Men
Are Just Testicles In Prison
by Sterling
Chapter 2 of 10
It
was long after dark when Emily drove the car down a dirt road, brought
it to a stop and cut the engine.
"Welcome to the Shady Pines community, Bill," said Amy.
His
hands still cuffed behind his back, Amy and Emily escorted him into a
brick building, down some stairs and into a small locked room with
nothing but a cot and a toilet. Bill was above all thankful to be
alive, but he was also very tired. Once the cell door was locked, he
turned around to present his hands so Amy could unlock the handcuffs.
They turned out the light as they left. But he could see well enough to
use the toilet and collapse on the cot under the blanket provided.
When
he awoke in the morning he rose to take a closer look at his new
surroundings. His cell was much smaller than the one he'd had at
Washington Lake. Outside was a short corridor with a few file cabinets
in it, and through an open doorway across the hall he could see a
cluttered storeroom. Or perhaps it would be better termed a room with
mounds of junk. The patterns of light showed there was a window in that
room out of his sight to the left. Way to his left he could just barely
see a small dirty window set high in the wall, which made sense for a
basement.
"Hello?" he asked tentatively at first, then louder,
but no one answered. The room was a bit chilly for a man wearing
nothing but a short skirt. With nothing better to do, he lay down on
his cot to wait.
He heard footsteps on the stairs and sat up. A
stout gray-haired woman arrived carrying a tray. He certainly wouldn't
speak unless spoken to. Without looking at him, she placed a bowl,
spoon, and plastic bottle on the floor outside his cell. She motioned
to him and he reached out through the bars to pull the items in. The
bowl and spoon slid under the bottom bar, and he could bring the bottle
in between two bars. The woman left without a word.
The clear
liquid in the bottle was water. The bowl contained oatmeal with a few
raisins and a small cube of cheese in the middle. He would soon
discover that all meals were as plain as his breakfast, and variety was
very limited. After he had finished breakfast he lay down again to
wait. After a while -- he had no way of measuring time -- he heard
another set of footsteps and Amy appeared.
"Good morning, Bill," she said.
"Good morning, ma'am," he said.
"You can call me Amy," she said with a smile.
"Good morning, Amy."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Fine."
"That
skirt looks funny on you -- let me see what I can get." She went into
the storeroom across the hall and emerged with a gray sweatshirt and
sweatpants and handed them through the bars. He figured he would change
later, but she waited expectantly. So he donned the sweatshirt, then
turned his back, slipped the skirt off and pulled the sweatpants up.
"So, what can I tell you?" she asked.
"Um, whatever you think I ought to know to perform my duty," he said,
looking down.
"Huh.
I guess they really drilled it into you over at Washington Lake. Even
Rachel couldn't get Carl to behave like this. Or maybe you were just a
very good boy."
Bill was a little bit annoyed but remembered to be above all
subservient and cause no trouble. "Rachel? Carl?"
"Ah. Carl was our previous sperm donor, and Rachel was his handler. But
we've swapped and now I'm your handler."
"Oh, good," said Bill with a trace of enthusiasm.
Amy noticed and gave him a brief smile.
"I
want to thank you for buying me," he said. "I really didn't deserve it.
After what happened, I was afraid I'd have to go home again."
"You didn't like Washington Lake?"
"No,
it was fine. A nicer room than this, actually," he said, looking
around, but then added quickly, "Not that I'm complaining! This will be
just fine. But it sounded like they were going to kill me."
Amy
laughed out loud, but then stopped when she realized Bill was serious.
"I guess they could have, too, couldn't they..." She shook her head,
and after a moment's silence spoke again. "I think we got a good deal
on you. When I was inspecting your organs, I noticed your penis was
already pretty big, and it was partly out of curiosity that I squeezed
it. And it responded just like I read -- I mean, just like I'd been
taught, though I didn't really believe it until it happened."
"I'm so sorry, Amy. I know a male should only get an erection when
providing a sample."
"Well,
it was embarrassing. But you see, that worked in our favor. That's why
we could get you so cheap. And I don't think an erection is a bad
thing."
"You don't?" Bill was incredulous.
"More on that
some other time, perhaps. But then you were crying. I came down to
check. And I told my mother that emotional sensitivity is a good thing,
and she had to agree with that."
"Oh." Bill wasn't sure what to make of that. "Why didn't you let Emily
bid when I first came up for auction?"
"You were watching us?"
"Um... Well, you were the most memorable person who examined me. Or, I
mean, it was the most memorable experience."
Amy
laughed. "In case anyone else was on the edge of bidding, I wanted to
discourage them, to reinforce the idea you were worthless and that we
were reluctant. I don't know what we would have done if we hadn't
gotten you. Our limit was $1,800, and money's tight around here just
now... Not that that is any concern of yours. But number 3; we just
couldn't face it. He was just plain ugly."
"Dworkinism teaches that concern with physical appearance was a cruelty
imposed by the patriarchy."
"Yes,
well. That's all fine and good in theory. But our daughters will look
like whoever we get, and we just couldn't face having them look like
him."
Bill said into the silence, "Um, well, where am I? What is this place?"
"You
are in the former town jail. Well, it's still the jail, I guess. If we
had some woman we needed to lock up, we'd put them in one of the other
two cells. This is the old police station, which we don't use much any
more. Hardly at all since the men are all gone. There's hardly any
crime. A great achievement of Dworkinism."
"Certainly! If you don't mind my asking... What happened to Carl?"
"Oh,
he died," said Amy with a wave of her hand, but she looked
uncomfortable. "Anyway, it's time to earn you keep. We don't have any
women trying to get pregnant just now, but we still want to get the
procedure down. Here, could you give me a sperm sample in this?" She
handed him a clear plastic cup with a lid.
"Certainly," he said.
"I'll be upstairs. Just holler when you're ready."
He
heard her footsteps head up the stairs and lay back on his cot, pulling
down the sweatpants. With visions of Amy's pretty face and memories of
her hand from the day before, his erection was soon hard. He stroked
away and after maybe 20 seconds reached his climax and caught his
spurts and dribbles in the provided cup. He wiped his hand on his
thigh, put himself back together and called for Amy.
"That was
quick!" she said with a smile as she reappeared. He handed her the cup.
She took the lid off and looked at his production with more than
clinical interest. She took a deep sniff before closing the lid again.
"Bye, Bill," she said with a warm smile before disappearing up the
stairs.
He managed to get some books and magazines. The books
included the Dworkinian histories and manifestos that he had read many
times before. The magazine was in the same vein, though they had an
issue he hadn't seen back at Washington Lake. When he asked for algebra
and chemistry textbooks, Amy seemed surprised, but he got them. His
path in life required no education -- unless one counts how to
manipulate one's penis to create a sample and then catch it in a cup.
But he had been taught reading and mathematics at Washington Lake and
his proficiency was noted. Intelligence was partly heritable, and
Dworkinism sought smarter daughters by use of the sperm of smarter
fathers.
A couple days later a new woman came down the stairs. She was older
than Amy but younger than Emily, and had a cold face.
"You must be Bill," she said.
"Yes, I am. And you?"
"That
is none of your business. I teach the second grade, and girls need to
learn about men. I am going to bring them down here to observe you
tomorrow. You will be able to provide semen, I trust?"
"Um, yes
ma'am." He wasn't clear how semen related to second graders, but this
woman obviously didn't care for unsolicited questions.
"Very well. We will be here tomorrow." And with that she left.
The
next morning, Bill heard the class of chattering girls long before they
got to his building, and soon enough they tromped down the stairs. And
then there were a dozen small girls gathered outside his cell along
with their teacher. Bill stayed seated on his cot, anxious not to
offend the unfriendly woman.
"Don't get too close, class!" she
chided. "Remember, men are dangerous. They are always dangerous, and
you should never forget that."
Addressing Bill, she said, "Stand up and take all your clothes off."
He stood and slowly removed his sweatshirt and sweatpants. The girls
stared at his shameful male equipment, and a few giggled.
"This
is what a man's body looks like. It's very strange. That tube is called
a penis, and it looks harmless now, right? Well, wait a few minutes.
You, lift your penis so the girls can see your testicles. And come
closer to the bars." Bill did as he was told. "In that sac there are
two testicles,and they produce something we women need in order to have
babies. It's the only reason we allow any males to live."
The girls looked on solemnly, and Bill was careful not to make eye
contact. He kept his face expressionless.
"Now,
class, let me remind you how things were. Before the Dworkinian
revolution, there were as many males as females, and as many boys as
girls. But the men kept women in slavery. They made women wear
uncomfortable clothing and paint their faces whatever way suited their
fancy. If they let them leave the house at all, they told women where
they could go and how to spend every minute of the day. Men took all
the challenging, fun, and interesting jobs for themselves and made
women do all the boring and dirty and disgusting work. Men ruled women
because they were stronger and never afraid to use violence to get
their way. They would beat up the women, lock them up, and threaten
them with weapons. And the root of it all was the violence of sex. Now,
you in there, start masturbating to produce your semen."
Bill dutifully started stroking himself, and the blood slowly filled
his organ.
"Notice
how it's changing, class. Before it was small and floppy. See how it's
getting larger? This organ had one and only one purpose. Men used it to
puncture women's bodies -- to stab them. The men dreamt about it,
planned it, and typically every day they found a woman and did violence
to her. They stabbed it into her body, right up between her legs. They
got great pleasure out of humiliating and violating women this way, and
the women had no choice but to take it. Now, Bill, go ahead and produce
your semen... Actually pretend you are stabbing it into a woman."
Bill
held his hand still and used his hips to thrust his penis into it. He
had heard this history before and knew just how horrible men were,
though she went beyond even what was in the manifestos. "Um, where
should I put the semen, ma'am?" he asked softly.
"Just let it
fly out onto the floor," she said, then turned to her class and spoke
in a low, urgent voice. "He's starting to feel pleasure as he imagines
violating a woman standing in front of him. He thinks about how much
pain she's in and how terrible she feels to have that disgusting thing
tearing her inner parts. See how big it is? Can you imagine that
stabbing up into your body? Imaging how much it would hurt! One stab
isn't enough -- see how he wants to do it over and over again, to make
the woman as miserable as possible. He feels more and more pleasure as
he thinks of how much pain he causes the woman and -- look closely at
the tip, girls..."
Bill was close, and with the teacher's
approval he gave a last few thrusts into his hand and then shuddered
and sighed as the semen shot out onto the floor. A few girls gasped and
one giggled.
"Eleanor, this isn't funny!" hissed the teacher, and the girl sobered
up right away.
"A
man's nature is to complete the humiliation by shooting that disgusting
stuff up into the woman's body. He knew that any time he did that it
could make the woman pregnant with his baby, and that's what he wanted
to do. A woman had no choice about when she got pregnant or whose baby
she would have -- men just decided these things. They enjoyed violating
and humiliating and hurting her. If the woman did get pregnant, all the
work and expense of raising the child were on her shoulders, and the
man did nothing. He just kept doing the fun and exciting work, ordering
women around and hurting them in various ways, but most often by
puncturing their bodies, over and over again, day after day." She
paused and took a breath. "But those days are gone now. We only keep
enough men around to make semen. The men are dangerous, so we keep them
locked up, and it is we who decide when to get pregnant and the men
provide the sperm when we tell them to. Then we can gently and
carefully place it up into our bodies to start babies."
She
turned to Bill and snarled, "So, get down on your knees and pick up the
semen with your fingers." Bill complied. "Now rub it in your hair."
Bill hesitated. "Do it!" she said sharply. "These days we tell men what
to do." He did it.
"Any questions, class?"
A small girl with green eyes and reddish hair asked, "Is he sad being
locked up all the time?"
"We
don't worry about that, class. Whether he is or not is unimportant. For
centuries upon centuries, men took pleasure in making women feel as
miserable as possible, and now the tables are turned. If they suffer,
men are paying for the evils of all the men who came before. They're
lucky to be alive at all, and they know their only purpose is to
provide semen when we ask for it... Any other questions?"
There
were none, and the woman led her class out without a word. A couple of
the girls looked at him and he couldn't help making brief eye contact.
A few even smiled, but he didn't dare smile back.
Bill had
nothing absorbent other than his clothing, so he tried to wipe the
sperm from his hair onto his sweatshirt, but it did little good. He
dressed again and lay down. He'd heard how horrible men were before, of
course, but the picture she painted was even more grim. Were Sarah and
the others just being nice to him in sparing him the details? Was his
pleasure actually from imagining causing women pain? It didn't seem
that way, but he probably just wasn't thinking about it right. It sure
did feel good to make the sperm come out, so he certainly hadn't
advanced much past his forefathers. It was a good thing they kept him
locked up; if he was free he would undoubtedly try to hurt and
humiliate women.
He couldn't concentrate on any of the books, so
he just lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for
whatever was next -- a meal, if nothing else.