my mouth shut.

"Can we talk about the first message then," Agent Fraklos asked. She was playing the 'nice' one now because she had provided me physical comfort. They were talking behind our backs again.

"Israel, until the FBI qualifies the scope of their investigation for us, I don't advise you to respond," Carpi suggested.

"Wait, I should give them something," I argued with Carpi. She smirked at me.

"Can I have my phone back?" I asked Fraklos.

"Sorry, but no; our technical people need to look it over," she apologized.

"Okay, the screen glowed green and the letters were black. There were a lot of them," I recalled thoughtfully.

"Are you trying to be clever?" another agent sounded bored.

"No, I was trying to raise my morale - and it worked. How about you Capri? Feel better?" I asked.

"Oh, loads," Capri grinned.

"You are going to stay here until you give us the answers we need," Fraklos tried to sound reasonable.

"Ugh," I grunted to Capri. I got up and began rifling through some boxes until I found something that looked dreadfully boring, but not insanely so.

I took a big handful and returned to my seat. Capri slouched in her chair, clearly flipped her tablet to something besides my case and began reading.

"Very amusing Mr. Jensen," Dimples broke the silence. "You will break. Close proximity to all these women, the stress of confronting us - you will crumble and you know it." 

I looked up at her, nodded to acknowledge that I'd heard her flap her gums then resumed reading.

"Israel, you should think about all the women's lives you're negatively impacting," Fraklos started again. 

I had to think about that for a second; to talk or not talk? 

"How so?" I inquired. "Whose life am I negatively impacting?"

"Detective Kristi for starters. What about Venus Marlowe or Roni Azari? Things are not going to go well for them in this investigation," Fraklos said compassionately.

"What about Kuiko Sano? Weren't you going to have sex with her tonight?" another agent asked, as if reading my phone logs was a perfectly normal thing to do.

"Still am," I nodded her way.

"Not too likely. You are being obstinate so they could be in custody for some time," Fraklos said. "Jobs and housing could be at risk as well as a permanent criminal record. You can help them."

"What? What are you talking about? Do you mean the people you are going to fuck over because you are all a bunch of frustrated bitches? That's a rather pathetic attempt at coercion, Special Agent Fraklos," I noted. "Seriously, I'm a man. You've spent your lifetimes making sure I can't do shit. What would make me believe anything has changed?"

"How about the fact that you've betrayed your species?" the Latina asked - again, they were all so reasonable.

"That argument is a bit too late, Agent 'Whoever the Fuck You Are'," I grinned. "Why, after a lifetime of discrimination, do you suddenly want me on your team?"

"Special Agent Sosa," she responded, "and you have only been isolated in your own mind."

Capri snorted in amusement at that.

"Really?" I perked up. "Cool. Let's go to your apartment then. I've got a real Zen to break into your place, slap you around a bit because you weren't obsequious fast enough and then you'll let me ass-rape you because you'll lose your job if you don't."

"How does that sound, Sister-in-Equality, because every bit of that has happened to me in the past seven days," I knew my grin had grown brittle. "You want me to show solidarity with you, then show some with me. Prove to me how the world will be a better place if I help?"

"How can we do that?" Fraklos kept being so damn caring and polite.

"Repeal the Gender Inequality Act and disband your branch of the FBI and every GED across the Federation," I responded in the same kind tone. "Non-negotiable."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Fraklos said after being respectfully thoughtful. Capri began giggling.

"How long are you going to let this charade go on?" Capri didn't look at me but I knew she was talking to me.

"You will know it when you see it. I have a date at six, but I should be home by seven so figure out what you want to eat," I chatted amiably. 

"You may want to forestall those dinner plans," Dimples smirked. "We have business to take care of."

"Nope," I mocked her. "I imagine you are very bright but you haven't been right about me once today. You don't know what's going on and until you figure out what is happening, you can't beat me."

Dimple let her dimples grow a tiny bit. She had gotten me to start talking, to open up and she was going to exploit that to get what she wanted.

"The male birth rate is declining and it spells the end of the Human Race," Dimples said as if she was agreeing with me. I snickered.

"I can fully understand you not listening to me, but you aren't even listening to yourself," I pointed out. "The vanishings are not causing the male population collapse, they are a result of it. Someone knew about this whole Big Lie and set events in motion before either you or I arrived on stage."

"At this point in the game, it is not a question of curing all the men, only a select few. Now, that doesn't help anyone in the room - except maybe me," I sighed, "because the rest of you don't seem to be part of the survival plan. And best of all, I can't even save Angel or Capri and I like both of them - a lot."

"With us," Fraklos said, "you could be more than only another sperm donor. We could really help. This doesn't have to be a long slide into oblivion."

"Oh," I chuckled. "I took care of that this morning. There is not going to be a long slide for you folks. The women you've been treating like some fascist proletariat are going to storm the barricades."

"Israel," Capri interrupted. "Fascist and the proletariat are opposing political positions."

"Whoops," I snickered. "PR degree, not Political Science. Anyway, instead of looking at a slow population decline over the next one hundred years, I expect you to reap what you sow."

"You weren't telling the men to rise up in rebellion - you were telling the women..." Fraklos muttered.

"Damn right," I laughed. "You were mocking me, on the inside, thinking I was asking men to take up arms against their oppressors. In fact, I was telling some dateless, mid-thirties grocery worker that you bitches in power were responsible for all her woes. Men are weaponless and afraid, but women - women are looking for someone else to blame for their misfortunes."

"In case you missed it, you are going to be in that group they are going to lynch; everyone in this room that has tits and isn't Capri," I pointed out. "You don't get to pass on this misfortune to the next generation."

"You would want to inflict that pain on your own gender?" Fraklos questioned.

"I was rendered incapable of helping my fellow man long before I was born," I told them.

"What has inspired this totally anarchistic view? Certainly there is something in this life you find worth saving?" Fraklos persisted.

"There is what I can do and what I want to do. I want this Society to end, but not for the reasons you think," I sighed.

"What would that be?" Sosa took her turn.

"What do you think, Capri?" I asked my lawyer.

"Nap time," Capri advised. I gave her a thumbs up, crossed my arms on the table and rested my head at their crux.

"I understand alright, Mr. Jensen," Dimples acknowledged. "Special Agents Sosa and Vabishi, take Mr. Jensen to an observation room and keep him under guard. We'll resume this discussion tomorrow morning."

"Don't sweat it," Capri yawned. "I'll come at them with a Writ of Habeas Corpus ASAP."

"Let them peddle this cockamamie case before a judge," she smirked.

"It is scheduled with Judge Alissa Gunson at 4 pm," Dimples stated. "We predicted your course of action and took the appropriate measures." Capri glared at her.

"Capri?" I worried.

"If I file for change of court, they are no longer bound by the 'quick and speedy' hearing bit. It could take a week before I could schedule a different judge. Gunson upheld a mother's right to pimp out her underage son. She's about as sexist and mysandristic as they come," Capri filled me in. "She has an eye on the next Federation Supreme Court opening." 

"All part of the plan, Boss," I patted Capri on the back.

"Look me in the eyes," Capri demanded. I turned, she put her palms on both cheeks and looked deep into my eyes. "Good. You are just the normal crazy - nothing exceptionally wacky going on. I won't leave the building."

"Thanks, Capri," I stood for my latest minders to take me away. "This won't take long."

"You are mistaken, Mr. Jensen," Dimples commented dryly.

"What will you bet me?" I laughed.

"You are going to lose," Dimples rolled her eyes. "What do you suggest?"

"If I don't get to have sex with Kuiko sometime in the next 24 hours, I'll tell you everything I know," I promised. "When I win, and I will win, you will be Capri's male intern for 24 hours."

Dimples waved me off dismissively. I didn't amuse her. She wasn't the kind of girl amused by monkeys throwing poo, or males fighting for their lives.




One in Ten Ch. 06



"I'll take no response as a 'Yes, challenge accepted, Mr. Jensen'," I called out. I got no response as I was led away. It would have been very human of my guardians to talk to me. I was taken up one level and stuck into what was clearly an observation room, including the mirrored wall on one side. They even had two bottles of water on the table. The four chairs looked possibly comfortable.

I waited around five minutes. There was no clock in the room and my phone was long gone. Once I felt my keeper had gotten comfortable, I noticed I was getting sweaty. They'd jacked up the temperature on me. I took off my shirt, climbed up on the table and crossed my legs. The table wasn't long enough for me to stretch out on.

I laid out, rolled my shirt into a small pillow and closed my eyes. A minute later-

"Mr. Jensen, please get off the table, put your shirt back on and resume a normal sitting posture," a feminine voice spoke over the intercom.

"I don't understand," I said without opening my eyes.

She repeated her orders.

"But I would like a nap," I yawned. "Can I have a bed brought in?"

"No - now get off the table, get dressed and sit down."

"But I don't want to," I mumbled. I'd secretly wanted to tell a woman that for years. You can't appreciate how precious that statement is unless you've lived a life devoid of real choice.

"Get off the table or we'll make you," the voice was beginning to sound annoyed. I didn't move until the door opened and two agents walked in. They weren't Dimples' people. I got off the table and complied. They glared then left. I counted to one hundred then repeated my actions.

"Mr. Jensen, get off the table," the voice snapped.

So the circus continued until I had two agents permanently stationed in the room with me. This made the whole heat thing amusing from my point of view. I had on my shirt - which I left open, while the agents were sweating like pigs in their jackets. The fact that they weren't drinking my bottled water told me my paranoia had been warranted.

"Are you going to behave if we leave you here?" one agent finally cracked.

"Are you going to believe me if I lie to you?" I grinned.

"Behave or we'll chain you to the chair," she threatened.

"But I'm not a criminal," I stated. "I'm a witness."

"What you are is a mouthy little slut," she growled.

"Wait, are you hitting on me?" I blinked.

"No," she declared a tad too quickly.

"Pity, because I really like physically fit chicks," I mused. "They are - delicious."

My fear must not have been showing in my eyes and I was already sweating, so that didn't matter. Only the food in my stomach was threatening to ruin my act.

"I'm on the job, you asshole," she snapped.

"What? Are either of us going anywhere until three-thirty?" I grinned. "You are stuck in here with me anyway."

"Do you imagine you are somehow irresistible?" she sneered. "Your body looks like it belongs on a hospital bed, not a hotel mattress."

"Are you suggesting that any man who goes to bed with you has to have a high pain tolerance?" I joked.

Her retort, long in coming, was cut off by Shelia Montanyard and Dimples coming into the room.

"Leave," Dimples commanded and the two agents beat feet quickly. I got up and made for the door as well - I was insane after all. Dimples put a hand on my bare, sweaty chest.

"No?" I pleaded as I feebly tried to move past her.

"Sit down, Mr. Jensen," Shelia snapped. "This is a National Security matter."

"Can I at least have something to drink?" I inquired. The two women glance at the water bottles. "I was thinking of something from a drinking fountain. For some reasons, those two agents, even when dying from dehydration, wouldn't drink those, so color me suspicious."

The fire in Dimple's eyes grew in intensity.

"They have a mild sedative that is meant to keep you calm," she said. My sense of accomplishment from gaining her recognition of my intelligence was lost in the new way she regarded me. I had suddenly become noteworthy in her estimation.

"The room is secure, Ms. Montanyard," Dimples said.

"Mr. Jensen, sit down," she commanded. I did so. I was still reeling from Dimple's look.

"Tell me all you know about Carabolix 37," Shelia demanded. I had won! Capri and I were walking out of here. I was going to have sex with Kuiko. I was going to repay those who had stood by me...and I was still off my rocker.

"No, first I..." I got out.

"Mr. Jensen, I have a Writ of Exclusion which pretty much suspends your civil rights for the extent of my investigation," Shelia threatened. "Your only means of egress from this calamity is to be immediately forthright and honest about what you know." 

Shelia presented me with something on her tablet that was written in far more legalize than I could handle.

"I want my lawyer," I glared.

"You don't have the right to counsel anymore, Israel," Shelia corrected.

"We're done then," I shrugged.

"Very well, we'll extract what we need the hard way," Shelia remarked. She stood up and she and Dimples got ready to leave. At the door, Dimples turned and studied me. Shelia noticed and stopped just outside in the hallway.

"What is it, Mr. Jensen - Israel?" Dimples wondered.

"What are you talking about?" Shelia asked Dimples.

"He's known everything we were going to do to him. He's been one step ahead since...surveillance would suggest Sunday afternoon," Dimples kept drinking me in. "So, what is that you know that we've missed?"

"You both agree that I'm insane, right?" I nodded to Dimples. She came back into the room and, to keep her whole 'National Security' mystique, Shelia was forced to follow.

"Yes," Shelia said, "you are clearly unhinged."

"What are you going to give me, or inflict on me, to make me talk that doesn't shatter my psyche first?" I grinned.

They both blinked.

"You can win. I'm at your mercy. You have all the power in the world and all I have is the mind you have been kicking holes in for the past five years," I related. "The only problem is that you are likely to flush any knowledge you need down the drain first."

"Do you want to take that risk?" I smiled. Shelia said nothing and Dimples was her normal, cipher-like self. I am hardly the kind of guy who cracks highly successful legal minds on a regular basis. Yet, there was something Shelia wasn't telling me - a fear cloaked deep inside her imagination. It was the fear of death.

I took a chance.

"You've lost all forty doses, haven't you?" I whispered. Sure, I knew that twenty had probably ended up in me, but Delilah Fremont had told me she had the other twenty. Still, that wouldn't cause a panic unless...

"All the research data is gone too..." I mumbled. What had the good doctor done?

"What do you know about it?" Shelia moved delicately all of a sudden.

"Capri O'Hara," I demanded.

"This is a National Security manner," Shelia reminded me.

"You mean the same 'nation' that just voided my civil rights?" I spat angrily. I stood up and my chair flew back. "Face it, when I was finally using your rules to defend myself successful, you ladies got pissed, so you changed the rules so what little defense I could muster was removed. I hardly give a crap about anything you want, need, or require."

"Welcome to my world, Enola and Shelia," I growled. "What you want is now dependent on my good will, and your ability to earn it."

"No," Shelia shook her head, stood and left. Dimples followed. I sat back and waited. They had stolen my hope, my love, my health and my sanity at one time or another.

I wasn't suicidal. I didn't need to be. They were out to destroy me and I was alright with leaving the blood on their hands and souls, not mine. Thirty minutes later, they sent Angel in.

"Hey, Israel," she greeted me tenderly. "They tell me you need to cooperate. That you can help create all those changes you want to see happen. Right now you need to help them."

"What do you want me to do?" I replied with a tinge of hope. She pulled a chair around until we were knee to knee and face to face.

"Let go," she smiled. "Let this society die. Don't let us take another shred of your spirit to prop up a creation that doesn't deserve to be saved." I could imagine the collective groan rising up from the other side of the glass.

"I need a favor," I quietly asked Angel.

"I'll try," she smiled compassionately.

"Tonight, when we go to bed, could you keep the noise down?" I winked. "I'm letting Capri move in today and I'd hate to keep her awake."

The light in Angel's eyes glowed. God knows how many devices were examining and recording us - life in a fish bowl, as she had described it. Here she was, living my paranoid rantings.

"Hey, now," Angel flicked my nose. "Who said you could get a live-in woman that wasn't me?"

"Just because you are the best woman that has ever lived doesn't mean you can tell me what to do," I reminded her.

"Yes - yes, it does," she corrected me.

"You are not going to let me live free, are you?" I leaned into her.

"You are free to do whatever you want, Israel, as long as I'm free to stop you," she laughed.

"Peace - peace," I raised one hand in appeasement. "I'll take my partial victory and be quiet."

"Good boy," Angel hugged me. "Good boy."

There was their conundrum. I didn't hate women. Evidence showed I liked quite a few in fact. Yet, I hated the Beast, the collective soul of this society to the point where I could shed those passionate ties in order to see the terrible monster brought down.

They came and took Angel away. Some indeterminate time later, I was camped out on the desk, trying to get some sleep, when Capri, Shelia and Dimples came walking in. I sat up and looked at them, shirt still off and my ass still on the desk.

"They tried to expel me from the building," Capri informed me.

"How does it feel to be a cockroach?" I joked.

"Cockroach? I felt like a male cockroach. How much worse could it get?" she snickered.

"Enough levity, we need to get started - Carabolix 37. What do you know?" Shelia pressed as she took a seat.

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

"Why? You haven't..." and Shelia gave up. "Fine. Agent Treyvon," she directed the SAC. Whoops, it just occurred to me that there probably weren't any Men's rooms on this floor. We were in 'Women with Weapons' country - men not allowed.

"I have several conditions - no debate," I related as I slid off the table and loosely put my shirt on. Shelia was about to debate the point so I rushed my first one out. "I want everyone who was with us at lunch in this room when I get back." See, I had a new plan. I was sure if I had told Angel what it was, she would have quietly let me heal up so she could beat me black and blue all over again.

"This is a National Security issue, Mr. Jensen," she started. 

"Your complaint has been noted and disregarded, Ms. Montanyard. Get it done," I snapped. Once upon a time, I might have been a male protagonist making a crucial decision. In my world, I was most likely a deranged villain ordering a depraved underling to do something so idiotic a five-year-old would normally decline on the fact that it was so stupid.

Whatever else was going through her mind, arguing with a mad man wasn't on Shelia's agenda. I went to the bathroom with Dimples while Shelia did what she needed to do. Dimples and I remained non-communicative until I was washing my hands. When I looked up from rinsing off, Dimples was suddenly in my space.

I hammered the terror back into its cage with desperate strength. Dimples reached out, placed her hand on the base of my neck and shoulder then slowly brought it up to my jawline. It wasn't sexual as much as exploratory. I fought back with what I had on hand. I put my hands on her hips and languidly brought them up her sides.

When my palms had settled beneath her underarms, I leaned in, until our eyes were only a few centimeters apart. I closed mine, took a deep inhalation then opened my eyes once more. I lifted her gently to the side so that I could move past her.

"You are no Angel," I murmured to Agent Dimples and exited the room.

"I'm not trying to be," she mused.

"Good for you. Ready to be a male office intern for Capri?" I jibbed. 

"Of course," she came right back. I stumbled.

"Damn it!" I declared. "You and Shelia need to stop it. Just once let me zing you and get away with it."

"No," she stated. "Besides, you won, I lost. I'm big enough to admit it has happened - once in my lifetime."

"Conceited much?" I groaned.

"Everyday." Dimples bantered. "Psychotic much?"

"Only when I see women who think they are better than me," I volleyed.

"So, all the time then," she mused.

"Pretty much," I agreed.

"Tell me something," Dimples took me by the elbow right before I returned to our room.

"Does my lawyer need to be here?" I replied.

"You decided," Dimples nodded. "Why did Bethany Fremont share you with her sorority?"

"Ha," I laughed. "I had to ask her that, too. See, Bethany thinks she wins - she always wins."

"Touché," Dimples said before opening the door for me.

As our 'discussion' began, a few ideas began to press forward from the fog. First off, Delilah Fremont, why probably brilliant in her field, was hardly Goddess-like. Shelia was holding out on me some crucial information. I also owed my freedom to the fact that the Aurora Slasher had OCD.

Last point first; the Aurora Slasher (I never use her real name because I begged, pleaded, and cried out that name for 87 days because my very life depended on it) always cleaned up my area with those little white plastic bags - every - single - day. The results being that whatever the fuck she used on me was in a landfill somewhere and not in a police lab.

"Let's exchange information," I began.

"That's not how this works," Shelia shook her head.

"Listen and listen good," I glared at her. "I didn't put all these seriously smart, well-armed women in this room because I find it remotely satisfying to push people around."

"I believe violence is women's work. Since I only want the proper people killed, I've recruited smart women to do my bidding," I added. Okay, everyone reaffirmed their view that I'd totally flipped out - except Capri. She kept faith. "Now, I've been injected with Carabolix 37. I know where the other nineteen vials kept at St. Jerome's are too."

"Where are they?" Shelia inquired politely.

"No, that's not how it works. Tell me something I don't know," I struggled to not tremble. It took me a moment to realize this wasn't fear - it was excitement.

"We need those nineteen vials to ascertain they are some sort of cure," Shelia gave in.

"Tell me something I don't know. The ones at Augsburg Pharmaceutical's research facility and the project notes are gone. If they weren't, I wouldn't be here," I stared. "What that does make me wonder then is what I am doing here? Tell me something I don't know." There was a long, long pause. Shelia really should have spoken sooner.

"Children!" Capri yelled. "You have children." She was busily working on something. Shelia remained impassive.

"I know I have kids. I have sixteen kids," I reminded her.

"No, you have five 'post-Bethany' kids," Capri grinned wickedly at me. "One girl and four boys - all alive, though the youngest is only three months old."

"Even if the youngest dies," Seneca gasped, "that puts his survival rate at 66%." The chance my sons had of surviving the plague.

"Israel, you've had twenty-three kids in twenty-one years," Capri grinned. "The next woman who says you are not doing your part, I'm going to punch her in the ovaries."

"Oh my God," I gasped. "I need a gun! I need a gun!" Responding reasonably, no one handed me one. Maybe it was because I was a man. Maybe it was because I had no training. Maybe it was because they were all mistresses of their sanity.

"We can issue you a taser if you feel threatened," Special Agent Fraklos suggested.

"No - no, I need a gun," I insisted. "I want to walk around with a pistol pointed at my nuts and say 'one more step and the human race gets it!'" I giggled then fell out of my chair - giggling.

"If this man really holds the future of the human race in his ball sack, I'm swallowing my gun now," Agent Sosa remarked. Women were allowed to joke about suicide.

Shelia stood up and looked over the table until she could meet my eyes.

"Where are the other nineteen doses, Mr. Jensen?" she requested calmly. I waved off a reply until I could resume my seat and composure.

"Give me something first. That's the deal," I reiterated.

"When your children were born, they, like all children, had their amniotic fluid tested. They were all born with an unknown anti-body in them. By age one, those anti-bodies were all gone," she related. "Those anti-bodies were registered, but never studied. The first such anti-body was discovered five years ago."

"What am I missing here?" Capri questioned. "If you have the evidence from Israel's case and the amniotic fluid, why do you need him?" Seneca saved the day.

"If the fluid has an unknown contaminant, it is destroyed," Seneca gulped.

"And since the Aurora Slasher was never prosecuted for the kidnap and rape of Israel, the evidence in his case would have been scheduled for destruction a few months ago," Angel added.

I had been rendered a rare and precious commodity by acts of bureaucracy.

"Yet, you are sure it is me..." I couldn't put the last piece together.

"You Bitches!" Angel hopped up. To clarify my often-used refrain, she took up her jacket and rolled up her sleeve. She had a nice little cotton ball secured by medical tape.

They had taken Angel's blood, she had the anti-bodies which must have been earned the old fashion way - through injection. Four times on Saturday straight into her womb. I didn't believe it could be possible but I had been lowered to the status of an STD.

"I'm not an MD, but how in the hell are anti-bodies getting from him into her bloodstream," Capri intervened.

"We aren't talking about an anti-body," I blinked. "We are talking about a virus and since my daughters and Angel and every other woman I've slept with aren't dead, or even ill..."

"We need to know where the other doses are," Shelia insisted. Everyone in this room knew that there was only one disease that differentiated gender that we hadn't cured long ago.

"Special Agent Fraklos," I pleaded. She was the closest to a medical professional we had, or so I believed. I hadn't known how I would get here when I asked for Dimple's team, Angel, Seneca and Capri to join this little party, but I knew this moment was coming. Fraklos looked scared and there were two great reason for being so.

"Oh, Goddess," Fraklos' Mediterranean features noticeably paled. "Carabolix 37 is a form of the Gender Plague. They genetically altered the plague then gave it to those men to see what would happen. Oh, Goddess."

"Shelia," I turned the lead woman. "I was injected twenty times with Carabolix 37. If Dr. Fremont destroyed her batch, there is no more." She wanted to know so I told her.

"She could have killed us all," Sosa jumped up. "We need to arrest her immediately."

"On what evidence?" Dimples replied calmly. It was nice of her to keep this conversation at a level we could all hear. It implied to me that we were now useful to her in some way. "She is rich, well-respected and has scores of pharmaceutical contracts in the Federation and abroad."

"We have a weird mutation of the Gender Plague, a crazy old ex-cop serial killer and - Israel Jensen, a man whose sanity is always in question. The only leverage we do have is an abnormal number of males surviving their first year," she stated.

"If Israel has some sort of cure," Angel asked, "why did any of his boys die?"





One in Ten Ch. 06



"He was being raped," Fraklos instantly replied. "His plague still reacts in most ways as the normal plague, so it was weakened by the stress he was under."

"Hold on," Seneca spoke up. "You mean Israel is right? Stressing males is killing us off?"

"Please correct me if I'm wrong, but are we saying that Carabolix 37 - the correct application of Carabolix 37 - creates a virus that kills the Gender Plague in males during their first year of life?" Capri requested to know.

"We would need to study it, but it looks that way," Fraklos took the leap.

"Where do we put him?" Agent Vabishi murmured.

"Oh - I have no idea what time it is, but I need to help Ms. O'Hara move into my place before my date with Ms. Sano at six," I declared as I stood up.

"You can't possibly believe we will let you just walk out of here," a different agent regarded me with disbelief.

"I got this one," Capri stood by my side. "When did you learn for a fact that we were dying out as a species?" she addressed the feds.

"We were read in this afternoon," Dimples replied. By 'read in' she meant told about the Big Lie the government was involved in concerning our collapsing population.

"Where are you going to put him where he is safer than in the public eye?" Capri stated. "Any secret installation you put him in is the end of the line for the rest of us. Right Shelia?" 

She was looking at her tablet, unresponsive.

"But he is our best bet to end the curse of the Gender Plague," Fraklos begged.

"We don't know that," Dimples interrupted Capri. "All we know is that he can save his own offspring, that's all. We know that if there are any does of Carabolix 37 left, Dr. Fremont is hiding them, along with the research. Can anyone think of a reason we can legally hold Mr. Jensen? Does anyone believe he hasn't fully cooperated with the National Security inquiry?"

"Mr. Jensen - Israel, have you fully cooperated with my investigation?" Shelia Montanyard asked me. It was a formality. I could lie and they wouldn't call me on it. They had no real choice. I knew the feeling and I would be damned if I perpetuated it. 

"No. I haven't told you everything," I said calmly. Capri grunted.

"When Dr. Fremont told me about Carabolix 37 she made me relive that memory with the Aurora Slasher - at her mercy, down in her basement. Between that and the beating Magdalena had inflicted on me, it broke me. I'm never going to get my mind back." I looked at them. They didn't know what to make of my little confession.

"But, it showed me the memories of what the Slasher did to me are still inside and when I can, I'll try to go back to them and figure out each and every thing she did to me that might have influenced why the Carabolix didn't kill me. Maybe we can save a few others," I trembled.

"It most likely won't make a difference," Shelia pierced me.

"If I fight, they win. If I don't fight, they win. All I can do is take the best course of action that I can live with," I tried to explain. It was strange to watch them soak in those words. They were winners. Even among women, they were the ones who always came out on top. They were also smart and the enormity of the task ahead gave them pause. Except Dimples.

"I'm satisfied," Shelia announced. "We'll be in touch if we need any more information, Mr. Jensen."

"Thanks, Shelia," I mumbled. Then my mind flipped. "Shelia, get Ms. Silverhorn and her team their jobs back. I don't care if you have to send Dimples down and personally kick some heads in or shove Isobel into a dirigible heading for the Artic - just do it."

"Any other suggestions on how I should accomplish that - such as ways that don't break the law?" Shelia smirked. That was it. We were all in it now.

"Tell the Mayor I'm coming back to work tomorrow," I grinned weakly. "Tell her if she agrees to pardon Francesca, you'll stop me." She nodded. Words weren't necessary.

(Moving In and Later)

To keep all those plates spinning in the air, we all had to go back to our lives. For Capri and me, that meant being unemployed (technically we were both suspended without pay until a review was performed). For me it was obvious - I had pulled a 'Prophet of Doom' on the world stage. I was curious as to Capri's final sin. She made it easy.

"I told my boss that I prayed to the Goddess she was transgender because if she (her boss) was born a woman, I was seeking out gender-reassignment out of shame," Capri informed me, "with my outdoor voice and her door open." Yeah, that would have done it. 

"Do you think she is a tranny?" I inquired. Women occasionally attempted to outwardly look like men for reasons I couldn't explain.

"Nah," Capri snickered. "She's self-conscious about her narrow hips looking too masculine."

We were on the metro; I with three large bins stacked one on top of another in front of me. Capri had two over-stuffed dress bags hanging from one of the metro handholds. The car wasn't crowded, but circumstance wouldn't allow us to move if things looked bad.

"You are that nut from the TV this morning," a strange women pushed my shoulder. I had learned long ago to avoid women having a bad day. You couldn't win dealing with one if you were a guy. It was unlikely you could make her happy in a conventional manner so you sucked up the abuse and prayed she became bored or had an appointment somewhere else.

Capri didn't know about this behavior, or how female-male interactions worked.

"I bet your eye-care provider is pleased that you can recognize people from two meters away," Capri snapped back. The problem was one of numbers and Capri hadn't developed the awareness to understand that Grumpy wasn't alone in her dislike of me.

"Step off, you Cunt," the pissed off women snarled. She pushed Capri who clipped the crates and fell down. Had I my dowel, access to my hard-pressed courage and my back to anything other than more women, I would have shoved back. Instead, I did my best by shielding Capri's body so hopefully she could rise. I could attest to how painful having high heels stomp on your hands could be.

The woman having a bad day lost her fight with her anger. She hauled back and punched me. Or, she would have, but the blow never fell. I heard an 'ugh' and peeked back at my attacker.

"Have you donated blood recently?" a spooky calm voice requested of my attacker. I couldn't see the woman defending me, but she was holding the fist of my attacker a few centimeters from impact.

I knew that tone of voice though the speaker appeared a mystery. It was how the Aurora Slasher sounded whenever she was talking to herself. Totally ice calm.

"What?" the angry one blurted out.

"You never know when you might end up in intensive care, so it is always wise to donate blood under your name, so they have it in your type when you need it," my defender continued.

"Let go of her," a new woman chimed in. My defender let go, but at least I had Capri back on her feet and my hand over her mouth, stifling her curses.

"I can't believe they let a vicious, stupid bastard like you talk on the air," the first woman continued. I struggled for the words.

"I had to do what I thought was right," I responded.

"I can't believe they let you out of jail," she snapped. "Someone should correct you." My defender pushed forward so that her back was to me, but I had caught a look at her face. I felt terrified all over again. It was my first minder from Isobel's party. The one who talked to me.

"I need you to state your intentions at this time," my defender spoke loudly. "I will not let you hurt this man or his companion. If you plan to do so, you will need to get past me first." There were women behind us too, but the declaration was clear.

"Who are you?" a fourth woman demanded.

"You are not behaving in a civil manner so I chose not treat you civilly," my defender replied.

"Do you have a clue what is going on?" Capri hissed.

"I know her as one of Isobel Diaz's guards," I mumbled back. The woman took a second to quickly turn and face me. Her icy façade evaporated into a warm, comforting glow.

"It will be okay, Israel," she winked. "Bravo," and she turned back to face the mob alone. What the hell was I supposed to make of that? Isobel...Vanishers...FBI catchphrases...my lunch was trying to make an acidic comeback. The last bit was anti-climactic. Pre-rush hour commuters don't like getting into fights with someone who acts like they would gladly uses your polished skull as a decoration for Halloween.

They got pissy, they called the cops and nothing happened. Not 'nothing' as in the cops refused to show up. No, it was 'nothing' as in 'no service detected' on their phones. Dimples and Company and the GED were wondering why they couldn't find the Vanishers...the Vanishers were jacking their tech. 

They had jobs that allowed them access to critical information. They were walking around in plain sight. They weren't the Illuminati - they were next door neighbor Jill. Getting away from them was going to be a whole lot tougher than I thought - because they weren't hiding. They could simply walk up and take me with no one being the wiser. OH, SHIT.

She escorted Capri and me off at our metro stop. Before heading off her separate way, the protector introduced herself.

"I'm Zara," she shook Capri's hand. She took me by the elbow and pulled me slightly away.

"I'm glad you were chosen, Israel," she smiled. "We know what is going on and we are working hard to make sure you will be fine. Take care."

I nodded good-bye. What else could I do? My tax dollars, had I ever actually paid taxes, had turned that woman into a killing machine. I wouldn't put money on Zara being her real name either. Until a few minutes earlier, I thought my life was making progress. Now this.

"Man, she really likes you," Capri surprised me.

"What!" I gasped.

"Oh yeah," Capri watched Zara's retreating form. "I was afraid I would have to mop up the drool around the corners of her lips. She is definitely hot for you."

"You are not helping!" I yelled.

"Is there anything else I need to know about this woman?" Capri nudged me.

"Since I would be really upset having to identify your dismembered body at the morgue - no, there is nothing you need to know about Zara," I declared.

"You and your curse...Goddess, I'm glad I'm not you," Capri remarked. "Being your friend is tough enough."

We moved Capri into her tiny room. She jokingly bitched about the size until she saw mine was no bigger. Capri had been lulled into a false sense of economic space by her status as a lawyer and the resultant apartment space Housing Authority had granted her. Since her living arrangements were courtesy of her job with the Public Defender's Office, she was days from eviction.

My position was secure because I was assigned my condo as a gender quota, not as a city employee. I reminded Capri of this gross unfairness.

"If I have to massage your testicles so we can make rent...well, let's leave it with my mom being more disappointed in me than normal," she laughed.

"Tell her you are living with a guy," I suggested. "That has to mean something."

"Good point. That's something my two perfect older sisters haven't managed to do," she conceded. "I know what she'll say - where are my grandchildren? With your poor decision making, I'm sure you picked a dud."

My whole body shook nervously. Capri looked at me with concern.

"I have an idea," I exhaled. I told her what it was and Capri nearly fell over, it was so irreverent. She called her mother and related her most recent tale of woe while her mother looked on in rapt attention. 

"I love you, Mom," Capri ended the conversation.

"Keep in touch, Capri," her mother, Charlotte, murmured. "It was nice to meet you, Israel." The older woman was clearly floored as the connection died. See, the entire time Capri and her mother chatted, she was standing, her top half naked, facing the main screen with her lower body shielded by my sofa.

I stood behind Capri, my hands cupping and massaging Capri's breasts and nipples and masking them from view - this wasn't technically porn. Capri's flowing russet hair was pulled over her right shoulder so that I could continuously kiss her from the tip of her shoulder to her earlobe. Capri wiggled around - all I had on were gym shorts - and extended her hand into the small space between us for me to shake.

"Thank you," she beamed. "We are even. I've waited my whole life to shove any accomplishment in my mother's face. Everything I've ever done, my older sisters did better. Every - single - time. Hey, up for doing my sisters?" I shook the hand.

"We'll have to create something new, in case they compare notes," I insisted.

It was liberating in a way that was nearly impossible to put into words. Sex wasn't fun with Capri - it was funny. It was jovial, nonsensical and teasing with a purpose toward comedy, not foreplay. I could display my body in a way that didn't leave me feeling vulnerable and afraid. I was a joke because I wanted to be a joke, not because I knew the world would see me that way.

We set up her oldest sister in the bathroom, complete with steamy condensation. Capri, dressed in frilly peach colored bra and panties was laying out her story of misfortune to her sister when the older sibling started lecturing Capri on Goddess knows what. I walked in behind Capri. She was holding up her phone so that it caught me from jawline to mid-thigh.

I had a shirt and slacks on this time, so it wasn't overtly sexual. I rubbed behind her, giving the impression that bathroom was smaller than it was.

"Cologne, Babe," I 'informed' Capri of what I was reaching around her for. The sister grew silent. I kissed Capri on the top of her head. "Capri, we have some time," I hinted.

"Again?" Capri muttered in despair. "We just did it."

"I really need you," I purred. I took her left hand in my left and brought it to my crotch. Capri made sure to press the outline of my hard-on several times so that her sibling could see what, in theory, Capri was about to be 'getting again' real soon.

"Sorry, Sara (her older sister), I have to go. You know how pouty men become if they don't get what they want," Capri was very apologetic - and still massaging my manhood.

"Of course," Sara agreed. I doubt she had a clue about what made men pouty. Capri insisted that her 'younger' older sister would handle the next call. We had everything staged.

It was a close call, so to speak. I really had to get going to Kuiko's when the phone rang exhibiting Capri's other sister's number. After several rings,

"Hello, Israel Jensen," I answered.

"Hello Mr. Jensen, this is Melbane O'Hara. Is Capri O'Hara still there?" she asked.

"Ummm - she lives here," I appeared uncomfortable. I was on the screen from mid-torso to a few inches over my head.

"Oh, if she's not there, can you please tell me where she is," she requested sweetly.

"She's here - she's just - busy," I gulped.

"It is important," Melbane insisted.

"Okay," I sighed and then I looked down. Straight down. "Honey?" There was a slick, popping sound (Capri slurping on two of her fingers then quickly withdrawing them from her mouth) followed by the sound of my zipper going up. My cock had been perfectly safe.

Capri pulled herself up my body, stood to face her sister and wiped up some drool from around her lips.

"Yes, Melbane, what is it?" Capri grumbled.

"What were you doing?" Melbane was aghast.

"Getting an early start on dinner," Capri snapped. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You - what - you have a boyfriend?" Melbane stuttered. "You have a good-looking boyfriend?"

"Yeah, and his cock is almost eight inches long and 'this' big around," Capri made a circle with her thumb and finger. She may have exaggerated...a bit.

"But - but why weren't you having intercourse?" Melbane begged to understand.

"Oh no," I interjected. "No vaginal ejaculations from me until she gets a job."

"Ugh," Capri sighed. "Until then it is all 'mouth and ass - mouth and ass'. I swear, if he wakes me up in the middle of the night going 'let's 69' one more time, I'll scream."

"My vagina is sore from all the sex. I didn't know a vagina could get over-sexed. Melbane, does your vagina ever get too much sex?" Capri sounded intensely worried.

"I can - check with people," Melbane evaded.

"All I know is my lips are starting to chap and my butt hurts when I sit down," Capri groaned.

"I shouldn't complain too much," she became all dreamy-eyed. "I mean, it tastes divine - creamy and rich plus just a bit salty - yummy. I'm sure you know all about that. Speaking of which, I need a pick-me-up right now. Talk to you later Melbane - by the way, why did you call?"

"I wanted to be sure you were being presentable, despite your difficulties," Melbane recovered. That was bull. She suspected her sister was lying and this was a call to catch her off-guard.

"I am presented with a difficulty right now, so I'll call you later once I'm done," Capri waved off her middle sibling. With that the connection died.

Capri proceeded to do a spasmodic happy dance all over my inadequate living room. This was the morale boost we needed - to conquer a long term foe. In her case, it was getting one over on her mother and siblings who had always tried to make her feel insufficient in some way. For me, it was a fear of flirting. I had sexually teased several women - even if by live video - and gotten away with it.

We got away with it because the only sex you had to register was vaginal ejaculation. That's why I didn't have to let Bethany scan me this morning and why Capri's family couldn't check up on her by way of my wristband. Anal and oral sex weren't unknown, just unlikely. You couldn't repopulate the human race by tantalizing some girl's taste buds, so only a vaginal deposit qualified you for your 28 day duty.

There were girls (and guys) who liked anal sex but the rule was 'VBA' - vaginal before anal. There was the added complication that if you were going to shoot off twice, society wanted you to pick two different girls, not two different holes on the same girl. The trifecta was being crushingly selfish.

All that rolled back to me, Angel and Saturday morning. On one hand, she'd brought a guy to fruition FOUR times, and all in the right place. Still, there was this feeling that somewhere along the line - you know - maybe after round two - could she have called a friend over to share in her good fortune? 

Roni was right across the hall and Kuiko would have burrowed through the ceiling/floor like a gopher to get some. I was sure some of her cop buddies were jokingly saying 'bitch, we are on speed dial' or something like that. That I would want to switch up, or that I wouldn't want to, probably didn't enter their minds.

Thankfully, Angel cared about me and my feelings so that situation never came up. Fortunately for me, Capri was funny, Kuiko and Aniqua were patient, Roni paid attention and Venus and Samantha were coming around. Francesca - if I was lucky, she'd never see me again. The only thing I'd done for her was give her the choice between doing what you do to get by versus doing for the World.

Capri ushered me out the door for my rendezvous with Kuiko. Because my social life was as subtle as a mac-truck, there were only eight women in the hallway between my second story condo and hers on the poolside-first floor. I found myself involuntarily slowing down as I approached her door.

'Maybe she's forgotten our date and gone out with friends,' a voice in my head said. 'No way,' a second voice replied. 'She's probably a horny little rabbit ready to pounce on us, stalking on the other side of the door.' 'Idiot, rabbits don't pounce and even if they did pounce, you can't pounce and stalk at the same time.'




One in Ten Ch. 07



*PokingFun...she tells me things I need to hear*

*The Sniper, the Bodyguard, the Genius and the Student - you know who you are and I thank you*

*Sorry, no sex this time around. In fact, I don't think there is any sex in Chapter 8 either. There is some in Nine, so if you can hold out...*

*If you save a thousand, you are soon forgotten. If you save one, you are always remembered*

I picked up the phone and made the call.

"Eloise, you still want your comment?" I said bitterly.

"Of course, Israel," she responded calmly.

"A cop in China murdered six men today," I told her.

"It looks more like assisted suicide," Eloise countered.

"No – absolutely not," my voice shook. "Had those men been able to defend themselves, they would not have been there in the first place. They would have never agreed to go. They wouldn't have even plotted this tragedy out."

"They were utterly defenseless. Society rendered them this way. That cop was only the last in a long line of aggressors they couldn't fend off," I was clearly shaking now. "Saying they were suicides implies they had a choice in the matter – they didn't. Her brother had no chance of doing something like this – none."

"She found out what he wished for and she made the only real choice to be made – to live or die and she chose from them to die. Those men had a final word alright – it was 'Help!' It is the worst kind of cruelty to blame the victims for the crime. Tomorrow the press is going to say it was suicide because they sat there and were slaughtered like sheep."

"Well – duh! You raised us to be sheep. How dare you blame us for acting like sheep when it was suddenly inconvenient for you!" I was screaming. "Their choices were to sit there or fight back but you don't want us fighting back, so they did what you trained them to do. They sat there, exactly like you taught them to."

"This time it was a murderess with a knife, instead of a grabby co-worker, a horny cop, or a gang of women looking to party. You certainly didn't want them saying 'no' those last three times, so why are you surprised they couldn't say 'no' to the former? It isn't a matter of scale. It is a matter of learning to make choices and men aren't given that luxury."

"Is that all?" Eloise said after a long pause.

"Yeah, that's me venting," I sighed.

"'Chinese Policewoman murders brother, five others'," she stated. "That is the headline I'm showing my editor. I like the sheep metaphor. I'll use it. Thank you, Israel."

"Well, shit," Seneca mumbled. "Tomorrow is going to be ten kinds of messed up. I had better get going."

"Yeah," Angel said as she stood to see Seneca to the door. I tagged along until we were all out in the public walkway.

"Sorry about that, Seneca," I apologized.

"Israel, the public is already unhappy with the police's handling of this Vanisher controversy. Now you want them to think that cops are murdering men too," Seneca stated wearily.

"Did we watch the same video?" I grumbled. "She killed all of them, then herself."

"They wanted to die," Seneca countered. I held Angel back. Seneca was her partner.

"Seneca, were they clinically depressed men off their meds – all of them?" I pointed out.

"What about the daycare in Denver? They committed suicide," Seneca reposed.

"Exactly!" I declared. "They struck back. What did those Chinese men do? How did they strike back?"

"Enough," Angel separated us. "Tomorrow is probably going to be a long day for us, so let's get some sleep." Seneca nodded, doubled-back to hug Angel – then offered to shake my hand.

"You make her happy," Seneca explained as I did so.

"It is accidental, believe me," I grinned. Seneca snickered, shook her head then left.

"Everyone, time to go," Angel announced as we stepped back into my condo. It was my place, but Angel was my girlfriend so it was normal for her to make decisions like this. For all the battles I had won during this long day, I would let this one go. Angel was Angel, I wanted my company to go, and I'd get revenge on her in the bedroom.

"Kuiko, you and I are going to have a chat during lunch tomorrow," Angel slipped in there. Oh, hell no, that wasn't going to happen. After people left, I tapped Angel.

"Have you thought about getting some of your things and bringing them over here? Toothbrush and stuff like that – maybe a change of clothes," I suggested.

"Are you sure?" Angel studied me.

"Last time you had to run back to your place I was tuned up by your buddy's buddy," I pointed out. Angel didn't like my explanation but she couldn't deny its validity.

"I'll get some things and tell Roni," Angel struggled to sound upbeat.

The second Angel was across the hall, I called Kuiko and begged her to come back over. She arrived a minute before Angel returned with an armful of things.

"Hey..." Angel began then caught sight of Kuiko.

"Put your things in our bedroom and then we can all talk," I directed.

Now I was making the calls and was daring Angel to be pissy about my rights in my own home. She returned a minute later. Kuiko was in the comfy chair, I was on the floor with my back to the TV screen so Angel took the sofa.

"So, what do you want to talk to Kuiko about?" I dove in.

"Something I think two women need to discuss – just between us," Angel evaded. I was not having that. I knew women very well. Angel would steamroll over Kuiko out of instinct, not reason. I wasn't angry with Angel as much as determined to put my stamp on our relationship.

"Has Kuiko insulted you?" I started.

"No, that's not..." Angel got out.

"Has she left her hallway a mess?" I persisted.

"No..." she grumbled.

"Has she failed to put away her trash properly in the bins?" I glared.

"I get it, Israel. You are no Kinsey Millhone, so you can stop now," Angel allowed. "I want to talk to Kuiko about you." This was not a revelation to Kuiko or me. I had no clue who Kinsey Millhone was, but I had to assume whoever she was, she was a better interrogator than me.

"Let's talk then," I breathed a sigh of relief.

"It is still girl-talk," Angel insisted. I was screwed by her intransience. I wasn't going to hold our affection hostage. That would cheapen what we had. I couldn't give in – that would undercut what little bliss I had accumulated. I had the worst option of all – trust.

"Angel, what can I tell you to convince you to accept Kuiko's place in my life?" I pleaded.

That wasn't what either expected. Angel mulled over her response. Kuiko eyed the door.

"Have less impressive sex!" Capri screamed from the back bedroom. That cut through some of the tension.

"Israel, I become upset when any woman talks about having sex with you – when they trumpet to the World how much they liked it...and want more," Angel confessed.

"Sorry," Kuiko meeped.

"It is not just you," Angel turned on Kuiko. "It is going to be the next girl and the next. Goddess, I hate sounding like some whiney, selfish cunt."

"You are not," I comforted her. "I love you and I think you love me, but that doesn't mean I am going to surrender myself to you."

"No attachments – no marriage on their terms. For me, your declaration is all I need," I said.

"Israel...how often are you going to have sex with other women?" Angel groaned. The emotional shoe was really on the other foot.

"Inside, or outside the coterie?" I responded. Angel mulled that over.

"Israel, I really, really want to ask you to not have sex with anyone else but me," Angel murmured. Kuiko nearly burst into tears. "But I'm not. I have to trust you as much as you've trusted me. Considering how much I've betrayed that trust – I'm glad you've been patient."

"Love – it does NOT make your life better," I sighed. 

"It is easier for me," I added, "because I already have so many other psychoses to deal with, this is nothing new."

"Not funny, Israel," Angel looked me over. "Aaaarrghhhh..." she growled as she stood up. She did her best venting when she stood, I was discovering.

"I'm trying to give you permission to sleep around – wait," she held up her hand, "but I know it is not my permission to give. I'm struggling to accept this...helplessness."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Kuiko threw herself on her knees and hugged Angel's waist. "I would have given him up, but I truly didn't want to."

For a second, I was afraid Angel was going to yank Kuiko up by the hair and whirl her around the room like some archaic weapon. Angel feigned anger well – she wasn't as out of control as she would lead people to believe.

"Kuiko," Angel sighed, "couldn't you have simply typed 'he was good' and left it at that?"

Angel hesitantly reached down and patted Kuiko's head.

"Angel, I apologize, but it really was the best sex I've ever had – or even read about. I've been such a disaster until Israel. It wasn't just good sex – it was unbelievably good sex," she bubbled. "He made it fun and he made me feel I gave good sex as well."

"I – know," Angel reluctantly nodded. "We had sex too."

"Damn right," Kuiko smiled up at Angel. "You got FIVE hours. I only got one." Then Kuiko stuck her tongue out at Angel and gave her a raspberry. Angel drank in that defiant display.

"You stay right there," she told Kuiko. "I'm going to get my taser and light up your little ass."

"He likes my little ass!" Kuiko declared proudly.

"You are not helping your case," I muttered.

"Kuiko, you do realize when you stood up to those two police officers to protect Israel, you could have been tased?" she asked her kneeling compatriot.

"Yes. You would have too," Kuiko stated. If only she knew. On second thought, being closely acquainted with violence wasn't doing me any good at all.

"I'm a police officer," Angel reminded her. "I've been tased – it is part of our training. It is not a pleasant experience, believe me."

"I'd still do it," Kuiko pledged.

"I know you would – Crazy K. Now that nickname makes sense," Angel smirked. "Still, I think Israel's battle plan has as few of us getting tased as possible."

"Are we going to fucking bed?" Capri yelled out from the back again.

"Give us a second," Angel yelled back. "Kuiko, what is this about nipple torture?" Whoops.

"Oh," Kuiko replied gleefully. "Since I'm naughty, Israel punishes me by suckling on my whole breast whenever we are alone or with our group. I think I'm supposed to learn a lesson."

"What lesson would that be?" Angel regarded me suspiciously.

"Don't know – don't care," Kuiko beamed. "All I know is his lips, mouth and tongue feel fantastic."

"Trust me, I know how good they feel," Angel sighed. "Go home, Kuiko. Just go home."

"Okay," Kuiko hopped up. "See you tomorrow, Israel." Off she went.

"What am I going to do with you?" Angel regarded me. At least she wasn't angry.

"Have less impressive sex!" Capri chimed in. "Can we go to bed now?" Angel looked back toward the bedrooms then padded that way quietly. I stood and followed. We found Capri in pajama shorts, face down on my bed. She had brought her own pillow.

There were a host of problems. For starters, my bed was a double. It held two people without too much difficulty. Angel and I were above average sized people, if not overly so. Capri was small – in stature. There was nothing wrong with the width of her hips. Capri was in the middle of the bed so Angel and I couldn't have casual, flirtatious contact. 

We'd have to reach over her. Angel had just grappled with her 'sharing' issues with Kuiko. Capri's position had no forewarning for either of us, but I was shocked that I was shocked. After all, I had invited a girl into my house. Of course she was going to end up having intercourse with me. I had been so fatigued that I had missed this. It was a scary revelation. 

Angel took her taser off the top of the dresser.

"This one I AM going to shoot," Angel announced.

"Carpi, what are you doing in my bed?" I intervened.

"Oh? Am I annoying you two?" Capri muttered from her pillow. "Forgive me. The continents drifted so much while I was waiting, I thought this was now my bedroom."

"Goddess, give me one good reason not to spark her snarky ass up?" Angel half-joked.

"I – I can't do this," I muttered then slumped against the door. Capri's head immediately popped up.

"Israel, I'm sorry," Capri murmured. She sat up, got off the bed and slipped over to Angel.

If Angel had any animosity toward Capri, it evaporated. Angel did that for me – put aside her own emotions when I needed her the most. Capri had seen me collapse before, but she associated that with some kind of pressure. Like most people, she associated mental trauma with its physical counterpart. If the person began acting healthier, he/she was getting better – recovering.

I didn't have a single knife wound – I had not been thrown under a lawnmower. Figuring out what would flip me out was a nightmare my friends were now sharing in. I had surrendered my safeguards for hope. Even as I was starting to trust others once more, I was trusting myself less and less. I felt those lifeless eyes staring at me, crying out for help and it all felt like too much.

(Tuesday Morning)

"Wake up, Israel," Capri said through my closed door. "Eloise Granger called and she wants you to stop by the Sentinel offices at eight. I'm coming along because I have jack-all job opportunities."

"I'm on the floor," Angel called out from the space between the bed and dresser. She probably been afraid that me waking up next to her in bed would send my mind tumbling again, but hadn't wanted to totally abandon my space.

She let that warning sink in before she sat up. I didn't even know how any of this had worked out. The last thing I recalled was leaning against my door. Here I was trying to make a statement about male dignity and I had to be put to bed like an infant.

"I'm okay, Angel," I told my lover. "Capri, let me slap some clothes on. Any idea what Granger wanted?"

"Yeah, I went to law school so I could be a personal assistant, you jerk," Capri chuckled. "She wouldn't tell me so it must be something subversive. That's another reason I want to come along."

"Cop listening," Angel grunted. "Israel, good dreams?"

"No dreams," I responded. "None I can recall anyway."

"Ah – I don't have a pet name for you," Angel realized.

"Jerk works for me," Capri intruded.

"Shut up!" Angel snapped. "Israel, take a shower."

"When do you have to go in?" I asked Angel as I stood, worked around her and began picking out something to wear. She whipped out her phone and dialed her workplace.

"Regular time in, but I'm working late – there is a MAL rally tonight at Blazer Arena," she informed me.

"That's bizarrely fast," I worried. Angel met my gaze and nodded. I had no clue if the Blazer Arena was scheduled for something that night, but the Federation could easily wield the pressure to make the owner give up the slot. Getting men to show up wasn't too difficult. They simply downloaded the invitations to our phones, along with the metro routes to take from home or work.

With my clothes laid out, I trundled off to take my shower. Had I not kept one fearful eye, and ear, on the door, I would have been happier. I dried off, got dressed and went to the kitchen where Angel and Capri were standing around, not talking. I checked my messages. There was my MAL invitation along with the date for my Civilian Affairs review – my termination hearing.

After several agonizing minutes in silence, Capri finally spoke up.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"For starters," Angel broke in, "always assume they are listening in."

"As Angel said and right now, we wait," I answered. 

"I'm hardly the guy who is going to bring society crashing down. Our goal remains the same – escape. Escape implies there not being enough resources around to run us down."

"This is so wonderful," Capri remarked sarcastically. "Last week I could happily consider all of this a paranoid fantasy. Yesterday I saw a Writ of Exclusion and I have to admit, it scared the hell out of me."

A Writ of Exclusion was the legal vehicle that voided all of a person's civil rights. It was normally used in cases of Treason and Espionage, but in the heyday of the Male Retribution Army, the government had used it broadly to break that terrorist organization. In the decade following the Great Die-out, there had been a small number of men around with police and military training who were now denied their chosen profession.

They organized; the government countered with a plethora of legal means to break those groups then some of those frustrated men went underground. The second time around, the men used all sort of legal means to stymie investigations and being former law enforcement, they knew so many tricks of the trade.

I doubted I would ever know what really happened – whether the proto-MRA turned militant first, or if the introduction of the Writs of Exclusion turned them that way. What few people remember is that over half of the first sheaf of Writs were against women. They were supporting the proto-MRA legally, morally and financially – mothers, sisters, friends and wives.

Eventually, the women were released because the purpose had been to remove them from the equation until the Federation could deal with the men. A whole new regimen of drugs were introduced and the men were 'corrected'. A few of the survivors lashed out violently against Federation agents and buildings and most fell horribly, or were rounded up.

Had the MRA ever been right, that's when it went off the rails. In Spokane Washington, a (girl's) soccer team was coming back from a match when its bus blew up. The footage of firewomen pulling the burnt bodies of high school athletes out of the wreckage is what would forever be in the forefront of women's minds when they thought of men resisting.

"Israel has had that happen to him twice," Angel sighed.

"What – oh, the whole court-required therapy," Capri noted. During that time, I was always treated with respect, but I could never say 'no' to any part of my schedule. Drugs, therapy, or education – I never had a choice, reprieve, or recourse. I had been a ward of the state.

I cleaned my bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher – I'd run it tomorrow. After that, I quietly gathered a few more dowels and my satchel and stopped to stare at the door.

"I'm with you, Israel," Capri assured me from my side.

"Israel, I could..." Angel started.

"Get some sleep. Tonight is likely to suck and Seneca will need you at your best," I said. I turned and kissed Angel good-bye, took a deep breath...and started whistling. I kept it up all the way to the metro station. I knew they would be waiting for me, my fellow commuters, but I did have an unexpected surprise.

As I went from the sidewalk to the metro station itself, two men joined me, complete with some sort of carrying device and a handle-wrapped dowel. I had no idea who they were. I couldn't. Had we communicated, the cops most likely would have preempted us.

"Kenny," the shorter, stockier man introduced himself. "Luanga," he tapped the chest of his African-American companion.

"I guess you know who I am," I said. I was still cautious. Men were hardly a universal brotherhood. "This is Capri, my lawyer and a good friend. How are you two doing today?"

"Kenny and I were thinking," Luanga smiled, "that today might be a little rough for you and that maybe a little solidarity was in order – peaceful, of course," he added while smacking his baton in his palm.

Both men were older than me, a bit shorter and by no means bulky; hardly what classic hulking male bodyguards were supposed to look like. They both worked at a ceramics factory on the far side of the district – second shift. They had no real plan other than some vague idea that I'd be safer with three batons instead of one. They assured me they had no ideas about 'kicking ass'.




One in Ten Ch. 07



The cops came a few minutes later.

"What do we have here?" the first patrolwoman mocked us.

"A perfectly legal gathering," Capri stepped forward. The woman shot Capri a dirty look.

"Hand over the batons, boys," the second patrolwoman extended her hand. It occurred to me that my two sudden allies had never openly confronted the police before. Like all men, you knuckled under and took what they were dishing out.

"Why?" I asked.

"Yeah, why?" Kenny joined in.

"They are perfectly legal," Luanga pointed out.

"Menacing and Public Disturbance," she smiled.

"What a load of crap," Capri hissed under her breath.

"Hand them over," I advised my comrades as I gave my stick up. They flashed me a quick, worried look before complying.

"Now hand over your bags and work box (Kenny's)," the first cop insisted.

"On what grounds?" Capri grumbled. "This is an illegal search."

"We are asking them to do it voluntarily," the first cop smiled at Capri.

"If we don't comply?" I decided to ask.

"Then we take you to the precinct until we get the District Attorney to give us a warrant, Mr. Jensen," she snorted derisively.

"Do either one of you understand that when law fails, anarchy reigns?" Capri said. "Translated over to your pre-school level of intelligence – if you break the law, why should anyone obey it?"

The cop got ready to tune Capri up, but I saw it coming. I yanked Capri back into me, the cop stumbled forward. The cop turned on me, punched me right beneath the ribcage and then...the world cracked a little bit more.

Kenny shoved the first cop away from me. I doubt he thought that action through. They were about the same height, he had maybe fifty pounds on her, but she was a cop. She grabbed his arm, twisted it then bore him to the ground.

"Back!" the second patrolwoman yelled at us.

Luanga hesitated, so I put a palm to his chest.

"Step back, otherwise they win," I cautioned him. "Kenny, don't resist." Kenny wasn't resisting, but got a knee to the kidney anyway. That's when the second cop noticed Capri's phone in her hand.

"Give me that," the second officer demanded. Capri's fingers flew over the buttons.

"Here you go," Capri smiled. "Uploaded and everything. Don't worry, I got a good shot of your face and badge number."

"Bitch," the cop threw Capri's phone on the ground but it bounced instead of breaking.

We had a break in the intimidation as the two police officers had to pick Kenny up. The second officer propelled Kenny away, Capri scooped up her phone and ran after them, leaving the first officer to deal with us.

"You, I know," Cop one indicated me. "You – ID and Metro Pass," she indicated Luanga.

He handed them over reluctantly.

"Northwest Metro," she commented. "This is not your scheduled line. I suggest you get to it."

"This pass if good for the whole city," Luanga protested. She laughed at him.

"Do you want me run you in for Metro Pass fraud?" she taunted him.

"But, you know that's genuine," Luanga blurted.

"Go," I tapped his arm. "We will do this again tomorrow."

"Do it and I'll run you in for conspiracy to create a public disturbance," the cop turned her smile on me. I shrugged and took a step back. Luanga walked away.

When he looked forlornly over his shoulder, I grinned and winked. He looked momentarily surprised then winked and left.

"You think I didn't catch that little exchange?" the cop smirked.

"I don't think it matters," I sighed. "You didn't listen to my lawyer and there is going to be a price for that."

"Are you threatening me?" the cop couldn't believe her good fortune.

"Oh, no," I put my hands behind my back to be as non-threatening as possible. "The number of assaults on males and male rapes is going to skyrocket because of your little display and the actions of other patrolwomen all across the city like you."

"How do you figure that?" she laughed.

"The police are no longer 'not protecting men', you are now actively attacking us," I grinned," in gross violation of the law. What's to stop those eighty-some women behind me from doing whatever they want to me now that the law clearly no longer applies to men?"

She stopped laughing, but she didn't seem overly upset.

"Good luck ladies," she shouted over her shoulder. "You are getting what you deserve," she sneered at me. It was her turn to exit the stage. For me, I had to face the next hurdle. At least the world did not revolve around me and my struggle.

Many of the commuters were reading their tablets, on the phone, or chatting with acquaintances. A sizable minority was looking my way despite the domestic distractions and as the cop receded back to the surface, they started closing in. I almost missed a panting Capri returning to my side.

"Sorry about that; had to..." Capri noted her changing surroundings. "What's all this?"

"The price of freedom," I whispered in return. If law enforcement ran a tight ship, I couldn't get away. Men had next to nothing to fight with. Our sexuality and our ability to exploit that en masse for profit had been removed long ago. Many young men thought a cock was the quick road to power, except women didn't share. No matter how good you were in the sack, it didn't translate over to real power.

Powerful husbands 'advised' their spouses, but without the wife, the women could afford to exclude him from decision making bodies. See, you had to perform eventually. Did men want to organize some sort of Male Sex Union? Sure they did: refer to the proto-MRA. Women weren't stupid. When men threatened a basic necessity, women put a stop to it.

I caught Capri reaching into her purse/uber-bag.

"What are you getting?" I hissed.

"My stun gun," she hissed back.

"Put it away. It won't do any good," I sighed softly. If Capri had one, half the crowd coming my way had one too.

"They are going to kick the crap out of you – and me," Capri muttered. She was thinking about the subway ride home yesterday. This was a totally different situation.

"No, they are not. They want something totally different," I tried to explain as we were 'absorbed' into their group.

It was completely obvious. One of my old tormentors (as in a week old) came up and put her hand on my crotch and kept it there. I lashed out – at Capri to keep her from attacking the woman.

"You really curled that Kuiko-girl's toes last night," she purred.

"Ambrosia (in a crisis situation, it paid to know your aggressor's name – most of the time), Kuiko made me feel really great last night. I'm glad she had a good time as well."

"Are you ever going to see her again?" this was Fatima.

"Absolutely. I'm in her coterie now," I smiled cautiously. It was Kuiko's coterie because there was no way they would believe it was mine.

"How did that happen?" a girl whose name I think was Amelia said with some despair. 

Ambrosia scanned my bracelet.

"You don't read as attached," she announced.

"Vanishers don't take men who are attached," I informed them.

"You really do WANT to be vanished?" Fatima gasped. Here was why I wasn't going to be dragged off and raped: blame someone else for your aggressors' misfortunes; preferably people you hate.

"When the alternative is to be dragged off by some patrolwoman with a false warrant, put in a dark room and then murdered with a few other guys – yeah, I want to live, so I need to escape. You just saw how the cops aren't going to protect me," I explained. That's right ladies, you aren't getting dick because the cops are assholes. That's what public relations are all about.

We flowed into the metro-train when it arrived. I was vigorously felt up the entire time – we were past groping. I was afraid Capri was going to lose it, but she kept it together despite the dry-humping going on. We exited at our stop. I was tucking my shirt back into my pants when Capri tapped my elbow.

"I've changed my mind," she announced.

"About what?" I said rather absently.

"I want to have children with you," she mused as if it was nothing big. I coughed.

"Ugh - why?" I sighed.

"Our kids will be fucking brilliant. Mostly because of me, of course, but you are no shirker in the brain's department either," she enlightened me.

"How did you come by this prognostication?" I queried.

"Dowels," she began. "Dowels lead to police crackdown which leads to police beating the crap out of some poor soul which makes the internet which creates a female versus cop crisis."

"Congratulations, you have given me a front seat to a civil war," she muttered ruefully. "The whole China thing was a Gift from Goddess – not demeaning their loss, Israel, but it was."

"Capri, what are you going to do if things do get really bad? I mean, with your mother and your sisters? They are your family. I don't have one anymore...except my children," I glanced her way.

"You knew about most of your children before you started down this path. What do you plan to do?" Capri reposed.

"I'd like to tell you that once I am free I'd figure a way to get them too, but I think I've pretty much written them off," I confessed.

"Ah..." Capri murmured. "You simply aren't crazy enough yet. You'll figure a way, wait and see."

"Your faith in my disintegrating sanity is not really as comforting as it might have sounded in your head," I pointed out.

"Israel, have you really come to grips with the possibility that the children you have right now and will have over the next two decades may be the only genetic strain of humans left on Earth in two centuries?" Capri blithely bantered as we walked down the crowded sidewalk.

"Actually, I try not to," I replied. "What about your family?"

"I'll try to save them. I hate them and they've made over twenty years of my life psychologically hellish, but isn't that what family is for – to make you realize that you have it better anywhere else?" Capri answered. The offices of the Sentinel rose before us. Security consisted of an ID scanner – no personnel.

Like most news sources, the Sentinel was primarily on-line, but it still published over a 100,000 daily paper copies for dedicated readers. The presses were in the basement. The first five stories of the building were the newspaper's offices. After that, it was rented office space just like every other building in this district.

The third floor was devoted to City Affairs and that's where the directory informed us Eloise Granger had her office. I received several looks, differing in length, but uniform in their displeasure of me. Only Eloise appeared happy to see my smiling face – I was even twenty minutes early.

I spotted Eloise outside of her glass-walled office. She was hovering over five other female reporters. I did spot one other male on this floor. He looked up from his works, realized who I was then snapped his head down. My toxicity was contagious by proximity alone.

"Hello, Israel," Eloise greeted me warmly. "Ladies, you know Israel Jensen. This is his lawyer and companion, Ms. Capri O'Hara, soon to be a former member of the Public Defender's Office."

The five mumbled some kind of greeting, but clearly didn't like me. It took a second for that attitude to be clarified.

"Eloise, we are up to 290 detentions in the greater metro area," one of the five sitting women announced. She was speaking to her boss, but looking at me.

"Any hospitalizations?" I inquired. That's when they jumped me.

"A man was tased to death in New York," one glared at me.

"Two men on a subway in Montreal bludgeoned eighteen women so badly they had to go to the hospital," a third added her distaste of my presence.

"Fourteen men stormed a metro in Mexico City and drove the women from the car. The police had to use tasers and stun batons to get them out," the fourth added.

"A man in Salt Lake City was taken down for using a fire extinguisher on a public bus," the last completed the misery. "The West Coast incidents are still coming in."

"Why are you all looking at me?" I asked. I pretty much knew the answer but I was feeling pugnacious – real feisty.

"After that little 'Call to Arms' you made yesterday, every death, broken bone, and criminal proceeding in this mess is your fault."

I was glad she had volunteered. I would have hated this to appear random. I snatched her tablet off her desk, half-turned and hurled it like a discus across the entire office space – maybe 20 meters – and watched it shatter against the wall. I faced forward right on time to see her hand coming for my face. My left arm lashed out and grabbed her wrist...huh?

There was a hush, and not just in Eloise's little group. I felt it – the guilt, the shame, the hopeless rage – the levee was spilling over, the sand was turning to mush and I was fresh out of fingers to plug the holes. Help – the final word. I blinked and realized I had cocked my fist back and was about to pound the face of the woman who had tried to slap me.

She looked terrified. I had nearly a foot and eighty pounds on her. Whatever light aerobics she begged off from half the time was nothing compared to the weight lifting and 5 kilometer run I had to do five days a week. I was clearly the youngest person present. The closest a taser or pepper spray could be brought to bear was fifteen seconds.

She was about to receive five years of pent up fury directly to the face and she knew it. I couldn't let them win with hope finally rekindled.

"What makes you think you can slap me?" I asked quietly as I lowered my fist.

"You...you threw my tablet. You broke it," she struggled to resume he poise.

"Do you blame me for breaking your tablet?" I let her arm go.

"Yes, you threw it, damn you," she grumbled.

"Do you blame me for the incidents this morning?" I persisted.

"Yes, your speech," she was starting to get suspicious.

"Why didn't I punch you a few seconds ago, when you so richly deserved it?" I stared intently.

"Ah – I – you would have gone to jail – which you also so richly deserve," she countered.

"Got it in one!" I shouted. "Now, if I'm smart enough to know that if I hit you, I go to jail, why do you think thousands of men across the country have magically become criminals?"

I noticed both Eloise and Capri sitting back, both slightly smug, watching this play out.

"Your opinion seems to be that I opened my mouth and nation-wide, men's IQ's dropped thirty points. Trust me, that didn't happen. Let me give you an example to help prove my point. You see me throwing the tablet, men being the tablet and the wall being the police. You are wrong."

"You – female society – threw the tablet forty years ago. Men are, in fact, the tablet. I'm the wall. Had the tablet missed me, it would have hit someone else along the flight path, but it would have hit something and it would have shattered. That was decided forty years ago. Somewhere around the Fashion desk was your last chance to stop it – they missed."

"I'm a freaking twenty-one year old Bowden graduate with a bachelor's degree in Public Relations," I explained.

"You were top of your class," another woman interrupted. I turned on her, eyes wide.

"You are the first women, not in the Bowden faculty, that has acknowledged that," I gasped.

"It is something I am inordinately proud of and no women has given a fuck about it," I blathered. "I was the first male valedictorian since before the Plague – sixty years. Thank you. Now anyway, you can decide, despite all reason, that I'm a magician and caused all of this to happen – to make people I don't know, didn't know existed, and who I've never seen go collectively nuts..."

"Or you can wonder what was so wrong with this machine of yours – this society – that they got off work yesterday and decided to stand up for themselves for the first time in their lives. I doubt those guys in Mexico City were trying to hurt women. Trust me, if they had been in a solid group as they appear to have been in, throwing women in front of the metro would have been a much more affective statement."

"That would have been murder," the girl covering the city's crime statistics pointed out.

"Exactly! They didn't want to murder anyone. They had this massive weapon to use, but what did they do? They crowded into one section of one car on the metro and they waited patiently for the cops to come and blast them out. Why the fuck would they do that?"

There was silence. There were a dozen answers they could use but those were starting to ring hollow in their hearts.

"Women, the final word wasn't 'death', it was 'help'," I looked them over. "Men cannot win this struggle for dignity without you. There is no other victory to be had. The Human Race is gone."

"All you can do is make the final word something like 'love' instead," I tried to get my point across.

"Yesterday you said there was a cure – this Carabolix 37," the one without a tablet said, "or was that a lie?"

"There is a cure, but it won't help you or your friends. It won't save most of mankind. It is a cure for only a few and that is all I will say at this time," I reiterated sadly.

"Enough," Eloise separated us. "Carabolix is owned by Augsburg Pharmaceuticals yet they aren't returning our calls. Same for the Food and Drug Administration."

"Israel, Ms. O'Hara – this way," Eloise led us into her office and shut the door. "Mirabel Cartwright would like you to be on a GNN talk show this morning at ten."

"Why didn't she call Israel, if that was the case?" Capri intervened. 

"I think we can assume that Mr. Jensen isn't the most popular man at GNN corporate headquarters," Eloise winked.

"If I happen to bring Israel over to chat with Maribel right before the show and she has this 'brainstorm' to include him – then they can't stop her," Eloise explained.

"Oh," Capri grimaced. "Newscast by ambush and here I thought Israel would get paid – or something silly like that."

"Guest commentators are paid $7800," Eloise smirked.

"We are in," Capri extended her hand to Eloise.

"Whoa, now," I waved off. "What am I expected to do? I had a woman reach into my pants and stroke my dick. Not my hard-on, my cock – under my underwear. It has not been a good morning and I nearly clocked a reporter less than a minute ago."

Oh yeah, it had just occurred to Eloise that I might turn into a blithering idiot, or a zombie. Capri had a different approach.

"If you sit still, the Beast eats you. If you run, it still eats you, but you live longer," Capri teased me. "Let's go create some consequences we can live with."

"Israel, I've seen you space out, collapse, babble incoherently and laugh uncontrollably," she propped me up, "but you always rebound. Stay on target. It is not like you have a plethora of options anyway."

"Damn, Ms. O'Hara, remind me to never let you coach a sports team. That was the worst inspirational speech I've ever heard," Eloise shook her head.

"If I was sane," I shrugged, "I'd agree with you. In the end, the world will come crashing in. When, not if. I might as well keep running and make that Beast know it was in a footrace before I'm done."

"While we are still all onboard, let's get some more news updates before sneaking over to the competition," Eloise made for the door.

"Israel, Mirabel is going to be talking about the Plague and any possible cure. Do you have anything that might back up your claim from yesterday?" she asked. I had to think about that. With this level of indignation from women over the audacity of menfolk, I had to push back.

"Sure, get your best virologist in the city," I gritted my teeth.

"Get a blood sample from me and from Kuiko Sano – I'll call her – and get the quickest results possible," I gathered my psychic battle armor around me. "That should give you the secret of Carabolix-37."

"What are they going to find out?" Eloise whispered.

"Carabolix-37 is a genetically modified version of the Gender Plague that destroys the rival virus," Capri said. "Unfortunately, it killed ten test subjects, eight had their nuts removed to save their lives and one survived. You are looking at the sole survivor." 




One in Ten Ch. 07



"The only two people who know why I am alive are both insane," I added. Eloise rolled her eyes.

The City Beat reporters weren't converts by any means but they had stopped trying to verbally beat me up. The West Coast was chaos. The cops were learning, but the men were too. In San Francisco, four guys hid their batons up their pants legs then drew them out once on their metro system. Not to be outdone, the women pulled out their stun guns, Tasers and pepper spray, not truly understanding what that would do in a confined space.

In Vancouver, one man used Crazy-Glue to attach both his hands to the wall of the monorail. The cops had pried him off but his screams went viral. To add insult to injury, as they dragged him away you could finally make out what he was screaming the entire time - 'the un-bonder is in my pocket'.

In Hawaii, the Governor took the extraordinary step to ban men from public transportation from 4am until noon. In Guadalajara, the men had figured a way around the police crackdown. They took ornamental cacti to work. Apparently the local variety had really big spines. It was an explosion of male frustration and creativity. 

It was also a painful reminder of how low we stood in the opinions of our counterparts. Not only did the police beat on us, hundreds of men had to be rescued from mobs of pissed off women. It wasn't all bad. In New Orleans, two off-duty firewomen took a beating rescuing a man from a trolley.

Early accounts suggested he used a baton on a woman. She counteracted with her stun gun, but forgot to cut it on. He wrested it from her grasp, cut it on and showed her how it worked. It seems he was employed in the factory where hers was made. Fellow commuters proceeded to knock him down and kick him until the firewomen pulled him free. Then he was taken to jail. The poor, stupid bastard had attacked a woman after all.

Eloise gathered us up and ushered us out the doors about fifteen minutes before ten. GNN's regional HQ were only three blocks away and due to the hour, the walkways were pretty empty. Unlike the Sentinel Building, which only required a computer to scan your ID, there was physical security at the GNN building.

Eloise was known to them, as was I. They nodded to her. They were getting ready for my strip search when Eloise jumped in and not in a way I would have suspected.

"Scan him," she chortled. "Read his last review and then decide if you want to piss his girl posse off." They read Kuiko's work of historical fiction which somehow included me.

"Oh, this is crap," one of the two guards commented. "No man does this."

"How many orgasms did you give her?" the other one asked. "One? Did she even have one?"

I had to believe Eloise had set me on this path for a reason, so I gulped down my embarrassment and answered to the best of my recollection.

"Four – but the first one didn't count," I sighed unhappily.

"Four?"

"One didn't count?"

"Well, there were two on the sofa and two more in the bedroom, but the first one on the sofa doesn't really count because she was so worked up by the expectation of my arrival," I confessed. 

"All I did was sample her – ah – juices and she hit orgasm," I finished. The guards blinked.

"See, his mother died shortly after his birth, so he was raised by his aunt at a Sapphic nunnery," Capri recited my tale of imaginary woe. "There they taught him the arts of how a woman pleases another woman. Eventually he become so skilled they renamed him Israel which means 'the Promised Land'."

The guards' eyes shifted from Capri, to Eloise, to my crotch then back to Eloise.

"We need to be going – meeting and all," Eloise took me by the arm and edged around the security. They didn't stop us. Capri hurriedly caught up.

"Sapphic nunnery – Promised Land – where does this stuff come from?" I muttered.

"Israel, absent male company, women read tons of porn," Eloise enlightened me. That had actually never occurred to me. Oh, I knew that most pornography was female oriented, but that it had a major impact on how women wanted men to be? Wow. How totally unrealistic.

"I keep telling you – 'have less impressive sex'," Capri chortled.

"How about I do something I love to do and you women lie about it?" I suggested.

"Lie about one of the most important truths of the century? Why Israel, that would make us politicians," Eloise huffed. Heaven forbid that.

"Eloise, what do you have against Isobel Diaz?" I requested. I hardly expected the truth but maybe a lie with enough of the truth to give me a clue as to why she was on my side.

"She murdered my brother," Eloise's look lost all is mirth. "She murdered him and Maria Keverich covered it up and made Isobel her bitch until the evidence went missing. Isobel helped put Maria away so I thought the evidence was destroyed – but then Magdalena popped up at Isobel's party with you and that makes me think it wasn't destroyed."

"Magdalena must have stolen it from her mother. Isobel put Maria away and Magdalena came out on top of the Keverich crime family. Now Maria is coming home and those two have to be worried."

"And you want Israel to step into the middle of that," Capri growled. "Have you lost your damn mind? They will chew him up and spit him out. You know what shape 'Little M' left him in last time."

"Quid Pro Quo," Eloise stuck to her guns. "I make sure Israel remains in the spotlight so he doesn't end up on a man-farm in Manitoba or New Mexico. He operates as a conduit between me and Magdalena. I don't want to bring Magdalena down, just Isobel and Maria. I think as the crunch sets in, she might make a deal."

"And she very well might ventilate Israel!" Capri hissed as the elevator doors began to open.

"I'm having lunch with her anyway," I shrugged. "What can it hurt to ask?"

"Says the man whose body is a map of the Painted Desert," Carpi mumbled.

"Try to be subtle," Eloise advised.

"Sure. I'll wait until we are making out in a bathroom stall before popping the question," I groaned.

"I was thinking more of befriending her and poking around her place," Eloise scoffed.

"Ugh," Capri groaned. "Israel, respond to the next text message with 'Now!'" 

Eloise wanted to question that declaration, but was cut off by us stepping onto the eighth floor and the noise of the GNN production floor bombarding us. Our guide steered us to what had to be the 'gatekeeper' of the studio we wanted to get to. 

"Ms. Granger – and guests, come this way," the man said.

I had to wonder what he thought of all this mess. As he led us toward our destiny, I saw the dowel sticking out of his back pocket. The rest was a whirlwind of people and equipment, voices and movements all around me, too much for me to adequately identify as peripheral disturbances or actual threats.

We passed through another series of doors. The world died down to a few hushed voices and Maribel Cartwright.

"Oh, my," Maribel seemed surprise. "Eloise, is that Israel Jensen with you? I wish you had warned me." If I didn't have confidence in Eloise, I would have believed Maribel's act.

Maribel walked the few steps from her spotlighted area to where her assistant had deposited us. She shook Eloise's hand, then mine and finally stopped in front of Capri. How could I handle this? I was a nut, but that wasn't important. What was important was they thought I was a nut.

"This is Capri O'Hara, my some-times lawyer and full-time boon companion," I introduced my russet-haired defender.

Maribel shook Capri's hand then turned back to me.

"Boon companion? What exactly does that entail?"

"It is a small group of us who have pledged to fight and, if necessary, die at Israel's side so that Wickedness does not prevail and the Light of Sentiency is not extinguished by the oncoming darkness," Capri explained. She would have kicked ass as a trial lawyer.

"You sound as crazy as he does," Maribel noted.

"Cool, isn't it?" Capri grinned.

"Cool wasn't the word I was searching for," Maribel looked somewhat amused by Capri. "Anyway, I'm about to host a special on the growing dilemma concerning the lack of male productivity."

"Mr. Jensen, would you like to contribute – if not as an expert then as someone with some insight to the current quandary?" Maribel politely invited me in.

"You may want to contact this person," I handed Maribel a name, profession and number. She looked it over, nodded and said,

"I'll put someone right on it," she grinned.

"Thank you," I took a deep breath. I had to keep it together. I had to – then I spotted her. She was kind of a beanpole, with narrow hips and small breasts. That didn't matter because what she had on was this red t-shirt with the backside of some prancing girl swinging a wicker basket.

There were two sets of eyes looking out of the blackness of that basket and the caption read: 'Where are we going and why are we in a hand basket?' I turned to Maribel and smiled.

"Let's do this," I declared heartily. The sound technicians had me wired up in seconds while some frantic make-up artists attacked me on stage.

A speech writer tugged my arm.

"Mr. Jensen, you cannot use the words crisis, catastrophe, or disaster in this discussion," she grinned in a rather distracted fashion.

"What are you going to do? Spank me for each violation?" I blathered while outwardly looking sane.

Oh, God, I was making jokes about violent sex. Speaking of violence...

"Capri, get us an exit strategy. When this goes down, we aren't going to want to wait around for the handcuffs to come out," I called to my friend. The script-girl blanched then blushed.

"I have a riding crop," she whispered to me. More than I wanted to know!

That group was exiting when the first of the big screens came to life and we could see the other members of this little debate coming on-line. The screens were all active when the first 'expert' suddenly noticed me standing there.

"What's he doing here?" the woman addressed Maribel.

"He showed up accidently and I decided it was newsworthy to invite Mr. Jensen in for a discussion," Maribel supplied the plausible lie. The three went after Maribel in a heated, bitter exchange. My fate being discussed while I was being completely ignored – old hat. It wasn't until one of the ladies became indignant and announced,

"I'm not doing this. I have my credibility to think about," she said. My turn.

"Credibility? What credibility?" I challenged her. "Lady, I don't know who you are and I'm pretty sure eight million men are right there with me."

"Mr. Jensen, I am the Health Policy Advisor for the Province of Ontario," she filled me in.

"I have a Public Relations degree from Bowden," I kept paddling. "What is your background?"

"I have a doctorate in Sociology from Charleston University," she sighed with exaggerated patience.

"Nice rack," I grinned. "I bet they are not silicon, either."

"What does that have to do with anything?" the second expert snapped.

"It means you are women; most likely successful women," I kept going. "That means you may have husbands and you definitely have children. Since you are all raving prima donnas, I'm willing to bet you don't have sons."

"What?" all the experts, Maribel and half of the GNN staff said, or whispered. 

"How do you come up with that delusional thinking?" Ms. Ontario glared.

"First off, none of you are crowing about me being wrong," I explained. "Secondly, if you had sons, you would be interested in a cure, but you are not."

"Take your dollhouses, Ladies, and go home because none of you can afford to be seen with the likes of me. Your so called 'credibility' is the most crucial factor here after all."

"Three – two – one," the set director got the show rolling. Maribel did her introductory spiel, the discussion began and I stood there like a good little boy, keeping my mouth shut because no one would direct anything my way. The first commercial break came at last.

"Your person will be ready in twelve minutes," Maribel whispered. "What is this about?"

"Not a clue," I whispered back. I was now familiar with the look Maribel shot my way.

"That was a dirty trick," Ontario interrupted. 

"Don't look at me," Maribel pointed a thumb my way. "It took me a few seconds to figure out what he was up to." I had kept them on-screen. Leaving once the show started would have made them look petulant.

"Is there any truth to this rumor you have been spreading about a cure?" the physician with the Department of Corrections for Southern District asked. She was from Guatemala City. The Southern states were what used to be Latin America; everything south of the old Mexican frontier though Panama beyond the Canal was something of a crap shoot.

"End of commercial in three..."

"Yes," I answered.

"Two – one."

"Welcome back," Maribel began. "Mr. Jensen, what are your views on the current dilemma facing the Administration and male feelings of alienation?"

"Thank you, Maribel. I would like to say that this is an epically, catastrophic crisis of disastrous dimensions," I smiled. "Damn it. Now that cute script-girl is going to have to spank me with her riding crop. See, the network doesn't want us to use the words catastrophic, crisis, or disastrous for reasons I can't begin to fathom. Whoops, that looks like six blows."

"Epic is a freebie. Anyway, instead of seeking the truth, people are covering their asses and blaming the best target of opportunity – men. We are easy targets. What are we going to do? Get 12-inch wooden sticks and try to get to work with our dignity intact – oh, good move with the gift cacti, guys. Classic case of misdirection."

"Well, we did take our sticks to work today and we were slaughtered. We were beaten down in droves. It was a freaking massacre. We never stood a chance. It is also unlikely that the women watching this can appreciate the courage those men on the West Coast had to have, defying the brutal hatred of womankind, witnessing the cosmic whoop-ass their brothers in the East and Central areas were receiving, yet still they tried to take their sticks to work."

"I understand the concerns of women. After all, men walking around with foot long dowels totally compensates for you having all the warships, tanks, planes, helicopters, artillery, guns, water cannons, Tasers, stun guns, pepper spray and – oh yeah, being OUTNUMBERED 25 to 2." I paused.

"I'm sorry. I lied. I DO NOT understand," I looked at the screens.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was sure the fuck got bleeped out. They were on to me now. "You murdered us over sticks. Two guys I have never had any contact with whatsoever came to my metro today – with sticks. The cops showed up, disarmed us and in the process of doing an illegal search, tried to punch a female friend."

"I know what cops are like, so I saw the blow coming and pulled her out of the way. The cop then punched me. This man, Kenny, shoved the cop away from me – to stop her from beating me up. She threw him to the ground. He didn't resist but she put a knee to his kidney anyway. He went to lock-up. The cop then told my other newfound friend that she would trump up charges on him if he didn't leave immediately."

"If he meets me tomorrow, we have both been threatened with conspiracy to commit a public disturbance – if that is even a crime. I plan to go to the metro tomorrow, if I'm still free and at large, and I think I'll bring...two sticks. The Metropolitan police had better bring the water cannon because then I'll be twice as dangerous."

"Luanga, if you stay away tomorrow I will not be upset; I'll applaud your common sense. For the rest of my brothers; if you go out tomorrow, it will be worse. You will suffer pain, humiliation, shame and most likely the loss of free will. Sadly, this is the same outcome for us if we do nothing."

"Did you just tell the men of our nation to rebel?" Ontario grumbled. "That is certainly what it sounded like to me, you traitor."

"What!" I gasped. "Haven't you been listening? What are we going to fight you with? We have nothing. There were six incidents of male-on-female violence that I saw reported on before coming in today – no deaths."

"Three men were beaten or Tasered to death. Do the math. Your society isn't going to need the Vanishers or the Gender Plague getting worse to lose it all. One year of this and women will do the job quite nicely themselves. All the men will be dead, or so stoned they are past caring."

"The Gender Inequality Act needs to be enforced in order to survive," Guatemala insisted.

"Oh My (bleep)ing God," I raised up my hands in frustration. "You have been beating men up with that thing for the past forty years. It was meant to stave off extinction. Forty years later, we are closer to extinction than ever."

"There is no conclusive proof of that," injected the third commentator, a Social Scientist from Memphis.

"That's easy enough," I countered. "Women, go out into your neighborhoods and knock on the doors of all your male neighbors. Having done that, call up your local Housing Authority and ask them how many men they think live in your neighborhood. Compare notes with all your friends. Let's see who is right." Chaos and confusion.

Maribel got a flash from the production manager. She made the normal 'we'll be right back' bit and we cut to commercial again.

"I'm calling the Federal District Attorney and having your ass arrested," Ontario snapped.

"What for?" I shot back.

"You are inciting males to large-scale acts of civil disobedience and criminal activity," she growled. I was about to say something in my defense then sighed.

"I'd keep arguing, but you are clearly too stupid to learn," I shrugged.

"You'll learn, you pipsqueak," she glared.

"I don't care," I looked toward Capri, my friend. "You have already killed me. If you want to steal what little time I have left, so be it. I won't be quiet though. I'm not afraid of any of you anymore. I have taken back my dignity and I'll make my escape if you aren't careful."

"That is another reason you need to seek treatment," Guatemala said.

"It is telling that you cannot let me go," I regarded them. "I am one man and all I want to be is free, yet you would rather see me dead. It is the real face of this society laid bare. This is no longer striving for some higher purpose – this is fear. I believe it is the fear that you have doomed us all with your arrogance."

"You have squandered the last years of the Human Race with cruelty, oppression and a blind acceptance that this world, no matter how screwed up, was not your problem. You would pass the responsibility to someone else, another generation, anyone but you," I looked around the room, "and you and you."

Then I realized all that had gone out live.

Maribel had tricked me.

"Mr. Jensen, are men totally blameless in this situation?" she asked me.

"Absolutely not," I stated. I was pretty sure most of the room expected me to evade. "We shouldn't have surrendered forty years ago."

"We shouldn't have left our partners to shoulder the burden alone, abdicating our futures. We surrendered to the tyranny of numbers. We lied to ourselves because to be truthful would have meant we had no one else to blame but us. We should have insisted responsibility equal to our culpability."

"Yes, that would have meant men, the vast minority, had disproportional power compared to women. That isn't a matter of greed, or arrogance. It is a matter of reality. Men are half the equation to the future of the Human Race – and we left that entire burden in your hands because it was momentarily convenient for us."

"In a way, we are still those men from forty years ago. We are numb to the fate of our culture. Forty years ago, we let the plague do it to us. Can you imagine being the last boy in a school's tenth grade class knowing every other boy he had known since kindergarten had died? We were traumatized because death was stalking us."




One in Ten Ch. 07



"Now we are numb because that's all you will give us. We don't have the power to alter our surroundings so we smile and take out whatever you dish out. We have learned to settle for less of everything because to reach beyond those choices – well, this morning exhibited your reaction to that. What happens next for female-male relations is totally in the hands of women."

"It is darkly romantic in its own way," I said softly. "In the end, men have the only thing that should be of value to womankind. We will have the ability to forgive. You may pass us in years, but all you will have are ashes, dust and oblivion as companions. In two hundred years, all your genetic lines will have passed into the realm of evolutionary failures."

"We don't need you, or your forgiveness," Ms. Ontario sneered.

"We will see about that," Maribel preempted me. "Dr. Vasco is a well-known virologist at St. Eligius Research Hospital nearby. Dr. Vasco, welcome."

"Ah – welcome," Dr. Vasco stumbled. She wasn't made for TV.

"I understand you did a quick research project for some colleagues of mine this morning. What are your results?" Maribel prodded.

"Oh! Fascinating – completely unexpected and – well – fascinating," she blathered.

"What have you found out?" Maribel prodded once more.

"Oh, yes," Vasco seemed bewildered. "We had two blood samples. Patient Zero – a healthy young male, and Patient One – a healthy young female."

"Yes?"

"Oh, yes," Vasco's face came alive. "Patient Zero's blood has no signs of the T1-Gender Plague. None whatsoever. I've never see that before."

That was right. No one had seen it in almost fifty years. It wasn't what I was expecting. It clearly wasn't what anyone else was expecting either.

"That's not possible," Guatemala gulped.

"That's what I thought, too!" Vasco bubbled. "We did a variety of tests and no T1 anywhere."

Hush.

"There was another virus similar to the T1 though," she continued. Everyone breathed. "But it's not the T1. In fact, its sole purpose seems to be to kill the T1."

"How – how did that happen? That can't happen," Ontario muttered.

"We all thought so too, so we've been sicking those little bastards on every kind of infected tissue we have on hand and – Oh, Goddess – they go right after the T1 – kills them deader than hell!" Vasco giggled. I couldn't blame her unprofessionalism – this was the Virology Holy Grail fifty years in the making.

Hush.

"You mean you have a cure?" Maribel whispered.

"Yes, but there is a downside," she shrugged. "Once they find infected tissue or free floating T1's, they don't last very long." 

"Also, Patient One, the woman, had far fewer in parts per billion of this new, unidentified virus," Vasco added.

"Who are these people?" Memphis asked. She seemed a little slow on the uptake.

"Oh, Goddess," Ontario stared at me fearfully. "It's him."

"Yep," I confessed, "and Patient One is someone I had sex with. I let you figure it out because I think this is my cue to leave."

"You can't just go," Guatemala gasped.

"Israel, what are you going to do now?" Maribel seemed truly curious.

"Yes, I can go and I am. I haven't broken the law and nothing requires me to do anything about this," I grinned. "For the rest of your audience, I am not giving you the cure. Before you think about simply stealing this from me, let me give you this warning. If I am grabbed by anybody, I request the Vanishers come get me. I'll be ready to go."

"In case you ladies missed it, the Vanishers are around 2500 and 0 in making men disappear – fuck with me and you'll never know if I decided to change my mind," I proclaimed. "If you want to know why I'm so irate today, you let law enforcement nationwide beat my brethren bloody, and be degraded."

"Two of my LOLE's disarmed me then threw me on a metro where several women reached inside my pants and played with my cock. Inside of ten years, 99 out of 100 of your sons are going to die in screaming agony as you watch helplessly. Make sure you hug a cop and thank them for that privilege."

"Good-bye, but before I go, the final word for today is 'Hope'," I bowed slightly, dropped my back-up lapel microphone and quick-stepped it to Capri.

"They really should let you have a gun," Capri snickered softly. "You would do less damage that way." We turned, Capri started guiding me out by a different path, but I stopped her for a second.

"Do you have that riding crop handy?" I asked the script-girl.

"I have it at home," she blurted out then flushed with embarrassment.

"Maybe next time," I grinned. Capri dragged me away hurriedly. In a dark recess of the studio, Maribel's male assistant motioned us through a blacked-out door.

"Second door on the left, then to the door marked stairs, and I suggest going to the basement parking lot," he said dispassionately. I mouthed a 'thank you' as we sped by. Three flights down, there was someone waiting for us – a women in technician overalls and a baseball cap. At the last second, she looked up from her work.

"Damn it, Bitch," Capri squeaked. "Are you a clone or a stalker?" It was Zara.

"Hello, Israel," Zara smiled. "We need to get going." Oh crap. Capri was right. She really did like me. The three of us went lickety-split down the stairs, Zara in the lead.

"Zara, do you like me?" I broke down and asked. She held up her hand.

She swiped a card, accessing the second floor. We slipped inside. Zara motioned for silence. We heard another door open and footsteps racing up to us, then past us, heading up. Three seconds later, Zara led us back into the hallway and down.

"Yes," Zara answered.

"Did you pick me?" She had said I was 'chosen,' but I wasn't sure.

"It doesn't work that way," she kept her senses on edge while talking.

"How does it work?" Capri murmured. Zara stopped us again for a few seconds before opening the basement door and motioning for us to follow. She stashed us behind a car then began stripping out of her coveralls and cap, revealing non-descript street clothes.

As she finished, Zara shot me that warm glow.

"Command makes the selections, but the men choose us," Zara smiled my way.

"Uh...how does that work?" Capri looked rapidly back and forth between Zara and me. My mind was a whirl of passions – both good and bad – and data.

"It is called courtship," Zara informed us. Capri's eyes bugged.

"Wait – you want this madman?" Capri wondered. Zara had shoved her clothes under the car, squirted something on them and was now leading us somewhere that wasn't the street exit.

"He has intense, honest eyes," she replied. "He's courageous."

"When we first met, I was terrified," I muttered.

"Yet you persevered," Zara responded. "Blind, stupid courage is dangerous, but conquering your fears when you are needed is something far better." She led us to an emergency exit, hesitated a moment before popping it and motioning us quickly through to an alley.

There was no alarm blaring, so something must have happened. A moment later, we exited the alley, onto the main sidewalk and were briskly walking away.

"Thank you, Zara," I regarded our new – companion didn't seem quite right.

"It was good to see you in person, Israel," she smiled yet again. 

"So – Zara, do you spy on Israel in the shower too?" Capri inquired.

"Of course," Zara admitted. I turned and abruptly walked into the wall of the closest building. I hadn't intended to. Some irresistible impulse had taken over. Having an unknown number of women seeing me naked was soul grinding.

Had my life been a comedy, I would have bumped my noise, looked sheepishly over my shoulder and given a weak smile. I had experienced an infantile urge to run away from the shame, violation and the pain Zara's information brought. My hands had instinctively come up to save my face from impact. My fingers were trying to dig into the stone until my tips felt as if I was tearing the skin off.

I loved sex. I loved the pleasure it let me share. What I didn't love was the romantic mystique I tried to weave around that act being torn away, shredded for the entertainment of people I didn't know. How could I protect myself if any woman looking at me had seen me naked, in coquitos? How could I tell who was really a threat if I couldn't see behind their eyes?

Step...Capri and Zara were not talking. They were not closing in on me.

Step...people passed by. The scuff of their footfalls told me they were looking my way, but not stopping.

Step...I had to get out of here. The authorities would come looking and we all had to leave.

Gears contacted gears and the machine that was my mind lurched forward once more. I had things to do. People were taking incredible risks on my behalf. Capri and Zara understood what had happened and let me heal – just enough to get my feet back under me.

"Let's go," I muttered and we moved down the sidewalk once more.

We covered two blocks in silence.

"Zara, you are with the government, aren't you?" I began. She gave me a quick look, but didn't respond. "Let me rephrase: you are still an active duty soldier, aren't you?" Now Capri stumbled.

"Yes," Zara whispered.

"Shit," Capri groaned.

"Okay, I understand now," I nodded. We traversed another block.

"Fine, what do you understand?" Capri nudged me.

"I know who the Vanishers are," I leaned in and replied quietly. Zara's eyes flickered my way again.

"You do, don't you?" Zara's eyes blazed with pride in me and wonder.

"Either one of you care to enlighten me?" Capri grumbled.

"I need to get you off the street," Zara intervened. "The FBI is on its way. I can deal with the cameras and your phones, but not the bracelet." She steered us into a café where the early lunch crowd as only starting to come in.

"How do you know he's right?" Capri prodded Zara.

"The last two questions he asked," she seemed almost sad to leave us – me.

"Zara, take off and stay safe," I told her. "I don't think I would want to do this without you." Zara had a twinkle in her eye, nodded then left. Capri and I moved to a nice corner table. I took the seat that would allow me to watch the door and most of the café.

"Okay, what's going on?" Capri leaned in.

"You start off with two guiding principles. No large organization creates only one plan to choose from. Bureaucracies throw away NOTHING. So, twenty years ago, when the Federation and/or the UN figured that the current system wasn't working, they planned out various contingencies."

"One of those proposals was the 'Vanisher' conspiracy. It was most likely advanced by a small cadre of mid- and low-level functionaries brought in to work on the forecasted collapse. Their idea was obviously rejected because we stayed the course and are now in the fucked up situation we are in now." 

"The thing was, those planners didn't die and didn't give up on their plan. At the start, they were powerless to do anything. Besides, they had to believe all their idea was doing was postponing the end, not solving the extinction problem. So, they worked on that dilemma..." I said.

"And that's you?" Capri doubted.

"No. They didn't know about me until five years ago at the earliest and that's highly unlikely. Odds are they found about what Carabolix-37 did to me when everyone else did," I replied. "What happened, happened eight years ago while the WHO was combing over Central Asia building a genetic database."

"What they found was the Warlord of Kwaziristan – the last bastion of male rule on the planet." No, the Warlord wasn't some kind of John Carter of Mars. By all accounts he was a castrated, obese, mostly bald and very old man. During the collapse that Plague engendered, Central Asia went under – their political systems, economies and infrastructures broke down.

In those last few, chaotic years, a recovering soldier and a small detachment of troops found themselves guarding an orphanage. With the city burning down around them, this man was ordered to take the boys and flee. He went to the only place he figured they could hide out until the fighting died down and the authorities could come rescue him.

He went to an old 17th century palace/fortress complex outside his home town in remote Kwaziristan and there he held up while his nation died. Eventually, hope faded and the 'Warlord' began to raid the recovering female tribes for supplies. He had to feed his people. Somewhere along the way, the female tribal leaders figured out he had a large number of young men under his charge.

They struck a deal. The Warlord was worried that the women would steal his men. The women wouldn't storm the place because all those men had guns and killing them all would accomplish nothing, except to stop the raiding. The agreement they reached changed everything, though it wasn't immediately obvious.

The tribal leaders would send young women up to the fortress. In exchange for making the young women pregnant (or one year to pass), the tribes would pay tribute to the Warlord. The catch? The men inside the fortress chose which woman they would mate with and by mate, they meant live together in the same dwelling for months at a time.

It was courtship. It wasn't a plastic romance; it was practical. The men needed the goodwill of the tribeswomen that inhabited the land in all directions. Building up affections and bonds with their female mates was necessary for the survival of the male community. Conversely, the women lived in a mostly male world – from the beginning, the Warlord did have a few female soldiers.

Men were lovers, providers, protectors and housemates. They shared in chores, but compared to what the women had to do in their own tribe, it was nearly paradise. Men still had their military duty, but when you had a mate, you were given quarters in the dungeon of the fortress. Carved out from the depths of the hill the fortress sat on, it was much cooler than the baking heat above during the summers and warmer in the winters.

Enter the WHO eight years ago doing their survey. They ran across a serious problem. Kwaziristan's population was 24% above projections (they were supposed to be dying out) and 2% over their previous level. Kwaziristan was 'surviving'. Sure, their tiny population was one Black Death away from annihilation, but their numbers where slowly growing – very slowly.

This was great news right up until they found out about the Warlord and his contract with the local towns and tribes. Was the UN really going to say that some old fat eunuch in a clay fortress on a dusty hill in the middle of nowhere was the savior of all mankind?  The answer was obvious.

The UN sent in advisors and film crews to show the world how barbaric and primitive the Warlord was. He certainly wasn't photogenic. The men seemed enthusiastic enough. They even slept with some of the film crew. They also became very irate when the women picked up and left. After all, hadn't the women agreed to mate with them? 

Why else would women come to the fortress if not to mate? The local women were a bit peeved too – those were their men those floozies were poaching. The UN began fishing around, seeking to convince some of the local leaders to call in the UN to deal with the Warlord. When the Kwaziri women figured that out they got REALLY pissed.

They may have herded goats and sheep, woven wool into fabric and scratched some crops out of the semi-arid soil for a living, but they also knew they had more daughters in this generation than last. They couldn't fight off the UN – there were only a few thousand of them and they lived in near-desert conditions, but they did everything to let those foreign women know they were unwelcome.

In one antidotal tale, a UN soldier guarding the mission found a lost lamb and brought it to a local tribeswoman. The woman promptly beat the lamb to death with a stone, explaining to the horrified soldier that the lamb had been contaminated. In the end, the Kwaziri got what they wanted – the outside world left them alone.

The WHO took gene, blood, air, water, and soil samples and found absolutely nothing that explained this abnormality. The Big Lie was only starting to sink in. Discovery World devoted a portion of a documentary to the Warlord. A fourteen year old boy saw it and regurgitated that memory to a twenty-one year old man in search of understanding.

"I know you are not advocating male rule," Capri studied me. "So what is it?"

"A colossal gamble," I sighed. "I am freaking liberal arts major. I'm not a scientist, certainly not a doctor and definitely not a virologist, but what if...if stress strengthens the Plague, what if the reverse is also true?" Capri mulled that over.

"You mean, what if love, compassion and respect – as viewed by the male – weakens the Plague?" Capri mused. "Damn right you are not a scientist."

"It was the word Zara used and I believe it was intentional," I persisted. "She said 'courtship'. She also mentioned men choosing their mates. That's what clicked in my mind."

"So this cockamamie scheme of the Vanishers is based on 'love conquering all'? Crap, we are all going to die," Capri muttered.

"Hey, I'm not saying I'm a convert, but it is the current idea I'm running with. I'm willing to bet Zara's people studied the Kwaziri for some time too," I countered.

"With no cure looming on the horizon, they began recruiting young women from various agencies and branches of service into their plan. Heck, some of the 'Vanishers' may still be thinking this is a sanctioned covert operation. Even those women will want onboard when they understand this society is going down the toilet."

"One of the saddest parts of all this is that the women who set this all in motion won't take advantage of it," I bleakly assessed. "The government will be closing in on them now."

"I wish I could disagree, but I think you are right," Capri nodded. "If you figured it out, someone who does this kind of detective work for a living has put the pieces together as well."

There was no way to hide an operation this big once various intelligence agencies started looking. They would figure out the key military and civilian players. The only thing they could do was to totally detach from the program. Now their baby was out there, running on its own power, directed by people who had already vanished themselves long before any investigation started.

"FBI," I warned Capri. Special Agents Fraklos and Vabishi had come in to our hideaway. Vabishi was showing ID to the girl at the counter while Fraklos was coming our way.

"How did you get away?" Fraklos seemed truly curious. There was a host of good answers and the truth wasn't one of them.

"Come on now," I leaned forward, "Princess Leia didn't beat Darth Ventress, the Empire and the Dark Empress with the help Ewoks alone. She had the help of Admiral Squid."

"Gial Ackbar; a Mon Calamari," Fraklos corrected me.

"Who?" I questioned.

"Gial Ackbar – that was the Admiral's name," Fraklos clarified.

"Is that really important right now?" I asked.

"Having a bad day?" Fraklos turned to Capri. She was asking if I was having a bad day.

"Yeah, pretty much," Capri nodded. "He walked right into a wall about ten minutes ago."

"We need to get him out of here," Fraklos shook her head. "Get him somewhere safe. The Capital is screaming bloody murder over his latest stunt." Vabishi had finished making a quick call and joined us.

"I can't do it," I stood. "I have a date with a VIM at 12:30."

Fraklos stared at me.

"Very Important Mobster," I explained. "If I don't show up they will probably do really bad things to Kuiko and I'm not going to let that happen."

"What is he talking about?" Vabishi worried.

"I am attracted to violent psychopaths and for the love of God, I don't know why," I sighed. "Worse, to hang out with me you have to be insane or prone to fits of brutality. It is how I roll."




One in Ten Ch. 07



"There has to be something we can give Israel to keep him on an even keel," Vabishi asked Fraklos.

"I'm not good enough at that sort of thing to take the chance," Fraklos then looked to Capri.

"Fuck you both," she stood, "I'm a lawyer."

My phone rang. 'GED' it read. I typed back 'ty' and cut the connection.

"Time to go," I announced and headed for the kitchen. My guardian angels were working overtime.

There are few things as beautiful as competence under stress. Not me. The three women tagging along with a lunatic didn't question me; they divined my intentions and moved to cushion me from the world. By the time we exited the back of the café, Fraklos was in the lead, then me, Capri and Vabishi looking back from signs of pursuit.

"Ewoks," Fraklos guffawed. "We need better code words." Ewoks meant Vanishers and Admiral Squid meant I didn't need to be brought in. Next time we would use different words. Dimples said it was a book cipher – essentially unbreakable if you didn't know the material.

"Be happy I didn't fall over laughing," Capri snickered.

"Israel, you play crazy really well," she added. "I'd feel better about it if you weren't actually crazy."

"Who are we evading?" Vabishi spoke up.

"GED," I answered.

The problem facing me and Dimples' crew was that we weren't the Vanishers. We couldn't manipulate phone and surveillance feeds. Slipping down alleyways while avoiding loading areas left us in the 'digital dark'. We were going to reemerge soon.

"We are trying to shift through the chatter and figure out who is really trying to get their hands on you," Fraklos clued me in.

"Montanyard is building such an air-tight case against you she could patch the Hindenburg," Vabishi stated. "She thinks she can hold them off a week." Shelia could hold off the full weight of the Federation Government for a week – one week. I needed a fucking miracle.

(Magdalena – Round Two)

My two FBI ladies delivered me as close to the Prometheus Club as they dared. Mobsters had eyes too, though this was actually a pointless exercise since the moment 'Little M' asked me what I was up to I would bury her in the minutia of truth instead of the real deal. Capri would stick with me. Mainly because the FBI would have to taser her to keep her from my side.

As I entered the restaurant, I was getting a whole new look. It was the 'what in the hell is this guy still doing walking around?' expression. Either I was a maniac or a national resource, or maybe both – not all of them could decide. The maître de pointed me toward the semi-curtained off area. A second later he motioned Capri to the bar. We knew this was going to happen.

On my side of the curtain were two women; one sitting, one standing. They didn't look like – well, what I though mobsters would look like. They looked normal. The standing one ran a 'wand' over me then ran her free hand over my frame quickly.

"Are you hiding anything?" she finally spoke.

I have a love affair with pain. That was all I could think of when I opened my mouth.

"I had my knee caps replaced with high explosives. Does that count?" I stated resolutely. She stared at me for a second then this smile crept over her intimidating countenance. 

"Damn, you really are a nut," she snickered. "This way." She put a hand on my shoulder, I trembled and she led me into the VIP area.

Three of the tables were occupied. The closest had Flame and this woman whose face looked like it had lost a head-on collision with a truck. She also looked to be around 250 pounds. The second table, close to an exit, had two Hispanic women who had to be sisters, and pissed that they were missing out on their 'killing kittens' time.

I was dealing with being manhandled, near terror, proximity issues, and being in the company of yet more casual killers. Somehow, all of this had to be my fault. Regular men stay locked in their homes. I needed help. I shrugged off the hand on my shoulder and made a bee-line for Flame.

There was a 'whiff' behind me as my guide tried to corral me back in, but failed. Flame and her 'buddy' (I was pretty sure it was a woman – or a man with huge pecs) stood up. I extended my hands forward and just above my hips. Flame and I collided. Her hands went to my ass. My right cupped her leather clad left butt cheek while my left wrapped fully around her lower back, touching something big and hard.

We did more than kiss. Flame discovered that I had my wisdom teeth removed and I learned that she still had her tonsils. It was also revealed to me that during a French kiss, Flame likes to bite tongue – my tongue, her tongue – it doesn't seem to matter. We were both healthy adults with the experience to know that breathing through your nose is a must.

It took us a while to come up for air. I had pulled her up until she was on her toes. Her eyes were boring holes into mine.

"I need some strength," I whispered to her. Now, there is no great Gestalt among the insane. There is no shared universe, psychosis, or delusion.

What we do share is the fear and pain that comes from being trapped in our own minds. The greatest creation of man, our brains, had betrayed us. We were living a lie because our truths would destroy us. And, worst of all, we were alone. That is why crazy people lash out. It isn't to hurt others, it is to make others stop hurting us – with a reality that we see as a lie.

I breached that inky bubble that shrouded Flame's mind. It didn't make her my friend. It didn't stop her from being a beast and a sadist. We were alone together. Each alone, but knowing that the other was in the same condition. It wasn't understanding, it was kinship. Flame reached up with her right hand, made a fist, and lightly tapped me on the forehead.

"There you go," she smiled. I returned the smile and let her down. As I turned to walk away, she spanked my ass hard. I kept walking, but half-turned so I could shake a finger at her.

"Just for that, no tongue penetration during our next cunnilingus session," I threatened her.

"Oh, you love it, Bitch," she laughed. Turning to her buddy, "That guy is loads of fun."

Belatedly, I came to Magdalena's table. It was a round table, two-thirds wrapped up in a booth. To my right was this weightlifting scumbag – oily, arrogant and stupid. Sometimes people don't try to hide their ignorance. I wasn't sure this guy even knew what ignorance was, much less how to spell it. 

He had too much time in a tanning booth, too much chest hair and a cultivated five o'clock shadow. He was also in a chair which suggested he wasn't someone important. Next were two women, dressed nicely – Francesca-nice, not Isobel-nice. They weren't likely to be putting any ships into orbit anytime soon, but they were clever enough to observe before commenting from their booth seats.

In the center was Magdalena in a dark blue Kashmir shirt with a plunging neckline. Damn that woman was proud of her big mammaries. Her jewelry was understated, her hair nicely done and her eyes laser-quick. Next to her was this guy – ruggedly handsome, manly, yet...missing something? It hit me. He was a gigolo and 'Little M's boyfriend/property.

Here I was thinking he'd been shot while trying to escape. Next to the Man-candy was Silent and lastly was an unknown woman, in a chair, of the same breed as the two on the left of Magdalena. Between Grease-ball and the last unknown woman was an empty chair.

"Israel," Magdalena greeted me, motioning me forward with a spoonful of sherbet.

Apparently, I had missed the food-eating part of this party.

"Thank you, Magdalena," I replied. I was pulling the chair around so I could sit when a few bad things happened. Grease Ball looked at me then flashed a look to Boy Toy who looked less than happy. Boy Toy was really good with masking his emotions, but Grease Ball was an open book.

"Please, Israel, call me Maggy," Magdalena asked nicely.

"Not happening," spilled forth from my madness. Lead – Zeppelin...or dirigible, or balloon maybe.

"Israel, why are you being mean to me?" Little M tilted her head.

"Status update: your opinion still doesn't matter to me. I'm only here because I'm afraid you will do bad things to my friends," I confessed. Maggy took another dip at her icy dessert then waved off a few of her companions – the women whom I didn't know.

"Here we are again," she stated as the other disappeared. "You being needlessly hostile and me wondering why I put up with it."

"Lady, what fantasy world do you live in?" I grumbled. "The last time I couldn't perform, you beat me half to death." Magdalena snorted and the gigolo smirked slightly.

"By the way, the man next to you is my older brother, Kenneth," she introduced the group. Her news that Grease Ball was her brother sucked big time. 

"The man next to me is my companion, Eckly..." she got out.

"Silent, I know," I interrupted. I liked the name 'Silent'. I didn't want to ruin that mental image with a new name. I was starting to think Silent had all her facial muscles frozen.

"Have I said something to amuse you?" she stopped in mid-sherbet interface.

"Absolutely not," I shook my head.

"Hmmm, I don't believe you," Magdalena remarked. "Maybe we should ask your little Asian friend. She works around all kinds of equipment that makes honesty a plus."

'Blow it out your ass' seemed counter-productive, but I was saved any serious decision making by my lips.

"Can I have a gun?" I inquired politely. What the fuck was I going to do with a gun? Magdalena ground up my intentions with her eyes then nodded to Flame. I stood up as she came my way. I certainly wasn't expecting what I got. She pulled out this chrome hand cannon from behind her. That was the big metal thing I had felt earlier.

"This is a 12 mm pistol," she presented the device. 12 mm sounded so big. She did 'something'.

The clip dropped down into her left hand. Next she pulled back on the top of the pistol, ejecting a round. That round went into the top of the clip then she moved close beside me.

"Here you go," she said seductively as she gave me the gun. "The clip holds seven rounds," she slammed the clip in. "That slight click means the magazine is locked in place."

"Damn, this thing is heavy," I muttered.

"Well yeah, I use it to shoot through concrete walls and steel doors," Flame enlightened me. "If you don't know what you are doing it will rip off your thumb and knock you on your ass. In your case, let's hope it merely knocks you down."

"This," she pointed to this 'thing' on the side, "is the safety. Right now," she said lovingly, "the safety is engaged." She flipped it. "Now it is disengaged and you can fire the piece." She reengaged the safety. "Hold it with both hands," she used my hands to demonstrate as she moved behind me. "Use one hand and this bear will break it. Now, hold it like this," she peeked around me.

This entire time we were pointing this monstrosity in the general direction of the Hispanic sisters who were less than pleased. When Flame got behind me, they got up and moved.

"How does it feel?" Flame asked.

"It is still heavy as hell."

"Good," Flame responded. "Look down the barrel. Match up the top and barrel sights. Take careful aim and give the trigger steady pressure. Unloading in the general direction of the enemy is for amateurs. In a fight, dive for cover, figure out where the next corpse is hiding and put this bullet down range. I don't care what they are hiding behind – this will find them."

"Ready to fire?" she teased.

"The safety is still engaged," I replied. She hugged me. Had all the bruises she gave me Saturday night not hurt like all get out, that action might have been construed as a romantic gesture.

"Please, Little M, can't I keep him?" Flame pleaded.

"Let's keep that thought in mind," Magdalena said to Flame. "Well, you have your gun; what do you plan to do with it Israel?"

"I honestly didn't believe anyone would give me one so I am at a loss for words," I mused.

"I did you a favor. Now you do one for me," Maggy prodded.

"Your brother and your boyfriend are having an affair. Your brother is gay. I imagine your boyfriend is merely an opportunist," I blurted out. Dead silence. The brother was rigid. The boyfriend masking his emotions. Finally, Magdalena began chuckling. 

Then everyone was laughing. Okay, not everybody, just the women. Then I began laughing, but not at the men. I was laughing because everyone in the room with a gun was laughing at the two who didn't seem to have one and for the first time in my life, I wasn't one of those guys.

"Sis," Kenneth mumbled.

"Cool it, Ken," Magdalena held up her hand. "Mom told me you were gay when I was eight. The only one who still thinks it is a secret is you."

"But," he stammered.

"Ken, did you really think all of your boyfriends found jobs in other cities?" Maggie chastised.

Kenneth clearly was an idiot.

"This guy hadn't known you two minutes and he figured out you were gay. Come on now. Mom and I have been cleaning up your messes for years. Now beat it. I have business to take care of," Magdalena went from sister to mob boss in no seconds flat.

Kenneth took his chastisement like a well whipped dog and slunk away. Eckly was looking in a bad, bad way. The only one not on Little M's payroll was me and I would hardly make a reliable witness in the investigation of his disappearance. 

"Maggy, it isn't what it looks like," Eckly began coolly. 

"Just stop," Magdalena shook her head. "You clearly think I'm stupid. I mean – damn, you fucked my brother, you fucked me and you fucked me over. You are a fucking prostitute, not a criminal mastermind. I know about you and the OCT." Organized Crime Taskforce.

"They had me in a bind," Eckly began to plead. Maggy pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Israel, what would you have done?" Maggy inquired.

"With your brother or the cops?" I asked for clarification. Flame snorted.

"Both."

"Not only is homosexuality not my thing, the cops blew up the two in my neighborhood which is what I call double deterrence," I replied.

"You stick with the one you're with," I continued. "A man betraying a woman is a loser's game. I guess that means I'd roll the dice with your reaction as opposed to trusting the police. The cops are always the enemy."

"Was that so hard to understand Eckly?" Maggy regarded her now ex-boyfriend.

"It wasn't like that," he persisted.

"Eckly, you are twice the fuck in bed that Israel is, but he is ten times the man. Don't whine to me about how tough it was. Brigit beat him black and blue because he wouldn't utter a single damn phrase. He loved some cop that much," she growled. "That's when I knew you had to go."

"You wouldn't take a year stretch for me, much less a beating from Brigit. You were always a selfish prick and now you are gone," she seethed.

"What! No!" he begged. "Let me make it up to you." I thought he was going to hump her right then and there.

"Shut the fuck up," Magdalena snapped. "I'm not going to kill you. You deserve it, but you aren't worth the hassle. Rosario and Yaris are going to take you home when I'm done, you are going to pack up and leave. I don't recommend showing your face in any establishment I might frequent. Brigit's feelings might be hurt," Magdalena smiled carnivorously.

Silent shuffled out of the booth. Eckly followed reluctantly.

"Israel?" he looked my way, pleading. What was I supposed to do?

"Eckly, you have an inflated sense of your own importance. No one cares what you did because you are a whore," I pointed out.

"Hey, you did what you did to survive. I'm not holding that against you, but don't think you are all that important. You are not. Magdalena isn't going to waste a bullet on you. Flame," I motioned to Brigit to assuage his confusion, "might break a few of your bones to hear them snap, but she'd probably kick ass on a kindergarten playground to hear the kids cry, too."

That was not what Eckly wanted to hear. He didn't want to face the reality he was just another man living on his dick alone. He had gone from a Mobster's boyfriend to a street bimbo in a matter of seconds. The cops wouldn't help. Why should they? He was useless to them now. Sure, he was walking away, but there wasn't a professional escort service that would touch him with a ten foot cattle prod after this.

What woman would want a male prostitute who doubled as a police informant? That profession was still illegal after all. I'd save my worry for Kenny and Luanga. They had reached beyond themselves in an attempt to make a difference. Rosario and Yaris turned out to be the Hispanic sisters. They led Eckly out the back door then returned.

"Playground," Flame snickered. "That would be so cool." Yep, she was psychotic. A fraction of my mental and physical discomfort was this lump of metal in my hand. I took the barrel in my right hand, pivoted my body and offered the grip to Flame.

"Thank you," I told her.

"You owe me," she leered.

"For the beating or the gun?" I grinned weakly.

"Whichever leaves me fuck-stunned, staring at the ceiling for thirty minutes," she chuckled. Ah, the gift from Kuiko kept on giving. 

I finished turning around, cupped Flame's jaw with both hands and stared deeply into her eyes. She was totally devoid of any understanding of the human condition. I doubted if she even cared about herself.

"Okay," brushed her lips, "you've earned it."

"Israel, you are supposed to be interested in me," Magdalena interrupted my moment with Flame.

"Flame is pure," I responded without looking away from her eyes. That brought out a new round of laughter, even from Flame.

"I said pure, not pure good," I reminded them. "You brought us together. I have more than a few screws loose, so it can't be too surprising that I picked the totally wrong woman." Flame wasn't offended.

"Damn," Maggy mused. "Brigit, are you going to let me have a crack at your boy?"

"He's not my boy, Little M," Flame said. "I'll put a good word in for ya though." We were both unhinged. The proof was me being here and Brigit for defying her boss.

"That is something to work on," Magdalena allowed. "While this is fun, it is not why I wanted to talk with you. That reason has become irrelevant over the past 24 hours, but now I want to know 'what's the deal with your blood?"

"Why do you want to know?" I asked. I wasn't offended; only curious.

"A cure for the Plague is money in the bank," she grinned. I groaned and looked at the floor.

"Magdalena," I looked up at her, "this is not something you want to do." She didn't believe me, or even feel she needed my advice.

"They came at me with a Writ of Exclusion yesterday," I continued. "They aren't going to wire-tap you, Magdalena, they are going to torture and kill you. Worse, I am Carabolix-37's only success. Every other male is nutless, or dead and no one sane knows why. Dr. Delilah Fremont has the only doses of the drug and the research notes, but she's not sharing."

"Rare is good," Maggy enlightened me.

"Rare is dead," I corrected. "Magdalena, I'm not spinning falsehoods to the World. Society is about to implode and what I have can't save it." 

It hit me like a bullet to the brain. How could I have missed it?

If the Vanishers were to win, they couldn't have society running around either. They would get the men out while the situation was still stable and hide them, but then what? You couldn't keep us in a bunker forever. I was a club-footed, one-eyed hunchback playing with people who had been studying, competing in, and winning, the survival game for 100,000 years.

Who in the hell did I think I was? Did I really delude myself that I had control – that I could slip away...all I could do was take a step. If they didn't stop me, I'd take another. That was the plan.




One in Ten Ch. 08



*First off, PokingFun for trudging through another of my offerings*

*To a whole band of miscreants and ne'er-do-wells who give me feedback, keep me on track and urge me to keep going*

*Lastly, to Talonwolf, who continues to evade the best counter-terrorism units money can buy*

*The Persians marshalled all the nations under the Sun and Stars yet they were defeated by a single idea: Sacrifice, and their inability to appreciate it*

*****

It was an unfortunate convergence of poor choices, bad timing and ill intentions. When Flame stepped out of the Prometheus Club, she didn't see four cops. She saw Somerset Trainer, minion of Isobel Diaz, with three armed associates closing in on Magdalena Keverich's entourage exiting a restaurant. It was a daylight ambush in her eyes.

She knew that Mamma Keverich was coming back to town soon, that Isobel and Little M were worried/freaked out - because they had both betrayed Mamma, and that one of them had to offer the other's head up on a plate or they'd both likely end up dead. The fact that this feud would most likely end up with her as compost didn't bother Flame so much. She was a psycho.

Had Detective Somerset Trainer known that Little M was in the restaurant, she would have most likely grabbed me elsewhere. Isobel's career was in danger of going down the toilet and she was going to drag as many people down with her as possible. She was that kind of cunt. One of those people going down with Isobel was Somerset.

That did not mean she wanted to engage in a gun battle in broad daylight, on a busy street, with Keverich mobsters while attempting to bring me in on trumped up charges. It was potentially fatal and certainly embarrassing - in an Internal Affairs busting your ass open kind of way. After all, Kwan and Riga weren't part of the program. They thought this was the real deal.

Flame reached around to the small of her back for her light artillery piece. Silent, in tune with her compadres, went for her two rationally sized pistols, scanning the other way. Det. Gayle Seger, drawing forth her handcuffs, was only then starting to track my gaze back to the restaurant door and the menace there. She was critically behind in the arms race and standing in the middle of a broad sidewalk.

The other three cops were already going for their sidearms - not Tasers. Det. Po Kwan was on the far side of her car. Det. Regina Riga was in Gayle's boat - middle of the sidewalk with a firefight about to break out. Capri and I were in the middle of it all. The first move was Capri's - she dragged me with all her might toward the street.

Our choices were traffic versus bullets. Capri decided that collision with the hood of a car going around 50 kph was preferable to a minimum 9mm penetration. I was too ignorant of the physics to argue. Next, Silent started firing. Had my back not been to her, I might have marveled on how fast she was. As it was, she wasn't hitting anybody, just shooting.

After some after-battle counseling, I would learn this was 'suppression fire'; Silent was purposely not hitting anyone. Shooting cops was bad. Shooting cops in an area with extensive security cameras was worse. She was simply buying time for the rest of Magdalena's crew to hustle her boss back inside. That was her job.

Flame, on the other hand, was there to kill somebody. She knelt down in the doorway, aimed and shot. Det. Seger was a second too slow in reacting. Gayle was still clawing at her piece when the 12 mm round took her in the solar plexus. The front of her body armor never stood a chance. It was shredded.

The hydrostatic shock of the projectile ripping through her core was most likely terminal. Had she landed on a fully staffed operating table, she might have lived. The bullet severing her spine was critical all by itself. The back of her body armor did a marginally better job of slowing the round as it left her body, but it didn't stop it.

No, it flew down the street, hitting a ceramic composite lamp post. They build them to withstand the 125 kph winds (the max recorded that whip down into the spaces between the high rises) yet crumple under impact, such as a car. It blew a hole so big in the lamp post, it slowly keeled over into the street. That was a problem for a few seconds down the line. The ceramic did take a great deal of the bullet's energy.

Two blocks down, it ricocheted off a reinforced glass window, careened into the street and the conjecture was it landed on a car window catch, or went down a storm drain. They never found it. I doubted Gayle cared and I had other things on my mind when I got the news. Somerset managed to get a shot off before she realized that her unmarked police car's composite materials weren't going to have much better luck than Gayle's body armor at stopping Flame's rounds.

I suddenly understood the purpose of Flame's gun. It wasn't femismo. Her weapon dominated the battlefield. When shooting, you had better kill Flame because if you didn't, someone was going to the morgue. Somerset had just witnessed that reality. As Flame began swiveling her aim that way, Somerset dove behind her rear tire, putting as much material between her and death as possible.

Kwan was made of sterner stuff. She moved down the side of her car, toward the action and firing. Like Silent, she was more concerned with keeping her assailants' heads down than killing anyone. Det. Seger was down and her own partner was in a bad way. Riga had to dive into the narrow space between her car and the curb for what minimal cover it provided.

Silent had to duck back into the restaurant and Flame came close to being decapitated. Kwan ran out of bullets before Flame ran out of nerve. My eyes met Kwan's as she ducked down to reload her pistol. She was angry, fearful and confused. This situation made perverse sense. She knew the Organized Crime Taskforce wanted to talk with me.

Magdalena Keverich had sex with me - painful sex obviously. So why the fuck was I walking out of an eatery with Keverich mobsters? I was obviously running for my life. A fellow officer was down, maybe dead. Did this have to do with my stunt this morning, or was this something else? That was what I imagined her thinking anyway.

Flame responded to her near-death experience by giving Kwan one of her own. Her round penetrated her car's battery assembly, passed clean through, missed Kwan then hit a car driving by, wounding the driver in the lower, right side before lodging in that car's rear passenger door. A wreck was imminent, but not my immediate concern.

What was my concern was Capri and me crossing the road. It was two lanes, both way. The first lane was empty, but a delivery van nearly rolled over us in the second. A passenger car coming down lane one slammed on its brakes, as did the car behind it - that's the one the pole fell on.

By the time the van passed, I was in the lead. We dodged a car going the other way in lane three and lane four was free - that was the one with the wounded driver, but the badly wounded driver was still coming at us. We were on the sidewalk. That seemed to be as far as Capri and I had thought things out. The FBI were theoretically one way, but we couldn't see them.

The Vanishers couldn't help me unless I was out of public view. To get to them, I had to think like a Special Forces 'operator'. My mind was still wandering through that morass when Capri started dragging me away from the gunfire. We ran crouched over. I'm not sure why. The only cars parked on the street were across the way - Maggy's limo bracketed by the two unmarked cop cars. This was a 'No Parking' area.

For fifteen minutes we ran down the street, fleeing for our lives. We made it around the corner - 17 seconds had passed? Twice before in my life I had lost all conception of time. On this outing I didn't feel violated, but the gut-wrenching terror was identical. When Capri looked back at me, I could see the fear in her eyes. Good, I had too many crazy people in my life as it was.

The gunfire had stopped. Capri slowed us to a pace closer to normal. Fleeing people drew unwanted attention. We were at the crosswalk one block away when the first police car, sirens blaring and lights flashing, went racing by. I wished I could have hoped Flame and Magdalena were okay, but my heart wasn't that big and my pain was too fresh.

"This way," Capri hustled me along. "Upload your phone data."

"Damn, I just got this one," I muttered. "Drop the GPS and battery too?"

"Nope," Capri grinned. "Let's go to the Metro." One such station was right up ahead, but it wasn't our line. We sped down the steps into the underground facility.

A metro cop glanced our way, but I was looking down - and praying hard. We swiped our cards. No alarms went off, so I wasn't officially a wanted felon yet.

"Okay, we have a northbound to Bright Bay coming in two minutes," Capri whispered. "We go in the first car, stash the phones then race out the back car before the subway pulls out."

I looked dubiously at Capri. I didn't question the basic merits of her plan. Her deep breathing, flushed face and short legs worried me. Me, I was doing fine. I was, barring my full-torso bruising, in excellent shape, tall with long legs. Getting down the length of five passenger cars in the allotted 90 seconds the train was in the station was going to be close.

"When we get out, we catch the metro to Northwood in eight minutes," Capri related. Why a district called Northwood was in the Southwest section of the metropolis wasn't something I was going to worry about. "After that I guess we walk home." Using a credit card was foolish, but...

I ran over to the ATM and inserted my card then typed my PIN. I was praying again.

There it was - my $7800 from GNN. I had money! Bless Maribel and Eloise, those wonderful, wonderful social media parasites. I withdrew the maximum amount - $1000. I had never done that before, but I had seen Bethany do it - a lot. I quick-stepped it over to Capri and slipped her five hundred.

"In case we are separated," I murmured. She nodded. I had a strange flashback. I started giggling. I had a vision of a man giving a woman money for sex. How ridiculous was that? On second thought, I imagined that among the handful of rich men out there, they probably got a kick out of it. I had never heard of a male 'Joan' being arrested for solicitation. Could they?

Technically, he was doing his duty. If the moron wanted to give a woman money for helping out with that - well, it had to be more kinky than illegal. I felt pain. Capri was elbowing me.

"Stop it," she hissed. I was giggling maniacally again. The metro's air-brakes and electro-magnetic clamps were giving off their low pitched squeal as the transport came to a stop. 

We were running at the doors before they separated. They slid open right on time, we stashed our phones in a first aid wall mount and began the sprint to the end of the train. That would put us out under a different camera, which we hope would help our evasion when someone finally did start looking.

We made it to Northwood, grabbed a taxi and I was recognized. Cabbies get bored. The city's roads use a grid system that 'mediates' auto behavior. It doesn't drive the car, but it cuts down on collisions and running red lights. Cops don't worry about this and an automotive 'getaway' is very difficult. Marlene, the cabby, didn't seem to hate me.

"So, are you really going to let the world crash and burn?" she asked after getting our destination.

"'Let' is a bit harsh," I rebounded. "I'm not going to stand in the way of society killing itself is more like it."

"Eh, I could care less," she shrugged. "Ovarian cancer five years ago. I'm an only child so my genetics are pretty much shot."

"That is a rather grim outlook on life," Capri noted.

"Kid, no one has ever stuck out their neck for me, so why should I bother?" Marlene shrugged once more. 

I hope I didn't sound like that. I cared about people, but I would be damned if I would reward barbarity and indifference either. I was a father and I was terrified that my children might go through what I had experienced. I could keep telling myself that I was doing some good. I wasn't sure if I was, or if that was wishful thinking.

I was truly horrified by the fear that this was just me lashing out at the world for my misfortunes. That would make me as bad as my first love, the Aurora Slasher. I had loved her. I had loved her with all my heart because if I hadn't, she would have killed me. The problem was, I had really loved and cared for her. 

Somewhere along the way, it had become real for me. We were going to live together and have babies - strong male babies. I had wanted that more than anything. If I loved her enough, she'd set me free. If I loved her enough, she'd let me live. In therapy, they had given me all kinds of psychological terms for that. The emotion had never gone away.

True, I was also terrified of her. For a year, any voice that sounded like her made me wet myself. I never looked at pictures of her. She wrote me letters a few times. I never asked for them. I pray to whatever divinity matters most that they never give her computer access. I'm still afraid that if I did see her I'd run into her arms and beg her forgiveness.

Maybe that is why I gravitated to women like Angel, Zara and Flame - secretly I wanted to end this and I felt they are strong enough to do it. It could be I was trying to replace my first rapist. I could be doing penance for not dying when I should have, or telling the wrong women I love them. Maybe I liked the pain but couldn't face up to it.

"Earth to Israel," Capri nudged me. "We are here." The cab was two blocks from my dwelling, in case someone was watching the place, we could make other plans. 

"Here you go Marlene and good luck to you," I smiled. I paid and tipped her. I hadn't had enough money to tip anyone in ages - budget too tight.

"Thanks, Israel and be careful," Marlene laughed. "I imagine you are as popular as a tampon covered in Jalapeno sauce with the people upstairs." That was too sick/frightening/hurtful for me to think about.

"I now know what I'm getting Isobel Diaz for Christmas," Capri smirked.

"We are not going to make Christmas," I pointed out.

"I'll mail it to Hell," Capri grinned up at me full of mischief and spite. Without further comment, we made our way up to my condo. I opened the door and saw Angel up and mostly dressed (no shoes). She came right at me so fast, I freaked and backpedalled out the door.

"Sorry, Israel," Angel looked frightfully worried. I took a deep breath, stepped up and embraced her.

She hugged me tighter than I would have liked in my current mental state. In a perverse way, it felt motherly yet protective and passionate at the same time.

"Baby," Angel murmured into my shoulder, "Po called. She said you were in a firefight. Gayle Seger is dead and the culprits are on the run. Are you hurt? Are you in danger - I mean more danger than normal - for you?"

"He's okay," Capri inserted smarmily. "I'm okay too."

"You, I can replace - at the local pet store," Angel shot over my shoulder to Capri. "He's irreplaceable to me."

"Ooohhh," Capri drew out as she slipped by us to the living room and the remote. The news was vibrant to say the least. Four out of five medical experts were tearing Dr. Vasco a new asshole.

For her part, Vasco was resilient. Her bosses and staffers held fast about their methods and results. Her public speaking presence may have been exceedingly poor, but her mastery of the science was unassailable. The darkly amusing part of one interview was when a critic demanded that Dr. Vasco repeat her results at other labs across the nation.

"I can't do that," Dr. Vasco sighed. "Mr. Jensen and Ms. Sano requested that anything remaining of their blood samples after the battery of tests was to be destroyed."

"My Goddess, you didn't do that, did you?" the critic fired off.

"Of course I did. I'm their physician," Dr. Vasco seemed puzzled.

"Can't you bring them back in for more samples?"

"Ms. Sano has refused, citing that to do so might result in a denial of sexual favors in her near future," Vasco read off a report. "Mr. Jensen made it quite clear that he is willing to let us all die, though we continue trying to contact him."

"If your results are genuine," the critic persevered, "Mr. Jensen has an unknown strain of the T1 and needs to be quarantined."

"Why?" Vasco mumbled. "There is no indication that his variant of the Gender Plague is harmful to anything but the T1, and we've run extensive tests."

"How can you verify your finds with the global scientific community without the blood and tissue samples?" the critic challenged.

"After some consultation with the Psychiatric Department, we are contemplating getting down on our knees and begging," Vasco related with same voice used when contemplating the prices of toilet paper brands.

"This is not the time for jests," the critic bit back. Vasco was bewildered.

"What do you mean? We consulted some experts on male psychology and that's what they suggested giving their minimal time to come up with an answer," Vasco responded. Capri started giggling.

"You are coming across as a fraud," the critic lambasted.

"I've posted my findings," Vasco stated softly. "Beyond that, we are contacting his previous sexual partners for the past two years. We hope they can provide antivirals with their blood."

"Two years?" the critic scoffed. "That's reaching."

"Excuse me," the virologist questioned. "What makes you say that?"

"Two years?"

"Yes, from the level of degradation, or lack thereof, it is our current hypothesis that this variant of the Plague is designed to give immunity to the woman and her offspring through the child's first year," Vasco informed the world calmly.

"The belief is that by breastfeeding, the child would gain a boost to its immune system where the T1 is concerned," she concluded.

"Angel?" I looked to my lover.

"The hospital called. I said 'no'," she answered. "What we did was between us."

It was my turn to hug her. It wasn't that she had said 'no'. It was why she said 'no'. Angel kept her embrace light, which only made it more valuable to me.

"Israel, I have to go to work soon," Angel sighed as our foreheads touched. "Officer Involved Shooting plus running security for the arena tonight."

"Does this mean you are no longer with the Feds?" I worried.

"Babe," Angel laughed roughly. "You don't know how it works - two jobs doesn't mean two people; it means overtime." I wasn't sure what came over me. Maybe it was that 'love' thing.

"Wake me up when you get in," I requested. "I miss you."

The concern directed my way by Angel only made me want her more. I didn't see lust. I saw a desire to make me feel safe - not physically, but emotionally. The cherry on top was that she was yet another sane woman in my life.

"Okay, Babe," she smiled cautiously. "I'll whistle to wake you. You like whistling right?"

"Yes, that would be nice. Am I going to see you at the rally tonight?" I asked.

"What?" Capri squawked. She began beating up the sofa in her own, feisty style.

"Israel, I...okay," Angel sighed. "I'm not going tell you that going is nuts," which was her way of telling me that she didn't approve of my plan in the slightest while being respectful.

"Jerk, this isn't okay with me," Capri snarled. "Why in the hell would you go to something like the MAL fiasco? You don't believe in it. Have you decided that you want some pissed off men to beat you up because being pummeled by women isn't enough?"

"They may let me get a word or two in," I explained, "though most likely they will leave me socially impotent."

"And if they arrest you?" Capri glared at me. "Will you at least call me?"




One in Ten Ch. 08



"As soon as we get new phones," I gave a wan smile. 

"Why do you need new phones?" Angel asked; at this point the whole metro/phone idiocy was revealed to us by Angel. 

Of course, we had been total ignorant of the technology we were trying to spoof. The metro doors have a scanner which sweeps you when you get on each car. The beams could detect the card through several layers of clothing. That's how they know how much to bill your card each month. We had thrown away our phones for nothing. Capri mumbled something about too many bad spy movies, but looked suitably embarrassed. 

Seneca showed up a few minutes later. She and Angel had a hushed conversation. It appeared that Seneca had some contacts with the local precinct and, by calling in a favor or two, could have a patrol car close by tonight - in case things went poorly with the evening commuters. I thought about it. I figured two cops wouldn't be of much use if things went bad for me.

I would rather have them in a place to support Seneca and Angel instead, if that was even possible. They left, Capri and I cleaned up and had a late lunch. I was happy my stomach had calmed down enough for me to hold anything down. Shortly after finishing, Capri received a bizarre call from her mother while I was in the bathroom. 'Mom' quickly got to the point.

"Capri - my child, do you still do that 'thing' with Israel?" she asked.

"Thing? What thing?" Capri wondered.

"Fellatio. Put his thing in your mouth until he ejaculates," Mom clarified.

"Yeah, Mom - four or five times a day," Capri fabricated convincingly. "He's a real beast."

"Oh, Good," Mom smiled. "Could you regurgitate some into a plastic baggy? Put the baggy in a chilled thermal container and mail it to me?"

"I can do that for you, Mom," Capri agreed. "I can go start on that right now, if it is important."

"You do that, Honey. It is very important - four or five samples?" Mom pressed.

"At least," Capri concentrated. "Do you want anything from our anal intercourse?"

"Ah..." Mom stammered. "Noooo, I think the oral product will be enough for now."

"Okay Mom, I'll overnight it to you," Capri smiled lovingly.

"Thank you, Capri. I'm proud of you," Mom smiled back at her daughter. They cut the connection. Capri stared at me as I tentatively stepped forward.

"She's PROUD of me being a cum-dumpster?" Capri growled. "Whore!" I struggled for the sympathy, for the diversion, for any words that would ease her anger.

"Well, I guess it's nothing but butt-sex now, eh?" I moped.

"When we survive all this madness, remind me to kill you," Capri laughed, but she was happier.

We went to the gym early today. First off, being around multiple women I barely knew wouldn't have done me much good, so going while most of them were at work seemed to be the best choice. Also, if the world held together long enough, I would be going to the MAL rally at seven. Capri said she understood. She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to stomp on my feet and kicking at my ankles.

Samantha showed up at five with our new phones. She immediately requested a hug. I readily complied; an indicator of my rebounding calm, if not sanity. She took her time and I wiggled her hips against me playfully. Sam and Capri coordinated with the other girls on what food delivery service to use and dinner plans were solidified.

Kuiko and Aniqua both had their hugs and were settling in when Capri's prophecy from this morning started coming true. Ambrosia, Fatima, Carrie, Amelia and three girls I didn't recognized showed up at my door. Whatever defensive benefits of not opening the door would give us, it would only make the mood worse, so I suggested we hear them out.

I knew what they wanted and it wasn't to tell me what a good job I'd done this morning, or to see if I was okay. We had lost a guy last night - now there were only six males left. They were probably going through the same nightmare right now, or would soon. Samantha and Aniqua met the crowd at the door. They were the biggest. I didn't have to tell them the score; they could sense it.

In this district, tribalism was starting to rear its ugly head. Faith in the city to provide for their welfare was disintegrating. Since the police (in their minds) were letting all the men in this district move, vanish, or die/be killed, the local women had to take over the responsibility for the welfare of their men.

To put it politely, the women at the door, and the doors of my fellow males in my district, were about to turn men into property. Less kindly, they were here to rape us.

It was akin to people rushing the superstores for water when disasters hit. My plan was working. Trust in cops was being thrown to the roadside. As a consequence, a very personal battle for my survival was working itself out on my doorstep. If my allies got the shit kicked out of them, I was going to get a lesson on just how bad anarchy could be.

"We would like to talk with Israel," Ambrosia said. She was learning the art of a 'request not being a request' very well.

"Talk - he's listening," Aniqua replied. Kuiko came out with a collection of knives, dumped a few on the sofa cushions then brandished two.

Had one not been a bread knife, I would have been more confident in our chances. As it was, I felt paralyzed. I wanted to go to the door, stand bold and firm as I told them to go home, thus saving my friends. I reached for that person, but he wasn't ready to jump in the fight at the moment. The best I could do was not run to my bedroom, or bathroom, and slam the door shut.

"I think he should come to the door," Fatima menaced. "We outnumber you."

"I think you know the price of admission," Capri grumbled right back. The situation was tense, the women outside were wavering - crossing the line into assault, maybe murder, wasn't easy. The question about who had the advantage on who was resolved though.

I heard a gun hammer click into 'I'm about to kill someone' mode.

"Alright, you bitches," Venus snarled. She and Roni had climbed the stairs behind the mob and out of my camera view. It didn't take me a second to realize by the look on the ladies spinning around in the back that they didn't like what they saw.

"What? Who are you?" Carrie gulped.

"I'm the possessive bitch with the gun. Now I'm not a good shot, but you idiots are packed around the door of MY man, so I'm not likely to miss at this range. Ladies inside, you might want to back up, in case I blow a hole in one of these whores," Venus growled.

"No one has to die," Roni tried to soothe down the situation. "All you ladies I don't know, there is a stairway down at the far end of the hall. Use it." Clearly walking past Roni and Venus on the stairs those two had just come up was not an option. I would have liked to think we had stepped back from the precipice of chaos, but we hadn't.

Venus didn't own a gun that I knew about. I seriously doubted she had gone through the background check and required waiting period to get one either. By brazenly threatening others with an illegal firearm in this manner, all we had proven was that my tribe was tougher than theirs - for now.

The 'invading' tribe left. Aniqua, Sam and Roni retrieved the food that Roni and Venus had left on the stairs when they heard the commotion. The girls took turns heading out, gathering a few clothes and toiletries and settling into my place. Only when we settled down to eat, did the first of two problems arise.

"Venus," Roni asked, "where did you get the gun?"

"Have none of you been listening to Israel?" Venus scanned the group. "The world is going down the crapper. We need to be prepared. We should all get some guns."

"Okay," Kuiko grinned. "I know a guy." The rest of us were skeptical.

"Kuiko, I don't think that is a good idea," Aniqua cautioned her friends.

"It's okay. He likes me and I think he has some assault rifles," Kuiko chirped. Oh yeah, that was going to make the next complex pool party a lot more interesting - not that I thought we were going to have one. 

"Rule One: Always assume that at my place, or anyplace I am at for too long, they are listening in," I warned them. "Venus, I don't know what to do about your piece. Don't show it to Angel for now and we'll see what happens." Venus looked down at the gun in her lap.

"We should buy you some accessories for that," Capri added. "Things like bullets, clips; a holster perhaps."

"Oh, speaking of buying things," I pulled out my wallet, "here you go Samantha. Thanks for getting us the phones."

"Where did you get so much cash?" Roni asked. It then occurred to Capri and I that all the other women had actual jobs - that required actual work - that required actual attention.

All Kuiko and Aniqua knew was that I had called Kuiko about giving blood, some technicians showed up, drew the blood and left, and then they had called back asking to draw more blood. Since Kuiko hadn't heard from me and didn't want to miss out on some more 'epic' sex, she had refused. The reasons why I had made the request were never discussed.

I let Capri unfold the tale, from when we left the condo, the fun at the metro (which helped explain the savages at the door this evening), to the Sentinel, GNN, the shoot-out at the Prometheus Club and finally, the ride home. They were dumbstruck. 

"Me first," Venus hopped up.

"What?" Roni and Capri questioned.

"I want those antivirals that Kuiko has," she clarified.

"You just want to get fucked," Aniqua grumbled.

"Don't look at it as if Israel and I are having sex," Venus reasoned. "Think of it as me getting a booster shot, an injection, being vaccinated, inoculated, or whatever floats your boat."

"Damn it, Venus," Roni hopped up too. "Israel could have been shot and killed today. The government, or some other group, will grab him sooner than later. We need to protect him, not jump his bones."

"Wait, wait, wait," Capri stood and waved all the other voices down. "It gets better."

The second problem of the night.

"Israel, what are you planning to do tonight?" Capri smiled wickedly at me. I'm sure, by the way the women were looking at me they had their psychic fingers crossed and were hoping I'd say 'I'm want to bang (insert the thinker's name)! I want to bang (insert thinker's name)'.

"I'm going to the MAL rally," I muttered. I knew that look, too. It was the 'how do we tie him up without freaking him out' look. I could feel the secret feminine communication network buzzing around me. Being a man, I wasn't hooked up to their frequency.

"Israel, have you thought this through?" Roni inquired gently. 

Kuiko looked like she was going to cry - or throw herself out my window. With her size, she most likely couldn't break it.

"I don't know what to say," I sighed. "Yesterday, I asked men to stand up for their rights and resist, but at crunch time this morning, I gave up my dowel and submitted to an illegal search."

"I deceived my fellow men. I let down Kenny, who went to jail for me, and Luanga, who I instructed to do the opposite of what I did Monday," I kept going. "If I keep yelling at my brethren, telling them to resist and then I cower here while the government lies to them at the rally, I'm continuing to be a hypocrite and coward." There was silence. They didn't get it.

"I understand," Samantha spoke up. "Gut check time, or as my coach kept telling us 'winners don't hold anything back'. If you gotta go, you gotta go. Do you think they'll let any of us come with you?"

"Invitation only and security should be tight," I answered.

"Are we seriously thinking of letting him go?" Venus gasped.

"It is not our choice to make, Venus," Aniqua said. "If this becomes strictly a battle for survival, then Capri is right - we have lost the right to continue on. We have become animals."

"You know, when the world crashes down," Kuiko commented out of the blue, "I'm really going to miss the internet."

"I am going to miss batteries for my vibrator," Roni confessed. Seeing the others stare at her. "What? We can't expect Israel to perform 24/7."

"I'm going to miss microwaves," Aniqua added. "That means I'll have to learn how to cook."

"Fine - fine," Venus plopped back down. "He goes if he wants to go. The rest of you shut up so I can cry in peace."

"My Mom wants me to send her some of Israel's sperm," Capri snickered. There were a chorus of 'huh's'. "I'm thinking of going down to the zoo and milking a bull elephant and sending a bag full of that to Mom instead."

"Damn Girl, those things are huge!" Aniqua laughed. "I mean they are as long as your leg - huge."

"Really? I'm not going to ask how you know that," Capri winked.

"When I say I've been lonely - I mean real lonely," Aniqua snickered.

"Understood," Capri mused. "Kuiko, what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Not milking an elephant penis," Kuiko giggled, "that's for damn sure."

It was nervous, silly energy, but it had gotten us over the hurdle. By twisting away from fear with laughter, the group had progressed to the level where they could accept me as a true equal. My voice counted - it really counted. In my heart I knew this might be the last time I could do this - force my own will on the group.

After tonight, we would become a democracy because I could trust the group to see beyond gender and into the ideas and ideals of the speaker. True democracy was not about the tyranny of numbers, but consensus. Consensus was the result of the belief that everyone in the group, even the opposition, had worth - they counted.

How in the Hell, after all the wrong turns my life had taken, could I still believe I was an idealist? It was simple. I had not let them win. In a very crude, sexual way it was that I had the confidence in one girl, my first date, to ask her to hold off on true intercourse and she respected my wishes. In the kaleidoscope of my fractured mind, that memory burned through.

Listening to the women in my living room talking while I dressed in the bedroom, a tiny shiver of one memory collided and melded with another. No women I had ever known had not betrayed me in one way or another. That was the terror of distrust for me - but...no woman, or man, was perfect. They would all betray me soon or later.

I now understood this wasn't bad. It was human nature. We all let people down around us, even the ones we cared about. Pain had led me to hunt for perfection. That was a pointless quest and a pursuit that led to madness. What I should have been looking for was restitution. Did that person know they had wronged me and were they trying to make it up to me? 

The same held true for me. Was I a true friend, looking after those I had wronged and balancing accounts with them as well? Honesty, Truth and Love - the harshest bitches on the block. I meditated for twenty minutes before heading back to my assembled friends.

"You look nice," Kuiko beamed. "Really nice."

"Thank you," I blushed slightly. More Bethany clothes.

"That wasn't a compliment, you jerk," Capri glared. "Last chance. This is stupid."

"Note and acknowledged, Ms. O'Hara," I nodded. "I need a taxi." I pulled out my phone and began looking up taxi services. My phone rang.

*FBI across the street* it read. I shuddered. I wasn't upset. I was peeved.

*Do you like my new underwear you Pervs? + HUGSZara* I hung up. I didn't care if they liked my underwear.

"Them?" Capri asked softly.

"Yeah."

"Damn it, you just took a shower, shaved and got dressed. Can't they leave you alone for an hour?" she griped.

"Who?" Roni got out first.

"Santa's Little Helpers," Capri grumbled. "I really ought to do something about them."

"Let us not revisit the whole 'you dismembered in the morgue' thing, shall we," I requested. "Besides, I gave them a piece of my mind this time."

"Not the sexy part!" Kuiko blurted out.

"What did you do?" Capri studied me.

"I called them pervs," I declared. "No, I did not, Kuiko. The sexy is all for you." She smiled.

"Oh yeah, that will do it," Capri pressed her wrist to her forehead and announced dramatically.

"What do I want to do more," Venus mumbled, "fight over the sexy or find out what the hell is going on?"

"Perverted Santa's Little Helpers who leave dismembered bodies in the morgue and have an apparent issue with Israel naked or semi-naked," Roni mused. "Capri, after he leaves, you are going to do some explaining."

"I think this is my cue to leave," I told the room then headed for the door.

"Aren't you going to call a taxi?" Aniqua reminded me.

"The FBI is going to drive me there," I grinned.

"What makes you say that?" Samantha gulped.

"When the alternative is letting me flag down a cabby that may, or may not, be homicidal, my bet is they'll drop me off at the arena," I explained.

"Makes sense to me," Kuiko nodded. "If I had a car, I'd give him a ride."

"Kuiko...for once I agree with you," Venus muttered.

"I'm not as dumb as I look," Kuiko turned that 1000 watt smile on Venus.

"Of course you are not," Roni chortled. "Otherwise you couldn't walk and talk at the same time."

I went around and kissed each one of them - on the lips. Normally that should have made them happy, but they kept looking at me like they'd never see me again. Clever girls. I left the complex and scanned the streets. There was the car, at the edge of a car park down the street. It wasn't as if there were many car owners in this part of town.

I hurried across the street and I was whistling. Special Agent Sosa lowered the window as I approached. Across from her was SA Saris, also with Dimple's team.

"Yes?" Sosa sighed. "When staking out a place it sort of blows our cover if you walk right up to us, by the way."

"That's cool," I grinned. "We aren't staying here anyway. I need a ride to the Arena."

"Do we look like a taxi service?" Sosa smirked.

"I'm going - you are following. We might as well make it easy on us - save a few volts," I reasoned.

"Get in," Saris grumbled. I gladly did so and off we went.

"Planning to get arrested?" Saris asked.

"Planning? No. Expecting it to be a possibility, yes," I admitted. "Any news?"

"Dr. Fremont is still missing, but her company hired a GlobeMaster to haul a whole lot of something to Bolivia," Sosa answered.

Seeing my confusion, Saris added.

"A GlobeMaster is a really big aircraft, used for hauling freight, not passengers."

My impulse was to say 'can you shoot it down,' but the illegality of the action was stunning.

"Anything on your front?" Sosa inquired.

"Let me see, my Capri's Mom wants her to be a cum-dumpster, seven girls stopped by my place today to drag me out of my home and make me their bitch. My tribe made them back down - this time. Now my ladies are camped out at my place, murdering my AC unit and praying I make it back home in some sort of working order," I outlined.

"Why did they let you go? Are they some kind of pansies?" Sosa mocked.

"I'd hit you upside your head for that comment, but you are driving, armed and most likely a much better fighter than me," I replied. "They are not pansies. They risked harm for me today."

"What happened at the firefight today, anyway?" Saris asked.

"Not really sure," I lied. "Bullets were flying and I was running for my life."

"You didn't see anything?" she persisted. Damn her interrogation abilities.

"Wait - with guns going off I thought you would be happy I was running away," I evaded.

"Why didn't you wait for Agents Vabishi and Fraklos to get there?"

"Capri and I got across the street so we ran for it," I shrugged.

"Next time, lay flat and we'll come get you," Saris told me.

"Thanks, GI Jane," was my snarky comeback. "Maybe if you let me have some sort of combat training I'd know what to do next time." I was making light of things, but in the back of my mind, like a cornered badger in the dark, I knew I was in a vehicle with two women I didn't know.




One in Ten Ch. 08



It wasn't like I could tell myself they were law enforcement agents and feel better. Kwan, Riga, Seger and Somerset had all be cruel to me in some way. Dimples' crew had tackled me on the ground, intimidated me, deceived me, torn away my rights and played upon my feeble psyche. Trust hadn't placed me in this car, expediency had. 

The FBI was the best chance I had to get to the Arena intact. I doubted they would have appreciated me defining their actions as our evolving tribalism. I was their investment, so it behooved them to take me safely to my destination. I didn't believe they yet understood that they had stopped working for the Director of the FBI, or the Attorney General and had become self-employed.

They may have had this delusion that this would end up with criminal indictments against the people behind the Big Lie and Carabolix-37, but that was an unsustainable fantasy. Once the system betrayed them, as it had betrayed me so often, Dimples' crew would know that escape was the only option left. It was obvious to me the moment I saw Dimples.

She would never let them win. She was the only one allowed to win. I didn't count the freebie she threw my way. That was a draw at best. The ride to the Arena turned out to be nothing much. I was dropped off. Men, and cops, were all around. I dutifully showed my ID to Arena Security, they triple checked it and then brought a coordinator to check it one more time.

They realized I was in the front third of the arena floor seating. I had a nice folding chair on the outer aisle. The coordinator decided that was a bad idea so she had me exchange seats with a guy in the middle of my row. I knew why this was, though I only had theoretical knowledge how a rally would work.

When the authorities left, having neutralized me, I politely went to the man I had exchanged seats with and asked him to switch back. He seemed dubious, but when I explained that all the blame would be foisted on me, he relented. See, here is how it worked. First your Talking Heads would get up and make their speeches.

Then would come the long question and answer portion of this farce. Women would walk up and down the aisles, men would raise their hands, wave and asked if they could present a question. In a totally democratic process, these women on the aisles would provide a sound system for the men to ask the speaker their question.

The speaker answers - on to the next man. As you might guess, men sitting on the aisle seats had the best chances of being heard. Men stuck in the middle were out of luck - men like me and my 'new' assigned seat. Men like me in my original seat, were potentially dangerous. Still, things went along very smoothly until the tenth question.

Up to that point, the speakers had done their thing with the basic theme being 'all you men are appreciated, doing your part, and we love you'. Not that they were going to do a damn thing to help us beyond patting us on the head, but they loved us. They loved us because we were doing what we were told. The men in the audience ate it up. It was what they wanted to hear.

I imagined that handing us all 'little lamb' outfits to wear would have been counter-productive to their agenda, though it certainly would have been more appropriate to how these women viewed the situation. It was clear to me that all the questions the men in the audience were asking were scripted. Some had to actually look down at their phones when reading off their instructions.

Most adults don't like being treated like six-year olds, so they ignored this mounting stupidity until Man 10 stood up, was recognized and read off his question. He was around fifty and clearly in a prosperous profession, positive he was a member of the winning (female) team.

"Is it true that at this very moment Congress is voting on increasing the cycle from 28 days to 14, and abolishing marriage?" he asked.

There was a hush. By the dumbstruck expression of the woman on stage, this was not the prepared question. The problem wasn't moving the cycle to 14 days. Men were prepared to knuckle under and do their part for the Human species. But marriage? Men loved marriage. They didn't love the idea of finding love, getting married and living happily ever after.

That was idiotic. No, men loved marriage as our last refuge from a women's world. Gaining 'attachments' was a warning flag we could wave at other women, telling them 'hey, we are doing our part, so please, leave us alone.' Marriage was your shield and armor. It was 'Don't touch. I'm with somebody!'

The hope was that if someone did do something to you, your wife would scream bloody murder and things would get done. She was a woman after all. Marriage had been preserved in the Gender Inequality Act because most of the signers were either married or had been recently married and lost a loved one to the Plague. 

I imagine they thought it was a quaint institution that would gradually fall to the wayside as society progressed. At the start, it looked that way. The number of marriages did slowly decline for thirty years, but about ten years ago, the trend began reversing. When a man is in his late teens, early and mid-twenties, going out with lots of girls sounds nice. 

Women pay for everything, they take you to nice places and if you end up in the three- or four-way occasionally - well, you've got the stamina for it. When you hit your late twenties and early thirties, men start slowing down. Pulling a train on a Saturday night - all night - becomes a burden you could do without.

About that time, marriage starts looking good. You've probably been in a few attachments. You pick the one you can live the best with and who has the best financial status and you keep dropping hints until she realizes what you really want and she pops the question. Congratulations, you only have to screw one women for the rest of your life.

Okay, maybe her sisters, your mother and her boss, but still, that's not too bad. Ten years ago, that generation of men who grew up after the plague were hitting their thirties and they were taking a renewed interest in the dying institution of marriage. Men got interested - women got REAL interested. For women, it meant no more desperate hunting every weekend.

You wanted dick? Call your husband, tell him to be home by six and wear something sexy and it got done. Best of all, you could make that call, look around your office and see all your female co-workers dripping with jealousy. If you truly wanted to turn the screws, during that call, you told your hubby to take some enhancement drugs because you wanted it deep and hard all night long.

By this time in our social evolution, men didn't mind being treated like that too much. We had safety. As married men started to bask in their safe status, their unmarried brethren began wondering if marriage would be a good idea for them, too. More took the plunge and most of them were marrying up social and financially.

As I keep repeating, women aren't stupid. When rich, successful bankers began marrying sales clerks and custodians, the social stigma of marrying beneath your station evaporated in the burning reality that they had their genetic future waiting at home, willing to do his duty. The floodgates were open.

More married men meant fewer men in the fishing pool. That meant greater pressure on the remaining men, who were now opting into marriage to relieve that pressure. That meant even greater pressure on the fewer and fewer remaining men. Last year the marriage rate began its climb toward 30%. From the gender quota point of view, this was a disaster.

To put that in perspective, that's thirty percent of ALL men. Then you have to drop out every male below the age of 16. Then you have to consider that once men are over 59, they need a yearly physical. If something is wrong, you get a limited deferment. That means you don't have to have sex as often.

You never get to 'not have sex' unless you are on life support, or a rape victim. There are waiting lists for kidneys, livers and hearts - if you are a woman. If you are a man, they'll slap an artificial heart in you if they have to. Men must perform for the general female population - unless they are married.

Back to the question at the Arena. Men had been quietly bleating, nodding our heads, and smiling without real passion until that point. Sudden, like scenting a wolf for the first time, they were very attentive. If you were a twenty-something guy, this wasn't 'good'. If you were a forty-two year old husband, with a wife, three kids and twelve years of marital bliss, this was disastrous.

The government was about to shove you back into the deep end were packs of starving women were going to devour you because your avoidance skills were rusty. You were about to be waking up wondering if the pain coming from your groin was worse than the headache you had from whatever the hell those women drugged you with.

Oh, and by the way, you were about to lose your parental rights to your offspring and most of your shared property. Effectively you were being forced to divorce. The magnitude of this was amplified by the speaker. If she had a pat lie handy, she could have defused things because men wanted comforting words more than unforgiving reality.

But she stammered. She could have said yes, and that might have been better. By stammering, she told the men that 'Yes, you are boned, but we are going to lie to you about it'. In my opinion, she did the worst possible thing.

"Next question?" 

That was the equivalent of 'Yes, but you don't deserve to be told about your fates'. There was no riot over that. No, it was something far, far worse. Before that moment, the 20,000 men in the arena thought they were part of this society. They were deluded into thinking they were equals. They thought I was a lunatic. Now?

As a group they came to a consensus and it wasn't a pleasant one. 'They think we are sheep...Mother-fuckers!' This wasn't the crowd that carried dowels this morning but they were starting to wish they had some now. The shift was subtle. Men had been sitting back in their seats. Now they were leaning forward. 

There had been polite whispered banter. Now there were grim faces and quiet. I jumped up and waved my hands around. The communications girl came my way, was offering me her microphone when she suddenly realized who I was - I wasn't the man they had reassigned to that seat. She back-pedaled and another questioner was immediately tapped to speak.

"Let him speak," the man pointed my way. There was a hush. His comm girl backed up as well. Another man was found. He started asking his state-sanctioned question but then the hissing and boos began. The speaker's response was barely audible over the racket. I jumped up again. The next man repeated the plea, though it was more insistent now.

"Let him speak!"

I wasn't sure what they expected me to say. I wanted some sort of redress to our legal plight, something to defend us against the GED and the most egregious insults to our dignity. An arena security guard, neat and prim in her freshly pressed uniform, moved from the wall nearby and was clearly coming for me.

The world cracked a little more.

Five men jumped up around me and they looked angry.

"Don't," one of them menaced the guard. Cops would have kept coming. It is what they do, but this was a security guard. She wasn't armed and she certainly didn't like the mood presented to her. 

She suddenly realized she was down on the floor of the arena, back to a wall with a sea of angry faces looking her way. She stepped back then ran, calling for back-up. It was the most horrible thing she could have done. Two cops were already advancing my way from the front of the arena. The ripple of the men's successful defiance moved through the crowd.

The majority of men kept their seats. They had not come to get in a fight. They were not rowdy. In fact, they were becoming afraid as most sane people do when violence approaches. Two patrolwomen came my way. Men rose as they passed by, but they held firm. Courage was the important thing. The belief was if they held firm, the men would back down because they ALWAYS backed down.

I saw Officer Passey and her partner as they closed. They didn't have weapons drawn because they didn't want to spook us. There must have been sixty men standing around me. I was still standing at my aisle seat and no men had left their seats to pour into the aisle so the cops had unimpeded access to me.

"Come with us," Passey beckoned.

"I haven't done anything wrong," I begged. She grabbed my arm...and then two men hit her. Passey went down, I heard her partner yelling for everyone to get back as the males on all sides charged in. A taser went off then the men were punching and kicking the crap out of the two women.

The source of this rage was two-fold. These men had come here completely wrapped up in the belief that they were equals. These were successful men with good homes, jobs and lives. They weren't Kenny and Luanga who worked in a factory. They were professionals and semi-professionals. They had just been told they were considered nothing but sheep and now they were being treated like sheep.

The other factor was the fact they were NOT the men with dowels this morning. They'd watched those morons getting plastered, stomped on and arrested. They didn't admire or even empathize with those men - they held them in contempt because why on earth would any man be rebelling? It wasn't that they didn't suffer from the same indignities.

They did, but they accepted it as normal and went about their days. Smacking a woman in the head with a stick was stupid. It would accomplish nothing. This was the mental quandary these men were in. The morons of this morning had been right in their futile protest and they had been the fools.

Like most people, when someone makes a fool of you, you don't say 'Gosh, I'm foolish'. No, you get angry with the person who made a fool of you. They were sheep, they had little lamb bells in the shape of a bracelet and they'd been fleeced. Those two cops had simply been too vulnerable to resist.

I pushed forward, then threw myself on Passey's body, hoping to buy time. I didn't see her partner. From later footage, I was to learn that five more policewomen came storming up from the front, tasers out and firing. Men were dropping, but not fast enough. At that crucial moment when it seemed those five women might stem the tide, the men discovered something really bad.

The floor of the arena was covered with FOLDING chairs which make nice weapons. Up went the chairs and down went the cops. The majority of the men in the arena were angry, but weren't as angry as the mob around me. Cops were pouring in from every exit so the men did what came naturally - they tried to get out.

No catastrophe is one mistake. Men were panicking and trying to get out. A stampeded could prove fatal to the crowd of men. The police had to restore order. They also wanted to capture and punish the men responsible. The commander on the scene ordered the police to hold the exits until the riot was dealt with. The policewomen were polite but firm.

The men responded like good little frightened sheep and obeyed, though they were clearly nervous. Around me, the men saw a wall of ten riot police coming from the front, backed up by a small group of normal policewomen. Riot cops had knee-to-shoulder length transparent shields and stun batons. This was the kind of thing they had trained for. They were not afraid.

The men also discovered they had seven pistols - things got worse. A few got some shots off before they were stunned into unconsciousness. Others couldn't even figure out how to work the safety. The police wall pushed forward, they were recovering the bodies of their fallen co-workers then they finally got to me.

The policewoman saw me on all fours over a semi-coherent Passey and swung her stun baton. I raised my arm to defend myself and a sharp shock burnt through my arm, but didn't knock me out. At that moment, the riot squad became a victim of its own success. Having pushed so far forward, the presented an avenue of egress for the panicking men on their side of the arena.

The human wave shattered the police cohesion. It became a desperate fight - everyone for themselves. The riot cops went down under the surge of bodies. For a second, the area around me cleared up. I saw Passey's partner. She looked to be in a bad way, but I didn't know her. I knew Passey. I was still ordering my jumbled thoughts when the bomb went off.

It had been suspended over the arena floor, disguised as sound equipment. The blast wave was focused down into the audience. The concussion knocked people down, but that was the only direct effect. The designers of the bomb weren't looking to create casualties on the floor, oh no. They were looking to spread chaos, confusion and fear.

They did that admirably. That thin blue line holding those 20,000 men at bay? They were still trying to figure out what the explosion was when the men surged forward once more. They yelled at the men to stop. Their hands went to their tasers. Most likely, the men facing the cops tried to stop, but with hundreds of men behind them urgently trying to get away from the explosion, it was a hopeless gesture.

Police escalation was simple: command, taser, physical takedown, and pistol. Most of the policewomen never got to the takedown phase. A few went straight for the pistol phase. Shots began ringing out. Police communications were overwhelmed with calls for orders, or help. At the main exit's long series of doors it got even worse.

A police lieutenant was trying to bring order out of the chaos. She could make out what was being said by a subordinate in another part of the arena.

"Shots fired? I repeat, shots fired?" she requested over her link. That's not what a man a few meters away heard.

"Oh my God! They are going to shoot us just like China!" he screamed. He wasn't rational, but a bomb had gone off, another one might go off and the cops weren't letting him leave. The rational thought should have been 'I'm too valuable to be slaughtered,' but he was gripped by fear. "They are going to kill us all!" he continued.

The closest police officer tased him. That was normal procedure; the man was starting a panic. Unfortunately, there was already a panic, the man was claiming the cops were trying to kill him, and the cops had just prove him right. He wasn't dead, or even unconscious, but the men didn't know that. They attacked.

Men tend to be taller, heavier and have superior reach. The policewomen had training, weapons, body armor and morale - they were policewomen facing men after all. The deciding factor was weight of numbers, quite literally. The men rolled forward like a wave. The front men were tasered, but couldn't fall down in the press of bodies.

There was no way the women could hold back five, six, or even seven men pushing against each one of them. Realizing the women at the first exits were being pummeled to death, the supporting police went straight for their guns. Had the men had some sort of organization, the hail of bullets might have stopped them. The men were a stampede.

Men fell and were trampled into mush. The women? They were savagely beaten to death for the most part. Some were literally torn to pieces. The men slammed into the glass doors and walls. The material was tough. It bent and bowed before finally popping out of its fixtures. The men cascaded into the city's last line of defense.

It was a police auxiliary riot unit. These women had 'day jobs' but served in uniform on special occasions, like this. What was coming at them wasn't something they were mentally prepared for. Still, they were in full riot gear, with each flank secured by a water cannon. The unit's sergeant had a horrid dilemma.




One in Ten Ch. 08



Over her comm, she could hear wounded officers crying out for assistance. A SWAT unit on the second level was in dire need and running out of ammunition. For once, men had the numbers in this cruel twist of fate, plus, they had and were using guns. An equine unit had snapped under the pressure on the north side of the arena and been overrun.

The water cannons began working over the men. That stopped them - momentarily. It was deceptive because the pressure behind the men was building up, but the police couldn't see it. Seeing the mob recoil, the sergeant acted. She ordered her command forward at a steady pace. They were going to rescue their fellow officers.

Things began to fall apart from the start. As the cannons both swung to the center of the riot squads' entry point, a man slipped around the edge of the water stream. His name was Robert White, African-American and worked at a modeling agency as a manager. He had two attachments and four healthy daughters. He was thirty-two and he was dying.

In the playback, it was clear that he was gut-shot. Had he made it to an emergency room in the next thirty minutes he might have lived. His dress jacket was gone. His dress white shirt was water-soaked and blood stained from his wound. He also had a shotgun and a preference for action movies so he had a clue how one worked.

Robert sprinted around the periphery of the riot line, jumped on the front of the first water cannon and fired the shotgun through the vision port the driver left open. Three shots later, the crew inside was dead or wounded and the cannon shut down. While Robert was becoming a martyr for all man-kind, the riot squad was falling apart.

As the sergeant urged her troops forward, the individual women were coming to the realization that their cork was too small for the hole they were expected to fill. The dimensions of the mass of men coming their way made the power of the stun batons in their hands feel irrelevant. You could see the reasonable fear in their eyes turn to terror. They knew they were about to die.

Even then, not one woman didn't go forward. The problem was some went more forward than others. The Plexiglas shield wall fractured. The sergeant tried to reorganize her people, the water cannon on her right shut off and she committed a totally rational sin. She looked over her shoulder to see what had happened. She wasn't the only woman in her command to do that.

The man charged forward with a hellish howl. The auxiliary policewomen cringed and hunched up, but none of them ran. They held their ground as best they could. Their doom was in their sergeant's decision to advance. The riot squad's flanks were open and the men come pouring around at both ends.

The second water cannon thrashed the area around it, trying to buy time for the women on the outside. Within their armored vehicle, the patrolwomen thought they were safe. Of course, the women inside the first water cannon had thought the same thing. Re-enter the doomed Robert White. He had run around the far side of the first water cannon and to the back of the second.

Something whizzed pasted his thigh and ricocheted off the pavement. Sure enough, the crew had left a back viewport open. They weren't following protocol, but they weren't stupid either. With the ports open, the vehicle was much cooler in this early summer heat. Besides, men didn't have guns, so what was the problem.

Robert White stuck the barrel into the port and fired. As he got a second shot off, something tore off a section of his calf and he fell. Unrelenting, he stood back up, felt something burn across his thigh, but still managed to get off a third shot. He was pumping the next shell in when the sniper finally stopped following fire protocol for men and put a round into Robert White's heart.

It was already too late for the auxiliary policewomen before the second water cannon went still. The initial rush of men pushed in their flanks and a secondary surge shattered their middle. A smaller, right-most faction, tried to form a circle, but fell and were overwhelmed. The left most, with their sergeant, formed a defensive ring only to be taken down by the stun batons of their fallen comrades.

This was the moment when that first sniper and two more who had rushed to join her decided that 'fuck it - they must pay' and opened fire on the mob. That was the last hurrah. The men broke up and scattered, which was pretty much what they had wanted to do all along. The blood lust was dissipating.

As one final, sad footnote, the sniper watched a lone, battered man walking among the bodies. A member of the riot squad, clearly in a bad way, made a weak attempt to touch him. He stopped and knelt by her. They exchanged words. For a second, the sniper felt remorse for opening fire on all those men then the kneeling man pulled out a pistol, pressed it to the policewoman's forehead and blew her brains out.

As the man stood up, the sniper returned the favor. As unaccustomed to true violence as men were, some snapped. Maybe he was a gentle soul who saw too much, too fast. Maybe he dreamed of striking back for years and was overcome with the prospects of achieving his fantasy. Maybe he was a bastard. Whatever he was, he was erased from the human equation like nearly a thousand of his brethren that night.

Back inside, I was in a battle for survival of a different kind. I pulled myself off Passey after the explosion. Men were scattering in all directions. A few cops pulled themselves from a floor littered with bodies - male and female. I went over to Passey's partner. I knew jack-all about first aid, but she was clearly not doing well. 

I looked up to see a cop pointing a gun at my head.

"She needs help," I told the barrel of the gun. "I don't think we should move her." The gun moved up and away. She spent a few seconds trying to contact various people unsuccessfully. "I'm going to move my friend, Officer Passey, to the EMTs and I can send back help when I do," I offered.

The cop studied me.

"Where do you know Passey from?" she asked.

"We met at City Hall. She told me about her son," I replied.

"Take her that way," the cop pointed. "Stick around. People will want to talk with you, Mr. Jensen."

"I can't promise you that," I responded. She glared then nodded. She began moving off in a hurry. War was being waged against my gender. I scooped up Passey and headed off in the direction the policewoman had indicated. I began to hear gunfire. I hurried along. I was around the stage and running down a tunnel when I saw three parked ambulances, half a dozen cops and an even more EMTs.

The cops regarded me with a great deal of suspicion.

"Officers down - several around row 23," I explained. Then the echoes of automatic weapons fire reached us. I wouldn't normally be privileged to hear police chatter but the EMTs had turned their radios to it to keep pace with events.

Whole units were going down. A SWAT unit had been jumped in mid-deployment and opened fire after taking fire from men using captured police weapons. A riot squad had used tear gas to break up a knot of men only to have the fire suppression system cut on, reducing visibility to less than a meter.

What I didn't know about the group dynamic around me was that the VIPs had already raced down here and fled the scene in the limos and SUVs. The VIPs they could do without, but the twenty members of the Executive Protection Detail that they'd taken with them were urgently needed here, at the arena. The cops were pissed, but not with me - with their own gender.

The five cops looked at their Section Leader. She bit her lip.

"Shotguns and gas masks," she barked her orders. "We are going in." The cops raced to obey while the SL called her superior to inform her of their team's intentions. I wasn't sure if she got permission. I handed off Passey gingerly to the first team of EMTs to come at me.

"You might want to assign an officer to the EMTs," I suggested obsequiously to the SL. She looked like she wanted to rip my limbs off. "A good number of men were worked over with stun batons and things could go badly if the EMTs don't have a minder. The girl across from my condo is an EMT," I offered up as an explanation.

"Polanski, stick with the paramedics. There may be some pissed of males on the ground," the Section Leader called out. "Don't go anywhere," she told me.

"Yes ma'am," I replied. She led her troops off toward the arena floor. The second she was out of sight, I jogged the other way. 

I broke out into the fresh air, the wail of sirens, the clap of gunfire and the screams of men. Some men were trying to get to their cars and drive away - those privileged few. The cops were already closing of the arena parking exits, so I wasn't sure what they were thinking, if they were thinking at all.

My path cut across the greenway and toward the metro. I wasn't taking the subway, I was walking along the tracks in an effort to make my getaway. I decided to get rid of my phone then realized I hadn't activated it yet. My phone didn't know it was working for me and neither did anyone else.

As a phone it was worthless but as a media device, it serviced me just fine. Once I made it to the subway tunnels, I took stock of my situation. Where was I going to go? Home? Most likely bad for me and bad for everyone I cared about. My arm still throbbed where the cop hit me with her stun baton but was functional. 

My bracelet looked none the worse for wear despite taking the brunt of the impact and shock. I didn't want to sit uselessly by while the Vanishers or Dimples' people picked me up. I had to do something, but I didn't know what. The sane, rational decision was to hunker down somewhere and let someone I liked find me. Insanity sucks.

I went through some convolution to get a pre-paid phone card. Two college girls and not 'actual' sex. A half-dozen calls later, Capri knew I was still alive, she told me Angel was okay and worried about me, and I was headed into what may have been the worst decision of my life. I was drawn to it because I need to do more than live, I wanted to scream at the Void that I was alive.

Getting in was stunningly easy - there were bodies everywhere, cops and males. I was given a few quick looks, but the staff were busy and the cops were still stunned. A male nurse came into my perception.

"Hey, I'm looking for an Officer Passey," I grabbed his arm. "Can you tell me where she is?"

He looked up angrily. I was about to be told where I could shove it when the realization of who I was crossed his face.

"I brought her out of the arena and I need to tell her something," I added. He was weighing all kinds of factors before he decided in my favor.

"Bay 2-E," he told me then hurried off to the job that needed him. There were cops and guys stacked up all over the place. Doctors and nurses were doing triage. I could sense the low level hostility the police were showing the male nurses and doctor (just one so far). As I pulled the curtain aside at 2-E, Passey was putting her shirt back on.

"Excuse me?" a female nurse challenged me.

"Israel?" Passey muttered. Her head and ribs were bandaged and she looked a little off.

"Israel Jensen?" the nurse confirmed. "Listen up asshole, this is all..."

"Wait," Passey patted the nurse. "He saved my life tonight. He jumped on top of me so that the other men didn't kick me to death."

The nurse went back to studying me. That was most likely the last thing she expected a cop to say about me. She didn't understand that it was the culture and not the people I hated.

"What do you want, Israel?" Passey asked. "If they find you here, they are going to take you away." By that she meant her fellow cops.

"I have three questions I need to ask you," I began. Yes, it was a need, not a want. Passey nodded.

"Do you still breast feed?" I inquired. Passey nodded. The nurse looked angry.

"Do you want me to save your Son?" was my second question.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are you willing to have sex with me?" was the final one.

"Yes," she whispered again.

"Is she healthy enough for sex?" I turned to the nurse.

"She has some bruised ribs and a concussion," the nurse said. "Are you serious about this? You are just going to come in and screw her - in her state?"

"I don't know how much time I'll be around," I answered. "Once I'm gone, nothing and no one will save her little boy."

Passey removed her shirt. I tossed my jacket on some medical device and quickly worked off mine. Passey was struggling with her shoes so I bent down and took them off for her.

"I must look a mess," she worried. I looked up at her.

"You are beautiful. You are a Mother and there are few things more wonderful," I said.

I stood and took off my shirt. The nurse softened slightly. She knew the pain I had to be in. The thing was, I was feeling better.

"Aren't we the pair, Raggedy Man?" Passey whispered. We both had heavily bruised torsos. I had no clue why she was calling me Raggedy Man.

Our pants and underwear piled up on the floor. The nurse had slipped out somewhere along the line.

"I wish I could give you more time," I sighed as I pulled Passey to me until our bodies were tightly pressed.

"You are giving us what precious time you can, Israel," she responded. I cupped her butt cheeks and placed her on the edge of the gurney. Slipping into her was like teardrops on my soul - honest and purifying. Passey gave a little gasp then tenderly wrapped me up in her arms. We gently rocked back and forth, her sitting on the gurney, I standing in front of her, her legs supported my arms at hip level.

It was painful sex for both of us. I was helped by the fact that the normally gorgeous Officer Passey was so battered. It was the whole beautiful = entitlement thing rearing its ugly head.

"What's your name?" I mused, not really thinking about our circumstance. Passey giggled then winced. 

"Freya," she panted in my ear. "My name is Freya."

"That's beautiful," I murmured. "That was a Goddess, right?"

"Was? Is," she nuzzled me. "My family are Pantheists - pagans."

"Would that make me Frey?" I stumbled along verbally.

"No," she snickered then began kissing my neck. "Frey is Freya's brother. That would be a little weird. You are more like...Baldur, the Golden One." Our banter had a purpose. We were dispelling the desperation of the moment. We were foolishly shredding the tyranny of time. We could take as long as we wanted because we lied and said everything was going to work out.

For some indeterminate time, we simply rocked back and forth. I could feel her fire rising toward the point of combustion. What I had to do next went against my nature. It went against the dark, gnawing fear that lurked behind the reflection of every woman whose gaze I met and stalked the edges of my erotic nightmares.

"Tell me you love me," I breathed into her. "Tell me we are going to have many strong male babies together." I wanted to die. Freya Passey hesitated a moment as if she knew she was about to cause me great pain.

"I love you, Israel," she murmured. "We are going to have many strong male babies together."

My whole body shook violently. I felt my testes contract. I was terrified, but I had to live.

"Say it again," I sobbed.

"Israel?" Freya whimpered.

"Please," I gulped.

"I love you, Israel," she sniffled. "We are going to have many strong male babies together."

The fear tore my heart and reason apart. My cum fountained deep within Freya. Again and again, it shot forth. Freya tensed then climaxed, which was doubly painful for both of us.

'Take that, Aurora, you bitch,' my mind spasmed and whirled manically. 

'I stole one life back. I made something good from the madness you gifted me with. You haven't won, not yet.' I'd been climbing out of that basement for nearly five years. I was almost free until Bethany kicked my back down into that pit again. Maybe this was why I had lived? Maybe I hadn't been stupid or weak for surviving when I should have died.

Maybe - please God, maybe - my life had purpose.

"After the death of my first child," Freya hiccupped. Her arms and legs were still wrapped around me. "I didn't know if I could stand to lose another." She didn't say 'son' and the fact that she didn't make that distinction confirmed in my soul I'd taken a worthwhile risk.

"I can't imagine what it has been like for you," I told Passey. "I was never informed of the birth of my children. I never knew the fear that they might not make it."

"Yet you saved me from that feeling of hopelessness," Freya breathed into my chest.

"I did it for me," I replied softly. "I don't know the world, so I can let it go, but I knew you and I don't want to be the kind of human who sees a fellow human in need and does nothing."

"You were that man before you came here," she said.

"I have been rendered worthless, Freya," I struggled for my own understanding. "Because of that I will probably never be comfortable believing I'm worthwhile. I'll have to prove it to myself again and again. I doubt I'll ever accept that I'm the man I should be, or can be. Consider it a flaw in my lenses of perfection."

"You have a way with words," she smiled. "You need to go." We dressed quickly. I wiped up some escaping semen with a piece of gauze which I then pocketed.

"Don't share that if you can get away with it," I requested.

"Which reminds me," Passey pulled out her phone and scanned me...and scanned me again. "Your bracelet isn't acknowledging my scan."

"Maybe you're special," I hoped.

"I think it is broken," she clarified.

"Perfect," I sighed. "Just perfect." That explained why the Vanishers and the FBI weren't all over my ass right now. I had no phone and my bracelet wasn't betraying my location.

The foul little stooge that had haunted my life since I was sixteen was dead. Had it actually broken and fallen off, I would have danced on its grave. To be fair, its diehard little capacitors must have soaked up the brunt of the stun baton's power before the beast croaked. We finished getting dressed, I kissed Passey good-bye and pulled open the screen.

There was a wall of cops staring at us. On the periphery were those jokers in white coats over scrubs with all kinds of collection gear. Oh hell no. I wasn't going to pee in a cup. I certainly wasn't going to jack off into one. I stifled the urge to scream. I followed that minor victory by not shutting the curtain, crawling into a corner and hoping the world would go away.

"Mr. Jensen, you are coming with us," the lead officer, a lieutenant named Metzer said.

"Lieutenant, I'm begging you, give me two minutes of your time. If you still want to drag me in, I'll go quietly and without complaint," I pleaded. "Please, I'm begging you."

"He came here of his own free will," Freya spoke up, "knowing what might happen to him."

There was no reason tell them what I had done here. Neither Freya nor I were terribly quiet. The officer blinked. She was clearly stressed and unhappy.

"Speak."

"The cure I have in my system will not help anyone here, besides Passey," I started off quickly.

"That isn't how it works. Only my body produces the antivirals. None of my twenty three children, boys and girls, produce it. It is only me and as you might guess, there simply isn't enough of me to go around. You can imprison me unjustly and milk me like a cow and you'll get a few thousand doses a year."

"Sadly, each dose will be less effective than the last. Stress breaks down the antivirals. Even then, at best the antiviral will only last two years before you need another dose. If they take me, where do the rest of you stack up with the 100 million women in the Federation? When do you think you will be getting your dose?"

"What I have will not save you," I repeated. "Given any free will, I will not help any of you."




One in Ten Ch. 08



"You helped Officer Passey here," Metzer pointed out.

"Which is the best hope you have. Despite being raped and imprisoned by a cop, gang-raped then having law enforcement laugh me out of the office, being driving to Isobel Diaz's party by a cop so I could be raped yet again..."

"Are you getting the picture? I have NO reason to help any woman whatsoever. You have been the bane of my existence since I was sixteen," I huffed. The look the cops were giving me wasn't one of sympathy. It was wonderment that I'd been allowed to babble for so long. "Why should you let me go?"

"Because I love Detective Angel Kristi. I'm truly enamored with Kuiko Sano and Capri O'Hara. I like Aniqua, Venus, Samantha and Roni. I think Francesca Silverhorn walks on freaking water. I'm erotically drawn to a warrior named Zara and a psycho I call Flame. I have every fucking reason to hate every woman who has ever lived...but I don't."

"I've pulled love out of hate. I have forgiven a few of you for your indifference to my suffering. In time, I may forgive others and do what I can. I will never have that chance if you take me away now. The Human Race will never have that chance. Lieutenant, I'm not asking you to save everyone. I'm asking you to save one person, me," I finished.

"What are you going to do if you I let you leave?" Metzer asked.

"I haven't a clue. I didn't come here with a plan or a schedule. I couldn't let her child die while I could do something. It is that simple. If you let me leave, I'm most likely going to walk around a bit and think. I didn't ask for this and it isn't my birthright. I was a lab rat and I should have died."

"I didn't, so I have to go on," I told her. Worst 'let me go' speech ever. My lecturers at Bowden would have tossed me out on my head.

"Clear a way out," Metzer commanded.

"Ma'am?" a senior officer questioned.

"He's not charged with anything," Lt. Metzer stated. "Until the possession of Magic Sperm becomes a crime, detaining him would be illegal."

Thankfully, Passey kept her mouth shut about my bracelet. They could hold me for that.

"Lieutenant - Mr. Jensen," one of the doctors stepped up. "If we could have a blood sample to verify Doctor Vasco's findings."

"I need to walk and clear my head," I evaded. "Let me think about it."

I was out of that emergency room as fast as decorum would allow. Not only was my mind teetering, my body was coming down from the rush of adrenaline followed by the exhaustion of a twenty minute sex session. In the parking lot, a black racing bike pulled up. The owner had on black leather from neck to toe with a black helmet hiding her features.

As I went to climb on, she handed me a helmet. Her size was an indicator but as the bike rocketed away, the sensation I received when I hugged her tightly gave her away. She sped off into parts of the city I was unfamiliar with before ending up at the unfinished expanses of an elevated highway - one of the Mayor's pet projects.

I dismounted, handed off my helmet then walked over to the unfinished edge. I sat down, letting my feet dangle off into the darkness. I guess-timated we were 20 meters up. I'm not an engineer, architect or surveyor so what did I know. Flame took off her helmet and followed behind me. She pulled out her pistol and chambered a round.

"How did you find me?" I wondered.

"Cops talk on their radios too much," she enlightened me. I turned my body so I could look at her. She aimed that huge fucking hand cannon my way. Looking down the barrel was definitely worse than trying to hold the damn thing. She slowly started smiling.

"This is where you start begging," she smirked.

"I want to live, but...I can't think of a convincing argument not to shoot," I confessed. Flame spun around, dancing with her arms outstretched.

"Come on, give me something," she laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you survived the shootout," I mused. "I wasn't sure at the time if I cared one way or the other. After thinking about it a bit, I think I'd be - less if you died."

"Less'?" she stopped spinning to regard me intensely. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"I really can't claim what I said was a rational statement," I answered.

"That makes even less sense," exulted happily - fucking psycho. "Are you trying to be crazier than me?"

"What? I am crazier than you," I declared. Flame looked skeptical. "Would you go out on an uncompleted bridge with yourself while unarmed? Bitch, I got you beat hands down."

"You're right," she concluded. "I hate people who are right about me." She aimed again. I stared. She looked trapped between bottled rage and something she couldn't identify. "What have you done to me?" she asked as she lowered the gun. "I think you are fucking with my mind - mesmerizing me somehow."

"People don't mesmerize other people," I told her. "Look at it this way; leaders don't take control, followers surrender it. They surrender it because the sane thing to do is live and the leader convinces you that the best life you can hope for is with them. The sane person can always chose to die instead - it is just very hard to do."

"I'm not doing anything to you, Flame," I explained, "beyond liking you for reasons I don't feel like grappling with right now. I'm certainly not offering you a better life in any way, shape, or form."

"But I like killing," Flame declared. "I'd like to kill you."

"Killing isn't so much. Death is inevitable for us all. Since we all die, why not try to make our deaths worthwhile?" I mused.

"Worthwhile," Flame scoffed. "Like saving people? Sparing your life?"

"Bitch," I chuckled, "you know me better than that."

"Killing is hastening the inevitable. Saving a life is holding death back for another few seconds - a 'fuck you' to the Universe. It changes things," I said.

"Killing people changes things too," Flame laughed. "I'd rather serve Death."

"There is no serving Death because Death doesn't need you. Death is going to win no matter what," I pointed out.

"Even if killing someone buys you a few more seconds, minutes, hours or days, Death will always come back for you because it is friendless and remorseless. It always wins in the end," I related. Flame stared at me. She raised the gun, staring down the barrel at me. She let it drop, raised it again then finally lowered it.

"That's why you fight," she whispered. "You are defying Death, trying to make a difference. You've seen people die - most likely horribly, so you know what death looks like. When you look into my eyes, you don't see Death, you see me."

"I think I do," I nodded.

"I like you. I never had a boyfriend before," Flame enlightened me.

"We are not boyfriend/girlfriend. I'm not a cheater," I responded.

"Pfah," Flame chuckled. "Not like that, dipshit. I mean me 'liking' somebody. I can't remember liking anyone before. Sure, I tolerate Little M and - Davia, but this is different." 

"My whole life I've always wanted to kill people. To me it is like breathing. It's what I want to do. I don't give a shit if someone deserves it. I want them to die. I've always felt that way - until now. I don't feel the overwhelming desire to kill you. I can't say I understand it, it is so alien to me," Flame murmured.

After several minutes,

"You going to leave now?" she asked.

"Nah. I've got nowhere to go really," I shrugged. Flame came over, sat down next to me at the edge of the bridge and dangled her feet off into the dark.

"Going to beg me not to kill you?" she continued.

"Not really thinking about it actually," I grinned at her.

"Want me to go out and start saving lives?" she teased.

"I'm happy where you are right now," I bumped her shoulder with my own. "Unless you want to go and play Good Samaritan, then go knock yourself out."

"Are we friends, Israel?" Flame inquired as she rested her head on my shoulder.

"I guess so. Despite my traumatized background and your violent nature, I'm willing to accept we can get along," I reasoned.

"Are you going to beg for your life now?" she snickered.

"Bitch, were you not breastfed as a child?" I retorted.

"Not much; I choked out my mom when she tried to burp me," Flame laughed hysterically. We'd been down this road while she was punching and kicking the crap out of me at Isobel's party.

"What do we do now?" Flame wondered out loud to the night sky above.

"You could always give me a parachute then shove me off the bridge," I suggested.

"There is now way..." she began giggling as she got the joke, "...it would open in time."

"It's the false hope that often keeps us going," I pointed out.

"Do you want me to get you a gun?" Flame asked me as we rocked side to side at the edge of a long fall to a messy death.

"Well, I wouldn't mind some lessons and a pistol that doesn't threaten to blast me back to the 20th century," I stated. "A few guns for my lady posse wouldn't suck either."

"I'll see what I can do," Flame sighed happily. "You know, if I let you get away, you die and I didn't kill you myself, I'll never get over it," Flame mused. "I want to spend time with you too. It doesn't make sense. It's a..."

"Conundrum?" I offered up the word.

"Yeah - conundrum. Good word, Beatrix Potter," she snickered. "See, when you do shit like that, I don't get angry. You aren't trying to get one up on me - make me look stupid just because I didn't get much schooling."

"I'm not. Survival is a much under-appreciated art these days but that's about to change, Flame," I confided. "You are a survivor."

Flame tilted to the side, turned her torso and looked into my eyes.

"That's it. You are nice to me and not in a way that says you want to screw me, or 'begging me to let you live' sort of way. You are just fucking nice to me and I don't get it," Flame seemed truly confused.

"I'll give it a go. No one understands us. When we walk into a room, no one knows what's going on behind our eyes. You and I are totally different in what we are going through, but in that total separation from our peers, we are alone. I guess that is what I meant when I called you pure. You are pure in your thoughts. There is no confusion," I pieced things together.

"But you confuse me," Flame pointed out.

"And you don't think you confuse me? Ha, I should be running the fuck away from you every chance I get. For a guy who claims to not be a masochist, I certainly have a lot of violent women in my life," I chortled.

"Hmmm..." she then paused. "Want to have sex?" This may have been the first time Flame had actually asked a man that. I imagined she normally took it.

"Sorry, I never have sex with a woman whose clit is bigger than my dick," I teased.

"Bitch!" she wacked me with her gun while she giggled and swinging her legs back and forth.

"Woman, don't make me come over there and make you beat me up with that flyswatter of yours," I teased. Nothing was said for a while. She snuggled back to me. Outside our little world, sirens blared while the city lights turned the night sky into a dirty, charcoal-colored haze. In that tiny segment of time, we were both comfortable in our skins.

Eventually Flame found the silence unbearable. "What is it like to be tortured?" Flame inquired.

"Different tortures do different things," I tried to explain.

"Some things are so painful that the pain is all you recall. The phantom of that agony carries on long after the act is done. Other tortures are humiliating. They erode your understanding of the world. You lose your perception of the peripherals, collapsing into your core values even as those crumble apart."

"Finally, there are those thing that seem good, but are actually bad - sexual torture. They wreck you emotionally and leave your body's responses cross-wired. All of those break down your mental picture of yourself - chip you away until you are some creature you don't recognize, but that's the person you now have to live with," I sighed.

"I'd rather die," she punched me very lightly.

"It is never that easy," I explained. "Keeping you alive is part of the torture. Making you want to die then stealing even that hope from you."

"If I was about to be captured, would you kill me?" Flame prodded.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"Bitch...why?"

"I couldn't deal with looking in your eyes and not seeing that madness there - a purely selfish reason," I confided. There was a long silence.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, and meant it," Flame breathed deeply.

"I wouldn't want to do it. I don't consider myself a killer," I sighed, "but I'm the only friend you've got."

"That's the damn truth," she snickered.

"I'm sure Davia would shoot me, but I think it is because she wants to be sure I'm dead," Flame giggled.

"Davia? Do you mean your partner? I call her Silent and I really didn't want to know her real name," I groaned.

"Why's that?" Flame asked.

"Take it easy, Lady and Gentleman," a soft female voice called out behind us. "No sudden moves." I looked to Flame. She was giving me a toothy smile and pumping her eyebrows. I raised my hands - slowly.

(Behind the Scenes)

What no one in the Federation knew at that moment was that we were racing for the final curtain call. The WHO knew that something was very wrong, but they were still digging - and desperately hoping they were wrong with what they were looking at. The UN was only learning of the footsteps of doom. They too were praying.

The moment Judas took his thirty pieces of silver he had a date with the end of a rope, he just didn't know it. This time it wasn't the fault of those doctors, jurists and politicians from forty years ago. They had never intended for the extreme efforts of the different societies they were creating to go on forever. They were buying time.

The problem was men stopped publically dying. The next generation of women would never know the flush sexual possibilities of their mothers, but they became comfortable with the system they had inherited. The men who knew what gender equality (if not downright male domination) felt like were too old to cause many problems and could be safely ignored.

They were still searching for a cure, but no one was hopping mad about it anymore. Infant boys were still dying at an abysmal rate - but in the collective memory of womankind, we always had. They became complacent. The male voice diminished then fell silent. Twenty years ago, when key world leaders learned that the male side of the species was dying out, they had a choice.

If they told the people of the Earth the bad news, the women feared that anarchy would ensue. The world economy would collapse. The civilization their predecessors had fought so hard to keep afloat would go under. It would be the End.

Or, they could make the men soldier on in futility while women waited for a miracle.

They had made a deal with the Devil, but the Devil doesn't deal in Salvation. He gave them twenty years. Old Nick was smiling behind his polite façade. He'd also provided them with the means of killing themselves. I was born a year before the Big Lie was concocted. Another boy, half a world away, was born a year later.

Like me, he had his innocence torn away at an early age. Born on Java in Indonesia, he was kidnapped and sold to the slave trade. He could have ended up anywhere, but fate landed him in the Chinese port of Shanghai. By the age of twenty, prodigious amounts of performance drugs and continuous sex had rendered his mind a shell - a few memories still bouncing around.

Outside of a small family circle in his native land, no one cared about the boy and no one would have known about him if he hadn't died. In the end, they didn't even care about his body or his name. The WHO named him Patient T2 Zero because by the time they found out about him, the only person who might have remembered his name was dead also. 

It would be poetic to say he struck back at his tormentors from the grave. In fact, women had stolen away any ability to know what he had done. The fact was that on the Saturday before I moved into my condo, his long laboring T1 antibodies, his reward for surviving infancy, lost their struggle to produce more guardians than naturally degraded.

In those seconds, sometime after the lunchtime clientele returned to work, the most mutated version of the T1 virus ever seen 'woke up'. The cluster of antivirals that encased it crumbled away. It attacked the first cell it came across. In minutes, that cell became a factory. Inside an hour, the antiviral/viral battle became a rout.

Under normal conditions, the T1 Gender Plague manifested in three days and the male was dead in four more - max. The boy from Indonesia wasn't normal. He was fighting off some influenza that a few patrons had coughed on him. The housekeeper gave him something for that. He was 'profitable' after all. He had been given an injection at the start of flu season too.

The boy's blood was a soup of medicinal drugs, aphrodisiacs and performance enhancers. Both his red and white blood cell counts were a wreck from long exposure to these substances. He was fed regularly - they only chained one of his legs to the bed when he was 'working' or sleeping. His throat had hurt so much that he hadn't been eating enough. Besides, his will to continue on was already gone.

He was a prostitute, a sex trade worker, a slab of meat. If you get told that enough times, treated like that enough, it becomes all you know. When was the last time you saw a slab of meat fight to stay in one piece? Around four in the afternoon, the housekeeper came by, allowed him to go to the bathroom and gave him some food to eat.

She wasn't overly concerned about him barely eating. The boy had a good run. He'd much more than made up the cost the 'providers' extorted from her 'community'. She mused it was a pity they didn't have more Asian boys. They fetched more money. They couldn't be Chinese, of course. The police put you against a wall and shot you for that, so mainly they were Indonesians, Malay, and Africans.

When she shackled the boy back to his pallet for the evening rush, she noticed his pelvic region and penis were enflamed. She checked - the boy was still feverish. She gave him something for the fever and doused his crotch with powder so as not to disturb the clients. Had she been forty-five or older, she might have recognized the onset of the Plague, but she wasn't.

Even then, she could hardly be blamed for not understanding. No adult had died from the Plague in forty years. It was a childhood disease. In a final irony, two kilometers away was a very fine hospital. They would have recognized the ailment and quarantined the boy. He would have died, but the Human Race would not have - yet.

The housekeeper was indifferent to his suffering. She had other boys to take care of before the working class women began flocking in with their hard-earned Yuan. In a final sad reaction to the impending crisis, she dimmed the light in his room so as to not upset the clients with the condition of his genitals.

On Tuesday, as I struggled through the last few hours of my normal life, the boy's was clearly failing. The housekeeper was seeing the local patrolwoman off, with a freebie and the monthly 'allowance' money for the precinct when a junior attendant came running. The Indonesian boy the policewoman had just visited wasn't performing and the client was being noisy.

She was feeling irritable and ill, so she went straight for the 'electrical stimulation aid'. She soothed the client, jolted the boy's anus until his cock finally responded then left the room. She told the assistant to help her move the boy to the storeroom after the latest patron left. The dying boy was no longer profitable. 

She wasn't going to waste the drugs to simply put him down. One day without food or water would do the trick. Besides, she was angry, she felt like crap and her pussy itched. Inside that boy on that Saturday, the T1 inside the boy had become what was known as the T2 and it had made that last, great leap. It was no longer gender specific.




One in Ten Ch. 09



For starters, my thanks to PokingFun for keeping her head above the rip tide long enough to edit this work.

To Smutol, who fought with me - A LOT - but provided invaluable input into character interactions and was often the voice for 'the little guy'.

To Talonwolf because apparently the ATF can't do their jobs to my satisfaction.

To the Voice Howling In the Wilderness and many others who helped with the feedback and e-mails.

A note on the stories direction. I know it took an abrupt shift, yet as I moved past the first chapter I realized that I either had to write Israel's destruction - poignant or pointless - or I could write a story where he succeeds in his quest - to be free. There was little hope in a story where Israel lives the rest of his life in hiding.

So, with a very high-tech society, how does he escape? Outside of hiding in some forgotten corner of the globe, the society had to come crashing down. The previous chapters, were the struggle of males to have their grievances heard, was not pointless. It is the very serious backdrop to the fall of civilization.

The great apparatus man- and womankind have built doesn't stop overnight. Every catastrophe has continuing effect. The plague doesn't kill everyone. Oh, it is terribly lethal, but communities can isolate themselves, be they urban, rural, scientific or military. What happens when the plague first burns its way through? The rift between men and women is still there and growing.

Wouldn't they work together in time of crisis? That sounds far more reasonable if you are a woman than a man. Men trusted women once and look how well that worked out for them. Finally, there will be more sex. This does not mean Israel is 'cured'. It means he's trying and, more importantly, being helped. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

In Peace, daughters bury their mothers. In War, mothers bury their daughters. The death of sons is too painful to recount.

*****

(Behind the Scenes)

By act of Science I had ceased to be a rarity of one. All seven of my sons were capable of producing the T1I1 - the Israel 1 - antivirus. Their underdeveloped testes could do it, but weren't. The watch word was puberty. The current scientific consensus was that removing a portion of their sex organs was also unlikely to produce positive results. 

Still unknown to the Federation researchers, the Chinese had the answer to the production dilemma and it was coming their way, one infection at a time. If they had, they probably would have started praying. After all, could the T1I1 kill the T2? All the mothers were getting lawyers - and private security. Before long, the Ministry of Justice would start issuing warrants.

In Shanghai, where the first mass burnings of corpses was beginning, a tired hospital worker was touched by a patient in the Dying Ward. It was across the street from the hospital and had been a mall before commandeered by the city. The worker was, in reality, a part-time supply clerk. After being laid off from her textile job, this was the only job she could find.

She'd been given extensive first aid training when she started work a few months ago, so now she was in charge of a whole section of the Dying Ward. People reaching out wasn't all that new to the worker anymore. People were being eaten alive and their fevers were extreme. This one though - her eyes were clear and she asked for water in a weak but steady voice.

The woman was dying, that was certain. She'd been given minimal support for the last...4 days? The clerk's heart began racing. This was a 'day 2' center. The Plague ran its course in a total of 4 days...so this woman should have died two days ago. The clerk rushed over, took one of the two thermometers for the entire ward and took her charge's temperature. 39 C.

The clerk raced over to the one doctor (a male medical student actually) and dragged him over to the patient. The dying woman had risen to the rank of patient in that attendant's eyes. The doctor examined the patient's body, ignoring her shame, and nearly fell over. The clerk had been quiet so as to not cause an alarm. The doctor yelled for two of the volunteers to grab a stretcher and come running.

These volunteers were women who had decided to help out at the hospital in this crisis because...it seemed the right thing to do. Now they removed the dead women from the Dying Ward and took them to trucks for cremation. It was doing something. They arrived with the stretcher, but the woman still appeared alive. 'We are going to the hospital' he informed them. 

That was new. They crossed the street, passed the soldiers and the group walked straight to the Hospital's Chief of Staff's office. Her assistant informed the medical student that the doctor was asleep. 'We have a patient in Day 9' he responded. The assistant nearly tripped over herself running in and rousing her boss.

Ten minutes later, he was happy to be allowed to simply observe the specialists at work. The woman was nearly dead alright. She'd been fighting off the T2 Plague for nine days now. For half that time she'd only had an IV drip to sustain her. Three things made her different. She'd been gifted with a small dose of T2J1 (Java) antivirals.

That could only mean she had sex with that poor, dead boy. Unlike the other patrons, she'd been given enough of his seed to last this long. The second difference was almost a fatal one. She'd been cannibalizing her own body to save her unborn child, who was really nothing more than a lump of tissue at that time. It was good old Mother Nature trying to see the next generation through the womb and into the light of the world.

The final difference - somewhere, the doctors guessed a day and a half earlier - the antivirals hovering around and protecting that little lump of proto-boy realized that the tissue had grown to a sustainable size and they attacked it. It wasn't out of cruelty. It was out of necessity. They were fighting that battle to keep the mother alive, but without the ability to replace their losses, they were succumbing.

Quite frankly, there weren't enough of them and they were dying by the minute while the T2 kept getting stronger. The T2J's needed a factory and the lump of boy was it. A few select cells died and became antiviral factories and the counter-attacked into the mother's body - and they were starting to come out on top.

The swelling was going down, the fever was breaking, plus her heart rate and breathing were steady, if weak. For the team of doctors at their breaking point, this was a breath of fresh air. One was going to live. They also realized that this little boy wasn't going to be saving anyone else for quite some time. Extracting him would most certainly be fatal and provide a onetime dose for only a handful of people.

Instead of keeping thousands of patients alive, they now had to keep one boy alive. They conferred, agreed that they all were of one mind, then separated. The head of the WHO mission had been supplied with her own satellite hook-up this time. She called Geneva then the UN, giving them all the data they had. What she got back was surprising.

They already had a virtual carbon-copy of the T2J antiviral, but they were calling it the T1I1. Apparently there was an adult male in the Federation running around with it. There was also a nasty rumor starting to surface that he'd been killed in a police action in his home town. The WHO doctor wept silently at her desk. It felt like her gender was trying to commit genocide on themselves.

The Chief of Staff sat down with the battalion commander of the unit assigned to protect the hospital. By disease and fortune, it was a young captain. The Chief of Staff laid out the whole story. The boy wouldn't be saving anyone but himself and his mother for months. Most likely, everyone in the hospital and her unit would be dead by then.

If they harvested the boy, there would go the last, best chance for any of China to survive. She had to tell Beijing before their spies told them. Beijing would demand the mother and boy, she would delay as long as she could. Eventually they would see through her deceptions and then they would come to take him by force. The Chief of Staff wanted to know what the captain going to do when that happened. 

(Back at Home)

"What do you want?" I requested.

"We are here for you, Israel Jensen," the voice answered. I looked to Flame once more.

"What if I don't want to go with you?" I tried to sound brave as I responded. There was a pause.

"We are with Zara," the voice countered.

"There are two of them," Flame whispered. "I can do this."

"Bitch, we are dangling off the edge of a bridge. Have you lo..." I mumbled. "Yeah, you have. Knock yourself out."

"Why isn't she here then?" I inquired.

"She is here," the voice said. I put a hand on Flame's thigh.

"Don't move," I whispered. "They have a sniper."

"You sure?"

"Yeeeaaahhhh, pretty much," I nodded.

"I'm tossing you a phone," the voice informed me.

"Toss it to the woman," I pointed. "Her hand-eye coordination is much better." The phone didn't fly high. It actually skidded to a stop less than a half meter away. I looked at Flame who looked at the phone then back at me.

"Bitch, it's right there. Pick it up yourself," she groused.

I picked it up, flipped open the opaque cover and was gifted with the sight of Flame's back with a little red dot centered between her shoulder blades. Flame was looking out over the city. I thought she was bored. After nudging her, she looked over the picture and smiled. She leaned into me. The dot followed. She leaned away and the dot followed.

"Good sniper," she smirked to me. "Okay ladies, you can have him," Flame called out to our visitors. 

I typed *HugsZara*. 

A few seconds later *Come In*.

*Not Ready Yet*.

*Please*. 

*You probably can't understand how much that means to me*

*No?*

*Not yet*.

The closer woman began backing away. A few meters and on the other side of the roadway, a second woman did the same. I had to wonder about their interest. What rejection would be one too many? Did other men get this much leeway? No, they didn't. They bailed out the first chance they got, yet I was sticking around.

I stood up and followed them for a few meters before stopping. I still had no plan.

"Hmmm," Flame walked up to my side. "You don't see that every day."

"You are not supposed to see them at all," I confided.

"Do you know what's weird?" Flame tapped me with her gun.

"You still don't want to kill me?" I guessed.

"Yeah, it's freaky-weird," Flame nodded. "Do you think that sniper-chick is still watching us?"

"You are asking my advice about women and guns?" I gasped. "God, we are a fucked-up pair."

"Tons of fun," Flame laughed. "Let me take you home."

"Your home, or my home?" I worried.

"Your home," she snickered. "My clit intimidates you." Now she was giggling.

"Thanks," I smiled. We remounted her bike, put on our helmets and headed into the city.

"I have never said this before, but I'd like to take you someplace, tie you down and make long passionate love to you," I confessed through our helmet links.

"You make passionate love to a lot of women," she countered.

"No, the 'tie you down' part," I clarified. "I don't normally do that."

"What makes me so special - not that I'm not special, but why this?" Flame snorted in amusement.

"There is no way in hell I'm giving you an orgasm when you have ready access to a weapon, or any other means of hurting me," I squeezed her tightly. She was quiet for several minutes.

"Cool," she murmured.

"Yeah, it would be," I agreed.

"Then do I get to kill you?" she perked up.

"No, damn it," I bumped helmets with her. "First I get dressed, then I open the window and then I untie you, hopefully jumping out the window before you get your gun."

"Bitch!" she laughed. "You are going to make me work for it."

"That's what friends are for," I teased.

"Thanks for clearing that up for me - Bitch," she shook with amusement. I couldn't do this with anyone else. Death and killing weren't things I embraced.

I didn't like violence, but I was causing tons of it. I didn't joke about casual violence, except now I was doing it with Flame. I wasn't sure why I liked her. I couldn't pinpoint that factor, or moment that put us in this current setting. She'd beaten me up, beaten me again, then I spasmodically came on to her, came on to her again...and she'd responded.

It wasn't a one-sided relationship. Flame wanted something from me that was equally indescribable. I don't think she'd felt alone before she met me. She hated everyone, so didn't really miss their company. Just like some office functionary, she was going through the motions of life - even if that life was that of a Mob enforcer, thug, and killer.

She wasn't an adrenaline junkie. Her fearlessness had robbed her of that thrill. In the firefight she had not flinched or panicked. I believed she had become completely emotionally detached. Oh, God - I made her laugh. Not in an artificial professional comedian kind of way, but a 'looking at someone and discovering they make you happy' way.

Unintentionally, I had made Flame feel something - anything - and it was tearing her up inside. It wasn't happiness. Flame felt happy when she killed people, or made them cry. Perhaps that was it; I gave her happiness that didn't involve her taking something, be it a life, or sense of security, from another person. That had her confused.

We pulled up to my place in relative silence. What I didn't know was most people, even in their places of work on second shift, or just working late, were glued to their video feeds. Even at the hospital, I had not grasped the magnitude of the carnage. I put the helmet up.

"Take care and no 'Death by Cop'," I patted Flame's shoulder. She opened her face plate.

"I can't die," she grinned. "I haven't killed you yet. Want me to kill you now?"

"I want you to live," I replied softly. She laughed, dropped her visor and sped away. I took the steps to my apartment two at a time. I was tired, but I actually wanted to see some female faces for the first time in forever.

I accessed my door and recalled that Venus had a gun, so I called out.

"It's me." I opened the door and stepped in. All the women, from whatever place they had staked out on my living room floor or furniture were looking, or craning to look at me. Kuiko and Capri had their arms out so that no one grappled me in the entryway.

"Where have you been?" Capri inquired with barely controlled fury.

"I...I had to..." I mumbled.

"Skip you banging that cop in the GODDESS damned emergency room and your version of the Gettysburg Address to a room full of ladies in blue who wanted to shoot you - fuck nut Bastard," Carpi growled.

Honesty is never the best option. In fact, honesty is the refuge of the unimaginative and thoughtless, or so I've been told.

"Well, you remember that girl with the hand cannon in the shootout this afternoon..." I managed to get out.

Capri put her face in her hands and groaned.

"I got on a bike with her, we rode out to the road construction on the new freeway..." I continued.

"Where on the new freeway?" Venus rumbled.

"That part of the unfinished overpass," I informed them.

"You mean the big, uncompleted bridge - that part of the new freeway?" Venus pressed.

"Yeah. We sat at the end, dangled our feet off the edge and talked for a bit," I tried to make my insane decision sound reasonable.

"Gee, Israel, did she try to kill you - the mobster hitwoman?" Capri muttered.

"Ah...she pointed her gun at me a few times, asked me if I wanted to die a few more times, but she couldn't pull the trigger," I enlightened them. "We talked."

"ISRAEL!" Kuiko squealed at a deafening pitch. "The cop nearly killed you tonight! Wasn't one time enough? Do you want to scare us to death? Do you want to leave us?"

Kuiko freaking out was expected. The look of fear on the rest of their faces was unfathomable to me.

"What am I missing?" I asked. Roni and Angel not being back was starting to worry me.

"Israel, what is the last thing you remember at the Arena?" Aniqua requested.

"Shooting - a lot of it. The cops at the exit with the EMTs arming themselves and heading in. I was listening to the chaos on the radio, but I was really concentrating on escaping. Why?" I looked around the room. Samantha was channel surfing until she found one of the local updates.

Confirmed Dead: 152 Women - 849 Men. Final figures still unavailable.

Oh God, it was the second biggest disaster to overtake male-kind since the last days of the Plague. It was highly unlikely that anything would surpass the Holy City, but Carabas in Brazil had just been supplanted as the second largest slaughter of my gender in 42 years. The most demoralizing piece was the three SWAT snipers on the Arena with their back up weapons going to fully automatic fire at the men below.

During the Gender Plague the countries of the Developing World went three ways. Some, like the Republic of South Africa, clung to their democracy and rode out the storm. Others, like India, went to Emergency Rule and they survived. The last group, like Brazil, tried to walk the middle path and they collapsed. The public didn't know who to trust, so they began looking out for themselves.

Brazil made it into Year 6 when the police in Brasilia rioted. The government called in the closest military units to restore order. The military tried to seize control, the executive branch of government was decapitated and the country went to shit. A few months later, the legislative body set up shop in San Paulo and began reasserting control over the coastal regions.

Their navy had remained loyal through the crisis so not only did the democratic government survive, but the Brazilian export economy didn't wither and die. They grimly persevered for eighteen months until the UN was finally able to cobble together some kind of relief force from the member nations.

On the Brazilian/UN side was that they were organized and well-equipped. The rebels were balkanized and often as much threat to each other as to the central government. Brazil took back their capital and launched an offensive against the largest of the rebel groups. They drove the rebels back to their base at Carabas.

On the eve of the last government offensive the Revolutionary Council met and decided on their final course of action. There were men on the Council. It is said that one objected but the other two agreed. In the last hour before dawn, the rebels rounded up every male still under their control and executed them. The rebels considered it a last act of defiance. 

The UN considered them all War Criminals and hunted most of them down. It was the end of old Brazil though. The upper Amazon basin remained lawless even until this day. The government was too afraid that other female groups would do the same thing and the real estate wasn't worth the risk.

The Holy City was a different, and far more horrifying, legacy. Before the Plague, there were places where men not only ruled, but women were barred from any true power. As a result, when the men started dying off, there were no, or not enough, professional women to take their place. The electricity went out, hospitals were overrun and law and order broke down.

The UN was doing triage and if your country couldn't at least limp along, it was abandoned to its fate - unless you had oil. In those bygone days, it was a petroleum driven economy. There were some fucked-up places around the globe that should have bit the dust, except the UN had to keep propping them up, or everything would have broken down.

Human Rights abuses? They would deal with that later. Few women want to talk about exactly what the UN was thinking back then. They kept the engine of civilization turning and they paid for it in blood. Whose blood? The blood of women. See, around Year 8, there just weren't too many men left in these Male Dominated cultures.




One in Ten Ch. 09



Life was horrible, but the men simply wouldn't give up their power. They filled their security forces with whatever men they could lay their hands on. Things got so bad that these powerless women protested. The questionably recruited and poorly trained security forces raped and killed them for their audacity. Massive atrocities were committed.

The UN did nothing - sort of. They covertly began supplying all kinds of aid to the women while publically appealing for mediation. The men were having none of that. It was their God-given country and women had better know their place. Apparently God decided their places was behind a machine gun, rocket launcher, or rifle.

The men still had more plentiful equipment like tanks, artillery, helicopters and planes. What they didn't have were numbers. They couldn't cover everywhere at once. Soon enough the women grabbed and held onto valuable parts of the landscape. The UN recognized their movement and it was payback time.

Every advantage now turned the women's way. If anyone in the UN thought this was a bad idea, they were ignored. The UN was thinking a popular insurgency overthrowing a corrupt, outdated regime. They weren't thinking of thousands and thousands of brutalized rape victims, traumatized and often mutilated suddenly seeing a light at the end of the tunnel of their suffering.

They didn't give a crap about the survival of the UN, Peace, Prosperity and the Human Race. They wanted to silence the demons in their heads forever. They wanted to make sure that they never heard a woman cry out in unanswered, wretched agony ever again. They pushed the men back to the Holy City - their last stand.

Most of the female fighters were relatively sane. They knew what was going on around the globe. They agreed with the UN that certain men, if captured alive, would suffer international justice. Most of the men would spend their lives in permanent detention so that their culture could attempt to rebuild. It was the only rational thing to do.

The fighting was incredibly brutal. Hardcore elements on both sides refused to take, or be taken, prisoner. For seven days the women pressed forward. In the core of the city, the last band of fanatics died to a man. After that, the resistance collapsed. Most of the male army by this time were the scrapings of the barrel.

Old men in their seventies, young boys in their early teens, the ill, the infirmed and the mangled; this was pretty much all that remained of a male culture that had lasted thousands and thousands of years. The UN representatives stepped in, helped sort out the men and prepared to rebuild. Those women mentioned earlier? They weren't done. There were men still alive.

The male army had used a variety of chemical weapons on their female enemies during the conflict and those dissolute women had been gathering up the stockpiles as they were overrun. They rolled into the outdoor prison camps with those weapons, pretending to be a food delivery. The men gathered around and the women detonated themselves - in all the camps.

Those who didn't commit suicide began opening fire on the men who weren't dead, or dying fast enough. Some women fired on those zealots. Other women simply fell down and wept. They couldn't shoot the women who had fought and bled so much for their cause. If the men died, they died as a people. It was an internal conflict they couldn't handle.

Between the battle and the mass murder afterwards nearly 25,000 men died. Fewer than three hundred remained. Today, a Pakistani regiment guards the city. It is still a place of pilgrimage, but it has never been repopulated. It remains pretty much as it was abandoned, forty-one years ago, a silent reminder of all that can go wrong with the human species.

Back to my plight.

"I didn't say or do anything at the Rally - honest," I pleaded to my female companions.

"We know you didn't," Capri grumbled. "That's why you are not on the list."

"List?"

"The arrest list," Venus snapped. "They are using facial recognition to file arrest warrants for all the men who broke the law at the rally. It's over two thousand names long and posted so that all their female friends and neighbors can turn them in."

In the midst of this disaster, what insight did my mind grab on to?

"At least Kenny should be getting out of jail soon," I mumbled. Where in the hell were they going to hold all these people? Hell, how were they going to try all these guys?

"So, what's with the cop?" Venus stared at me intently. "The one you fucked."

"That would be Officer Freya Passey. She's a pagan," I evaded.

"I wonder what her review of you is going to be like," Samantha studied me with conflicting emotions.

"Oh...there's a problem with that," I looked heavenward.

"Problem?" Capri choked. "Do you mean 'problem' as in you snuck off and murdered the Mayor, or something that is remotely fixable?"

I was beginning to question why Capri kept hanging out with me.

"My bracelet is broken," I confessed.

"How did that happen?" Aniqua inquired.

"Have you seen that whole bit with me, on top of Passey - the riot cop - the stun baton hitting my wrist?" I outlined. "That apparently fried it."

The women looked around at each other.

"Oh, thank Goddess," Capri exhaled. "I thought it was something important."

"Damn, Israel, we don't give a crap about your bracelet," Venus groused. "Can I have my sex now?" Capri, Aniqua and Kuiko all pelted her with something.

Kuiko used the commotion to hop up and come my way.

"Hugs?" she smiled hopefully. I opened my arms and she flowed into my embrace. She began breathing deeply my scent and rubbing her cheek against my shirt.

"Damn it," I groaned. Kuiko looked up, concerned. 

I tried to turn her around and pull up her shirt.

"No!" she insisted. "You were bad. You weren't thinking of us. You should have come straight home." Kuiko wasn't angry about Passey. She was angry because I had acted without concern for the group - our group.

"I apologize, to all of you," I groaned. "I honestly can't tell you what I was thinking. It - it all changed and they'll never fix it. Men rose up in defiance and they are going to crush us for it, but their brutality doesn't matter anymore." 

In a cosmic twist of black humor, the situation had reversed.

For forty years the female regime had been keeping men internally disorganized and obedient. There were a multitude of all-female groups. There were even a good number of non-gender groups, but there were no male-only clubs (unless you included male musical groups). Unlike the cross-cultural men that took public transit with their sticks today, this male group had been uniform.

They were some of the best men could put forward. Not the smartest, richest, best looking, or most famous. No, they were the iconic representation of what all men were supposed to want to be. They played by the rules, got ahead and were living the good life - and they had been gunned down at a meeting the women invited them to.

Robert White had most likely not identified with the man in the chicken processing plant, the microchip production line, the mechanic, or the starving artist, but they had identified with him. In their hearts they knew society wanted us to be like Robert White - pre-massacre. To complete the picture, the doctor, lawyer and banker identified with him too - as one of their own.

The police had still gunned him and hundreds like him down. Males weren't salivating with glee as Robert took out those two water cannons. Most couldn't understand that kind of dire courage. What they felt was horror - horror that he'd been shot in the first place - shot in the gut with his life placed in jeopardy. It was the horror that their sense of security had been shredded and the promises they'd been believing all these years were lies.

Men were uniting in fear, disbelief and outrage. They had been rendered into one mind - 'They have betrayed us'. On the other side of the aisle, it was the opposite. Women were being torn asunder. What had the police been thinking? Why hadn't they let them leave? Why hadn't the men been punished?

What were the men going to do next? What should they do to protect the men? What should they do to control them? Is my man in danger? Sure, all women knew policewomen carried a sidearm, but they would never use them, right? Well, they had - mostly to defend their lives and those of their partners.

But women didn't care about that. Cops had shot men! It was like China only a hundredfold worse. Women were confused. Society had told them as they grew up that men 'liked' it, that they didn't mind the aggression and most of all, men were safe to be around - docile, though no one would have dared use the word.

"Israel, you did your thing. It was your right," Aniqua stated, "but have some mercy on us. It is damned hard to watch you walk out that door then witness all that madness on TV. We were worried. You called, but you wouldn't come home. No, you had to go into a building full of cops and screw a woman - and then you disappeared again."

"Couldn't you keep in touch?" she persisted. "Did you even think about us?"

"Yes I could have and no, I didn't think about any of you," I confessed. "I was a lousy friend and...I'm going to continue being a lousy friend. Frankly, all of this," I indicated the women in the room, "is a lot for me to take in. Worse, it is necessary for me which makes me resent all of you."

"Huh?" Venus muttered. "In the video you said you liked us."

"I like all of you a whole bunch - but I don't want to," I pleaded. "The last time I took a shower, I was terrified one of you would come in and hurt me. It is not any of you - it is me. When Flame had her huge, fucking pistol barrel pointed into my face tonight I couldn't even muster enough fear to beg for my life."

"Damn," Capri whispered. Kuiko started quietly to shed tears onto my chest.

"Sometimes the desire to live until the next day was all I had to keep me going," I stated. "Even as you gave me your care and affection, you were breaking me down inside. I spent three years learning to avoid and live without women. In a week that had become a futile endeavor."

"I can't live without you even as I know it is going to tear me apart. I want to be free and I want to be alone. I can't have both so I've chosen to be free because that lets me be with all of you," I finished. "I'm going to be a terrible friend and you deserve better than a fucked up guy like me."

"No we don't," Kuiko sniffed. "I don't want anyone else but you."

"I'd sell Kuiko's left tit to make you work right - or righter," Venus sighed. "I'll still take the man I'm here with though over any other I've ever met." Samantha seemed to calm down. Capri was relentless.

"We need to establish a punishment system for you - maybe a denial of sex," Capri grumbled.

"Eeep!" Kuiko peeped then shook her head rapidly over my chest. She wasn't happy with that idea - not one bit.

"Capri, just so we are clear," Venus menaced. "Sammy and I are about to kick your ass for even suggesting such a thing."

"Fine, fine," Capri held up her hands. "Let's compromise. Kuiko, punish Israel." Kuiko turned her head sideways, regarding Capri while her ear was listening to my heartbeat. "You know, teach him a lesson." Kuiko's eyes grew wide. She hurriedly help me get her shirt and bra out of the way then stripped of my jacket and shirt.

"Well?" I asked softly. I was wanting to do this more than I initially thought I would. I welcomed the frivolity of the act; the carefree sensuality. 

"Put me against the wall and pick me up?" she meeped.

"Is that a question or a command, Mistress Sano?" I teased. It came so easily with her.

"Mistress Sano..." her face blossomed into a smile that seemed to erase the tear-tracks on her cheeks. "I like that. Lift me up, press me against the wall and get to nipple licking!"

I picked her up, pressed her against the wall and began my nipplage. 

"Damn it," four women muttered behind me.

"Support your weight with your legs around my hips and your arms on my shoulders," I instructed Kuiko.

She was curious, but obeyed. I released my hold on her ass, brought my hand up to the sides of her breasts the pressed them together. I tongue flicked her now adjacent nipples.

"I warned you I'd get them both next time," I admonished her. 

"Mistress Sano approves," Kuiko purred, "...approves."

"No, Capri," Venus mocked my lawyer, "you couldn't say 'Venus', could you?"

"Nope," Capri smirked. "You getting pissed off is normal. Kuiko wailing is a noise I can live without."

Capri was a clever girl and way ahead of the game. By foisting Kuiko on me she was reinforcing our congealing dynamic. She would let Kuiko lead the way. No one else had heard her declaration of love for me, so this simply seemed like fun. I had little doubt that she knew this was healing me. She was creating isolation in a crowded room; just Kuiko and me.

I would give the girls sexual fun. It would be a personal relationship that would move me beyond what I did with Officer Passey - I still had to explain that. They were my partners. I wouldn't belittle them with the term 'attachment'. We were one group, one entity, not some cosmetic appendage or accessory.

In retrospect, Kuiko had been the perfect choice. She was our 'Omega'. She wasn't the prettiest, the best built, the smartest, or even the most athletic. She was wacky - just a smidge off kilter. The other women, sadly, didn't see her as a threat. Angel was a threat. She was the Alpha. Kuiko though - if Kuiko could get this level of attention, by their thinking, any of them could.

Kuiko was not my Omega. She was my liberator. Before anyone else, she had connected with me. Angel stole my heart, but she still hurt me. Kuiko gave me patience and time. She sensed my frontiers and there she stopped, waiting for me to let her in. I prayed to the Divine that she made it out of this mess with me intact.

I was so caught up in my threads of this Kuiko experience I missed her coming to fruition under my ministrations.

"Israel, I'm - ah - ah - ahahahhhhaaahhha," she orgasmed. We clung to each other as he slowly regained control of herself. "Thank you," she whispered.

"He made her come, didn't he?" Samantha murmured. "With his lips..."

"Fuck all of you," Venus growled to the room. She stomped off to the shower. The water was running in seconds, the glass door opened then shut. Capri started giggling.

"Don't worry, Israel," Capri snickered. "Forcing Venus to take a cold shower can't be better than sex with you, but until then, it will do nicely."

"I need to change," Kuiko grinned sheepishly at me. Her crotch was soaked.

"Me too," I sighed. My belt and the top of my pants were damp as well. Kuiko and I changed clothes, the cold shower didn't' seem to have done Venus much good and after some consensus building, I was convinced to sleep on the sofa with the ladies around me.

It was much later when I woke up. I hadn't heard Roni, or Angel come in yet but Dimples' FBI was close by again - apparently I was lost and the Attorney General was looking for me...

The fact that my bracelet wasn't talking to the system never came up. Dimples' people didn't get around to it and my sanity kept me from mentioning the fact.

The Federation Government had thought I was dead, but my stunt at the hospital went viral, so they knew I was alive again. Officer Passey was vocally and profusely refusing all attempts at a vaginal swab. Outside, a city-wide curfew was in effect. The Armed Forces Reserves were being called up and the rumor was that regular troops were on the way.

All that left me truly curious about who was knocking at my door an hour before dawn. I activated the TV and nothing happened. It was on but not responding. I began to panic then I recalled the past two days of my life. I got off the sofa and headed for the door.

"Who is it?" Capri and Aniqua asked at the same time.

Samantha and Kuiko were slow wakers. I lightly knocked on my own door then opened it. Sure enough, it was Zara and those two women from the bridge earlier in the night. I silently stepped aside and ushered them in. The middle woman, the one I had talked to on the bridge, had two carrying crates worth of stuff and she went straight to the kitchen.

"Israel," Zara began. "We need some of your blood."

"Okay," I nodded. There was a short pause.

"Shit," the middle woman griped as if she had just lost a bet. The third woman chuckled and removed her ball cap. They all had ball caps, jackets and street attire.

The third woman had short, shockingly white hair. Like Zara and the other woman, she was fit, but with a different quality about her - more agile than tough. The second woman was of the same mold as Zara - quietly competent though she smiled more often, with her raven hair pulled back in a ponytail reaching half way down her back.

I migrated into the kitchen because, while tiny, it wasn't packed with as many women as my living room. The second woman was kneeling beside her two crates, pulling things out and stacking them around her while wearing blue surgical gloves. One of them held my curiosity. It was a 30cm cube. It seemed to be solid plastic except one portal on top and a small open sphere in the middle.

"By the way, I'm Jen, the woman in the kitchen is Brandi and, in case the word hasn't gotten around yet, the last woman is Zara," the white haired woman introduced the new group.

"Who are you with?" I asked her.

"NASA," she snorted. "That was cool - you figuring it out."

"Frank, let me stick your finger," Brandi requested. I extended a finger her way and it was dutifully pricked. Apparently I was 'Frank'.

"Who are the rest of you with?" Venus prodded. Zara hesitated.

"1st Special Forces Operational Detachment - D," she replied. "Both of us."

I knew who that was because of my studies. By the look on Venus' face - like she'd been hit in the face with a skillet - she knew too. Everyone else seemed clueless.

"Oh," Kuiko popped up, "you shoot people? Just like real soldiers?"

"Yeah Kid," Jen chuckled, "just like real soldiers."

Brandi extracted some of my blood in a miniscule hollow tube. She trimmed that, opened the top of the globe and fitted the tube into a series of rollers. She sealed the tube and then, in stages, the tube descended into the heart of the cube. Brandi switched her attention to the small screen device at her knees.

At first, all it showed was some roughly circular objects - grey and fuzzy around the edges. A few seconds later, red objects, about the same size as the grey ones entered the scene. Brandi grew tense, so I began to massage her shoulders while keeping my eyes on the screen. One of the red - cells - they had to be my blood cells - turned grey and ruptured along the sides.

The grey objects were ruptured, infected blood cells. My blood cells were getting clobbered. One by one they succumbed. Brandi was almost too tense for words. I picked up on her chanting 'come on, come on' as if some sort of encouragement would help in this lopsided fight. I caught sight of the miracle first. 

On the edge, one of my blood cells began turning grey then stopped. It was turning red once more. Brandi began muttering 'oh please, oh please, oh please'. A grey cell began to wither, blacken and die - then another. In seconds a colossal trouncing was in progress. Brandi could barely scroll the screen back fast enough to catch the death of the infected cells. In two minutes, it was over.

"What does this mean?" I inquired gently. Brandi looked up and me and smiled.

"It means we are not all going to die," she breathed deeply for the first time since this experiment began.

"Israel is too nice and shell-shocked to ask you what the hell is going on, but why don't you enlighten me?" Capri stood on the sofa, on her knees, looking over the three Vanishers.




One in Ten Ch. 09



"The Plague has broken out in China and made its way to the West Coast. We have operatives and men we'd like to rescue in threatened areas. We were hoping to inoculate our people so that they don't get infected. Infected people have to be left behind," Jen explained.

"How many men are going to die?" Aniqua groaned.

"Wait - you said 'our people'," Capri's eyes narrowed. "Why would you need to inoculate woman against the Plague?"

"This is a new plague," Zara finally spoke. "It is killing everybody." How exactly does a person respond to that? I wanted to erase the last five seconds of my memory and trundle along like nothing was wrong.

Well, more wrong than was normally wrong for me.

"Israel, you have to vanish - now!" Capri insisted. "No more screwing around. Let them take you out of here to someplace safe." I did not want to deal with the logic or emotion behind that statement. Capri wanted me to go, knowing she was going to die in some unpleasant manner.

"Why did you call me Frank?" I turned to Brandi. She was setting up another machine that had tubing and a really sharp needle.

"Inside joke," Brandi's smile tried to be comforting. "See, I'm Brandi the Veterinarian, Jen works for NASA and you're Frank the Duck."

"I don't get it," I mused.

"Are you really a vet, as opposed to an honest to Goddess doctor, or paramedic?" Kuiko wondered. Aniqua groaned once more.

"Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, courtesy of the University of Minnesota and Uncle Sam," she confirmed.

"I thought I'd work with K-9 units, but after my initial evaluations, they informed me I had another valuable skill set that I'd been overlooking," she added.

"What would that be?" Capri muttered.

"I'm really good at blowing things up," Brandi chatted while setting me up for the blood withdrawal.

"Oh Goddess," Venus gulped. "Were you girls behind the Arena bombing?"

"Yes," Jen replied.

"You killed all those people," Aniqua stood up angrily.

"Wake up," Jen growled. "What did you think was going to happen when society crumbled?"

"Billions are going to die. We can't save them. We - the movement - have to bring the government down before we can move to stage 2 of the plan. If you ladies can't deal with that, you are hanging around with the wrong man," Jen continued.

"Israel?" Samantha called out.

"I figured it out, Samantha. I didn't know at the start, but I figured it out. Everyone you know, who is not Angel, or Roni that is not in this room will be dead in two months," I sighed.

"Oh...you are trying to save as many as you can," Venus murmured. Had I a cohesive plan, or an iron will, maybe I would have understood that enough to save more.

"Do you know why Frank is so willing giving up his blood right now?" Jen asked the group.

"He's got hot-sexy eyes for Zara?" Kuiko offered. Jen snorted. Zara's back was to me.

"Well, that and...look around the room," Jen told them. "Do you know how many women are on the list of those to be taken to safety?"

"None," Capri responded.

"Precisely...and he's trying to change that. Of the nearly twenty-six hundred men we have 'vanished', less than twenty asked for another woman to be saved - every one of those asked for their mothers," Jen stated.

"Israel asked you to save us?" Kuiko sounded surprised.

"Asks the woman who was fuck-stunned for thirty minutes," Jen joked. "He hasn't asked. He didn't have to. That first Sunday, he was on the list. The following Saturday morning, he was off it because he had a female attachment. We kept an eye on him, just in case."

"Saturday night he took a beating you cannot imagine because he wouldn't betray Angel Kristi," Jen explained. "Men don't do that. We never give them the chance, but Frank did. We didn't know what Carabolix - 37 was yet. All he had to do was tell another woman that he loved her and treat her the way he treated Angel. He wouldn't do it. He was back on the list."

"Since then, somewhat inadvertently, Frank has been working his ass off to help us with our plans," Jen mused. "We didn't think he knew about our background until today, but he put all of the pieces together - seconds after freaking out and walking into a wall. If he hadn't been screwed-up in college, and wasn't a man, he would be on the fast track to academic recognition, political office, or the head of some conglomerate."

"Instead, he's a mess, but he's a mess that gets to live as the world dies," Jen finished. My mind was still in the kitchen. Brandi's equipment wasn't powerful enough to see either the T1I1 or T2 viruses, but it was clear that my guys had cleaned house. It also meant...

"You brought a sample of the T2 to the city," I whispered to Brandi. She nodded.

"It was risky, but we had to know if we had to write off dozens of our people. Now," she sighed happily, "thanks to you, we don't. Some of those people I've known for years."

"Until Frank," Jen continued, "we weren't planning to save anyone but the chosen men, despite their disadvantages. Now, your small crew might make it."

"You'll save us because he loves Angel?" Kuiko inquired sadly.

"Love conquers all," Capri murmured.

"Basically yes," Jen nodded. "Because he loves all of you, you might just make it."

"That means I get to have sex with him again!" Kuiko exulted. 

Yeah, the world was going down the crapper, billions dying, civilization as we'd come to know it was fading into darkness...but having sex with me again made it all okay with Kuiko. She was wonderful.

"Me first," muttered Venus. 

Things calmed down after that. I was given a pillow for my head and two for my feet as I lay on the floor giving up two pints of my blood. Brandi was going to replenish me with two fresh pints of blood plasma to keep me going. Somewhere along the process, Brandi left for a spell and Zara came in.

She took my free hand and held it tight. Our eyes met. She had that some comforting glow about her. I was woozy and very tired - barely awake.

"How did I get so lucky?" I whispered. Her eyes grew brighter and her glow warmer.

"Get some sleep," she advised and off I went.

(Wednesday)

"Wake up," Capri was calling out quietly while shaking me by my shins. With no feminine face over me as I awoke, I didn't have to worry about freaking out. "Eloise called Kuiko and asked her to come back in and be re-interviewed." That was pretty sad code for me and Capri to come to the Sentinel offices. The cloak and dagger ratcheted up my worry.

I sat up. The other girls were all awake now too. I came to a sad realization. I was a whore by necessity. I was trading my body for services. There was also no misunderstanding in the relationship either - except, maybe for Capri...and Kuiko...and Angel. Maybe I was simply a morose bastard filled with self-loathing and self-pity. I was being a jerk.

"I'm going to take a shower now," I stood up and announced. "Venus, can I convince you to join me?" I wasn't going to have my sex life become a matter of 'turns', or a rotation. Monogamy wasn't going to happen. It was a selfish fantasy on my part and totally unfair to my friends - my female friends. Thank you, Kuiko.

For a second, Venus froze. She was up and removing her shirt so fast it tore; she was trying to steal back that second.

"Sure!" she declared. Venus rushed past me on the way to the bathroom. I could hear the shower coming on as I finished undressing, placing my clothes in my bedroom hamper.

Damn, laundry day was overdue. That was a problem I'd have to save for later. At the moment, I had to make my way to the bathroom where a terribly frightening, and terrifically sexy, naked Venus was waiting for me with a burning hunger. I had faced the black depths of Flame's gun, a wall of angry cops and the threat of that unknown cop in the arena, so I could do this.

"There are going to be some ground rules," Venus held up her hand. Uh-oh. "Whenever I do something that is starting to weird you out, you let me know - right away."

"Uh - yea - wait, why do you get to set the ground rules?" It came out more as a plea than the strong voice I wanted to project.

"I want to have sex with you again. I want you to want to have sex with me again. You don't have to treat me the same way you treat Kuiko...unless you want to," Venus grinned wickedly. "Now let's get in the shower before all the hot water runs out."

"Trust me, that doesn't happen," I reminded her. Angel and I had a real...time in the shower.

I followed Venus into the shower then began shifting around. I couldn't get her rhythm. It was like...

"Are you a virgin?" I whispered. Venus gasped and her eyes widened. 

"What makes you think that?" she countered with bravado.

"Let me rephrase - you are a virgin," I said softly. Another denial formed on her lips, but then she nodded. I quickly cupped her jaw and kissed her. I kissed her again then French kissed her. Her tongue was ready and willing. Venus had no idea what to do with it. I inched back.

"Let your tongue follow mine. I won't bite," I soothed her. 

Her smile went from uncertain to aggressive. She wasn't Kuiko - Venus was unskilled but confident. She initiated the next kiss and took my advice. I had to break the embrace because I was not prepared for a tongue wrestling match.

"Next: French kissing is not a contest finished with a three count," I joked.

"You do know if you tell any of the girls about this I'll - I'll - I'll nipple twist Kuiko until she cries," Venus threatened. I was willing to bet the first idea in her mind was 'punch me'. She was not Kuiko, not Kuiko, not Kuiko...I spanked Venus' ass.

"No you don't," I challenged her. I was gaining solace in my mentorship and that let me wash myself clean of the corrosive toxicity that threatened my joy of life and take delight in Venus' body.

"You hit me," she smiled.

"I spanked you," I corrected, "and nipple punishment is my teaching technique. Find your own."

Venus snickered, tried to stare me down then relented with a kiss.

"Deal," she panted when the kiss broke once more. "I think I like being spanked." Oh, God.

I dodged our next connection, going for her jawline instead. Her hands fumbled to redirect me, but I slipped past her efforts to her neck. I lightly kissed my way down to her left nipple, tickled it with my tongue then nipped it with my teeth. Venus' hiccupped, her teat flared and her body spasmed. Her hands insistently held my head in place.

My hand drummed against her hip, giving her a gentle reminder of where the 'freaky' began for me. It took a few seconds, but Venus did relent, though she groaned as she did so. I switched to the right nipple, sucked the whole, half-dollar sized areola into my mouth then worried it briskly with my teeth while suckling like a starving infant.

I could feel her muscles ripple around me. She pushed her breast forward, doing with her chest what she couldn't do with her hands. Her arms were flexing, her fists clenching and unclenching, her calves and feet pushing up so she could tilt farther forward. Venus was hissing her extreme arousal through her grinding teeth.

My hand went straight to her pussy, my thumb hunted for her clit while two fingers slid straight into her cunt.

"Ai, ai, ai, ai," Venus chirped. She was nice, juicy, warm and ready to go. I kept this up for over a minute. 

Her clit, stubby but thick, came out to play and I began to tap on it like a telegraph signal.

"Oh, fuck me Israel," she pleaded. "If I've been good, stick it in me - if I've been bad, forgive me, but please, please fuck me. I don't want my first orgasm with you to be from your damn fingers."

"If that's what you want," I murmured to her with true affection. Venus was aggressive, but she didn't know what to do. Her hormones had to be racing. She couldn't order her thoughts through the storm clouds of her emotions. I was telling her that she was on the right course while she took control. I knew that would make Venus more comfortable and happy.

I leaned against the back of the shower. Venus put one foot on the quarter meter lip between the tile floor/lip and the glass door and wall. She pushed up, balanced her hand on the far wall and poised crotch on my stomach. I wedged my left hand between our bodies. I straightened up my dick and rubbed it back and forth over her twat before Venus trapped it in her slit and slid down.

It was easy for me to see women as leering, lustful villains wanting to take from me. That was not a far-fetched picture based on my experiences. I had let that caricature stop me from reaching out. It had stopped me from really seeing women for what they were - past their prejudice of my gender and their perceived place for me in their world view.

They were confident yet fearful, emotional and confused, practical dreamers and romantic pragmatists. The fascist proletariat - good one Capri. We were blessed by our differences, not divided by them - we complemented one another. Nature never intended for us to be at each other's throats until one or the other was dead or subjugated.

Crap - the Vanishers kept getting smarter and smarter in my estimations. If you reduced the equation down to raw survival all the extraneous shit went out the window - pure democracy. You couldn't emotional, or physically, wreck another member because the group needed everyone working at their best so that the group could survive.

The gender ratio would still favor the women, but even that was purely practical. It would take time to train the men to be equal contributors to the group. Men would have to earn the right to be considered an equal. This wasn't a carrot at the end of a stick. It was a goal with set mileposts and a graduation date. We would seize equality by our own efforts, free of doubt and the fear it could be taken away.

And some of us would end up being devoured by tigers, or chipmunks, or whatever other ravenous monsters roamed the Federation wilderness. Things weren't going to be easy.

"Oh Goddess," Venus moaned loud enough to be heard across the hall, "this is so much better." I image she meant 'better' than artificial aids.

She placed her palms against the wall on either side of my head, grinning triumphantly, while trying to leverage her hip gyrations with her limited mobility. I rested my hands on her ample, muscular ass cheeks - Kuiko's were smaller, but firmer. Venus' and Angel's were very much alike.

I took over Venus' revolutions, lifting her free of her footholds. 

I could tell she was mildly surprised at my strength. Since I buckled under so often, it was normal to see my social weakness mirrored in physical under-development. It was too easy for women to ignore the enforced workout regimen of men meant we were indeed tougher than we looked.

"Oh - shit-damn, that feels great," Venus purred as she added her thigh compressions to my lifting to keep control of her sensual stimulations. Debra had been nice, but it had been 'work'. I didn't want to think about Magdalena at that moment. Angel was love, Kuiko was fun and Venus was - easy. 

She was easy in that she knew what she wanted, and once I opened the portal and showed her the correct pathway, she gladly took the lead. True to her word, she was experimenting in the things she could do to bring me pleasure, but it was all her.

I could have sat back and made all the proper noises and she'd have been happy. I didn't cheat Venus. Once she had established her mistress-ness of the situation, I tuned up my own game. I began chewing on her breasts and teats, spanked her ass and played with her anus, kissed her with enough tongue to excite her sense of domination and bit her lips.

My ejaculating first caught me by surprise. Normally I was more in control. I attributed it to the blood transfusion earlier as well as a lack of sleep. 

"Oh my Goddess," Venus growled victoriously, "you came inside of me - you came." She struggled on with that sense of accomplishment for thirty more seconds.

"Ah - SHIT!" she screamed. Her vagina, while not super-tight, clamped down on my slowly deflated cock. Then the waterworks began, both top and bottom. Venus began sobbing tears of joy. Her vagina coated my balls with thick, creamy fluids. Her body shook through an intense orgasm for nearly half a minute before her forehead fell on my collarbone.

Slowly her head turned so that her mouth was puffing her breaths on my neck.

"When are we going to do this again?" she panted. There was a pause as I was putting my own mind back in order. "If you say next month, I'm going out there and paddling Aniqua's bottom. I've caught you sneaking peeks at it when you think no one is looking."

I was starting to think that I didn't need an Alpha female - I needed a God-damned referee. There was also another way to approach this, I discovered.

"When do you want to make love again, Venus?" I murmured playfully. I saw the pleasure in her eyes. That was more than she hoped for.

We hadn't graduated from mentor and student. It was wonderful seeing the dawning realization in her eyes. I wasn't going to be the problem - her female cohorts were. She'd 'won' me. She now had to face the wrath of her peers over that deed. Sure, she could say 'let's do it at lunch', but then she'd have to face down the other six women.

With that came the understanding that Angel and Kuiko had convinced me to be available too. Monogamy wasn't going to happen so she would have to work it out with the other women. This was a totally different outcome than she'd expected. Having the upper hand in our relationship was a bitch.

She couldn't even be angry with me because this was what she wanted. Welcome to equality. I could refuse to choose. There was no longer a power structure that required me to do anything sexual so I could freely concede the initiative to the ladies without giving up a thing.

"Are you smarter than Capri?" Venus studied me, face to face and eye to eye.

"Please Goddess, tell me you are the smartest person I know," she teased me. "Please tell me you are smarter than that red-haired witch, because if she can trick me as easily as you just did, I'm never going to live it down."

"Venus, I am happy to be with you here, right now," I replied. "That's all that matters to me."

Venus kissed me deeply, pulled back and gave me several slow pecks on the nose and lips.

"That was very sweet of you to say," she purred. She gave me another passionate French kiss.

"You aren't going to answer my question, are you?" she glared.

"Not in this lifetime," I grinned.

We cleaned up and exited the shower. Venus gathered up her torn shirt, shorts, bra and underwear. I reached out and took her hand.

"We can dress in the bedroom if you prefer," I offered. She looked like she was about to fall over. Venus had considered Kuiko's review to be so much hysterical tripe...until now.

It wasn't the sex. I really thought she liked it. It was a simple, adolescent romantic gesture - the holding of hands. It wasn't sex, it was affection - and effortless gesture that said 'I like you' and there was not enough of that going around these days. Venus blushed slightly.

"Sure," she tried to sound nonchalant. 

She was going to a boy's bedroom and she was NOT going to have sex. The possibilities expanded in her mind. 'He cared - he really cared'. Sure, I also cared for some other girls, but now, for the first time, she was on the inside looking out. She had a guy who WANTED her, and that was a magical thought all on its own.

For a poor working girl like Venus, this had been a cruel dream dangled just out of reach. She was attractive, played baseball and had steady work, but she knew in her heart she wasn't marriage material. Men married up. Whatever man she might get was destined to leave her, not matter how hard she tried.

When she first came at me, is was as a She-Wolf, trying to get one good bite, one taste, before I departed for greener pastures. Against pre-ordained fate, she was here, at my side, her partner and mate. She could nuzzle up against me (cautiously) and expect gentle contact in return. Sex isn't slamming a cock into a vagina - that's rutting and all mammals do it. 




One in Ten Ch. 09



Sex is contact and connection. Sex is sensual as in utilizing all your senses to comprehend the pace your partner is setting. It flows both ways as you give and take, act and respond. They told women this stuff in romance novels. They also teach it to broken men in therapy so we won't be afraid to give again. Venus had this now - a romance with a broken man.

"No peeking," I admonished her as I began getting dressed. For a moment she almost laughed at me. We'd made love only a minute ago. Then she felt my frontiers closing in, rolled over and buried her face in my pillow (Angel's actually). I hadn't asked her to leave and she honored my request. We were both making steps forward.

"Finished," I informed her when I was done. Venus rolled over and stared at my ceiling.

"Oh Goddess, I'm getting to be as bad as Kuiko," she moaned. She noticed my confused expression. "We caught her back in your bedroom, humping your pillow last night, making these cute little whimpering sounds," she enlightened me.

I would have been really weirded out if it had been one of the other girls. I was still a little weirded out though because - well - I had put my head on that pillow last night. Couldn't someone have warned me? Maybe this was their revenge for me not coming straight home.

"I'll go change clothes in Capri's room," Venus said as she hopped out of bed. "You can watch if you like," she added with a sexy hip-bump.

I opened the door for her. As she stepped out, I responded.

"If I do that, we might end up having sex again," I warned Venus.

"NO!" screamed Capri from the living room. "And have less impressive sex, Jerk!" Venus looked decidedly miffed in Capri's direction. I thought miffed because the alternative was murderous.

I made my way to the kitchen and breakfast...someone had bought me/us food - a 'filled all my cabinet space' amount of food.

"Thanks, Capri," I called out.

"I swear it looked like all you ate was gruel and those loathsome power-shakes," she answered.

"I didn't get my curvaceous body by eating healthy, damn it," she added.

"Actually, you look a bit out of shape," Kuiko noted. Capri pulled out her stun gun.

"Don't make me spark up your little ass," Capri grumbled. Did every freaking sound carry to every corner of my abode? Seriously? I stepped out with my bowl of milky granola. 

Kuiko looked my way and grinned.

"This little ass?" she giggled. She turned facing away from me and slowly bent a quarter over. Capri's stun gun crackled again. "This little ass?" Kuiko repeated but this time she bunny hopped, in reverse, toward me. A smile over her shoulder and another bunny hop.

"That's it!" Capri shouted and lunged, stun gun in hand, toward Kuiko. Fortunately, Aniqua intercepted Capri and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her back.

"Slow down, Red," Aniqua pleaded. "I need her so I can make rent." Kuiko wiggled her cute, tight little posterior at me. Capri almost broke free.

I had a sneaking suspicion I was contagious. I was making people around me crazy. It could also have been the close confines and high stress from knowing the world was about to end. Maybe I was getting better and realizing that not everything was my fault, or within my ability to fix. I also realized that Angel and Roni were still not back.

Thankfully, Kuiko backed down - the other way. Capri took a shower and dressed. She had eaten breakfast while Venus and I were otherwise occupied. Venus came out to the expectant stares of the other three women.

"How was it?" Samantha inquired. "Did you enjoy yourself? Did he enjoy you?"

"It wasn't bad," Venus shrugged.

"I'm about to beat you back into the Stone Age, Bitch," Aniqua growled playfully. "Spank my ass, will you? Besides, it isn't like I mind him checking me out, but did you have to tell him we all knew he was doing it?"

As noted on my first day in my condo - this place was built like crap. The only damn thing that seemed to work was the water heater. That worked like gangbusters. Otherwise, the walls were way too thin, yet somehow offered great acoustics. Wait, the windows appeared to work well. I guessed I'd have a better chance of running through a wall into the next condo than jumping out my window.

Of course, that meant people could get at me by punching through the walls. That would make my walls marginally less effective than my door's security system. In my short history here, it did a better job at keeping out those I wanted in than hindering those I wanted to keep out. This retrospection was costing me more sanity than I could afford to lose at the moment, so I stopped it and went back to eating.

Kuiko and Aniqua were leaving with us today. Kuiko wanted to talk to 'her guy' who turned out, according to Aniqua, to be a 67 year old ex-Navy veteran co-worker. Despite our disbelief in Kuiko's enthusiasm, Aniqua believed there was something to this relic. She suspected he got cigarettes from somewhere and drank more than a 'skittish whore' - Aniqua's words.

How in the hell that old geezer was passing his physical was a mystery solved by Kuiko - he was banging his doctor on a regular basis. It seems he was in perfect working order despite his plethora of bad habits. Why hadn't he had sex with Aniqua or Kuiko? His words - 'I go to work to get away from those sex-starved bitches'. He only banged college girls (and his doctor...whom he knew from her college days).

My life became dependent on non-communication, miscommunications and lies...and I was totally ignorant of the facts so crucial to my survival. Outside was a strong, steady downpour and we were expecting rain, on and off, until mid-afternoon. Capri relied on a rain hat instead of an umbrella so I stooped down to give her some shelter under my device.

Kuiko and Aniqua waved goodbye under their umbrellas as we parted company - they were taking the bus. Had I seen or heard the helicopters, I would have worried. The visibility was low and the sound of the storm dominated the air, so I didn't and was momentarily okay. Something else I didn't know - someone was tracking heat signatures.

Kuiko and Aniqua were one group, Capri and I another, and lastly, and more important to the viewers, there were two head signatures in my condo - Venus and Samantha. They didn't have to be at work until nine. Capri and I were across the street and nearly a block away when we heard the small convoy screech to a halt in front of my complex.

There was some sort of 'armored' vehicle with a turret and gun. Two others were those light transports called jeeps and hummers in various incarnations. The final two vehicles were like the first one, but with a smaller gun and a lower profile. Those two were also disgorging troops who were now running into my building.

There was another fissure in our old reality.

I must have had a look of anguish on my face. Venus and Samantha were in danger and I was powerless. Capri kept a painfully tight hold on my arm. There were three women right behind us. They were also looking over their shoulders as the drama unfolded. They turned and looked at me, recognizing my face. They rushed forward, I was gripped with fear.

Inside one meter, they slowed and closed ranks. They were shielding me from the view of the convoy - standing between me and danger. As we passed through the intersection between us and the metro, we heard a low 'pop' followed a second later by another. What I didn't know at the moment was that they had blown my door then tossed a stun grenade in the room.

They'd blown the door for the same reason they hadn't accessed my internal security footage - they were doing something illegal. There was no State of Emergency, or Martial Law. No Federation agency had called the Army Rangers in to assist. Nope, the Minister of Defense had decided that I would be 'safest' in her custody.

You really couldn't blame the Rangers. She was the freaking Defense Minister. The average trooper assumed she was acting responsibly and within the law. At the core of this disaster was the big, honking unit the Armed Forced had that studied all kinds of chemical and biological threats. They had reached three conclusions.

The T2 was going to effectively wipe out mankind.

The T1I1 was the best bet to keep a few thousand SELECT individuals alive.

The sole known source of the T1I1 antivirus was strolling around the city in danger of ending all sentient life on Earth by way of any number of fatal urban tragedies.

Upon reading that report, the Defense Minister's response should have been foreseen. 'Fuck the Ministry of Justice and their slavish devotion to the Constitution - I want to live.' She still wanted to remain Defense Minister so she had to do this carefully. A few Rangers, backed up with some helicopter support, were going to make a quick raid into the southern suburbs, grab Mr. Jensen then roll back out before anyone was the wiser.

For the Ranger lieutenant in charge of this part of the raid, this was a real problem. She had swept Mr. Jensen's apartment, but neither of the 'bodies' were Jensen, or even cooperative. The Minister of Defense, conferenced into this fiasco, was furious - these were some of her best, Goddess-damned troops and they'd taken a corner kick to the tits and let the ball bounce into the goal.

'Wait, weren't there two other clusters of heat signatures?'

'Yes, one was boarding a bus and the other was entering the - subterranean - metro station.'

About this time the Ranger lieutenant and her Captain were becoming truly curious as to why no one was accessing the city's top notch security system and simply telling the unit where their target was.

New plan - the land column was going to stop and search the bus. The Captain, with the other two squads of the Ranger Platoon, were going to repel down to the metro entrance and search for him there. The Captain had a suggestion.

"Ma'am, there is a Metropolitan police cruiser pulling up right now. Why don't we ask them to help?"

"Go in there and get him!" the DM growled.

"Madam Minister," the Captain protested. "I think this is a really, really bad idea." The Captain knew the DM was former military. She'd been a fighter pilot. The Captain also knew the woman had zero experience with special operations and urban warfare.

"Do I need to relieve you of your command?" the DM seethed.

"No, Ma'am," the Captain ground out.

The Captain had to think about her women, if she was even acting legally anymore, and if there was any way to accomplish her mission that didn't involve a firefight in a crowded metro station.

"Shoulder arms," she commanded. This was going to be fun in the same way getting the inside of your eyelashes tattooed was fun. "We locate the target, put a perimeter around him then extract him from the situation." The Captain was a Buddhist and she was really starting to worry about karma. 

Even as her helicopters raced for the metro, the operation was hitting a serious snag. As the land column began to pull out, a car sped up to them, crossed 'traffic' and swerved to block their progress. The Ranger on the .50 swivel mount covered them. The driver and passenger of the car stepped out, holding up their badges.

"FBI - Gender Investigative Unit. Who is in charge here?" Special Agent Fraklos called out. The Lieutenant informed her command chain of the current events as she dismounted and headed to the now-soaked FBI agents. Fraklos was coming to meet her.

"Get out of there," the Defense Minister demanded. The Lieutenant stopped.

"What? You can't be serious," she sounded confused and exasperated. "I have two FBI agents right in front of me."

"You have the guns - get out of there and return to your forward base," the DM clarified. The Ranger Lieutenant had enough.

"Listen and listen good, Minister," she snapped. "I am not going to fire on authorized Federation agents without a God-damned (she was old school) good reason. Nor am I going to engage in a high speed flight from justice. Ma'am, I suggest you get your shit together before you issue anymore senseless orders. Kilo-6 out." That done, she stepped up to the agent, saluted and started trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

After the women I barely knew shielded me from scrutiny, we made our way down into the metro. Lots of women...and Kenny and Luanga...and three guys I didn't know. Unlike, me, Kenny and Luanga, these guys looked tough. They were all over six feet and 225 lbs. They also had dowels. Following this sign of the coming Apocalypse, a fourth man appeared.

He was pretty average looking. I could tell he was better off than most of the other commuters which left me a bit more curious than fearful of his approach.

"Hello, Mr. Jensen," he began. I offered and I shook his hand. "I'd like your help." That was new - a man asking me for help.

"What - oh, his is my friend and lawyer, Capri O'Hara. These two gluttons for punishment are Luanga and Kenny." I looked to the other three newcomers. "I haven't met these three yet."

They introduced themselves as Rashid, Quinn and Tone. Tone had decided that our (men's) problem yesterday was that we hadn't been in large enough groups to make a true difference.

The women vastly outnumbered us, but we outnumbered the cops - especially in localized skirmishes like this. They knew I'd be here and that trouble would follow. They promised not to start something but they also promised to not back down.

"Mr. Jensen, I'm Doyle Crane and I've created a blog covering our struggle - the one you started," he smiled. "It is called 'The Final Word'."

"Call me Israel, and I didn't start this. The second women decided we're somehow less than them, this was inevitable," I countered.

"Glad to see you aren't a demagogue," Doyle chuckled. "Something tons of my readers want to know is why did you save that cop then copulate with her."

"When do you think the Feds will shut you down?" Capri interrupted. I was pleased to see that Doyle didn't seem to mind.

"Soon, I think," he shrugged. "I have a Computer Technology from Lakeview Community College. I'm going to try to keep it up as long as possible. I have to do something."

"Cops," Quinn grumbled. Sure enough, the same two officers from yesterday were coming our way.

"Her name is Freya Passey," I answered Doyle. "She has a three month old son who doesn't have the Gender Plague yet. The antiviral in my blood and semen provides immunity."

"You are trying to save lives...nice," Doyle nodded.

"Alright - the same crowd plus some," Cop One remarked. "You know the drill. Hand over the dowels and open your coats and containers."

"No," Tone glared. I echoed that 'no' a half-second later.

"I guess we arrest you then," Cop Two sighed.

"What for?" Capri snapped.

"No," Tone kept glaring.

"We aren't doing anything wrong," Kenny added.

"If you want them, come get them," Rashid growled. Tradition clashed with mathematics. Before last night, forty years of experience told those two policewomen that we would fold despite outnumbering them. Today, it was distance, how quickly they could draw and shoot their tasers and how we would handle the violence.

The six men plus Capri WERE going to counter aggression with aggression. Even if they dropped the two biggest men, they would still be swarmed. Two on one wasn't good. Three on one would be desperate. The women in the metro looked completely willing to sit this round out. This morning, to these women, cops shaking men down for sticks seemed trivial.

"Is there a problem here?" a voice called out from the side. It was Debra, she had her hand in her purse and she was giving the cops a baleful look. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Capri was a known gender-traitor, but Debra? The sudden prospect of more and more women rallying to the side of men caused the two cops to retreat.

They called for back-up. They explained the problem - men not surrendering their dowels. Explanation? There was a mob of us - and some women too. Could they possibly proceed without aid? The two cops looked us over. Five more women had joined our defiant stand. 'No'. The cops were told to retire from the confrontation.

Every woman but Capri were smiling and viewing this as a great stride forward. They had recognized the plight of men and made a stand. They felt good about themselves. It took them a while to realize the men weren't jumping for joy. The cops had our faces and names. They'd come back for us later.

As our knot of resistance entered the metro a tremor moved through the crowd behind us. Two groups of troops in urban camouflage had entered the station and they were rushing to board the metro too.

Several people repeated the same refrain - 'Oh my God/Goddess, is that the Army?'

"Hey," Tone bumped me, "is there something you haven't told us?"

"Tone, I am such a lousy member of this society, I couldn't begin to tell you why they might be coming for me," I shrugged. Tone smiled at me in the same way a cop smiles at a man before the 'tuning up' begins. This was 'not good'. Ten soldiers piled into the rear/fifth car with me. Ten more made it into the first car.

Through the press of female bodies, I met Ambrosia's gaze. I could see the conflict. I'd rejected her. My women had threatened her. The odds of her coming out on top in this mess were small. She tapped Amelia and turned away. I almost missed the two taking out their stun guns. But I had so I noticed them gathering forces and moving to the fourth car to protect us from behind as well.

As Ambrosia's little group moved to the next car, the pressure behind me grew and I was swept forward. One soldier offered her knee for another to step on. That woman rose up, spotted me and the communication began over their little headsets under their helmets. The Rangers formed a wedge and worked forward. 

Our only option was to retreat to the fourth car, but that ran the risk of the group becoming separated. A mental haze was whirling through my ability to process the world correctly. I tried to move to the 'rear' of the group. Capri lost contact with me. We became a mess of women and men interspersed.

Tone was facing the oncoming soldiers. I tried to get to his side. Somehow I could fix this. A hand grasped my right upper arm in a vise-like grip. I tried to shrug it off with no luck. Looking behind me I saw a woman unknown to me. She was silent and grim, of Mexican heritage, with a compact, five foot-nine body.

I failed to pull free on my second attempt.

"Fall back," the woman hissed. At the same time, we noticed Tone push his jacket aside as his right hand reached behind him and pull forth an automatic pistol. The leader of the soldiers pushed the last woman aside. Tone pointed the gun at her face, point-blank.

"No!" I shouted. There were gasps and cries of alarm. A man had a gun which equated to a man had lost his mind and gone homicidal in the feminine mind. The soldiers froze. It wasn't panic; they were professionals and opening fire in a crowded commuter car was abhorrent to them. Tone was furious. The woman, a Captain it appeared, was coolly taking in the situation.

"Tone, if you came all this way just so you could act like a woman, get off my damn train," I declared in a voice that was blessedly calm and steady. No one flinched. I reached out with my left hand and placed it gently on Tone's pistol. The Captain realized that I'd placed my pinkie finger between the hammer and chamber - now I had to thank Flame. Tone didn't seem to get it.

"You were soft on that cop," Tone grumbled.

"Wrong, I was true to myself, Tone," I replied. "Women shoot us when we are defenseless. They treat us like we were worthless - like our lives have no value beyond a cock and ball set. Is that what you want to be like?"

There was a false stillness. I couldn't concentrate on the task at hand and take in all the turmoil boiling around me at the same time.




One in Ten Ch. 09



"Huh?" Tone stole a look my way. The stars were aligned properly. The Captain didn't rush in.

"Do you even know this woman? If you want to shoot her solely because she's a woman, you are as bad as every cop who shook you down," I explained. 

"She's not threatening you. She's doing her job, that's all. She's - an equal - a human being," I continued. "If you are going to kill her because she has tits then what are any of us fighting for? How can we expect dignity if we don't extend it? Put the gun away and prove to every woman here that they need to be more like us - like you, please."

Tone tilted the gun up until it was pointed at the ceiling. I withdrew my hand, he lowered it and put it behind his back once more and everyone drew a collective breath.

"Very well done, Mr. Jensen. Now come with us," the Captain said.

"No," I responded.

"After all that, you are going to make me detain you by force?" she grinned in a non-condescending way.

"That won't be necessary..." I got out.

"Because he has a lawyer," Capri finally managed to wiggle in front of me.

"Morning Jarhead; does the Posse Comitatus Act mean anything to you?" Capri snarled. "You are currently tap-dancing over the Supreme Court as we speak. Bitch, you aren't getting demoted, you are going to prison." The Captain regarded Capri.

"Jarheads are Marines. We are Rangers," she corrected my legal counsel. "We are operating under an executive order directing us to seize and detain Israel Jensen."

"Rocket Rangers, Girl Scouts, or Brownies - I don't give a fuck," Capri sneered. "Until I hear something resembling a declaration of Martial Law if you lay a hand on Mr. Jensen, I will have all of you arrested."

"Really?" the Captain scoffed.

"I'm with the Public Defender's office, Sweet Cheeks," Capri gave a feral glare. Technically, this wasn't a lie. She had not been officially fired yet. "I am an officer of the Court. I will deputize everyone on this metro and have them use whatever means necessary to subdue and detain you and your fellow Green Pixie Faeries."

Two things were crucial to this scenario. One was that Capri was the greatest litigator of her generation, or the best poker player. The other factor was that the Captain was NOT a lawyer, or even a student of the law. Though the lawyer's argument sounded far-fetched, Capri was absolutely convincing. Stacked with that was the Captain getting a really hinky feeling about this whole mission.

"There is still the matter of the man with a handgun," the Captain pointed out.

"What gun?" Capri instantly replied. The Captain decided the best course of action was for her squads to fall back to the doors and exit at the next stop. As soon as the Rangers retired, Capri turned on Tone. Considering that we were pressed tightly together and he had over a foot on her, Capri had to stare straight up.

"You are an idiot," she snapped. "Did it occur to you that there were nine women behind her in body armor with assault rifles who would have shot the hell out of all of us had you killed their officer? Did you think at all, or do you suffer from testosterone poisoning of the brain?"

"Bitch," he grumbled, "I still have a gun."

"Please Tone, don't make me kill you," I sighed.

"I have a gun for you too," he tried to stare me down. I laughed.

"There is a professional killer within five meters of me that will not hesitate ending your life," I explained. "You will never see it coming." That Mexican woman had to be a Vanisher.

I could tell Tone was trying to figure out who it was. I wasn't giving any visual clues. I kept looking at him.

"You are with the women," he sneered.

"Duh," I replied. "Haven't you been listening? I don't make friends based on gender, or profession. Doing so would make me a dick, and not in a good way."

I looked around and realized that I had imparted a certain level of understanding to both the men and women with my words. They understood that I was a nut - except Capri and Doyle. Doyle had captured the entire encounter and speech on video. Capri already knew I was a nut but believed in me anyway.

"What about the Arena?" Quinn asked. "They slaughtered us. We have to do something."

"Okay - what?" I looked at him. "Are we going to kill one for every one of ours they killed? Why don't we make it two to one - better yet, five to one? How much is going to be enough?"

"We have to do something," Kenny complained.

"Not a damned thing we do, Kenny, will bring any of the dead back to life," I pleaded. "There is nothing we can do for them. If we take revenge it is because we want to hurt women and no better reason. We all know women who deserve to have their asses kicked. That's not important because nothing changed last night." Now they were sure I was bonkers.

"Yesterday morning they treated us exactly the way they have for forty years. Last night 936 men and 178 policewomen died in under thirty minutes. The fundamental situation did NOT change for us men. They are treating us the exact same way today," I continued.

"They didn't take our dowels today," Luanga countered.

"True, but irrelevant. They shouldn't have asked for them in the first place. To have changed, the cops shouldn't have even showed up," I explained. "To have really mattered, none of the women in the metro should have even called the police on seven peacefully assembled citizens. Women continue to treat us as second class citizens, except now many more men realize it."

"Wow," Doyle laughed after an extended period of silence. "You are not out to make many friends, that's for sure."

"Around the age of five we figure out we can lie to our mothers and get away with it. From that point on, dodging responsibility becomes an accepted approach to life," I answered.

"After that, it is easy to see nothing as your fault. You can ignore almost any injustice around you because it isn't you, you can't make a difference, or isn't that someone else's job? We were all so afraid of dying, men accepted subjugation and women accepted subjugating us to be the only option. Now we will reap what we've sown," I sighed. 

"You could all do worse than treating the next few days as if they were your last," I begged. I didn't want to tell the whole truth yet. They wouldn't believe me yet - that was coming. At the next stop the Ranger departed. With that done, I had one other chore to attend. I went to the fourth car and wiggled through the crowd to Ambrosia.

"Thank you," I said. Her look was not that of a happy camper.

"Does any of this make a difference?" she asked.

"It does to me," I nodded.

"What are you doing tonight?" she hinted.

"Sorry, but this is it for me - my last ride," I confessed. "After this morning, I'm gone one way or another. I am glad my last image of you won't be one of fear." It was all I could offer.

"I wouldn't have hurt you," she grumbled. She didn't get it, even now.

"Would you have taken 'no' for an answer? Would you have let me go to the rally?" I countered.

She was kind enough not to lie to me and I was conscious enough of her warring emotions to retire after a moment's silence. When I made it back to my knot of men and Capri, I expected to get some shit for my sojourn. They looked at me with concern.

"What?" I inquired.

"Hold out your hand," Capri directed me. I did so. My hand was shaking like a leaf in a gale.

"You look like you are about to keel over," Capri informed me. "Please accept the fact that you are saving people. I don't know why you want to get beaten, battered and killed, but stop it. We need you - as sane as you can be and alive." Those words were accentuated by the tears welling up in Capri's eyes.

Paraphrasing an old saying: my desires were writing checks my body and soul could not cash.

"You would think after all the crap I've heard you went through, you would want payback more than any of us," Tone gruffly stated.

"I do and I did," I met his gaze. "Last night, I saved one of us and I saved his mother too."

"When I do that, Tone, I'm spitting in all their faces because they didn't break me," I declared. "I am a good person and I won't let any woman take that away. I don't need to beat some woman in the face because I know I'm better than that. I'll pop one in the head to remind them to give me some respect. We deserve respect. You cannot take that with the barrel of a gun."

"That's fear and that's what they've been doing to us for way too long - and it clearly hasn't worked," I grinned. "We are here, proving that point. We are not afraid anymore. We will not bow down ever again." Tone stared at me for a few seconds then nodded.

"I'm still angry," he grinned.

"Brother, you would have to be crazy not to be angry," I sighed, but in a positive way. "We've been beaten down, degraded, ignored and lied to. If all you have is anger, then all you have is what they've given you since you were born. The trick is dropping all their crap and being who you are supposed to be."

"How do we figure out what that is?" Quinn mused.

"Pole Dancer!" one girl close by blurted out. We all slowly turned and stared at her, even the women. "Hey, he's kinda good looking and I like meaty men."

The world cracked a tiny bit more.

"You first," Quinn challenged her. He crossed his arms and looked at her sternly.

"What?" she gulped.

"You pole dance for me first and then I'll see if I want to pole dance for you," Quinn announced.

"I - ah," she stammered. "I don't think I could do that." There were a multitude of things Quinn could have said, many of them harsh and confrontational. Instead...

"Pity," he smiled at her. "You are kinda cute. I like the short feisty ones." She was embarrassed yet smiling. That little exchange was the highlight of our ride. A man and a woman - strangers - had played. A few sentences, a few words, but they'd experienced a playful exchange. In my heart, I prayed they walked away enjoying that moment and exploring the possibilities of such a thing.

We exited at the Downtown Central Hub. The seven of us made our way upstairs to the edge of the downpour.

"Excuse me," the 'pole dancer' woman called out. She approached Quinn. "Can I scan you?" she murmured. She didn't need to ask; the law was on her side.

"So...maybe, you know, we can talk later," she mumbled. We were all blinking in surprise.

"Sure. I'd like that," Quinn smiled back at her. He held out his bracelet, she scanned his ID and off she went. "Shit, man," Quinn shook his head after she was gone. "I don't know what to make of that."

"That's what we are fighting for," I answered softly. "We want to be asked. We want to be able to say 'no'...or 'yes' if we like."

"Eh, we are all still going to get arrested," Kenny groaned.

"Not likely," I shook my head. "All you guys need to get the hell out of town - like before noon if you can."

"Are we, or are we not, worried about getting arrested?" Tone inquired.

"Something much worse than arrest warrants is coming down the pipeline and you don't want to be in a populated area when it hits," I cautioned them. "The rest will come out soon enough."

"Hmmm..." Quinn mulled over the situation. He rolled up his jacket collar and took off into the rain...after that woman.

"Israel, you are annoying as crap, but take care, Brother," he hugged me. I was still freaked out. I was pretty sure a man had never hugged me before. I fended off the others with handshakes and then it was only Doyle, Capri and me.

"Off to the Sentinel?" Capri asked.

"I have to stop by City Hall," I replied. Capri was glaring at me venomously. "I need to say good-bye to Francesca," I explained. Capri gave a deep sigh then nodded. As we approached that imposing structure that had launched my fall from sanity, I used Capri's phone to call Francesca. It took a few seconds.

I could envision her looking at the number and the caller ID and wondering who the hell Capri O'Hara was.

"Ms. O'Hara - Israel?" she answered.

"It's me. I'm outside and I don't think coming in to the office today would be wise. Can you come out and talk to me?" I pleaded.

"Considering the wreckage you made of the administration Monday and yesterday, and the tragedy of last night - we are swamped with work," she sighed. "But, for you, who has made my life SO interesting, I'll be right out." She hung up and the three of us waited in the rain. I didn't even dare stand in the outdoor entryway to get out of the rain, such was my popularity.

Doyle Crane cut through the silence.

"So what's going on at the Sentinel this morning?" There were a great many things I could have said, should have said, but somehow my tongue ended up talking and my brain sat on the sidelines.

"I make this shit up as I go along," I grinned. Doyle waited for the punch line.

"Mr. Crane, you do realize Israel isn't doing a 'crazy act'; he really is insane," Capri told him. Apparently that possibility had not occurred to Doyle.

"How has he avoided the GED for so long?" he whispered.

"I run real fast," I confided.

"He has the very best lawyer, his girlfriend is a cop and he has the sexual prowess of Eros, Greek God of Female Transcendence," Capri explained things far better than me.

"How about I say he's insanely lucky?" Doyle offered.

"Works for me," I sighed.

"Israel?" Francesca called out softly. It was almost drowned out in the rain. I moved inside the covered area because she hadn't brought an umbrella. She reached out, cupped my jaw in both her hands and kissed me on the cheek.

"Time has not made you wiser," my former boss chided me. "Thanks for getting all of us our jobs back. Bethany seems to have disappeared though."

"Don't look at me," I chuckled. "I am done with her and moved on. I came because I need a favor."

I pulled Francesca tightly to me so that my lips were beside her left ear. Her arms spread around my waist and hugged me.

"Francesca, get out of town - right now. Something bad is coming and you need to be as far from any populated area as possible. Grab some food, clothes and stuff and make a run for it," I whispered.

"If you tell me where you might be, I'll try to catch up with you if I can," I promised.

"I have a cousin who owns a place outside Cody, Wyoming. I'll go there," she whispered back. Security cameras watched the area but our heads were obscured by my umbrella and the rain hopefully would mask our quiet words. "She's a Silverhorn as well."

"I have to go, Francesca. I hear there are some Inuit who aren't howling for my head yet and you know I can't stand that," I joked. I was off to battle and she knew it. She gave me one more good squeeze.

"Remember you don't have to do all the fighting by yourself," she smiled sadly.

"Despite my best efforts I've made a friend, or two," I grinned.

"Like that Ms. Sano," Francesca teased me.

"Ugh," I lowered my head in shame.

"Israel," she put a finger beneath my chin and tilted my head up, "never be ashamed of giving anything your best effort." 

There was a pause. "I won't stand for it, you hear? Now go. I have to go walk on water for a few more minutes as civilization comes crashing down." I had already said good-bye in my own way - until we meet again, hopefully - so there was nothing more I could say that would have added any meaning.

At the Sentinel Eloise gave me the plan for the day. Doyle was in the 'bull pen' with the other journalists. The President of the Federation was going to make a personal appeal for me to join the National Government in dealing with this crisis. In case I was feeling 'uppity', there was going to be a special taskforce of the FBI around to make me behave.

"Do you know who is in charge of this Watch Dog group?" I inquired.

"Some hot shot out of the Capital named Enola Treyvon," Eloise studied me. "I think you've met her." How did Eloise know all this shit?

"Yeah, we've met. She opted not to keep me in custody at the time," I replied in the least informative way I could think of.

"There has to be a story in there somewhere," Eloise pressed.

"Which you are not going to get," Capri intervened. "Did you miss Israel nearly getting killed in the shootout yesterday with your favorite mobster and the cops?"

"Since neither you, nor Mr. Jensen were questioned, I would discern you both made it out before things got too bad," Ms. Granger smirked.

"So, are you going to GNN this morning, Israel?" Eloise turned to me.

"Sure, why not?" I shrugged.

"What's your exit strategy this time? I don't think 'running down the stairs' will work out all that way with the FBI standing around waiting for you," she prodded.

How in the hell was I going to get out? Dimples would give me a head start, but what then? I needed something - a big distraction - that didn't involve people dying.

'Never be ashamed...of my best...efforts?'

The chaos that had haunted my life had me leaving multiple things undone - like laundry, and the Sexbook account Troy Berry had created for me.

Flash mobs had expired during the Gender Plague. A generation later, women rediscovered the spontaneity/activism of their parent(s). I had never participated in one. I had been invited to a few, but anything associated with women and the word 'mob' was a nonstarter for me. This morning, I was relying on a piece of social media I'd never used to do something I had avoided like death itself.

Here was hoping I still had fans.

I had to borrow Capri's tablet and off I went. I had over 32,000 'friends'. There were 1,754 unanswered requests.

"Israel?" Capri asked gently. Both she and Eloise looked over my shoulder.

"Wow, you are a rock star," Eloise mused.

"I didn't know Sexbook had a Fan Fiction page," Capri noted. I was back to wanting to die of embarrassment. I didn't deserve this, as in I wasn't worthy of this level of attention.

"What's the plan?" Eloise prodded.

I began referencing locations and ages of my 'friends', created a list and launched my appeal.

*I am the real Israel Jensen. I'm not promising anyone any sexual favors whatsoever. The last 48 hours have been a mess and I've done things you must all view as questionable. I regret only that I cannot do more for more people.

I have always been drawn to passion and I've been lucky to share that love with several women close to me. I am sick to my soul that I let my wounds keep me from the thing that turns out to have healed me the most. I owe Angel and Kuiko, whom you may know, and Freya and Venus whom you do not. Debra, I apologize I couldn't be more. M...

In an hour, I am about to do what I've done every other morning this week - something colossally stupid and definitely something that is going to piss people off. This is going to be my last hurrah - for some time, if not forever. Odds are I'm going to end up in either Metropolitan or Federation custody. I'm going to make a run for it anyway.

That's where all of you come in. I need your help. I have nothing to offer in return. If any of you are crazy enough to help, gather in front of the GNN building at 8:15 this morning. If you don't show up, never be afraid to say you had a chance to do something asinine and pointless then wised up in time. May whatever face of the Divine gives you comfort be with you.

Israel Jensen*

I was hoping to hear something in ten minutes, or so. I had barely handed the tablet back when a message popped up.

*What is your favorite color?* GoldenDoe34 sent. Huh?

*Kelly Green. My Mother had a recreation battle flag of the Irish Brigade in our living room at home* I answered.

*That's not what your page says* she pressed.

*That's because Troy Berry set up the page without consulting me* I replied.

*Where did you and Venus have sex?* PandorSweets sent.

*I'm not sure I should say. That was between us* I countered.





One in Ten Ch. 10



Your mind is your arsenal, fortress, and armory. Your words are potential weapons you give to your enemies to assault the citadel of your soul.

To PokingFun and Talenwolf for the editing help. Also, for all those who helped with the creative process of this story. My weary mind cannot put a name to you all. We share a darkness, a confusion with the injustices in society and struggle to make sense of our lives in all of this mess. Keep going. It is all we can do.

*****

To give credit where credit is due, the President's eyes barely flickered off-camera. You had to be looking for it. Off screen, some woman, phone in hand, was starting to run down the information leak I'd just used to urinate on the President's hopes and dreams. The Leading Lady was no slouch in the debate forum.

It took her about a second to unleash her inner attack dogs. The vector was formulaic - destroy your opponent's credibility by exploiting their vulnerabilities. She got high marks for information, education and experience but you don't get to be President because you take risks, or are imaginative. Voters don't like people in charge who have 'new' ideas. That's scary.

My most glaring weakness was my sanity, or lack thereof. An attack on it was obvious and the weapon was my history. Me having been sexually traumatized in the past was maternally endearing if you were a Mother and I was your 20 year old daughter's date she'd brought home. For a man acting as the harbinger of a pandemic, it was most likely fatal for my message.

"Mr. Jensen - Israel, I was afraid this might happen - that the accumulated stress that has been inflicted on you has unhinged your mind. I am so sorry," she played the Great Mother so well, "I am fearful that such a public appeal would be too stressful to your fragile mind. Trust me, I understand. You have been brutalized repeatedly in your life and none of it has been your fault."

"I beg you to find that thread of human decency that reaches back to the boy you once were, and break free of the vengeance-filled, trapped and battered young man you have become. Women have wronged you. The multitude of womankind have not. Find it in your heart to break free from your chains of madness and let us help you."

"Hold on, Madam President," I rallied, "are you implying that I've been raped, lost my mind, or both?" Come get some, Bitch. Make my case for me. By destroying my credibility, she was going to give me credibility. It was simply credibility that no one with political ambitions would want.

"It is too late in the day for evasions, Israel," she sighed. "When you were 16 you were kidnapped, raped and tortured. You went to..."

"Wait," I shouted. I turned to Capri, off camera, "how can she know that?" I wailed. No, I wasn't denying it and I was looking at Capri because, while my voice inflection was good due to my training in public speaking, I was afraid my acting wasn't up to par.

"Israel," the President kept coming.

"There is no record of me being raped," I interjected. "Who are you saying raped me?" I was hoping I sounded like a hysterical person trying not to sound hysterical. Capri later told me I did a good job - probably because I was terrified I would fail at this crucial moment.

"Israel, that's not the issue," she tried again.

"Yes it is," I insisted. "You can't accuse someone of being raped without proof, President Pillyere. That's immoral, and slander, I think." I had to put her on the defensive so she'd have to drop the kid gloves and really come at me. Please, please, please...

"Your tragedy shouldn't be exposed to public scrutiny, Israel," please, please, please; for all the needless cruelty I've suffered, let this once be something that helps me, "but you were kidnapped, raped and tortured by the Aurora Slasher for 87 days. That broke you as a man. With the help of women - some very skilled and devoted women - you recovered."

"Sadly, after you exited therapy, you were the victim of a truly barbaric act. You went to a Sorority Party and were viciously used as a sexual toy by the girls there," she poured on the sympathy. Barbaric was a nice touch...but I wasn't raped, I was used as a sex toy...at a party, according to the President, I'd gone to willingly. Well done.

"Saturday night, you fell into the clutches of a known underworld figure who inflicted all those bruises on your precious body we have all become familiar with. The Arena was a tragedy. You were beaten, lethally threatened yet still managed to save a life even though you were clearly falling to pieces on the inside," she added.

"Bravo!" I clapped. "Well done, Mrs. President. The problem is...Show of hands," I raised my hand. "Who here didn't know I was insane when I showed up today?" I looked over the studio. Virtually everyone, Mirabel included, raised their hands.

"Come on now, after Monday's career implosion and my plea to the police at the hospital last night, I am undoubtedly off my rocker. This doesn't mean my information is bad," I pointed out.

"Sure, I could be deluded, or you could be lying too. This is an easy bit of confusion to clear up. Why don't we contact the GNN affiliate in Shanghai? Or San Francisco? Have their journalists go to the relevant hospitals and observe how lethal this 'flu' outbreak is."

"You are causing needless and irresponsible panic, Mr. Jensen," the President firmly chastised me.

"Irresponsible? Perhaps, but I'm not paid to be responsible, you are and you are sucking at your job," I grinned. "Why? That's the 'needless' part. The people NEED to be told that you are letting a pandemic spread across the country so you can isolate a few key economic centers so that some shell of a country can persist that you can rule."

"That's pathetic if you are a woman, or man, considered vital as you are all going to die off in a few decades anyway, and truly suctacular if you aren't one of the Chosen Few. They are about to catch a disease that kills both men and women in seven days - the last four are really unpleasant, I can assure you," I told them.

"Mr. Jensen," the President snapped.

"Shut up!" I shouted back.

"Madam President, you will have your chance at a rebuttal in a moment," Mirabel jumped in.

"Thank you, Ms. Cartwright," I nodded.

"For everyone else, here is the puzzle of the day: Why am I here? We all know I'm a nut and a troublemaker and if you believe the President 'happened' to show up...well, stick your head back in the sand - you'll be happier, believe me. For the rest of you, please recall what Dr. Vasco said yesterday on GNN."

"My antivirals kill the T1. She proved it which surprised me as much as anyone else. What you probably don't know is that I did not develop these antivirals on my own. As the President just confirmed, I was kidnapped by the Aurora Slasher. She experimented on me with a variety of things. One of them was Carabolix-37."

"It was stored at St. Jerome's hospital, which records will confirm was the place where the Carabolix-37 live trails were performed. Twenty years ago, it killed or caused every man who was given the drug to have their nuts cut off. I am the only survivor and no one knows why, save the Slasher herself. Why don't I know?"

"The Aurora Slasher did many horrible things to me, a sixteen year old virgin boy. They were so bad that the therapist had to suppress many of those memories so that I could be functional in the eighteen month timeline they were given. 

Saturday night, along with spending a painful sexual encounter with said mobster and having my sexual liaison with the woman I love used as a marketing tool in the slave auction I was forced to participate in, Dr. Delilah Fremont, creator of Carabolix-37, woke up one of those memories. Yes, it was the torment of those resurfacing nightmares of being trapped in her cellar that broke me." 

"There it is. I admit it. I was driven insane when I was sixteen and I'm close to being that shattered husk once again. That doesn't change the fact that I was in that basement, I was experimented on with something that has made me immune to the Gender Plague, and it doesn't change the fact that a new, updated version of that Plague is coming to kill you all."

"The how and why of Carabolix not killing me may be locked up in my head somewhere. With it would be a way to allow men to create antivirals to counteract the Gender Plague and this new horror coming for us all. This is why the President is making her appeal to me now on world-wide video."

"This is not some ego-driven fantasy. Think about it. This 'gift' from the woman who destroyed my childhood is nothing but a curse. Rape survivors don't want the limelight, we want to hide. Last time we were 'noticed' something bad happened to us. I agree I have had an egregiously unlucky life," I was winding down.

"Yet, I have managed to find love and compassion at this late date, and with that, hope. That's all I can really pass on. Spend the next week giving a damn about a total stranger, tell the person you love how you feel and follow your heart. If I'm wrong, you've blown one week of your hopefully long lives. If I'm right - how else would you like to go out?" I finished.

"Madam President," Maribel passed the verbal baton.

"Mr. Jensen, you are a lunatic," the President sounded so full of concern and sympathy. I really had to hand it to her. She was about to screw me royally.

"Agreed," I nodded.

"Wait your turn, Israel," Maribel cautioned me.

"You have turned an unfortunate influenza outbreak into an epidemic only you can cure. How realistic is that?" my current aggressor kept chiseling away at me. "I'm trying to bring men into the pending gender issue and you are jumping off the Cliffs of Reason."

"Mrs. President," the neurologist from Texas interrupted, "we know he has the cure to the TI Gender virus, as he claimed on Monday. Can we at least find out the source of Mr. Jensen's information?"

"It comes from his imagination," the President was getting snappish. No more Christmases!!

"No, it comes from the Ministry of Security, Operations Section, as well as members of JSOC and certain satellite intelligence," I confessed. "The pertinent fact is not that I'm undeniably crazy. It is that your own administration has betrayed you, Madam President." BOOM! Take THAT!! It was no longer about my credibility or confidence - it was about hers.

The logical next step was to mock my access to anyone with their hands on such sensitive information. Except the military had made a grab at me an hour ago, it looked like her Attorney General had bungled the handling of the Jensen Investigation on Monday and her National Security Advisor had talked her into this public appeal fiasco this morning.

"Who told you these things?" she growled. "I want names." Even as those words poured out of her mouth she realized the enormity of her mistake. It was too late now. Her mental turmoil, brought about the disaster at the MAL rally, the on-coming plague, lack of sleep and her anxious efforts to save what she could, had eroded her poise enough to give me a ray of hope.

Whether you wanted to consider it irresponsible journalism, or a matter of the public having the right to choose, it was Maribel that landed the killing blow.

"Madam President," Maribel shot up from one of the elevated stools she, and I, were sitting on, "I have only this moment heard confirmation that there is going to be a quarantine that encompasses the San Francisco Bay Area in four hours. What is going on here?"

What was going on was a matter of human psychology and logistics. No one, not even the President, could simply order the cessation of all land, air and sea travel out of a location and have it happen instantly. You had to marshal forces, seize chokepoints and organize your internal resources for the crisis's to come - disease, hunger, lawlessness, and fear.

The last problem could be the biggest. When told that a horrific disease was breaking in your hometown, your instinct was 'I'm healthy, so I should get out while the getting is good'. It was a very human reaction. If you were trying to contain a contagion, this was very, very bad. This virus had a three day incubation period. 

People who felt perfectly healthy could be walking corpses and not know it. Sadly, none of this mattered to San Francisco. The infection had been spreading around the cities of the Bay Area for six days by this time. The path of the initial plague bearer was a nightmare. She'd been at the airport, as well as eating, shopping and clubbing for two days all over San Francisco.

As an act of kindness, the director of GNN San Francisco began informing the Emergency Managers of every city about to be affected that she had spilled the beans. By the time the listening audience made up their minds to tell their buddies before packing up and making for some means of egress, the wheels of the quarantine were rolling.

Rental cars were no longer available, trains and metros stopped running, and the ports, ferries and all airports, great and small, shut down. It was an imperfect containment, but it was something.

"This conversation is over," the President barked. "Who is in charge there?"

"Special Agent in Charge Enola Treyvon, Gender Investigative Unit, Federation Bureau of Investigation, Madam President," Dimples stepped forward, cloaked in an invincible aura of purity. "What are you orders?" Camera's panned to her and she came on-screen for the masses.

"Special Agent Treyvon, arrest that man," the President commanded.

"I can't do that, Madam President. He is not in violation of any Federation Law," Dimples replied.

"His bracelet is malfunctioning," our Fearless Leader pointed out.

"Noted and explained, Ma'am. It was disabled in a police action, by an authorized law enforcement agent striking him accidentally. He has informed the proper authorities and has an appointment to remedy the situation upon leaving this building," Enola answered.

"It happened last night," the slightly exasperated President continued.

"Ma'am, the offices were closed last night and don't open for another thirty minutes. What exactly was Mr. Jensen supposed to do?" Dimples was a cool, sedate calm.

"Just arrest him!" the President's patience was wearing thin.

"Well, Madam President, if you declare a State of National Emergency, I could do that right now," Dimples pointed out.

"So ordered," the President commanded. Clearly the woman was exhausted from a long sleepless night. She was definitely worn down, stressed and not at the top of her game.

"Could you please clarify," Dimples requested monotonously.

"I declare a State of National Emergency - now take him into custody," she barked.

"Thank you Madam President. Madam President, I am placing you under arrest - the charge is Treason," Dimples announced.

"WHAT?!?" the President shouted. "You can't do that."

"Yes Ma'am, I can. Page 37 of the Emergency Powers Act - Section 40 - paragraph 1: 'Any authorized federal law enforcement agent, or armed forces member directed to act in a law enforcement role may arrest and detain any public officer, or employee, deemed to be acting against the public welfare, and interest, for 72 hours without a legal hearing.'

"You really should have read what you just made into law, Madam ex-President," Dimples remained totally neutral and comported herself with astounding gravitas.

"I'm going to call your boss, the Attorney General, and settle this matter right now," the maybe ex-President threatened.

"Mrs. Pillyere (the Quebecois former President's last name)," SAC Treyvon mused, "if the AG takes that call, she will be charged, quite legally, with Conspiracy to Commit Treason. I imagine your popularity is going down the toilet right about now, so please be cooperative. As we speak, Ms. Montanyard, of the 10th Federation Legal District is sending an arrest warrant to the Minister of the Treasury, directing her to order the Secret Service Presidential Detail to take you into custody."

"Aren't you at least going to arrest Mr. Jensen?" the stunned ex-President mumbled.

"Why? He's been totally cooperative and up front with everything we've asked him to do - unlike you," Dimples lectured.

"But - the cure," our former leader pressed.

"He doesn't have access to a global, or even national cure. He never has. Besides, he's not a public officer, or official," Dimples pointed out. "He isn't required to do anything to help anyone. To force him to do so would be unconstitutional - the 14th Amendment says so."

"Wait, he's a member of the staff at City Hall, isn't he?" the ex-Pres. kept trying to tread water.

"The world would be a much tidier place if everyone would simply read the handbooks created for such situations," Dimple sighed. "Mr. Jensen is under a termination notice by the Civil Affairs Review Board which, I quote, 'removes all duties and responsibilities from said individual until the time of their termination review hearing'. 

"That is next Tuesday, if you are curious. To pre-empt your next suggestion, only Mr. Jensen can request a speedy hearing. The Civil Affairs department cannot request one because that violates his rights to mount a 'timely' defense," Enola remained outwardly detached. I didn't know this shit and I worked for the city.

A Grand Cosmic Law was being revealed to the world at large: Dimples wins. Dimples always wins. You see, there were only two outcomes possible. The President successfully resisted and the country descended into civil war because if the Chief Executive of the Nation was publically disobeying the law, why would anyone follow her? 

Or, the ex-President went to the FBI, squealed like a stuck pig and took down her entire cabinet for their complicity - including the Vice President - and the country was decapitated. By issuing the State of National Emergency, she'd silenced and neutered the Congress for 72 hours as well, so neither the Speaker of the Assembly nor the President Pro Tem of the Senate could legally take over the country. 

The Supreme Court was technically still intact, but what in the hell were they going to do? They had no enforcement powers and the government bureaucracy was running on autopilot. In theory, authority devolved down to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. More likely, it was in the hands of the Regional Military Commanders. 

On paper, a million women warriors were theirs to command. In reality, the majority of these women were clerks, mechanics, armorers, medics and other support personnel. The minority were combat troops. Very few were actually military policewomen/shore patrol.

The military had three missions: military confrontation, police actions and training the next generation of women to fight effectively. Among other things, this meant a disparity of combat power between installations. South Atlantic Command had a plethora of Coast Guard cutters and frigates, several air bases of mostly reconnaissance planes, a combat air training facility and a dozen battalions of Reserves.

There were two Ranger Regiments in her area plus their training base, but they answered to a separate command, the JSOC.

In comparison, the Mid-Atlantic MC was a Goddess of War. She had two fully functional combat divisions, six combat air wings, the world's third largest naval base, the Naval Academy and roughly two and a half divisions of reserves from various branches of the armed services.

While the commanders of the Mid-Atlantic and South Atlantic regions were theoretically equals, if South Atlantic did something Mid-Atlantic didn't like, or had something - like that nuclear power plant - that Mid-Atlantic needed, a major ass-whooping was in the offing.

To add to the fun, if a naval or Coast Guard vessel was at sea, it was under their various Naval Fleet commands. If it was in port, it was under the local Military Commander's command. The Chief of Naval Operations was ordering all naval vessels to bolt for the high seas. If you were a civilian in Halifax, Hampton Roads, Veracruz, San Salvador, San Diego or Vancouver, watching all those grey ships running for open water must have been a sight - and not a good one.




One in Ten Ch. 10



In a final cluster-fuck, there was the majority of one airmobile division and two Ranger battalions right outside the city that were NOT part of our Regional Military Commander's power structure. The Rangers belonged to Joint Special Operations Command and the Airmobile belonged to the Old Southwest Command - the old US Southwest States and several northern states of old Mexico.

Their RMC was probably really, really curious when she was getting her only active service division back, too. I hoped she wasn't holding her breath. She had a shitload of territory to cover, a small number of support and reserve units to use and, oh yeah, there was a plague breaking out right over the border in California with the corresponding exodus.

While the Federation was in a really bad way, the Europeans were totally screwed. All morning long, their leaders had been standing up and telling their populations that things were bad - a deadly flu outbreak in China - but they were going to ride out the storm. The EU and the Federation were on top of the crisis. They could all breathe easy.

Somewhere between lunchtime and dinner - depending on which European time zone you were in, the Federation government was overthrown by a military coup, or so it seemed. Collectively, the citizens of Europe took a deep breath - and then totally freaked out. There were runs on the banks and mass migrations from the cities. 

Factories, trains and overnight package delivery via the internet stopped. The Pope called for calm while quietly sending units of the Swiss Guard to protect a handful of boys' schools the Holy See had established on the island of Sardinia. In France, Italy and Spain there was a call for a General Strike. Some midlevel functionary ordered the evacuation of the Louvre, setting off more panic.

In Germany, a peaceful vigil turned violent and the Chancellor declared Martial Law. In Poland, Hungary, Bulgaria and the Ukraine, a State of Quarantine was declared along with a midnight curfew. There was a run on the stores. Ireland, the UK, the Netherlands, Belgium and Scandinavia appealed for calm.

You could see it in their leaders' eyes. It wasn't going to be enough. The European economy was going down the crapper in the next 48 hours and nothing could stop it. After Nigeria imploded at the end of the first Gender Plague, the only states in Africa that mattered economically where Egypt, Greater Ethiopia, Kenya and the Republic of South Africa.

Yes, there were states in West Africa. That was the problem; there were a lot of little states. In the center of Africa, southern Angola and Katanga had been gobbled up by the RSA. North of that was a No Woman's Land all the way to the Sahara - which has spent the last fifty years marching south.

The RSA had 'leaked' the information to its people about the oncoming Plague, so the official revelation wasn't crushing. They were talking quickly with their African neighbors, the few European powers that were still taking their calls and South America, trying to keep some kind of economy going. They needed India.

India's response was that they had Plague in 18 of their largest cities. India was one of those nations that came through the Gender Plague 'okay'. Unlike China's One Child policy that had left them male-heavy, India always had plenty of women. She was sent reeling from all the deaths like everyone else, but she'd come out comparatively stronger world-wide.

India was one of the five great world economies along with China, the Federation, Russia, and the RSA. Everyone thought China was fading fast, now India was about to go the same way, Russia's biggest trading partners were the rest of Europe and China, in that order, and now the Federation was 'iffy'. There was no way the RSA could carry the weight alone.

In a final act of feminine superiority, Dimples had destroyed Western Civilization. She had to share credit with the T2 virus for the rest of the global catastrophe and I was sure she was okay with that. For me, it was the start of my flight to freedom. I could do no more damage there. That wasn't really important because at this stage of the disaster, Capri had been willing to use her stun gun on me and drag my ass to the elevators if I hadn't cooperated.

"Ladies, I have to run. Take care and be good to one another. I wish you all the best of luck," I signed off. "The Final Word for today is 'Resilience'." The presidential staff cut her connection. Maribel nodded good-bye and returned to her job. She was telling the audience that GNN would start running continuous updates on plague outbreaks and work toward a cure.

What else could she say? No one chased Capri and me to the elevators. No one on this floor was jumping ship. In a sad reversal of fate, they were the ones realizing there was nowhere for them to run while I had finally found a way out. Special Agents Fraklos and Vabishi met us at the elevator. They must have made it up seconds ago.

"Time to go, Israel," Fraklos gave me a weary half-smile. "We are going to try and bluff our way out the back. For some reason there are over a thousand young ladies gathered out front."

"What?" I gasped.

"Less impressive sex, Bitch," Capri muttered. Her phone rang. She saw the number and groaned.

"Hi, Mom," Capri plastered on a happy face.

"Honey, did you overnight that shipment?" Mom got straight to the point.

"Oh, I tried Mom, but he fountained so much into me that I gagged. I ran to the bathroom, threw up and accidently hit the sensor - it all got flushed down the drain - all three loads," Capri sniffled.

"You WHAT!" her mother snapped.

"I know Mom, I've let you down again. I know I'm a failure, but I promise to try harder. I can go down on Israel right now," she turned the phone my way for a second. "I'll suck him off before the elevator makes it to the ground floor and - I don't know - spit it into my purse and send that to you," Capri pleaded.

"Ah...I'll call you back," Capri's Mom stammered and the connection went dead.

"Whore," Capri griped. Her phone rang again. "Damn it," Capri growled. "This is new," her tone changed when a video of an ambulance appeared. It took Capri a second to figure out who the driver was.

"We need to get here," Capri showed the screen to Fraklos and Vabishi.

"That's straight through the mob," Vabishi looked at her dubiously. "We won't make it." I was paralyzed by the thought of me in a sea of female bodies tightly packed together. I had done this. Since Monday, I had done all this to myself.

I was an emotional masochist. I hurled my fractured psyche at the very things that I knew would tear me up inside and chisel away at what little mental reserves I had left.

Angel.

Angel's eyes, her smell and the way her lips parted slightly before she spoke. How her eyebrows came close together before she unleashed her anger at me - often deserved.

The way my heart felt when I cried while she held me - the absence of my shame and her lack of condemnation, or pity. She wouldn't always like me. She did love me. I couldn't give up my faith in that belief. Not now.

"Angel is with Roni," I spoke up. "We are going to the ambulance."

"Israel, I'm not sure we can get you there," Fraklos observed.

"That's okay, you are not coming," I grinned at her. "Capri and I have a better chance on our own and quite frankly, if I don't go for Angel, she'll come for me. I might as well make it easy on her for once in our relationship."

"Israel..." Vabishi started to try and talk some sense into me.

"Give it up," Capri sighed. "He loves her. He's going. I'm following along because I have jack-all for job opportunities now." Capri really liked me...or maybe she was remembering her promise to kill me once we survived all this chaos. I preferred to think she liked me.

"We'll run interference with the police and reservists while you two make a break for it," Fraklos shrugged. "It hasn't been a pleasure in the slightest and thank you for making my life long dreams and ambitions totally irrelevant, Israel Jensen."

"Stick with Dimples. She'll see you through," was my only advice.

The elevator doors opened and a half dozen female faces were looking our way. Barring strict protocol or routine, if someone acts like they know what they are doing, people tend to accept that they know what they are doing. That was the scenario Fraklos and Vabishi were playing out. The Metropolitan Police and the Army Reservists had orders concerning me.

To the police - "this was a Federation matter". To the Army - "the President had just been arrested for treason so they had to go back up their chain of command to figure out if they had valid orders or not". They were FBI - they were elite FBI. Could they be mistaken? Could they be helping a male fugitive from responsibility make his escape through a mob of girls?

That was crazy talk. Besides, I didn't look like a man about to make his bid for freedom. I looked almost catatonic. That was because I was nearly catatonic from fear. Less we forget, I was gang-raped by a bunch of girls close to the age and social make-up of the ladies outside, right down to them being interested in me because of the sexual favors I had willing given to another.

I had no internal hero to call upon. I never viewed myself as heroic. I was a victim and an exceptionally unfortunate one at that. There was no shard of my psyche that could do this.

'You are free to do whatever you want'...bunny hop with a smile...'you were that man before you came here'...holding hands...'thank you'.

I had not given up the will to live for 87 days. I had exited that sorority to graduate at the top of my class. I walked into a sea of policewomen to save the life of a boy I had never seen and would, most likely, never know. I was not a coward. I was a survivor and a good man - a good human being.

I was a survivor. Survivors were rarely respected. I wasn't a hero, but I could pretend to be one for as long as it took to make it into Angel's arms. They only tore heroes apart after the fact. We walked out into the light downpour. Capri opened my umbrella. I didn't need it. I needed to be seen and I was. They called out my name and pushed forward against the line of patrolwomen.

The reservists had an answer for that. Those hexagonal devices I had noticed coming in were sonic crowd suppression devices. They ruined your equilibrium and made you vomit. From both ends, the women at the controls began working over the mob of young women. Two ranks beyond the cops, women began going down in droves.

The soldier closest to us operating the device was suddenly showered with shrapnel. She received a few painful lacerations to her upper arms, but was okay. She was still trying to figure out what had happened to cause the near-total destruction of her weapon when the device on the other end of the column shut down.

The rotator assembly had exploded, fortunately sending slivers of composite away from the woman operating that weapon. That soldier was going 'wtf' when the first one figured it out.

"Sniper!" she shouted over her com-net and ducked down into her vehicle. The reservist sergeant in charge of this detail didn't panic.

She starting figuring out what kind of casualties she was looking at - none - and where the fire was coming from. The first sonic technician was doing those physics herself. It took her a few seconds to work the trajectories and she didn't like what she came up with. She should be dead, as should her comrade controlling the other device.

That sniper hadn't missed. She'd hit exactly what she was aiming at without killing any of the soldiers involved.

"Sergeant - rounds coming from the south, down Marlowe Avenue. She must have at least five meters of elevation, if not more," she said. That was ONLY a few acres of real estate.

Right about then, the fifteen seconds those sonic devices effected someone after they had been subjected to the attack wore off. The policewomen had easily held back the closest two ranks of girls the devices had not affected. Now those girls behind those two ranks were getting back on their feet, covered in their own vomit. Those girls were very, very angry. They surged forward.

The policewoman in charge gave the order to use tasers while calling all units to rush to the scene. Patrol cars had been coming this way since the growing number of girls was detected. They had been moving in cautiously so as to not incite an incident. It was a slow escalation of force. Now they turned on their sirens and came running.

More cops would have come running if not for another calamity a few kilometers away. Keverich mobsters had attacked and killed the Mayor and most of her entourage. That was what the reports were saying anyway. Beyond that, the police were still rounding up and detaining thousands of men. They were stretched thin.

The police went to tasers, a few girls went down, and then one girl countered with wasp spray. In many ways, it is worse than pepper spray. For starters, it has a longer range. This girl dowsed the cop who just tasered her friend. This woman closed her eyes and got an arm somewhat in the way - she was partially incapacitated. 

The girl then turned the stream on the cop to the left with the same results. The patrolwoman on the right had her eyes wide open when the spray hit her face and went down screaming. The police cordon collapsed. This was not the Arena. The ladies wanted their plight to be recognized, or their support of me to be known.

There was anger, not bloodlust. The blinded policewoman was picked up by a group of girls, carried forward to one of the light transport vehicles and told to stay put. Cops were taken down fighting. A few tasers were stolen - no firearms. They wanted GNN to come out and record their voices and witness their defiance.

The reservists were putting a second, smaller, line together when I shouldered past them from behind and ran into the press of girls. Even those who weren't here to support me recognized me. Capri and I were quickly engulfed. I could feel the last sands of my resolve falling through the hourglass. I had to hold on just a little more.

I scanned the group of girls closest to me, seeking the lead lioness.

"I have to get to that ambulance," I shouted my appeal. She seemed worried and confused. "My girlfriend is there," I explained. There was that tinge of jealousy. There was also that spark of romance, a modern day 'Tale of Two Cities'.

This lead lioness began shoving other girls, getting their attention and forming a protective knot around me. My words came back to haunt me.

"We have to save one life - just one life - His!" she pointed at me. "Come on ladies, let's go." This group of total strangers forced a path against the tide, working toward the rear of the mob.

I never let go of Capri's hand. I couldn't have made it this far without her and I wouldn't have been worthy of continuing on if I let her go. An eternity later, the pressure eased and we emerged on the far side of the mass of humanity to see Roni and Angel outside the ambulance, waiting for me.

Angel took two steps toward me, I took a few steps toward her - I was losing the ability to count.

"She seems awful old," the lead lioness remarked boldly. I doubted Angel cared.

"Love is timeless," I turned and told my unknown saviors. "Thank you."

"Come on, Ladies," that girl laughed. "Let's go get them," and she led that dozen young ladies back to their chance to be famous.

"Come on, gang," Roni shouted over the noise. The reservists were using their middle vehicle's grenade launcher to bounce tear gas grenades off the surrounding buildings thus disrupting the crowd. "Capri, you and Israel get in the back," Roni helped me along. I saw Angel get in the driver's seat. 

We were hustled into the rear of the ambulance, Roni shut the doors and ran back to the front passenger side. The vehicle rolled away, only accelerating when we were clear of the chaos. For a second, I thought of Doyle Crane. I wondered if he was finally living the life he'd always wanted - upholding the long tradition of investigative journalism and unrelenting social commentary.

"You did it, Israel. You made a difference," Capri comforted me. "I think a vacation is in order." Mouth agape, I stared at her then I started laughing. It was my crippling hysteria; it was a deep vibrant echo of a former life. "What's so funny?" Capri studied me.

"I haven't had a vacation since I was ten and my Mom and I spent a few days at a rustic little bed and breakfast in upper Minnesota," I enlightened her.

"After that, it was all summer camps, therapy, college and finally here," I shook my head. "I've never had 'nothing' to do since 'that night'," referring to the night the Aurora Slasher took me.

"Nothing?" Capri chuckled. "Can you take a sexual joke?"

"I'll do my best," I sighed.

"When you get tired of sitting around 'doing nothing'," she 'quoted' with her fingers, "I think there will be a few women around who can help you with that." I wanted to joke back with Capri. She was fun. Those mental reserves? Those last grains were slipping past. I couldn't muster the strength to do anything more than keep my eyes open and my mind receptive.

Angel drove the ambulance to an abandoned, pre-Plague warehouse west of the city. We switched to a passenger van that Angel had liberated from Police Impound. As the women were transferring the medical equipment from the ambulance to our new ride, I overheard their quiet discussion.

Someone had to retrieve Venus and Samantha. Roni had contacted Samantha and those two were going to the Farmer's Market and wait to be picked up. They were coming to the conclusion, with Capri's urging, that Capri take Angel's personal vehicle. Roni was a paramedic with a skill set our group desperately required. I needed Angel to be there when I mentally returned to the world.

Capri joked that she was a lawyer; a profession that was about to be rendered useless. I wanted to say something except their logic was unassailable. Capri was right, Roni and Angel were correct in agreeing with her and I couldn't volunteer myself. I was in no shape to make the drive even if the other three would let me go. I knew they wouldn't.

I wasn't going to make a false declaration when I knew the outcome and the sacrifices being made on my behalf. Venus had rubbed everyone the wrong way at least once. Samantha...Samantha was the Quiet One. She didn't stand out, sparkle, or shine. She was steady and unspectacular. They were also part of us and the tribe had decided to not leave anyone behind.

Capri left in the car, going south. Angel, Roni and I headed west for a few more kilometers. We came across a home off the beaten path - decent acreage, mostly wood covered with the dwelling not clearly visible from the road. As we turned down the gravel driveway we saw a sign; 'Trespassers will be' - with white tape over the bottom word(s) and the addendum 'use your imagination' finishing the warning. 

The house was a sprawling one-story affair that didn't look fabricated. It looked woman-made, except that woman had an incomplete knowledge of architecture and home construction. Angel pulled around to the side of the house. It appeared we had been told to park there.

"Where are we?" I murmured.

"Kuiko and Aniqua's co-worker's home," Angel informed me. "I understand he's disreputable, if not downright criminal."

"We figure people won't know to look for you here," Roni added. We piled out of the van, gathered the approached the door.

There were two hand-made, woodcarvings on either side of the main, side door. One was 'Jethro McFarlane' and the other was 'If the pussy ain't fresh, I ain't interested'. Kuiko's information came flooding back. Still, who said shit like that? Angel drew her sidearm, put it behind her back and knocked on the door. Aniqua answered fifteen seconds later.




One in Ten Ch. 10



"Hey," she smiled with some relief, "you made it. Where is Capri?" My mind was rattling along as best it could. Aniqua didn't know about Capri because they were keeping their phone chatter to a minimum...that made sense.

"Israel...Israel?" Aniqua repeated.

"Huh?" I managed.

"Why don't you come in and take a nap?" she offered. "Get a bite to eat maybe?"

"Going down the home stretch," I muttered while trying to sound upbeat. That was it for me. My mind informed me I was out of gas by shutting down. My demons would always exact their toll and I was all out of the 'soul' currency they craved.

(The End of the Day)

I woke up in a strange bed with no recollection of how I go there. It stank. I was putting definitions to what smelled as I raised my head and looked around. Whoever lived in this place liked to kill animals, as witnessed by the stuffed animals and animal head wall ornaments, and had an all-consuming aversion to housework in any of its forms. There were clothes on the floor, every piece of furniture was stacked up with something.

On the wall the bed was pushed up against were animal horns of various kinds of creatures and every prong had a pair of women's panties dangling from them. I could almost touch them. When I moved I realized the ceiling above the bed was covered with a huge circular mirror. This made sense because the bed was circular too. Where the fuck was I?

I almost missed the eyes at the 'foot' of the bed. They were big brown eyes, slender eyebrows, a smallish nose bridge and bangs over the top quarter of the light brown/yellowish forehead with the rest of the hair pulled back.

"Hey, Kuiko," I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

The entirety of her head popped up.

"Hello Israel, are you feeling okay?" she asked compassionately.

"So-so, I guess," I shrugged. I had pushed myself up on my elbows. "How long have you been there?"

"About twenty minutes," she grinned. "I had to wait until everyone else was pre-occupied."

"Did everyone get here okay?" I maneuvered up to waist level.

"Yeah. Capri came in with Venus and Samantha a few hours ago. They brought most of your clothes," she related. "Jethro's bimbos made it too. They have some stupid names - Paisley and Lavender." I reached out and gingerly tapped the walls of my mental collage. 

"Is Mistress Sano displeased?" I teased her. Kuiko rose higher. I imagined she was on her knees. She was also really happy. I was playing a game with her which suggested I was recovering from this morning's psychic marathon. She shook her head. "I'd really like a hug if it isn't too much trouble, Kuiko Sano."

Her teeth shined white-bright. Kuiko crawled up the bed. I thought she was trying to be non-threatening, so she slithered up the bed to be level with my lap. She placed the side of her head to my stomach and slowly - tenderly hugged me.

"Can I ask a favor?" she whispered.

"I'll do my best," I offered.

"Please stop trying to hurt yourself so often. Make an effort to avoid danger instead of running straight at it," she murmured into my shirt. "Not only for me, but for all of us who care about you."

"I'll work harder at it, I promise," I stroked her hair. "And Kuiko..."

"Yes," she replied quietly.

"I love you, too," I said loud and clear so there was no doubt. Kuiko jolted. Slowly she looked up at me.

"I wasn't sure you heard that," she whispered. "I hoped..."

"I hope you don't mind that I love two other women besides you," I met her gaze.

"Of course not, Silly," a tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm totally and completely fine with it. How you deal with Zara and Angel is another matter."

"Hey, how did you know I love Zara?" I wondered.

"I'm not good at many things, but I'm good at welding and at seeing love and she's got it bad for you and you've got it bad for her. It's obvious," she grinned once more.

"You forgot one thing," I regarded her. She seemed confused. "You are good at the sexy."

Kuiko studied me then gained this wicked cast to her lips I hadn't seen before.

"Mistress Sano is very good at the sexy and she is very displeased," Kuiko play-scolded me. She sleekly mounted me on all fours. She repositioned herself so that her pubic area was on my crotch - which was very awake - and waggled her finger at me.

"Bad, bad Israel," she chastised me, "not giving your lady-friends enough of the sexy. I will have to punish you most severely." Punishment came in the form of her rubbing her vulva over my cock with ever increasing speed. "You are too happy," she noted. It was the truth. Kuiko made my spirit rise and my soul sing. She banished all the evil from my life, if only for a little while.

"I clearly must apply more punishment," Kuiko looked devilish. She dismounted me then remounted in reverse cowgirl. She looked over her shoulder victoriously. "It seems my tight little butt must torment, tease, and tantalize you as well." Someone had been looking at a thesaurus.

A few gyrations into this newfound peril, the door opened and a tall, over-stacked young lady with long black hair, short-shorts and a white t-shirt in danger of spilling its load, walked in.

"Oh, sorry," she babbled. "I came in for my..."

"That's okay," Kuiko squealed. "I'm riding my boyfriend to multiple orgasms!" At some future date Kuiko is going to understand how far her voice carries. At that moment, Roni was in a far bedroom, crashed out. Angel was asleep on the sofa in the living room where Venus and Capri were glued to the social media, taking the pulse of the city.

Samantha and Lavender were attempting to teach Aniqua something about cooking in the kitchen in the back of this ramshackle abode. Jethro was in the backyard dealing with his still. According to Capri, Angel went from quietly asleep to racing toward my room in one second flat. It took everyone else a few more seconds to figure out what Kuiko's proclamation meant.

Paisley went stumbling into the room as Angel shouldered past her. Kuiko vaulted off of me and squeaked when she tumbled off the corner of the bed, wedging herself between the curve of the bed and the wall, legs sticking up. Angel had on her 'cop' bra on with a shoulder holster for her pistol. Thankfully her look was one of concern, not anger.

"Israel, how do you feel?" Angel questioned.

"Hey..." Paisley groused.

"Whatever, Pansy," Angel didn't even look at the girl.

"It's Paisley," she insisted.

"Shut up before I pistol-whip you," Angel muttered. Paisley wisely opted to back away from Angel and deeper into the room.

"I'm feeling better, Love," I tried to reassure Angel. "Kuiko was teasing me for putting all of you through the ringer the past two days." Angel sighed and looked down.

"I..." Angel searched for the words.

"You can punish him if you want to," Kuiko mumbled from her stuck position. "A little help here."

"Can we spend some time together?" Angel clarified her desires.

"I'm looking for my Henna kit," Paisley stated.

"I'd love it if you would spend some time with me, Angel," I felt so desirous of her.

"Help," Kuiko repeated. There were too many conversations going on.

"I'm coming, Kuiko," I told my little lover. I locked wrists with her then pulled her back on the bed. "Here you go."

"What's a Henna kit look like?" Angel turned to Paisley. Kuiko snuck a quick kiss on my lips then joined the hunt for the ornate wooden Henna tattooing kit. With a bit of Angel's detective work, they traced the kit to the last place it had been used which led, in turn, to boxes and boxes of condoms. I barely knew what they were. Kuiko was at a total loss.

Both Paisley and Angel knew what they were. Angel had a friend/ex-friend who was in Sex Crimes. I didn't know enough about Paisley to hazard a guess about what she knew.

"Go," Angel pushed the Henna case into Paisley's midriff. Kuiko didn't need to be told. By this time I was on my knees looking at Angel.

I sensed that tiny bit of progress I was making. Angel was all wrong in so many ways yet I wanted her. I wanted her embrace, her comfort and her scent permeating me.

"I need to vent," Angel requested as she shed her pants and crawled onto the bed. I was totally clothed. I didn't think sex was in the offing but I liked the view - I honestly liked it.

"I deserve it," I said piteously. I really didn't want to get bitched out though I earned it. She crawled on all fours to me until her breath was strong in my face and our noses almost touching.

"I'm very angry with you," she glared.

"I apologize. I was confused and selfish," I confessed.

"Good, I'm glad we got that out of the way," Angel said then kissed me and kept on kissing me as she pushed me over and pressed herself down on my body. Fear clutched my heart. My heart reminded me that I could say 'stop' and Angel would stop. I loved her and she loved me. I had to feed that emotion.

Feverishly desperate kisses evolved into hungry French kisses with occasional brief hesitations to gather our breath.

"You still wearing clothes," Angel panted. I didn't feel that forcing any levity would be appropriate.

"You are on top of me," I moaned.

"You get top - I'll get bottom," Angel directed. My belt went 'bye-bye', my zipper down and my pants were yanked off. The underwear followed suit. She let me keep my socks. I managed to get my shirt off quick enough so that I was able to roughly remove her bra.

Angel gave me a feral look as I tossed her grey sports bra away. She took care of her panties. Now we both only had socks on. I was contemplating being playful when Angel pushed me down by my shoulders and got on top. Foreplay consisted of her maneuvering my cock into her pussy before she slammed down on my pelvis hard.

Angel's head rolled back as I filled her up. She took several deep breaths before she gazed down at my prone form. Oh God, she was crying.

"Israel, you make me so angry," she choked back a sob. "I'm so crazy about you. Everything in my life has fallen away and I so terrified of losing you too."

"I swear I'm going to do a better job of listening to you, Angel. I really need to work on our relationship," I said.

"That's sweet," Angel grunted then kissed me, "but I also want you to promise to fuck me every night before we go to sleep and first thing every morning when we wake up."

"I want you," kiss, kiss, "for more than sex," she panted - kiss. "I want to make sure that you to know I really, truly want sex too."

"Request noted," I grunted back. "Can I start playing with you now?"

"Go - right ahead," she grinned. I leveraged myself up with my right arm so I could snare her breast with my left hand and suckle from her teat.

My mind whirled with fear and worry. I felt so guilty that I ran away from the good things. At that moment, that was all washed away by the burning thought that I deserved to be happy, even if briefly. I didn't know if the survivor in me believed that when it embraced the idea. The instinct was to grab at anything that pulled me back from the precipice of mental disintegration.

I came to the epiphany as Angel writhed above me, seized in a torturous climax, that survivors were not nice people. They were not bad either. They cut away every bit of their mind and body that didn't keep them going because to keep going was all they had. If they could do that to themselves, they could do that to anyone - decide friendships were expendable. 

In the same way I had found my world to be expendable. I knew it wasn't me and me alone. That was unimaginable hubris. I'd still abandoned ship instead of trying to save more - somehow. In the same vein, I had agreed to go with the Vanishers. In the same vein, I had surrounded myself with these companions.

It wasn't that I didn't have love and affection for these women. I did, yet that nice teenage boy those therapists had tried to resurrect and Bethany had shattered was gone forever. His shade remained, but his voice in the cacophony of instincts of my head had been nearly silenced. I could be Kuiko's best friend and Angel's lover yet that chiseled core I had talked to Flame about was at the center of my being; this Monster I had to live with.

I sat up until our bodies were perpendicular to the bed, her breasts pressing against the base of my shoulders. Angel held the sides of my jaws as we delved into a lengthy and vigorous kiss. When we finally broke it off I caught sight of the audience at the door. The gang I could deal with. The two newcomers were almost too much.

"My gun is on the bed," Angel whispered. "If they are going to be a problem, I could shoot them for you."

"You are the only one in the room," I answered. She liked that. Her vagina clamped down as she swiveled her hip, rocked back and forth.

"I'm going to make sure I am the only one you see," Angel smiled.

"Honey, I don't even know where we are," I grinned back.

"Good boy," she purred then kissed me again. I withheld the fact that I really didn't know where I was. I'd been telling the truth.

Stress, interrupted sleep and mental turmoil combined in a cauldron of sexual frustration. Angel orgasmed for a second time, my cock ached, but my sperm continued to not provide any release. I couldn't ejaculate. I had to roll over on top of Angel so we could keep copulating.

"This," she panted, "better not be - Venus' fault," Angel pried.

"Besides - I thought Aniqua - would be next," she added.

"It is not a rotation system," I clarified. "Asking Venus felt right for the moment. It isn't like earning a prize. It is more like courtship," I tossed out there. "As long as everyone understands that I have to have an hour-long sex session with Kuiko whenever I have sex with anyone else, we should be okay."

"YIPPPPEEEEEEE!!" came the shout at the door followed by some pummeling.

Angel wrapped her legs around the top of my thighs, clinching me tight.

"I think you are forgetting who your Number One Girl is," Angel gave me the sexiest smile I'd ever witnessed. No verbal comeback came to mind so I responded with the pulse of my body. Angel let her legs open and fall to the side - still folded at the knees.

Her arms unwrapped from my shoulders, coming to rest over her head. I could barely contain the image of the beauty that presented itself beneath me at that moment. Angel's eyes were closed in a casual fashion - no effort to shut them tightly. She was reveling in the touch and sound of our coupling, removing all extraneous input.

I started planting random kisses on her biceps, underarm and shoulder joint. At the same time I started making slower and longer penetrations into Angel's vagina. My glans rubbing against her labia at the top of each stroke was tearing Angel up. She would take a deep intake of breath every time I did it.

"This sex is not my apology," I told her softly.

"I know," she murmured, eyes shut but with a blissful turn to her lips. "You are not like that. You show me you love me when you wake up in the morning and the first thing you do is give me that precious, sleepy smile. I want you to know that means so much to me."

"It took me three long years to get that far," I kept relishing her sensuality. "Truth be told, you did more with me in one week than I did for myself in those three years."

"I was right to put my faith in you," Angel rubbed her clit against my pelvic bone to increase her pleasure even as she spoke. I couldn't help myself.

"When my Mother died, I went to live with my Aunt in a Sapphic nunnery where I was taught the arts of how to pleasure a woman. I became so skilled they named me Israel, which means the Promised Land," I teased her.

"Aaahhh... 'Temple of Pleasure' - I thought the male leads name was 'Canaan'," she purred.

"You mean there really is a book like that?" I groaned. "I thought Capri was making that up."

"No - no," Angel absorbed the sensitive stimulation from our carnal acts, "it is real alright. The strict, yet lonely Mother Superior, the anxious and curious neophyte, the Amazon Princess and even a male-eating tribe of cannibal women - who apparently will devour Canaan if he can't pleasure every one of them."

"I can relate to his anxiety," I grunted. Angel inserted a giggle within her panting.

"Oh, he has boyish good looks, a penis that is 25cm long and 10cm thick, and testicles the size of plums," she informed me playfully. Oh God, those dimensions scared me and I'm a guy. "Don't worry," she teased. "I'm very happy with the equipment I have."

Her equipment? I pumped her a few times quickly as a test. Angel sucked in a tight breath, arched up against me and moaned heatedly. Yes, it was still my equipment. Gloating over that point, I almost missed Angel giving off these little huffing noises. She was close to climax.

"Are you my Amazon Princess?" I quietly taunted her.

"Oh Goddess! Oh Goddess, she likes to do it like a beast," Angel gasped while looking terribly excited - shower - fourth time that Saturday. I rapidly wrestled the stunned Angel's leg up, over and around, pulled up on her hips until she was on her elbows and knees and plunged into her steamy cunt once more. As I recalled during the shower I took it slow, but Angel liked it hard and fast.

All other imagery faded into vapor as I was engulfed in the presence of Angel. The glitter of sweat on her back, slowly pooling along her spine. The slapping of her ass against my hips going off like firecrackers. Her breath was coming in ragged puffs. Angel wasn't tired; she was erotically excited - a culmination of fatigue, her worry about me and a desire to recapture the magic of Saturday morning.

We did an excellent job doing just that. Angel bucked up against me as her orgasm grappled with her physique. Somewhere in the process, my body sought its own release and I inseminated her womb. I couldn't let go. I seized the moment with selfish hands and kept going. Angel was wondrously resilient and mirrored her passion with my own.

We rocked back until Angel was sitting in my lap, her back pressed against me and my hands cupping her breasts and twisting her nipples while her hands reached back and ran through my hair. Angel and I didn't roar to one last, simultaneous climax. We coasted into a tender, romantic, entwining of a pair of lovers.

It was a fantastic advancement for me and a huge leap for Angel. I was cuddling with her wrapped up in my arms as she reclined against me, vulnerable and trusting. Angel was allowing herself to be vulnerable, ramping up our trust and stepping outside the dominant role she had assumed in our relationship.

"I am still angry with you," Angel murmured with contentment.

"I wouldn't be me if you weren't," I kissed her ear. I received a very light elbow in the ribs for that one.

"Israel, are we really going to stay together - you and me?" Angel asked.

I could have said 'I hope so', or 'I'll try' yet that was clearly inadequate and untrue in my mind.

"I've lost too much love in my life, Angel. I don't want to go on without you. I doubt I could stand it," I confessed. I felt much the same way about Kuiko, Capri and Zara, but Angel - Angel would stand against the nightmares when I could not.

Kuiko would rebuild me with her cheerful patience. Capri was truly the one who would keep me on the right path. Zara would allow me to live without constantly looking over my shoulder. Angel would always be that first one in my bed since Bethany. I don't think she really understood that. Talking about my past, failed love affair was pointless.

Angel didn't need to go through that. In the same way I would never yell at Kuiko, never flip off Capri and never doubt Zara. I had to meet each commitment with a commitment of my own. That was going to be the way my life worked now.

"Thank you, Israel," Angel laid her arms over mine which surrounded her. "I'm pregnant."




One in Ten Ch. 10



I stopped breathing. I was pretty sure my heart stopped. Angel was using our proximity to judge my reaction. This was piling on the dread.

"Israel? Israel, are you okay with this?" Angel prodded me.

"Wow...yes. Yes, I'm okay with this. Are we going to have a boy, or a girl? What about names?" I began babbling.

"Israel, calm down," she told me. I tried. "I'm not pregnant."

"What? Huh? Did you have a miscarriage?" I gasped.

"No. I wanted you to go through some of the emotional hurricane I experienced last night wondering where you were," Angel growled, "only to discover you ran off with a hit-woman."

"You're not pregnant?" I mumbled.

"No, but we are even now," she informed me.

"Babe, that was cold. Seriously, I think that was out of bounds," I protested.

"Out of bounds? Israel, I combed over the bodies of nine hundred dead males praying I wouldn't see your face," Angel explained harshly.

"Your bracelet gave off its distress signal then died. Your phone wasn't working. For nearly an hour I had every reason to believe you had died - with me only a few hundred meters away in the same building. I was getting ready to shoot some policewomen myself," Angel grumbled.

"Thoughtless and stupid," I described my actions. "We are even."

"I know it was a low blow...I didn't want to break down in tears and that was my only other option," Angel switched up her emotions from anger to anguish.

"I am glad we are on the same page on that," I nodded. Yeah, Angel had come back with overkill. That was her nature and since I loved her, I was going to have to deal with that.

"Is that the reason we ended up in the position we are in now?" I altered course.

"Oh no," Angel shook her head. "I have a thing for Amazon Princesses - in a purely heterosexual way."

"Good to know," I kissed the nape of her neck. "I think we should rejoin the others before we end up stuck this way."

"True," Angel agreed. "Any more time in your lap and I'm going to start getting possessive once more." 

'That's right Angel. Driving everyone from the room so we could have sex wasn't possessive in the least', I kept that slice of sarcasm to myself.

Sometime during the process of our love-making, our audience had departed and the door to the bedroom had been shut. We dressed, put an arm around one another's waists and opened the door. We were immediately gifted with the aroma of a freshly cooked meal. Angel and I must have been at it a while because dinner had been served.

Thankfully there was plenty to go around. People were around this good-sized dining room table. Samantha, Kuiko and Roni were leaning against the wall with their plates on various pieces of furniture. Closest to me, in the end chair, was Capri. She was looking at me intently, gauging my level of sanity.

On the right side of the table were Venus and an empty chair. On the left side were Paisley and a girl who had to be Lavender. She was like a Paisley clone, except white-blonde where Paisley was dark. Otherwise, they shared the long-leg, over-endowed chest and beautiful, youthful countenance our host seemed to favor.

This was my first time seeing our host. Quite frankly, he appeared the oldest human being I'd ever seen. He was certainly the roughest looking. White, wiry hair billowed down past his shoulders. His thick, white moustache drooped five or six centimeters past his chin. His cheeks and chin were covered with white and grey stubble.

The man - Jethro McFarlane, I guessed - had hazel eyes flecked with gold sheltered under thick, white eyebrows. The eyes were a bit bloodshot, yet burned with a fierce intellect and defiance that belied his advanced years. This guy was scary at 67. I would have hated to meet him when he was my age. Hell, I would have hated to meet him when he was 40.

Jethro put his fork down, stood up and extended a hand my way. I walked around the table, past the spare chair and clasped his hand. I then screamed and fell to my knees. Jethro squeezed my hand, grinding the knuckles together... they popped out of alignment. He let go of my appendage and I pulled it to my chest. Angel was coming up fast.

"Want to try that with me, Old Man?" she seethed.

"There is no point," Jethro responded laconically. "You are a girl."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Angel sizzled.

"It means you are not a man so you wouldn't understand - Cop," Jethro matched her glare.

"Bastard," Angel growled. She put a hand on my shoulder. "Israel, are you okay?"

I was searching for the answer to that as well as Jethro's needless cruelty. I didn't know the guy. Had someone he'd known died because of something he thought I did? And what was this about being something only a man would understand?

I had heard 'you don't get it, you aren't a woman' plenty of times in my life. That was because men didn't have much time for 'group think'. No - men as I had known them didn't have group think but long before I was born it had been very different. No one said 'it's a man-thing' because men didn't have time for their own 'thing'.

Before men counted lionesses, women counted lions. My mind wrapped around that analogy. When a young lion walked into an established lion pride, the lionesses didn't rally to drive him out, the Pride's lion did - lions in rare instances. I didn't have a twin. I certainly wasn't a lion, but my lionesses couldn't help me and would be at a disadvantage if I did nothing.

I couldn't win...it was most likely I couldn't win. I had to continue to fight even without hope of an obvious victory because I had to be able to live with the consequences of my actions. For reasons I didn't understand, men of a dozen nations, fighting under the French flag died in a hopeless cause two hundred years ago. The last six, out of ammunition, charged their vastly superior enemy.

This tiny snapshot of history didn't apply to me. It applied to Jethro. He was one of those six.

"I'm doing fine," I pushed myself back to my feet. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," I extended my hand to Jethro, "I'm Israel Jensen." He took my hand in his. This time I wasn't surprised by his steely grip. It took me five seconds to wince in pain.

Jethro let go of my hand and sat back down

"Nice to meet you," he said as he resumed his seat. "I'll get you something to eat. You look like you need it." He followed this with, "Paisley, get Mr. Jensen a plate full."

Paisley hopped to obey like it was nothing. She even smiled at the old timer and sashayed around him on her way to the kitchen. He slapped her ass in passing - again, like it was nothing.

I surreptitiously scanned the table. Only Lavender appeared to be taking this interchange in stride. It wasn't like we didn't know that there were Alpha males. They existed, but they hid it well because instinctively Alpha females went after them - the lust for conquest is genderless. The thing was, in our society, the male couldn't win.

Women had the power and their culture put a low premium on independent-minded men. The lady had the law and numbers on her side, thus the lioness analogy. Stupid Alpha females took a man on alone. It wasn't that they couldn't win, except why play fair? No, they gathered three or four friends, cornered a guy - taxis worked wonderfully - and wore him down.

Unless they physically damaged you, the man had no recourse. This meant Alpha males were very careful. They chose their dates carefully and exited in haste with their prize. If confronted with an Alpha female, they knuckled under like every other man, took their medicine and waited for the ordeal to be over. Alpha males certainly never advertised the way Jethro was.

"Here you go," Paisley placed the plate in front of me. She patted me on the shoulder before making her way back to her seat.

"Thank you," I responded. She smiled then went back to eating. Angel had to go get her own grub. This was awkward for me because I looked to Angel for protection and Jethro scared me.

Life became more difficult to comprehend. Kuiko moved to my side, between Jethro and me, knelt and started trying to feed me. Where the hell was that coming from?

"Kuiko, I've got this," I told her. "I've pretty much been able to feed myself for the past seventeen years."

"Please?" Kuiko looked up at me. No one was of any assistance.

"Okay - a few bites," I conceded. Kuiko lit into my steak, cutting it into several pieces, rubbed a chunk around some sort of sauce then pushed the piece of meat to my lips. It was different than any beef product I'd ever tasted - way different.

"Thanks, Kuiko," I mumbled as I chewed. After I swallowed I addressed Jethro, "Mr. McFarlane, what is this?"

"White-tail deer," he replied. He reached out to pat Kuiko on the head. My response was unexpected, even to me. 

I met Jethro's gaze with an intense stare that very effectively communicated an answer to his challenge. Jethro eyeballing me and the hand movement were a possessive expression and for some unknown reason I was NOT okay with it. I had never been possessive of any person my entire twenty-one years - until now. Kuiko was mine, ours. I would not sit by and allow him to undermine our group.

I thought no one noticed the exchanged. Jethro certainly didn't back down. He patted Kuiko's head, she turned and smiled at him then returned her attention to me. She had to prod my lips with my next slice of deer because I was still grappling with the concept that I had not wanted Kuiko to be with that man.

Angel returned with her dinner, took a station behind me and glowered at Jethro the entire time. I didn't have to see her to know that was what was going on. She didn't comment on Kuiko feeding me. I did send her away after three more bites. I was a grown man after all. Funny tasting water - it came from a well out back - and something called Wild Cherry - which tried its best to incinerate my digestive track and succeeded in making me gasp and cry - were handed around as beverages.

It was not much of a consolation that most of the women, Paisley and Lavender included, had my reaction. Jethro drank it like I'd drink a Coke - effortlessly. As the meal wound down, Jethro stood up, ordered the women to clear the table and motioned me to come with him.

"We are not your damned servants," Venus groused. Jethro slowly turned and regarded her.

"Did you like the deer I shot? Did you like the alcohol I brewed? Did you like the vegetables my hard work paid for?" Jethro calmly responded.

"I..." Venus stuttered.

"Then shut up and pitch in, you stupid bitch, because if you are adverse to work you can leave right now," Jethro glared.

"Don't call Venus a stupid bitch," Angel and I said at the same time. I was standing right next to Jethro while Angel was a few steps behind me. If someone got clobbered for opening their big mouth, it would be me. Jethro shrugged and kept walking.

"Come on, boy," he called out. Angel and I followed him around to the kitchen and the door leading out to the backyard. 

"Stay, Cop. This is man stuff," Jethro stated calmly.

"Listen up, Caveman," Angel growled, "I'm not letting you walk off into the woods with Israel. I don't fucking know you."

"In case you missed it, Bitch," Jethro gave Angel a measured stare, "that wasn't a request."

"You seem to have a problem with me," Angel shouldered me aside so she could come face to face with Jethro. "Why don't we step outside and settle it right now?"

"When I finish with sissy-boy here, I'll come back and we can settle things, Officer Kristi," Jethro smiled. "I haven't killed a cop in a long while so I guess I'm due."

"I'm not letting you take Israel," Angel countered.

"That's not your choice to make. It is his," Jethro reposed.

"Let's get this over with," I placed a hand on Angel's shoulder. "If he wanted me dead, he could have killed me in my sleep." Angel very reluctantly stepped aside.

Jethro and I walked in silence some way from the house until I was lost in the woods with the last rays of the Sun fading in the West. Out of nowhere, Jethro turned and punched me in the gut. I folded up and fell over. Jethro shook his head then offered me a hand up. I took it so he punched me in the eye. Down I went again. He offered me his hand again.

"Don't be like that," Jethro chided me as I pulled myself away from him. "Come on." My hand touched on a downed branch. I swung with what limited strength I could from my prone position. Jethro twisted his hips and took the fragile branch on his boot-covered shin. It snapped into pieces. I fully expected hate to start raining down and to hear myself crying out for help.

Jethro looked down at me then gradually smiled. I crawled away then returned to my feet.

"That's the first lesson," Jethro related. "Never accept help to do anything if you can do it yourself. If you become used to being helped, you'll wait around for help to come when you could do the job on your own. That goes for both sexes."

"Second lesson; men are warriors. It is our nature. We scrap, we establish pecking orders, and jockey for resources. Women can do these things, but it is not their job. Women want to talk shit out when a thirty second brawl will settle the issue. If you beat a man then treat him right, he will work with you. Women exist to back-bite and argue. They need men to keep them in line."

"That's not to say you don't listen to a woman's advice. Women are just as smart as men. It doesn't mean we should let them make decisions, though. Men make decisions because they are the ones who should be putting their lives on the line first and foremost. Being a warrior is more than just martial prowess, it is the willingness to make decisions and be responsible for them."

"There are too few men to behave that way," I responded.

"Bullshit. Kuiko tells me you've been fighting for your life for the past five years. You kept it together during some really tough shit," Jethro said. "Where you went wrong was that you kept trusting other people to save you when things went wrong."

"My friends are helping me get my life together," I challenged him. "I don't think that's wrong. They give a crap about me and that's not wrong."

"Don't be stupid, Kid," Jethro sighed. "If you get gut-shot, see a doctor. If your car doesn't run, see a mechanic. If you have a problem you can't solve, there is nothing wrong with going to someone who can solve the problem for you."

"Trying to do something you are unprepared for is stupid, not macho," Jethro stared at me. We were walking back for around a minute when, "Why did you eye-ball me over Kuiko?" I had to think over my reply because I wasn't sure myself.

"I saw your move and I grew angry," I worked out.

"Nothing wrong with that, Kid," Jethro chuckled. "Besides, Kuiko's like a daughter to me. I'm not trying to get her to jump in bed, or anything. Good to know you are willing to let another man know where the property line is."

"Kuiko isn't my property," I stated angrily. "I love her."

"How do you figure that - the not property part?" Jethro smirked.

"Ah - she's a human being. People shouldn't own people," I answered.

"Yet it is okay for that cop to own you?" Jethro turned things around.

"Angel doesn't own me. I love her, too. I also love a third woman named Zara, but that's it," I responded.

"Ha," he laughed. "Yeah, I heard you were hell in the sack. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Still, this Angel-girl has a gun and appears comfortable to tell you what you can and can't do. In my experience, guns and authority go hand in hand."

"Bullshit," I countered. "She let me go to the Arena. She was worried about my safety, for good reason. Just because I don't live my life like yours doesn't mean I'm not a man."

"Thus endeth the third lesson," Jethro chuckled. "In the final accounting, each man has to live his own life. I'm going to tell you some useful shit over the next few days. Take it, or leave it as you see fit. I don't want you to be me. I want you to be the man you should be."

"Who is that supposed to be?" I mumbled. I already had too many people in my mind.

"You'll figure it out soon enough," Jethro assured me. "Think of this. Wolves run with wolves, dogs with dogs and lions with lions. Don't worry about being a cougar, leopard, or tiger. You are not a loner."

"Okay," I finally replied.

"Shit, you have been fucking buried in their culture," he shook his head. "Boy, look at the women you chose to surround yourself with - that's who you are." That made no sense what so ever. I abhorred violence yet I chose women skilled and comfortable with it. It hit me far harder than Jethro had. Those women had something else in common; they protected people.

As we approached the house, lodging, whatever Jethro's domicile was called, he reached to the small of his back and pulled out a revolver.

"What's that for?" I hesitantly asked.

"I'm going to shoot your cop friend," Jethro said matter-of-factly.

Attacking him was pointless. Screaming to warn Angel wouldn't as useful as it might have seemed. We were in the dark; she was in a lit building.

"Don't," I took a deep breath, "I'll take care of it."

"Remember - be firm," he advised.

"Are you telling me how to deal with my woman?" I gulped. Did I just say 'my woman'?

"Yes," he affirmed. "You haven't a clue what you are doing and I don't want to make Kuiko cry when I kill her friend."

"Oh...in that case, thanks," I nodded.

When we entered the space lit by the floodlights, Angel came storming out. Like Jethro, she had her gun out and pointed down.

"Stop," I held up my hand and basically pleaded with my lover. Angel wasn't paying attention to me.

"ANGEL!" I screamed. That brought her up short. "Get back in the house."

"What?" Angel sounded incredulous.

"You don't know what is going on, so get back in the house," I stated in a steady voice that belied my inner fear and turmoil.

"Israel," she got out.

"NOW!" I yelled at her. There was a hush. Even the wildlife had gone quiet.

"That's not how it works," Angel growled. Her baleful gaze flickered from Jethro to me.

"You are acting like a child," I countered aggressive. "Now get in the damn house."

"No," Angel defied me. I struggled for the reaction, or words. I took a few steps toward her.

"I'm disappointed in you," I said softly. I tried to move past her. She grabbed my arm.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Angel demanded.

"I know what's going on. You don't, yet you won't listen to me," I grumbled.

"You aren't ignoring me because I'm crazy, or in danger. You are ignoring me because this is a violent situation and I'm a man," I explained. "That shames me because I love and trust you."

Angel blinked. Her mouth opened and closed.

"Let go of me," I commanded. "I'm going inside. You and this old man can start shooting at each other whenever for a reason, or reasons, I don't understand."

"He hit you," she pointed out.

"Yes. I am well aware that he hit me. It is my problem, not yours. Had I needed your help, I would have called out. You could have assumed that since I didn't, I had the situation well in hand...but you refused to," I outlined for her. She had no comeback to my logic.

"Israel...I apologize," Angel whispered.

"Apology accepted," I stroked her cheek. "Now get your ass in the house." She stared at me.

"If you slap my ass, I'm going to arm-bar you," Angel warned me as she headed inside in front of me.

"I'm more of a massage kind of guy," I sighed, both happy and weary. I was also true to my word. I caught up with Angel, put my hands on her tightly clothed posterior and massaged those wonderful pieces of female workmanship. This time around, the Wild Cherry was a welcome distraction from the stress permeating the house.

We retired to something Lavender called a 'Man Cave' though it wasn't subterranean. I made the brilliant decision to make use of Jethro's home gym. Only when I got my shorts and shirt, came back and began adjusting the machines did I realize they weren't on a man's setting. A woman had been the last one to use these.




One in Ten Ch. 10



I was garnering attention, which I had learned to ignore long ago. I trusted enough of the women in the cavernous room so that I wasn't too intimidated by the looks I was getting.

"Take off your shirt," Jethro called out.

"Huh?" I was almost propelled off the treadmill.

"Give the girls some eye-candy," he snorted.

"We don't treat Israel that way," Aniqua spoke up. Angel was biting her tongue. There was a stalemate going on, then Kuiko jumped off her seat and fell on her knees.

"Show us the sexy," she pleaded to me with her playful expression lighting up her face.

Kuiko implored me with her hands held up in supplication. She was so freaking adorable. Suddenly Samantha fell on her knees beside Kuiko, quickly followed by Aniqua and Venus. Roni added to the mix somewhat reluctantly.

"Please, please, please," they chorused.

Aren't there something like twenty porn channels out there plus hundreds of websites?

"You don't need to tell women what to do," Jethro laughed. "Just have what they want."

I didn't want to have what women wanted! That was my nightmare three times over. My female companions were - fuck - they were playing with me. Damn it.

I languidly peeled my shirt off, hopefully maximizing my sex appeal. Had I understood sex appeal more, I might have done a better job. By the wide eyes staring at me, I mistakenly did something right. Trauma warred with the desire to heal - to be cleansed somehow.

"Kuiko, this is all you fault and you must be punished," I glared intense menace her way.

Kuiko looked enraptured with ecstasy. She began tearing off her clothes much to the shock/amazement of the other occupants. After she wiggled her shorts off all she had on was this pink thong with a strategically placed heart as its centerpiece. Kuiko popped up and started running around the room, arms out like an airplane.

"I've been bad and I'm going to get punished," she squealed repeatedly as she circuited the room.

Jethro's stare caught my gaze and his look was indecipherable.

"Worse case of negative reinforcement I've ever seen," he laughed. I lowered my head in defeat and returned to my exercises. It was better that way. The machines had safety features where my life had none.

I was ten minutes from completing my routine when something beeped on Jethro's TV. The old man flipped open one of the arms on his recliner and pulled out a sawed-off pump action shotgun.

"We've got company and I ain't expecting anyone else," he rumbled as he stood.

Angel also rose to her feet, taking in the male with a weapon.

"How many ways in?" Angel barked.

"Too many," Jethro calmly replied. "This place is made for egress, not to be a fortress."

"We'll talk about your firearms later," Angel grumbled.

"We can talk about how little I care later, but right now Cop, go to the side entrance where you came in," Jethro directed. "I'll take the front door."

"What so the rest of us do?" half the voices called out. Not me though.

"I'm a paramedic, but most of my gear is still in the van," Roni added. "Do you have a medical kit?"

"Paisley, show her where we keep the medical supplies," Jethro directed. He was already heading out, swiftly followed by Angel. I went after those two.

"What are you doing?" Angel snapped at me.

"Being a man?" I shrugged. Jethro chuckled.

"Here ya go," he handed me his revolver. "Ever used one?"

"I was taught by an expert," I pledged. As far as I knew, Flame was an expert. Surprisingly, Angel kept her mouth shut though she looked exasperated with both Jethro and me. She had barely separated from us when there was banging on the door.

Whomever had driven up must have been driving recklessly fast.

"Israel, open up!" yelled the voice from outside. Jethro was looking at a screen I couldn't see. I didn't need to see who it was because I knew the voice. I ran to the door. It wouldn't open.

"It is a friend," I shouted over my shoulder to Jethro.

"Who is your friend's banged-up buddy?" Jethro inquired laconically.

"Short, or tall?" I requested.

"Tall," he filled me in.

"That would be Silent. The maniac about to blow her way in here if you don't open the door is Flame," I explained.

The door clicked, I turned the knob and opened it and Flame came tumbling in with a semi-conscious Silent.

"Roni!" I yelled. I stepped up and hugged Flame. I almost wept.

"I knew you couldn't die," I murmured.

"Of course not," Flame snorted in amusement. "I haven't killed you yet." Someone cleared their throat. "Nice welcome wagon - an old fossil and a pissed off fuck machine." I had to fix my mind on the second reference. Flame had seen Angel's sex tape.

"This is Jethro McFarlane - it's his home. The woman with the pistol is Detective Angel Kristi - my lover and friend," I started introductions.

"Jethro and Angel, this is Flame aka Brigit and Silent aka Davia. They are part of the Keverich organization," I finished.

"I've heard of them," Jethro mulled things over. "I'm kind of curious why I'm not already shooting them."

"Me too," Angel added. No one moved, or spoke, for a few seconds.

"Israel, I think they want you to move so the bullets can start flying," Flame snickered.

"I'm actually aware of that," I kept hugging her. Silent moaned. Roni finally arrived.

"Can I take care of the wounded woman?" she addressed the room.

Flame muscled free of my embrace, dragged/carried Silent to the living room sofa and plopped her down. There was a pregnant pause as Roni maneuvered around the furniture with a first aid kit and knelt down next to the wounded bodyguard.

"So, what happened?" I finally asked. "Where is Magdalena?"

"Dead or in custody," Flame shrugged. "When I last saw her, she was wounded in the left shoulder and down on the ground. About that time I discovered that while my Baby will fracture the glass armor on an attack helicopter's canopy, it won't penetrate, so I ran."

"Are you okay?" I worried. Flame patted my cheek.

"That's what I like about you," she smiled flippantly. "You care. I don't know why, but you care."

"What exactly happened to Little M?" Angel advanced.

"Looked like Army types and SWAT stormed one of our safe-houses," Flame sighed. "It was in a high-rise and they came at us from all angles."

"That's bad," Angel muttered.

"Amen to that," Jethro confirmed.

"Huh?" I looked back to the two people who seemed to know what was going on.

"Back at the rail station," Capri came stepping up beside Jethro, "when the soldiers came for you this morning, Israel. That was illegal because there was no State of Emergency or Martial Law."

"Now the Army really is in charge and can round up anyone they wish," she continued. "The curiosity is why they haven't declared their intentions and a curfew."

"Isobel Diaz pointed those bitches our way," Flame related. "That's for certain."

"That's nice," Jethro stared. "How did you know to come here?"

"After Davia and I fought free, we had nowhere to go. All the gang's operations had cops all over them. I figured the Outfit was done for and we needed out. The only person I was sure had an exit plan was Israel, so I went looking for him. I knew his normal haunts would be crawling with surveillance then I remembered his buddy, Kuiko," Flame informed us.

"I went to Kuiko's workplace, talked to her boss and she told me about this place. Here I am," she grinned.

"You killed Amy (Kuiko's and Aniqua's boss), didn't you?" Jethro glared.

"She's in Hell alright," Flame snickered. "Plastered her brains all over the back wall, destroyed her personal and business computers then set the building on fire. I like being thorough."

"You appear to take pride in being a remorseless psychopath," Capri noted.

"Flame is my friend and she's a fighter," I argued. "We'll need her with us on the road we will be taking."

"Flame is it?" Jethro asked. Flame snorted. "You can stay as long as you know who is in charge."

"I suck at taking orders," Flame responded.

"That's not my problem anymore," Jethro grinned maliciously. "Israel, it is up to you to keep that pussy in line." What the fuck? How did that come about? Flame punched me in the arm.

"Are you going to tame this kitty?" she laughed.

I looked around for a lifeline. Kuiko had put her shirt on, but was otherwise only in her thong.

"Kuiko, could you show Flame to the kitchen and help her get some food and drink," I requested. "She's most likely not eaten all day."

"Sure thing," she beamed. Kuiko wiggled through the group of women by that portal.

"Come on," she beckoned Flame. Flame smirked at me then walked over to Kuiko. Kuiko linked arms with Flame. I feared a beating was in the offing. "Thank you for looking after Israel last night," Kuiko smiled. "We appreciate it."

"You do realize I put a gun to his head and nearly killed him, right?" Flame mused.

"Of course," Kuiko giggled, "but you didn't. It is because you two are friends."

"He fucks you a whole bunch, I can tell," Flame teased her.

"Yes," Kuiko bubbled. "Every time he has sex with another woman, I get a non-stop hour of sex with him too. He's going to torture my nipples later on, if you want to watch."

"Tons of fun," Flame chuckled. "I can't wait. Nipple torture - how does that work?" was the last thing I heard as they went out of hearing range. Events took on a life of their own after that. Roni sent Angel to their van for medical supplies. Paisley was a junior Biology student, so she volunteered to assist Roni. Aniqua and Samantha hung around so that the four of them could easily move Silent to the floor when the time came.

Roni was still working away while the rest of us were in the man-cave once more. Flame seemed happy taking long pulls on the Wild Cherry and smacking her lips. I wasn't surprised she wasn't worrying about Silent. Her wounded comrade was a reliable pair of guns guarding her back and nothing more. Emotional bonds were contrary to her psychopathic nature.

Jethro had been sitting on his 'throne' for fifteen minutes, deep in thought.

"I guess it is about time we got those guns," he announced as he stood up. His words captured everyone's attention yet he didn't appear to care. He started walking from the room and the rest of us followed along. The need for guns had brought us here in the first place.

His path led us into his walk-in pantry. One wall of shelves rolled out and to the sides on seamless wheels. Beneath that spot was a steel door, a tad over one meter wide and three meters long. It must have been spring-loaded because once Jethro yanked on the hole that only one finger could fit into, the portal swung open and back.

Stairs led down into darkness. Jethro turned around and followed them out of sight for several seconds. Then a light came on. The drop looked to be around four meters. Angel went next. A strange level of respect allowed me to go third. Flame was at my back then Kuiko, Venus and Lavender.

The floor was grey-painted concrete. The room stretched out five meters in each direction. 80% of the room was covered with stacked crates with a variety of markings on them, a few even in English. Angel was incredibly tense. I didn't know why, but I had a feel for her moods. The other 20% of the room was an immaculate workbench.

Considering Jethro's aversion to cleanliness, this was definitely something noteworthy.

"What is all this stuff?" Venus asked.

"Weapons," Angel preempted the old guy.

"This is an awful lot of weapons," Lavender muttered. No one wanted to say it, so I did.

"Jethro, you were in the MRA, weren't you?" I tossed out there. I'd told the nation that the MRA was dead and here I was looking at a small armory of illegal weaponry. Jethro had been walking over to the work area. He turned and looked us over.

"I'm going to do something I don't normally do," Jethro met each of our gazes. 

"I'm going to explain myself. Let's pull some assault rifles out of those crates, make sure they in top shape then go upstairs 'cause I am only going to do this once," he stated.

"These people don't know how to use firearms," Angel cautioned angrily.

"They'll never learn if they don't have one and we are approaching the point where we'll need everyone to be a shooter," he countered. "Let's get to it."

And that's what we did. These weapons had been top rate stuff at the start of the 21st century. Now, they weren't quite antiques - only old. The basics of using some sort of explosive substance to propel an object at your target remained the same. In the case of firearms, it was remarkably the same, or so Angel said.

Kuiko went straight for the Russian-made Surface-to-Air missile - because she thought that the Cyrillic writing looked pretty. It was one of the few exotic devices. Most were clearly Federation military, or Police issue, undoubtedly stolen from some armory at some point early in Jethro's terrorist career.

I was irate that Kuiko looked so cute with a bandolier of ammo packs and an automatic shotgun. Angel insisted that only she and Jethro took loaded firearms upstairs. We could carry the gun and the ammo as long as the ammo wasn't in the gun. Venus argued that this defeated the purpose of having the weapon. 

Angel countered that if she couldn't load it quickly, she probably shouldn't have it in the first place. I caught Flame bagging up a few boxes of ammunition, but Jethro didn't seem to care so I let it slide. It fell to Flame and me to lug extra rifles and cartridge belts up to the rest of the group, being the strongest - Angel was keeping an eye on Jethro and he was keeping an eye on her.

Fifteen minutes later, we had gathered back in the spacious dwelling space of our host. Jethro, on his throne, finished off a glass of Wild Cherry and began his tale:

"I was seventeen and in high school when the Gender Plague first broke out. I was quarantined for a month before the Supreme Court decided it was illegal and set us men free.

I took the opportunity to enlist in the Navy - the US Navy - because of the man shortage when I was released. Went through Basic, the Specialist School - I was a Damage Control Technician which meant I was a fireman - then a second outbreak happened. I was quarantined for three months this time.

I got out and was assigned to the destroyer Michael A. Mansoor. During the Relief of Athens, we all damn near died. Of the eighteen men and women in Damage Control, only me and one other rating survived. My officer, an ensign, stayed behind to make sure the forward ammunition storage was secure. Our CPO had us seal the ensign in. We saved the ship long enough for the crew to be pulled off.

The Mansoor exploded. We were never able to locate her body. She was some ROTC kid who was only with us four months. I never knew her first name until the ceremony after it was all over. She may have been the bravest human being I've ever known. After that, I served aboard the Little Rock working ant-piracy in the Philippines and Indonesia.

Since I took part in some land action during that tour, the Navy - I hate using the term Federation - reassigned me to Shore Patrol duty. I took police training and everything. I did another tour aboard the Little Rock the following year then they dragged me off when Congress decided that men couldn't be given combat assignments.

Seven months later, they discharged me and thousands of other men as part of a down-sizing program. Unfortunately, the same act of Congress that exited me from the Navy also forbid me joining the fire, or police departments. A buddy of mine was able to find me work in a machine shop where I learned the craft of welding.

After that, I was a good boy. I dated, joined a motorcycle club and built up a nice life. When the Gender Inequality Act was passed I was more annoyed than angry. All that changed when I was twenty-nine. See, I had some male friends who joined up with a group called Male Awakening. They were a group devoted to the repeal of the GIA through political means.

Things including publically supporting male-friendly candidates and working against GIA-supporters though boycotts and the like. I was rolled up in an FBI sting and those ladies informed me that they'd make those charges go away if I agreed to go inside and spy on Male Awakening. They knew I was friends with those guys. I told them to fuck off, fought the charges and beat their trumped up bullshit.

By the time I cleared up my legal troubles, they took the MA down anyway. It seems their Treasurer took off with their funds after leaving some financial irregularities. That was a total load of crap because they never caught that guy, but they did manage to put away most of the group's leadership.

A few months later, I ran across one of my buddies who had asked me to join Male Awakening. He'd heard about my troubles and over a few beers, he hinted that the fight wasn't over. This time I bought in. This incarnation didn't have a name. We weren't public. We dug up dirt on corrupt female officials by any means necessary.

We destroyed the careers of the worst oppressors of men. Violence wasn't our aim yet we armed ourselves for what we knew would be a harsh crackdown. We operated in small cells, but I knew we had lawyers, judges and even a few Congresswomen on our side. Since we had bracelets by that time, we used women to communicate between cells.

Our cell received word of the major Federation sweep a day before it happened. We were able to move most of our material stashes to new locations before they fell on us. The Writs of Exclusion were abominations. No one ratted me out. For weeks I sweated bullets every time I saw a cop car, a mysterious unmarked car, or heard a siren.

After a few months, I began searching for other survivors. We came together in secrecy, united in our fury. The Federation had broken every law and covenant so we agreed that waging a guerilla war was our only option. A week later I bagged my first cop. Put a bullet under her left eye at 80 meters. She was dead before she hit the ground and it felt good.

They - the Federation - had murdered my country and now they were paying. Three days later, I waited for a Federation agent to walk out on her porch to see her little girl off to school. I walked up, told the little girl her mother was a whore and put nine slugs into that whore's body and I felt just fine about that too."

"No," squeaked Kuiko.

"That is the way it was," Jethro gave Kuiko a paternal look. "Those women came at me with every dirty trick they could come up with to take away my freedom and I put them in the grave for it."

"You murdered people," Angel growled.

"Fuck you, Cop. The Gender Inequality Act was passed by women to enslave men. No man ever voted on it," Jethro snarled. "Men tried to use the system so you cheated. Boohoo that your bosses didn't figure out our only option left was violent resistance."

"I killed seventeen government officials and my only regret is I didn't kill more. Not one was a fair fight. Kuiko, I killed that bitch in front of her daughter because I wanted her buddies to come around and see the anguish on that little girl's face. I wanted them to worry about their own daughters. I wanted them to know they were at war."

"You are a murdering scumbag," Roni snapped.

"I disagree," Flame shook her head. "You are morons if you think he should have called out every freaking target and said 'hey, I know you have all the back-up in the world and I'm alone so I'm giving you ample warning that I'm going to try and kill you'."

"You are a psycho," Aniqua pointed out. "It figures you would agree with him."

"He didn't have a choice," Samantha intervened. Her speaking so decisively was almost as stunning as her words themselves. "Having a gun might not have saved Israel against the Aurora Slasher, but it might have discouraged those sorority students."




One in Ten



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/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 PA 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' 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 on my cockhead and my penis 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 cockhead 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 pussy, fuck'em 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 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 503." 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 ADA 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 dick," 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 8-9 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.




One in Ten



"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 and putting my cockhead to her labia. 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.

When I came, Debra squealed. She wove her arms around my waist and held me tight as my sperm painted the walls of her vagina. 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 penis 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 SOP 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.




One in Ten



"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 penis 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 1900 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."

"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.



One In The Same



It was all very likely inevitable anyway.

After all, Maggie and George lived in the same townhouse. Downtown and a mile north of the theater district, they owned the old stone upright outright, were its only occupants, and so had the entire place to themselves. They lived in the same building but in separate apartments, on different floors, as a reluctant and ill-defined nod to propriety; she on the 2nd floor and he on the 4th, with the 3rd floor between them sound-proofed and dedicated as a studio and the ground floor empty and closed off to all but the property's sole tenants. Maggie as well had a key to her brother's door and occasionally liked to wander around inside and for hours while George was either in the studio or on the rare occasion outside altogether. In his place alone, sipping cold wine that he kept only for drinking with her (George always ordered out for food; one cupboard held surplus whiskey and cartons of cigarettes, and within the refrigerator the balance of room around the wine bottles was beer), Maggie would tune in an oldies station through the stereo and smoke kools and roam around the furniture from room to room, half-listening for the songs she and George had once recorded and lazily snooping through drawers and cabinets as a lover, albeit unconsummated, looking for evidence of infidelity.

§§§

George Lawrence & Geraldine Margaret (Maggie) Satellite were fraternal twins, rich and once celebrated, inarguably talented and intelligent if not particularly schooled, still young and, especially Maggie, attractive. Tall and solid at 5'10'' and 137 lbs., heavy breasted and bouncy, with a trim waist and a taut, meaty behind, Maggie moved with a graceful strength and sensuality that all men longingly noticed – rolling her buns with a provocative rocking tick-tock away from all whom she parted company, always happily unescorted. She was of gorgeous, Amazonian voluptuousness and she knew this (her face was by contrast only melodious: large, inviting eyes and a straight nose were all that were notable, her mouth unremarkable save for an a appealingly toothy smile). Maggie had never really abandoned the breezy, cosmopolitan fashions of her adolescence and, favoring hoop earrings and clear fingernail polish, often barefoot and wearing her blond hair straight and waist-length above the beltline of cinching, threadbare denims, her dress complemented a serene cerebral posture – and yet she was proud of and notorious for being recklessly but casually demanding and a harsh and seemingly omniscient judge of character. She was coolly contemptuous of men for their puerile, simpering advances and dismissive of their women for their envy.

As Maggie was an alluring physical symmetry of plush curves and warm promise, George's handsomeness was by comparison, and defeating the genetic advantages he shared with his sister, all lanky straight edges and points and corners; with the lean, rawboned strength of corded steel or re-bar and murderously dark half-moons underscoring a starved, vacant countenance, his features were largely honed sharp by hard drink, lost sleep, and an often black moodiness that lent him the irresistibly dangerous beauty of the haunted and damned. 

Nonetheless, Maggie had always loved her Georgie, desperately and protectively, and George as well loved Maggie – and would have gladly killed in her defense, to safeguard what was his – however heavily veiled his avarice. Indeed, given their affluence and influence, their beauty, and the requisite intelligence to rationalize any indulgence (or sacrifice) – that they at best were politely considerate of outsiders and all but worshipped themselves and each other; as one was the synonymous, opposite-sex approximate of the other and that they had long fought a peer-sibling rivalry as to whom would possess the other – it all may very well have been merely a matter of time.

§§§

Of course Maggie loved her brother, and was even in love with him, she supposed (her twin brother, she'd fondly emphasize, suggesting to herself a cosmic simpatico between them she hoped would absolve her of the stigma of her creepy lusts) and had so much as vaguely entertained a crush on him since they were teenagers; a seemingly innocuous crush that their fans and the media continued to dismiss, to her relief, as just the mutual affection of a brother-sister music act – just a couple of cute kids – still now and despite their maturity; a caress, a teasing squeeze, a quick kiss on the lips – the flirty, spirited one just being affectionately supportive of her brooding, reclusive brother (backstage before one performance many years ago, as the club emcee tried to assuage a half-drunk and rowdy, almost violently skeptical house – really, these kids rock! – a beered-up George gave Maggie's ass cheek a lingering little squeeze and whispered to her "wish us luck...," a gesture from then on that Maggie outwardly allowed with a smile but secretly welcomed). However, for the years since they last toured and having settled surely and amiably into the "Hey, didn't you used to be...?" genre of obscurity, Maggie had been of the disturbing certainty that she harbored a lust for her brother that was unsettlingly sexual, far more than mere familial possessiveness. And the long evenings spent together in his apartment – now and then, at first, and each party propped up on separate furniture, just lounging about, drinking and talking and watching t.v. – had become inordinately frequent and decidedly more intimate with Maggie cuddling with George on the overstuffed sofa, lying back against his chest and cradled between his legs, his arms draped loose about her midsection. He had begun resting his hands under her shirt and playing with her navel and sometimes softly and unexpectedly kissing her throat and neither, least of all George, minded. These evenings had thrilled them both but despite their tacit practice of being always direct with each other, professionally and personally and regardless of how cruel the honesty –

"Try not to re-write 'Imagine'."

"Big talk, coming from the Cute Beatle."

"Genius is knowing 'She loves you, yea-yea-yea' works; you'd have written 'She loves you, indeed'. And Lennon wasn't a hillbilly."

"Your feet are dirty, Your Highness."

– for the first time in their lives they only jokingly addressed what they were really doing and how it made them feel. George would remark how her nipples poked ridiculously prominent from behind her shirt, even through her bra, and Maggie would disingenuously note that she'd complain of his erection against her lumbar if the boorish lump weren't so small, and in the wee a.m. hours they'd sleepily disentangle, yawn, listlessly mumble their goodnights to each other, and Maggie would go downstairs to her apartment and George would pour himself a nightcap or four to calm the nervy charge running the length of his body.

In time, their game was not so platonic. Languidly draped over one another on the couch, George would fondle Maggie's breasts until, finally discarding any pretence of innocence, he one evening put his hand between her thighs and scrubbed at her vagina through her bluejeans. She drew up a leg in acquiescence and he scratched and dabbed at her clitoris through the denim while she ground her hips between his legs, neither of them watching the television they were looking at, his erection threatening so much greater now than when they were kids; when they were both thirteen and George was outweighed and out-muscled by a coltish, teenaged Maggie and she could, and would regularly, wrestle him down at will; when he was still unaccustomed to wet dreams and a thought of sex, or arithmetic, or Spring, or the wind equally could make his penis stiffen, and Maggie's breasts were still just blossoms and her cupcake-butt only boyish as his, and rough-housing with his boy-crazy sister at night in front of the t.v. always happily resulted in her playfully dry-humping him through their nightwear during commercials and they had enjoyed each other's company alone those evenings far too much for even their own comfort. This evening though, years later and each overtly predatory of the other, she arched heavily and agreeably against her brother, her head thrown back on his shoulder and her face to his throat. He rubbed and tugged at her harder and then whispered to his sister in a once-ambiguous lyric from one of their own songs a particularly unnatural desire of his for her and she abruptly crushed back into him in one violent, involuntary writhe: an 'uhuh', and then a trembling rush of breath past his ear, Maggie came and her crotch went damp, the sky-blue cotton between her legs darkening, and she dissolved back again against George. She kissed the underside of his jaw line and they continued to cozy, watching the news and comfortably saying nothing. 

An hour later, before leaving for her own apartment and still without a word between them regarding her glow, they bid goodnight with a loose embrace and an unhurried kiss, their tongues slowly swirling about at the heart of their incest.

§§§

Maggie found George's porno stashed in an otherwise empty third drawer of a dresser set back against the far wall of his walk-in closet. She stood inside over the open drawer, among his clothes and amusedly thumbing through a back-issue of Abased Babes, a fringe publication of explicit photos exclusively of popularly pretty college girls being boned in the ass: triple-x still-frames from motel room productions of anonymous cocks rooted up the butts of ambitious co-eds, too fabulously fast-track to wait tables – moonlighters, going for the bonus pay, first-timers – hastily buttered belly-down over a pillow and put to the white-knuckle work, their expressions wide-eyed and focused acutely on an unseen astonishment.

"Eeew-yuck goddamn, Georgie," she lamented, laughing, out loud and un-sticking some of the magazine pages and imagining her critically-acclaimed brother masturbating over these pictures – her masculine twin, bug-eyed and hunched over his poor wiener, squirrelly self-absorbed and tossing-off over this vacuous loveless-ness – and she quickly ignored an arrantly jealous annoyance with him for not approaching her with his need, however inconceivable the concept. Taking a long pull from her cigarette and then a longer swallow of wine, she set the magazine aside and pulled from the drawer from beneath some videotapes a framed photograph of herself.

It was an 8x10 inch glossy original of her modeling an indiscreet blue bikini for the celebrity swimsuit edition of a sports & fitness magazine last summer on a remote South Pacific island shore 2 minutes after sunset: she was spread wide and low on froggy all-fours and pointed toward the ocean and tropical twilight – her knees planted firmly in the sand and granules spilling through her fists, holding onto the planet and the soft crack of her luscious tush a gaping shadow beneath the sheer blue fabric of the tiny bikini bottom. Loop earrings shone like small halos and her hair hung pooled at her breasts brushing the beach. For good measure, she was gazing over her shoulder and smiling dreamily into the camera. A string of murky spots diagonally dotted the glass pane covering her image.

Maggie's heart began wildly thumping and her knees were wobbly with adrenaline; the shirts and slacks and jackets that hung about her and packed close on their hangers suddenly smelled so strongly of George that he might just as well have been present. She reached back into the drawer and removed with one grasp the three boxed videotapes that had been stacked on her portrait: Anal Blondes – Vol. 7, Poop-Chute Cuties (8 Ass-Blasting Scenes! Blonde Voy'age!) and, somewhat incongruously, The Art Of Anal Sex.

Maggie's breathing had condensed to coarse, rapid pants and with considerable effort she inhaled a roomy breath to clear her head and slow her pulse. Reflexively, still unable to think anything, she took the plastic videocassettes from their boxes and placed them aside, returning the shiny cardboard, the off-Hollywood rag, and the photograph of herself to the back of the drawer. Reconsidering, she reached back into the drawer and, retrieving her portrait, she as well discovered an unopened 13oz. squeeze-dispenser:

Pipe Grease

Petroleum-Based Anal Lubricant

Active Ingredients: Benzocaine (Topical Anesthetic) 11%

Maggie gathered the videocassettes, the photograph, and the tube of lubricant together and carried them out to the main room and dropped them into her tote bag on her way out the door and back downstairs to her own apartment.

§§§

The following Friday had been leaden and coolly overcast, then alternately heaving and steadily raining throughout the afternoon, and would do so all that evening, when Maggie dialed the downstairs studio number: 

"Hey love..." he answered. 

"Hey baby, I'm calling from your place. You coming up soon?"

"Yeah. Anything on cable?"

"I haven't checked. Ten minutes?"

"See ya then."

Maggie closed the phone and opened a window. She took a last look through the video camera's view glass, made sure the sound was on, and poured herself some wine. She preemptively poured a tall scotch & ice for George. She took several lengthy drinks from her glass, lit a cigarette, and refilled. She left George's whiskey at the bar and carried her own drink across the room to the bookcase that stood directly facing the front door fifteen feet away. She placed her glass on a shelf beside a pill bottle and, facing the book bindings, she stood with her back to the front door, as relaxed as she could manage, wearing only the tiny blue bikini and earrings from the swimwear layout, pensively inspecting her fingernails, sometimes clenching her fists, and listening to her heartbeat kick at her ribs while a cool scent of rain rode a clean breeze past the curtains from across the room and throughout. She couldn't find the other ring, her keepsake, but she had combed cocoanut bath oil through her hair. 

Conceding the evening's only consciously contrived gesture, when she heard the door finally open behind her she deliberately paused for one long moment to allow for George's mind to register the presence of his sister's scrumptious, blue-bottomed near-nakedness – and all it implied she now knew – before evenly looking over her shoulder and meeting the expression of abject dismay in his eyes. However, in his desolation Maggie saw her brother ill with instinct and desire, sick with a singularly and ferociously depraved and wretched lust for her that abruptly whetted her crotch and very nearly buckled her knees from beneath her.

"Come here, baby" she said gently and turned back towards the bookcase.

George stood numb in the doorway for a short eternity before an astonishingly indecent arousal brought him around and he crossed the floor to her and stood at her bare back, firmly resting his hands on her hips, and she smiled quietly to herself. He drew Maggie's yummy butt against the fat erection unfurling within his jeans and she in turn gave her ass a friendly little wiggle. She turned inside his embrace to face him and unabashedly grinned up at him. They kissed once, tenderly, before she pulled away and reached back for the pill bottle on the bookshelf behind her. She shook out two 50 mg doses of Viagra and put the pills to George's lips.

"Take these; your drink 's on the bar. We've a long night ahead of us."

§§§

A half-hour later George stood naked before her, very close and still, freshly showered and again in the main room. His balls hung from him like powder kegs. He waited while Maggie fondled him, sizing him up; his cock in her hand pointed well beyond just erect – now an angry and achingly swollen and purplish tool of 10¼ inches, a broad and gnarled menace as big around as her arm and with the single-minded disembodiment of a wrench. He had cut back his pubic hair to bristles. He put his hands to her shoulders and nudged her to move to her knees.

"Not just yet. Have a seat." 

She led him by his appendage over to the giant recliner and straddled his lap, she seated upright and facing him square, the moist crotch of her bikini all that separated her vagina from direct contact with the length and breadth of his shaft. Her tan had paled almost entirely since last summer, but before she could prompt him he was already affectionately smoothing his palms along the faint flesh of her thighs. As well adoring, she took his face in her hands.

"I want us to be lovers" she began.

"Okay" he agreed grandly, taking a sip of his already second scotch from his right and a draft from a Marlboro from his left. He was feeling much better.

"Listen," she said, taking the cigarette from his fingers and crushing it out. She leaned forward and kissed his lips. "I'm in love with you; and you're in love with me. I know this".

Now serious, he admitted "Yes, I am in love with you, Maggie." So far, so good.

She studied his eyes, then said "What do you want?" her nipples as hard as glass marbles through her bikini top. From her tote bag beside the recliner, she brought out and showed him the swimwear portrait of herself.

Escaping her scrutiny, he looked long at the fantasy photograph and said, somewhat honestly, "I want you...inside you, to make love to you gently and lovingly forever." 

'Amen', she almost laughed at him, but she just smiled, and content with his prose, George renewed his caress of her thighs. He took her left breast in his hand and brushed a thumb across her nipple, a small rock.

"I love you so much, George" she said genuinely, a little sadly.

"I love you too, Maggie" George said, also genuinely, emphatically.

Maggie reached back into the bag and retrieved the first two videocassettes and held them up one after the other, their titles labeled in bold print and unmistakably legible at a glance. The How-To video she dismissively left downstairs.

"Read these to me – aloud, sweetheart" she softly demanded. George swallowed, a gulp.

"'Anal Blondes'" and Maggie offered an unmindful toss of her pretty head, "...and 'Poop-Chute Cuties'" George said, hoarse, and she felt a twitch of his cock against her glove, her satin astride his steel-incarnate.

"Tell me what you want, Georgie" unsmiling but her eyes shining delightedly.

"Maggie, I do love you..." he said, beseeching, acknowledging the sound he'd heard her make the last time, when they were sixteen, before he quite knew what he was doing or how to do it – but did anyway – and she hadn't quite not screamed when he did.

Maggie withdrew from the bag the last torment, the tube of lubricant, and held it a little too closely to his face.

"Read the label to me, baby."

"'Pipe Grease'" he coughed.

"And...?" she persisted.

"'Petroleum-Based Anal Lubricant.'"

"Tell me what you want, baby" the crotch of her bikini slick, sopping, her vagina having graduated to cunt. Unmercifully, smiling knowingly, she answered for him:

"You want to buttfuck me" she purred to him in a taunting little singsong, " – you want to sodomize your own sister" she sang quietly, leaning closer to his face and kissing him. George leaned forward as if to return her buss and slid his hands from her thighs to her buttocks, and massaging her tush divided wide, he swiftly slipped his hand under the waistband of her bikini and with his forefinger gave her anus a thick dry gouge, a vengeful little stab at her pucker. Maggie started sharply and slammed the heels of her hands against his chest, banging him back into his seat. He watched her eyes and caught a spark of searing lust and fury within her, a white-hot desire of which he thought only himself capable. She leaned in close again, her breathing ragged and clipped, panting. He could smell her control: smoke and soap, wrath and arousal.




One In The Same



"Don't rape me before we're ready" she distinctly threatened, then just as suddenly softened. George carefully, cautiously kissed her and Maggie rejoined with a smile, foxy.

"You do want to hurt me" she ventured.

"No. The lubricant would make it easier" reassuring himself. 

"You lie. The grease would make it easier, better, for you" she stressed sweetly, "and you bought oil-based, at that" challenging him with what he knew to be her irrefutable insight, "because you want a long, thorough ride, merciless and leaving nothing to our imaginations." Maggie leaned in very close and put her lips to his ear, still not wanting, after all these years, to meet his eyes when she stated their only one, really, terrible truth; she spoke to him in a whisper so soft as to be just this side of a private thought:

"I think you kinda liked it that I bled some" she breathed, and held her face to the side of her brother's, waiting until the moment passed when she thought they could both bear to look at each other again. 

George was silent, his truths indefensible.

"I know you don't want to 'gently, lovingly ease your engorged member through my dainty ideal, my most teasing breech'" she said, now wistfully, famously regaining her composure and mocking his mollifying, ostensibly considerate, courteous depiction of 'blasting' her ass. "I watched the tapes, Georgie; I know you want to buttfuck me – painfully and unconscionably, ferociously and forever – and I want you (too or to?, he thought, pouncing on this crucial point; what did she just say?)" George smiled. "I want to ride you, Georgie – like that, even – as long & often as you like" she allowed, " – tonight we'll mean it." It was too late for coy.

"Prescription-strength sodomy" he mused, " – your idea. Blush for me, Margaret."

Ignoring him, "We only get one chance at a first time – you're still too big, even bigger, and I'm as good as brand new since then...we'll set a timer; an hour should be forever enough, for tonight anyway" she said, disguised as if an afterthought, feigning calm. She took George's hand between her own, first kissing then wetly sucking his middle finger. She brought his hand around her waist and again down the back of her swimsuit and between her cheeks, encouraging his forefinger to salve her anus with her saliva. Drawing his hand back out, she then placed the tip of that same middle finger between his lips. 

"Wound me well, my love" she whispered. "Poke me, Georgie; I'll help."

Maggie dismounted George's lap, and without a word or a glance back she walked over to the L-shaped couch and knelt wide in its corner, setting the lubricant to one side and resting her forearms on the sofa back, her rounded backside lurid and pouting beneath the blue swim panties, her blonde head bowed and, again, absently inspecting her nails, waiting. George came up behind her and held her by the hips, motioning her, feeling his grip. He ran his palms up and down the sides of her waist and ribs, massaging her entire upper and lower back and she parted her knees farther on the sofa seat, relaxing, casually bracing. George pulled Maggie's shoulders upright to his chest and embraced her, unfastened her swim bra and, slipping the string straps off her shoulders and removing the garment altogether, he kneaded, hefted and caressed her fresh breasts a pound apiece, pointed and pillowy, each half-again more than his hands could hold, and alternately petted her bare midriff. He slipped a finger down the steamy front of her swim panties and touched and toyed with her clitoris, kissing her throat and shoulders and the fragrance of her hair and scalp intoxicating and wafting about his mind and she swallowed, a gulp, and moaned and writhed within his hug. He hooked his thumbs in her waistband and Maggie leaned forward again against the sofa back and scooted her knees together. George reverently disrobed her of the swim panties and laid them aside. She reassumed the position and kneeling behind her, he held her firmly by her hips and felt her body tense, clutch.

He said "I know you're virgin, Maggie" and threw her over onto her back to a slouching, half-seated position and stepped between her legs, "...and ovulating" and she as suddenly tried to bring her knees together. Unable to guard herself, she put her hand to his abdomen – an uncertain, trembling touch, suggesting she could be scared of him, a new drama to be played out. 

"...no, baby, please; not this way – not yet" a soft plea, but he thought she might cry.

George dropped to his knees between her legs and Maggie grabbed him by the shoulders, neither pulling him toward her nor pushing him away, just trying to steady the chaos around her. He kept his hands at her waist and, her panic lessening, she let him draw close enough to kiss her and he whispered in her ear:

"You wanted me to, and you were afraid I would; you lie too, precious" he said, and she bit down on his earlobe hard enough to draw blood. He remained motionless until she had finished injuring him, unclenching her teeth and then sucking his wound, nursing the injury she had inflicted on him. George then held Maggie away from him at arms length and saw her furious with emotion, no less than the storm outside their window.

"I'm gonna fuck you dead" she spat, both a sob and a hiss.

"Shhh..." soothing, conciliatory, and he put his mouth to her left breast, and then her right, sucking her nipples gently, deliberately, not as a hungry child but rather as an animal relishing its prey. Lowering his head, he slung his arms under her legs and kissed and licked her lower belly, where her legs joined her hips, and along her inner thighs; he would not concede her real pleasure just yet and she knew he was stalking her and her warm aroma grew ever more moist. Maggie finally placed her hands at the back of his head and George allowed her his undivided attention, luxurious and excruciating. Stroking his hair and full of his face, when she felt his tongue bathe and then probe her rectum – a deeply wet and grotesque shame she could not discourage – she rocked her pelvis up against his mouth, demanding she be ravaged.

Resurfacing, he uncapped the tube of lubricant and Maggie raised her knees toward her ears. George inserted the plastic nozzle into her anus and emptied ¼ of its contents up her lower intestine and she shivered. He set aside the dispenser and smeared the jelly over her surface and rim and inserted one finger to the first knuckle, snug and stubborn, then two and three fingers, somewhat more so, and sliding up to the last knuckles he turned and twisted his fingers around inside her, coating her orifice and ensuring she was agape and gooey and seeping with preparation. They watched each other's eyes while they both readied her and said nothing, only listening to the rainfall outside and the moist noises of her being delicately reamed.

He withdrew his fingers from her and stood, and she lowered her legs and sat up. George placed a hand behind his sister's head at the base of her skull; a bitter, saline dollop of pre-semen had gathered and now hung from the end of his erection and then Maggie took her brother into her mouth, sucking and sipping, softly tasting his flesh and fluid. They did this without thought, an unconscious obedience to their base instincts as a man and a woman, consensually alone and naked in the other's presence, a harbinger to their impending communion, however vile.

George withdrew from Maggie's mouth and handed her the tube of lubricant, disallowing her any illusion of passivity. She squeezed another ¼ of the jelly into her palm and slathered his cock with a slippery, gelatinous finish. She wiped the excess from her hands on his buttocks and along the length of his thighs and looked up into his eyes.

"Get on your knees & elbows" he said, "...bend over, Maggie – and beg for it." An ugly, lame assertion, and so she instead stood nude before him.

"You'll earn me this time, boy" and she smacked him hard across the mouth. He grabbed her by the wrists and yanked her close, looking far into her eyes with a frightening, lightening-sky strike of violent carnality – and George so desperately loved her all over again for so far having so wonderfully played along, since this would be, they both knew, from now on all too real. He wiped his tongue once, wet and thick, up the front of her face.

"I'm going to make an awful lot of room back there, sweet-seat" he told her, brushing his lips against hers, " – powerfully, prodigiously..." 

" – 'ease me your meat'? 'People my peep-hole – impolitely'? Say it, coward" she told him, struggling, feral and forcing him to further force her. "Tell me what you want."

"I'm going to so buttfuck you, Maggie" he said low and tonelessly, and she hung on his promise no less than she hung from his arms, her breathing harried, fitful huffs, and as well licking his face while he assured her of his love as combat. "I'm going to so cornhole you, my love; fuck you anally far up your pretty ass like I've always wanted to. I'm gonna cram my cock hard up your butt and screw you long after you've cried 'no' and until 'yes' means I've cum inside you and popped your beauteous ass for only the first time for the rest of our lives. Yes, I want to buttfuck you, Maggie; you – my own sister, my brave, brash girl" and he swung her over onto her hands and knees inside the corner of the couch back and with a stinging swat of her haunch. George knelt behind Maggie and locked his knees to the inside of hers, spreading her legs apart and her backside wide, exposing her pristine pink squint. He started the timer and it began counting down the minutes in electronic silence from sixty. He wedged the head of his cock between her cheeks and, pressed blunt against the fragile aperture of her anus, he held her hips inescapably in place.

Until this moment, sexplay with her brother felt as if she had awakened underwater to discover that she could still breathe, or that she were asleep and yet aware she was dreaming. However, their fun now no more just abstract speculation and her bare ass sacrificially held fixed in his grip, his scored, calloused palms parting her seat cheeks, Maggie knew with terrifying clarity that what she had meticulously incited her brother to do she would indeed next endure and that with George formidably and irreparably set sledgehammer at and in appallingly voluminous contrast to her access – her hopelessly, vainly unyielding elasticity – there were finally no tricks or curses or bullying that would stop him – her once reliably expert, scheming femininity, any attempt to exploit her brother's love for her no longer of any consequence. She felt him push and she knew ruefully he would next be supremely inside her and make her yell and that she desired it, that she wanted his intimate hurt of her, and this atrocity would then be now.

Until this moment, sexplay with his sister was a playful if volatile exchange of control, each alternately seducing the other, their mutual manipulation of one another swinging back and forth as a feather floats to earth until their instincts alighted onto their purest ground. However, his wettest dreams now made real – Maggie's creamy, bare rump ceremoniously held firm in his hands, her buns vulnerably separated soft, dividing her crack and redoubtably, inexorably set rock-cock hot against her elasticity – her sweetly, vainly unyielding access – George could see that he was really, criminally, too broad for her this way and that, worse, this savagery of her by his size would not stop him. He began to push and knew ruefully he would next be supremely inside her and make her yell and that he would enjoy it, that he craved his intimate hurt of her, and this atrocity would then be now.

When she felt him begin to pull her onto him, pry and pack himself into her, feeling the endlessly exponential stretch then helpless give of her sphincter – this secret, indelible branding of Maggie by his distension of her forever marking her as his (though in truth she knew she now owned him) – she triumphantly and in defiance of her own well-being sat back hard onto his post. In that instant the whole of George's mass solidly disappeared up Maggie's behind: a thick squish of lubricant and a crashing slap of flesh, they withdrew just shy of his entire length and, repeating the ferocity of their first thrust, there was again another clap as his lap slapped her seat.

An obscene strain, bright and profound – her agony hard and as clean as a new dime, steely and exact, and an impulsive attempt to twist free, arrested at her hips – and yet Maggie sounded only a husky grunt in acknowledgement of his colossal inhabitancy of her among those first furious fifty strokes – their lunging, colliding strides through her insubordination, George's every crisp, flat spank of Maggie's beautiful bottom a further punishing penetration deep up her delicious ass until her arms folded and she dropped her shoulders onto the sofa back, her will to even contribute to, let alone resist, her brother's sodomy of her at last defeated.

"Ooow-uhaaah!" Maggie finally wailed, a sonorous, suffering, surrendering howl of protest and release and from the floor of her lungs. And with this collapse of her resolve and her mind and muscles slack with whole submissiveness, George halved the rate and redoubled the power of his pace up her backside from a gallop to a march, gloriously parading them both through their intercourse while the rainfall outside applauded their sin.

Maggie held on as George pumped at her, plied and lay waste her bum's prim obstinacy, and she laid her head between her grip of the couch back and squeaked and whimpered in time to her brother's relentless abuse of her bottom. Shoe-horned into her and invulnerable to reason, he compulsively fucked her butt with both a heartless indifference to and an impassioned prejudice of her outrage: his girlfriend, best groupie, and lover, the co-author of his success and now his mate, she was all of these and as well his sister, and if she were to know him she would be made to endure all of him. Twenty minutes and 900 thrusts later, her trauma polished smooth of its splintered anomalies and her discomfort largely abated, George had gradually eased back his assault of his sister's plump duff from those first brutal, initiating plunges to a routine of seamlessly pistoning penetrations, settling into a full-length loping rhythm of level, measured strokes up Maggie's ass. With the hurricane of their sex circling about them in ominous calm, Maggie could now hear over her shoulder the elements of this storm of theirs' indoors – hearing, absorbing the juicy, metronomic pump and squelch of George's efforts behind her, the fleshy bell toll of his repeated impact with the fat compact of her loaves, and then the throaty mummers of his own dissolution:

"...umh, ahh; oh, Maggie – my lovely, naughty Maggie" he groaned as he sawed at her, grinding away at both of them of what little remained of their modesties and sensibilities and enkindling some primal desire of hers to enjoy her brother's own enjoyment of his so unlawful use of her.

"Do me, Georgie" she crooned back to him, and so ended the civility of their dialogue for the next several minutes as they spoke to each other, at and over each other, in expletive barks and slurs and fractured declarations of raw want realized – coaxing, cajoling, each building on the other's last vulgarity, exclaiming the exquisite filth of their desires for one another, their voices ringing off the walls and out the window and all but inaudible from the street four floors below.

Whirling shouts of you/me this and give/take that – speech coherent only in the context of lovemaking or warmongering – their flurried verbiage culminated when George felt the warm, warning roar of near-orgasm within his loins, and he told Maggie that he was finally about to come. Maggie's experience until this moment, an ascension from sacrifice to exertion and then to even this weird, dirty pleasure, had still been far less sure of climax than the tidal certainty of orgasm throbbing within her brother's groin; but hearing his words – this knowledge that their act, this taboo, a so unspeakably forbidden crime against nature that nature so casually suggested of them, would indeed be done – as if her first piercing weren't enough – she now knew suddenly that she too would soon come as irrevocably as would her brother behind her and she cried out her discovery to him with an alarming urgency. He grappled her hips and incessantly bored open her rose-hole and she clung tight to the couch back and squatted aft, a rebounding bump back inbound at the end of each thrust for an extra fraction of depth, and George grimaced skyward and called out her name and came hard with a wrenching landslide of sour, seminal momentum: a splashing gush of semen, loathsome and bestial, he spilled tumbling, weighted ropes and curds of sperm up Maggie's bowels, heating her guts and invisible to all but God. And feeling his hot mess pour into her, Maggie responded in kind – shrieking and flailing and calling to George at the crest of her climax to be more completely, impossibly deeper and harder inside her and she as well came wildly with a writhing, spasmodic cloudburst of her every whorey need sated, her secretions tracing from her pussy shiny lines down the inside of her thighs and her ripe, dense stench suddenly clouding the immediate air. 

They washed ashore from their orgasms as if survivors of a shipwreck: breathless and clumsily, their stumbling thrusts into/onto each other staggered and halting. "Don't stop, baby..." Maggie mewed over her shoulder, sensing her brother might try to spare himself any further guilt by way of a dishonest mercy for her – and lose the renaissance of a new affinity for each other from the ruins of their old selves – but, chemically sustained and still sound inside her, his desires revived by her humid, pheromonal odor, George resumed his angular command of her ass with an easy, gliding precision and they swung along together in unison like this for some time more, blissfully, like sweethearts hand-in-hand down a boulevard in any weather on a day made beautiful by the other's presence. Relieved of his lust's frenzy, George could savor his idling ride of Maggie hugged over the corner of the couch back and her similarly assuming the position in which she had appeared in the photograph. From his hold of her pelvis, he could observe, relish, his penetrations of her – her venerably heart-shaped tush – and between her buns feel the more muscular, strangling slick-friction of her wrap of him within as he stirred and churned his semen inside her, her depths soupy, sloppy with sperm and lubricant; his thrusts compounded would amount to a short ton of his meat packed up her ass before they were through, he imagined, ponderously piling his bulk into her pound after pound, one brick at a time: building on their blasphemy, erecting their sacrilege – this deliciously unlovely buggery of his sister's delightful fanny.

She felt her brother still huge and invasive inside her, a plowing, cylindrical enormity crowding her aft-cache replete beyond his actual dimensions, his pubic stubble prickling, and Maggie laid her face again alongside the upholstery between her grips of the sofa back. Glancing at the timer, she saw their hour well over half-elapsed but, at this rate, still hundreds of thrusts from finished; his accumulative strokes would amount to a half-mile ride before they were through, she thought, 10 long inches after another: his hands steering her hips, and herself, their journey – her brother as a bus smoothly bombing up her backcountry. On the far wall, she saw their play-rape artfully framed and reflected in full in the mirror across the room and she watched their bodies move in tandem, his pole alternately laid bare then buried big back up her rump, she leisurely meeting his lengths, his lines leveraging and her curves swaying, their forms beautifully functioning together – a surreal brew she immersed herself in as both voyeur and participant. Aware of a dull, vague ache of her sphincter muscle, she readjusted her stance and tried in earnest to further relax and accept, envelop even, George's penetrating tonnage and this private little pain – and the math, the imagery – that hurt so good she giggled, and she looked over her shoulder to watch his face until he looked up from his work of her and met her eyes, seeing her grinning at him brightly, knowingly.




One In The Same



"How dare I enjoy this so" he smiled back at her, blushing, despite everything, and she laughed.

"I know what you mean" she said, "me too," and resting her head again, she watched their incestuous harmony in the mirror for another minute before George, realigning his aim into her, inadvertently knelt on the stereo's remote that had been lost between the sofa's seat cushions. The radio pre-set suddenly lit up and the room swelled with low volume lite-rock and Maggie began to hum and then quietly sing to her brother about how she as well could feel the earth – move – under her feet, feeling the sky tum-ba-lin' down, a-tum-ba-lin' down.

"Mmm, so very good" George groaned, listening to his sister solicit him:

"' – I've just got to have ya, baay-beh'"

"' – uhuh-uhuh, uhuhh – '" he reveled,

"' – uhuh-uhuh, uhuhh, yeah-yeaah'" she rallied, 

and so they randomly, discordantly, parried back and forth, song after bastardized song – a steely, don'tch-ya-need-me-heyhey-oooyeah free-fall bridge, then a bitch/tease goddess-on-her-knees riff – and fucking with renewed vigor until the radio played one of their own songs and they serenely slipped mutually, heartfelt into their own music, singing, serenading in innuendo along with themselves together to one another a lyric, ethereal groove from their earlier days that they had written – each secretly regarding the other – about the peacefulness of familiar love and, conspiratorially, how that might be in the wake of familial sex.

A pause in the action, and then the room went silent, their fucky-lovemaking as suddenly void of music as if they'd both gone stone deaf. George had stepped up onto the couch, standing on the sofa cushions and ponyed atop Maggie's back, and the sight of this reflected in the mirror she thought looked a little silly until she saw her brother's face stricken with a dangerous ardor and she heard a dreadful resolve in his voice as he told her, repeating several times, that he so dearly loved her, that he was in love with her, and afraid for her brother she answered him as many times that she as well very much loved him, it's alright Georgie, but he seemed inconsolable, saying only I love you, Maggie, I'm so in love with you.

Then, his fingers closing over her wrists, " – but now I'm going to rape you, love, as I said I would; really, awfully fuck your sweet butt like I've always wanted to" and in their reflection she saw him hide his face in her hair, felt his breath steamy at her throat, and watching George's hips rise high toward the ceiling, his marbled pillar bridging their bodies, she barely got out 'ok – ' before he broke back into her ass with 180 lb. drives bigger than all the past hour's thrusts as one.

They both heard the microscopic crack of her sphincter and Maggie screamed weakly once as she briefly hurt virgin-again twice in as many hours, her asshole not-quite accommodating her brother's bloodlust. The weight and strength of his split of her spread her stance flat, driving her pussy to the upholstery and stifling her voice in mid-sentence – elementary masculine violence, too rough at this late stage, she thought; last winter she'd slipped and sat down on the ice softer than this – and so as he slammed-home hurtled in & out of her, she told him what women know all men want to hear, oh-no, oh-no, your so big and strong, it's too much, blah-blah.

George listened to Maggie recite the porn-queen script, barreling into her what felt like from across the room, and waited for her to really speak to him. The scary buttfuck he'd promised her wouldn't begin for another ten minutes of these race-engine industrial thrusts – 20 inches per cycle, 50 feet per minute – and not until long-after their scheduled hour had expired; when as the oil began to fail and feeling his cock chaff with the building friction, he heard his sister begin to talk less and say more, her face a crimson mask of increasingly contorted grimaces, her wrists twisting within his grip.

"georgie? baby? – it hurts."

"I love you, Maggie" drop-hammering granite and titanic into her astride her hips and from almost a foot overhead.

what was her still silky if frayed rosebud at the agreed-upon end of tonight's romp was, now trespassing well into the 2nd hour, fast becoming a tired crater, her anus beaten loosed and unmoored from it's diamond-tight maidenhood of so many years, her beautiful if common enough behind a home for his dragon in which to behave or breathe flame, in which to delight or damage.

Maggie had felt her asshole cooked. Then dry and burning as it got raw as salt. Now afire. And alighting her behind as bright as a match head – and so soon since his especially thorough orgasm – this searing fuck-bludgeoning of her rectum from above could potentially continue for... until when? the nightly news? midnight? 1 a.m.?

She began to beg George to stop, spilling tears – please georgie, stop – then bribe him, offering to suck him off clean, unwashed shit-filthy fresh out of her ass, and swallow every drop of his sperm. She tried somewhat to fight him, squealed 'rape' twice, then bit him, sinking her teeth into his forearm, and thought suddenly she might vomit – throwing-up or pissing herself would certainly stop him, she was as suddenly sure; but she then felt one thin hot trickle that she knew to be neither semen nor lubricant slip down the back of her leg, and she instead just laid her head to one side and began to openly bawl, mournfully giving up.

George didn't go any easier on her, but he sobbed into the back of her neck at the scent of blood, and she wept a little easier. And in the closing moments of their tear they together wrung from themselves the last of the evening's lusts with a Herculean dribble and a tumultuous trickle, George ejaculating again into his sister, and Maggie, in spite of herself, as well cumming with him while the timer to their right blindly blinked zeros at them with mute, digital impassiveness, it's exact signal for them to quit having another hour ago imperceptibly passed unacknowledged.

George managed only another dozen or so chops with his diminishing erection until he could finally remain only still to the hilt inside Maggie, deflating, and she felt her brother at last softening and then doughy inside her before he reluctantly, sloppily, uncorked from her butt and stepped down. Maggie turned around, gingerly, and seated herself upright with her leg tucked under her.

"I need a towel" she whispered, as if to not be overheard by even herself, and he stood and instead gathered his cock into his sister's mouth for her to briefly suck anyway, then gathered her into his arms slightly higher than to her feet to hold her off the floor in his embrace until she conceded to wrap her legs around him and let herself leak. George carried Maggie to his bedroom and dropped her into bed among his giant pillows and sweat-soured sheets and pillowcases, not letting her hide from him. He asked her to not escape him, to not wash off their iniquity, and she told him there was a wedge of cheese in the fridge. He returned from the kitchen after a minute with eats and drinks and smokes, and they talked for a long time: friendly, facetiously chiding – there was a small swollen split at the corner of his lip, lavender fingerprints polka-dotted her buttocks, and they'd both walk funny for a day or two – and when they did sleep, finally and for the first time their bodies enfolded naked in the other's, George especially slept restfully and for more consecutive hours than he had in years.

In the main room, their smells remained awake and all over; the camera could record only the still for the next hour, then ran out of tape.

§§§

Maggie sat straddling her brother, wearing only one of his dress shirts and twirling her bikini panties around her index finger, watching him wake up. It was the following afternoon and she was hungry. Stirring from sleep, trying to roll onto his side between her thighs, George opened his eyes and confusedly wondered if this all hadn't already happened before exchanging morning breath with his sister when she kissed him.

"Meet me at my place, love; we're going out" she said, and got off of him to leave for her own apartment.

George showed up forty-five minutes later, freshly showered and groomed, and Maggie wide-open answered the door two raps into the first knocks, her hair still half-damp since her shower, and of course conspicuously too-late closing her robe, the game still afoot. Smiling, she watched his eyes while he held her gaze for the ten seconds he could effect before his sight irresistibly swept her exposure and, having won another point, she casually covered up.

"Grab a beer, have a seat (yours, my maggie-luv, he thought)" she said, "I'm almost ready (for you again, georgie-sweets; we're just gettin' started)" and she left him in the doorway to go finish dressing, closing her bedroom door behind her. Maggie bought fussy beers that could not be just twisted open and in lieu of a bottle-opener he cleanly clipped off the cap of his beer from a protruding brick from the fireplace (sharp; hot; her).

She re-emerged obsolete-chic, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck sweater, a short plaid skirt, and knee-high boots; George was dressed to not kill, conservative-blah this side of invisible. Maggie left a kiss print on his throat as they departed, her mark, corvette red, that he'd wear loud and pristine for the rest of the day. They had rented a limousine and rode miles out of town to one of the city's surrounding hamlets, the whole way keeping the partition between them closed and having tipped the driver well up-front to mind his own damn business. They held hands while idly strolling the narrow streets and window-shopping, their waning folk-rock recognition for once welcome, and talked of movies, music, the weather, the store-front displays, lively speaking of anything except last night, thinking only of it. She knew with a smile every time he stole a glance at her backside and he thought all the while, with great satisfaction, of the scar of last night's sex, the evidence of his presence, curtained under her skirt and tucked neatly between her cheeks. Without discussion they'd decided on the same bistro, the same heavy food, and as they ate she was pleased that rather than having cooked the meal she had at least figured considerably into his improved appetite. During a pause in their chat, she caught and held his eyes between bites and made a slow show of adjusting her seat, shifting her weight from one womanly-broad bun to the other.

"Ouch" she grinned, " – nice work, stud" but he didn't blanch. He instead reached into his jacket and brought out the tarnished, low-gold band he'd given to her when they were kids but had secreted from her some time ago. Checkmate. Gin. Game, Set, Match. He took her left hand and placed the ring over her third finger, incanting softly "With this ring, I do thee wed..." It had been re-sized, fit perfectly, and was still junk. Maggie got teary. George said they'd shop for one worth a small mortgage tomorrow, and she told him to shut up, I want this one. 

They both felt far more comfortable for now not really mentioning last night but for eye contact between them and its promise of the sex they knew they would someway do with each other, brother and sister, tonight and in subsequent nights, their perversity for now still clandestine even in the light of day and among normal people: regular guys and gals and other decent folk, and, paradoxically in spite of the sex-shop two blocks down the street in the other direction that they didn't know was there – striping, raw-hide leather whips, drop cloths, locking fur-lined steel handcuffs, and rubber masks and gags Since 1981– they assumed themselves for as long as they were anywhere but home to be the whole goddamn world's sole freak show. And relishing their deceit of all humanity, they paid their bill and stole away from the restaurant and into the limo that they had unnecessarily had parked hidden in back, slowly climbing over-around-and-again-over each other sealed within the confines of the backseat, the car doors closed about them and the gravel parking lot crunching under the tires as the limousine lumbered onto the asphalt road, wrestling gently, their quiet play novel given that they both knew, fully clothed and this time well in advance of the act, that sex between them tonight would happen as legitimate lovers would anticipate, this moment unbeknownst to either of them as an unnerving celebration of the twenty hour anniversary of when George was first infinitely inside Maggie and she was trying to catch her breath so she could then spend the ensuing forty seconds piteously suppressing a cry to him to stop, it still doesn't fit.

Facing him, Maggie sat saddled in George's lap and they smooched while the Cadillac rode them home through the rain. "I owe you a blow when we get back" she told him, "and later we'll make love properly; but don't gag me, I'll swallow" and she then happily belched a hot fume of wine & garlic in his face.

"While you're so generously ingesting my seed – fruitlessly spent up your butt or down your throat – when do you mean to get pregnant?" George said and Maggie looked at him for a long moment, silently, now her truths indefensible. She curled up beside him, laying her head in his lap, and George petted her, massages segueing into molestations – rubbing her shoulder so as to squeeze her breast, stroking her hip so as to pat her fanny – caressing and copping feels, the two of them quietly listening to the wet road-noise humming up through the floorboards.

"When did you know?" she asked after a time, thumping his knee with her fist.

"You were too good last night – so much, so suddenly. I'd have done anything for you anyway – and will; indebting me to you with what I've always wanted from you was ambrosia. Banging your ass is a bribe I'll be glad to exact from you regularly and frequently from now on."

"I'll be healed in a few days; feel free."

"Not always, but another time you'll have to genuinely fight me; we'll be arguing and mad at each other, and when we're most loud and insulting and pissed-off, you'll at that moment have to guess as to whether we'll reason out our differences – or I force you over something and we listen to the crack of a paddle on your bare ass for a half-hour and I ass-rape you between your stung buns for an hour after that – and afterwards agree to disagree with you. Between feedings, of course, or even before you're too pregnant."

"I'll bear that in mind tonight while you're cumming in my mouth" and she gently closed her teeth over his thumb.

They arrived in front of their building and the driver assisted Maggie out of the car as if she were a queen. George tipped him half-again more and he gave George his card and an assurance that he could be available again as ordered .

Hand in hand, at Maggie's door George started to continue upstairs to his apartment, pulling her along. "I've got drink and smokes" she said, pulling him back. "As for the other, I'm still sore, and you've still other work to do. C'mere."

Her apartment smelled clean and fresh, and given the discrepancy he could only conclude that his place stunk. George imagined making Maggie cry out in his own bed, her face in his unwashed sheets, before this time next week and he hardened. She told him to make himself comfortable as she left him in the main room, so he stripped naked and went to the refrigerator for a beer. He this time looked for a bottle opener and after a swig of brew he snooped for something slick and yet reasonably fit for oral consumption. He decided against vegetable oil in favor of either maple syrup or Cool Whip; Maggie had been stark naked from the bathroom some thirty seconds before and had been watching George smear his erection with the whipped cream, swirling the tip of his cock in the plastic tub, and giggling she indicated he follow her into her bedroom. 

She turned on the stereo, and following her into her room George turned it back off. A bell in the back of her mind rang with the feeble, imprecise alarm of a wind-up clock, and listening to it weakly un-spring, she reminded herself that given their origins, better her brother tonight – whatever he had in mind – than those hill-country pigs when she was twelve – their uncles, after their father of course, if they hadn't together run – and she stood hundreds of miles and a million dollars away at the head of her high, giant bed, facing George in the failing light.

"I'd have done you unadorned, ba – " she started to say before he suddenly kissed her with a passionate strength that surprised and dazed her enough for her to only somewhat register that he'd said that he was in love with her and that this wasn't going to be what she had expected. He turned her facing from him as gracefully as if they were dancers and, lowering himself the length of his erection, he slipped the tip of his cock between her buttocks for the second time in as many days and stood up through her newly compliant back-pocket – forgiving, subordinate yield born of last night's carnage – as easily as if it had always belonged there, embracing Maggie from behind and lifting her to just off her toes by the base of his meat at her anus.

Maggie gasped and kicked and when the crown of her head crashed back against his cheekbone, George tasted a drop of his sister's tear splash into his mouth.

"Georgie...we have other business" she sniffled, still tender.

He lowered her so she stood flat-footed again but still held her close. She'd stopped clawing at him.

"I want you to suck me off, Maggie, like in the videos you know I'm so fond of; right after it's been deep up your ass" he whispered to her, and pumped her twice long and slowly for emphasis. 

"This isn't the scary buttfuck you promised me?" stalling, delaying the fellatio; maybe he'll finish this way and I'll make him wash, she thought.

George thrust twice more, lifting Maggie off her heels. He let her back to her feet and stood behind her, motionless inside her, for a full minute, soaking himself in her implicit filth, she knew.

When he spoke he thrilled and defeated her in one fell swoop. "My cock's up your ass, Maggie, and then it's going to be in your mouth and you're going to suck it and taste yourself and then I'm going to cum in your mouth and then you'll taste me, my sperm, your own brother's semen, and then swallow it – all of it. Ready?"

"Yes, baby, I will – but, really Georgie, I'm serious; you force me...you choke me, I chew. Careful?"

George unhooked from his sister's ass and when he sat at the edge of her bed she spun around and strode toward the bathroom. Maggie was in possession of a blued, snub-nose, five-shot .357 magnum – and a box of hollow-point rounds – that he knew she knew how to, and had before, fired, egregiously so, one time years ago when they were kids in defense of themselves, after money for which they'd performed, for food and a room, had been denied them and their mere survival was in question. She fisted her medicine cabinet and scattered everything but what she walked away with, and circling back she curtsied in her closet for some other items and flung the lot of her gatherings at his face as she walked back through the bedroom into the kitchen: the crass tube of lube, an equally vulgar butt-plug – a D-cell, 9 volt quaker, unchristened – and a wooden ping-pong paddle and two pairs of novelty handcuffs variously bounced and clanged off George's forehead into his lap. Maggie dragged a narrow, straight-back chair into the bedroom and propped it firmly to the foot of her bed. She straddled it backwards and folded her arms over the chair back, resting her chin, not shooting him.

"Tonight won't be so easy for either of us, huh Georgie? – especially me, I gather" she told him while locking each of her own wrists around the chair back to the iron rungs of the footboard, either cuffs' trigger within a fingertip's touch of the other, and gripping the bars as if jailed. "'Gimme, gimme, gim-meh the honky-tonk blues– awlright'" she sang to him and let him unclip then clap the free ends of the handcuff clasps each one rung farther apart and out of her reach. He put a pillow between her head and the chair back and tied Maggie's ankles to the chair's forelegs with neckties she'd stolen from him, dumb ones she knew he'd just as soon not wear anyway.