“IHATEM: A FEMINIST UTOPIA”

(Last updated: November 19, 2017)
Ihatem: A Feminist Utopia
by DR Wolfe

{From “The Dirty Little Secret About Transparensee” Series}

(Includes strong language and some descriptions of sex.)

The two dark-haired, attractive ones who were now standing directly in front of him, began taunting him with some suggestive, humorous gestures.

Without turning his eyes away, he slowly began rotating his wrist. First, back and forth, then up and down, doing his best to avoid the sharp edges. He guessed the metal bracelet moved about a quarter inch each time. Eventually, he would reverse the direction he rotated his wrist before working the bracelet back the other way. This was one of the thirteen exercises he had concocted to stay alert during his twelve hours on duty.

He developed an extensive routine designed to keep him healthy, both physically and mentally, which kept him alive. He noticed, physically damaged men didn’t last very long around the northwestern territory. So not appearing “defective” was the only way a man was able to survive in Ihatem.

One firm rule was not eating or drinking anything for at least two days prior to being posted. It was the only way to make sure one didn’t need to discharge any sort of bodily fluids or engage in what would be, under any other circumstance, a normal human bodily function. Much to his shame, he discovered publicly discharging some bodily functions was worse than discharging some others.

The “good news”, he was told when asking about bathroom breaks, was that “There’ll be plenty of bathroom breaks for you servers,! In fact, as many as you desire, as long as you don’t leave the stage.” With a smirk, the Master Server informed him of this special courtesy in his usual deep baritone.

And far, far worse than suffering the embarrassment of soiling yourself while up here, he thought, was the consequences of falling asleep while on display. A server who fell asleep would be quickly taken down and carried away, never to be seen again. And it wasn’t like any one was ever going to ask aloud ‘where did number so-and-so go’. For the servers, keeping themselves sharp was the only thing they had to focus on-

He spent a good deal of his time up here memorizing his surroundings. He was mounted in the middle of an enclosed area — a small town public square. Other than the open archway off to his left, there were these overlapping thirty foot walls that surrounded the entire area, in every direction. He estimated that it was about a hundred feet or so between him and the nearest wall. And each wall was made of two-foot square Cinder blocks, painted every color imaginable. Along with the hundreds of women
who were gathered along the perimeter, watching the festival, the grounds were covered with dozens of benches, marble tables, gardens and fountains, and lots of bushes and small trees of every variety you could imagine. The colorful scene was, at moments, hypnotizing. Seeing all of this, one would never know of the extent of the damage that lay beyond these walls.

The visible sky was completely covered by a large blue tinted dome, which, along with the moderate temperatures, gave the impression of being a clear blue summer day. He figured they were able to make it look this way because of the indirect lighting mounted along the tops of each wall, since the true sky, on the rare occasions when you got a quick glimpse at it, was always gray and overcast.

He carefully glanced to each side of him, without being to obvious about it. Staying completely focused on the viewers was part of the “job”, he was told. There were dozens of other men to his left and right, all attached to the same riser as him. the wooden stage sat about eight feet off the ground so that the women could reach out and touch the lower half of his legs with the ends of their floppy canes, if they wanted. The men directly to each side of him were facing the opposite direction, and
the next man in the row was facing the other way as the previous. This way, two or three men could be simultaneously observed by the viewers from both the front and back.

It was almost impossible for each man to see who was directly behind them. And maybe that’s why most of the slaps and bumps he took came on his back side, or what many of them said was his better side.

He looked down at the two excited dark complected women and stared deeply into the eyes of the shorter one, who was smiling back at him with what he thought were these incredibly beautiful big brown eyes. He continued to smiled back, warmly, and sincerely. They were giggling and having fun with him, and his embarrassing circumstances, but in a playful way that wasn’t intended to shame him any further. It was funny how he was able to understand his viewers so well, simply by watching their behavior
for a few moments. Either one of these two, he thought to himself, would be a nice change, which probably meant that it was very unlikely that either would be chosen to be his handler.

Most of them who would pass bye made obscene gestures and yelled out all sorts of amazing crude cat calls, some of which made him blush. And a few of the women would describe aloud the specific horrifying details of what they intended to do with him, and his parts, once selected. A promise they always made, but thankfully, only one would be able to keep.

“I hate you!” a woman wearing a almost see-through short bright purple dress, with scruffy black hair, yelled at him, as she approached from his right. The line was slowly moving from right to left.

“I hate him!” She angrily told a tall, muscular woman to her right. He couldn’t help but notice. The woman’s especially strong jaw line nicely contrasted with her gentle blue eyes. She easily shrugged off the angry remark by just barely moving her head, away from the angry viewer.

He imagined in another century, in her tribe she would be one of the fiercest warriors. He decided that he would be proud to be one of her mates and followers. And he hoped that she would be the one selected for him-

His mind began to wander, again. He thought about how it would be, being her mate in a time long ago, as told to him by his brother, before there were city states and governments- It was a time when all of the women were responsible for overseeing the matters of the tribe, while men were mostly left alone, to have fun exploring the countryside and hunting for food, thinking about their next mate, and without shame, proudly discharging their bodily fluids upon mother earth!

An angry shout somewhere off to his right distracted him from the need, thankfully. He mostly tried to ignore the most outrageous threatening comments from the women, but that only seemed to infuriate the meanest of them. The trick was to, pretend to listen without really hearing anything-

Other than his silence, he had no real voice in any of it. Men had lost the right to vote in 2038, and lost all rights to citizenship three years later. All men were now legally defined under the new constitution as “chattel”, just as women had been labeled for thousands of years under the law.

“I’m going to get you fucker!” she screamed, as she moved in front of him, smashing her fist again and again into her erect thumb and grinning, savagely. He watched the top of her head with some sort of perverse distracted interest, realizing that he could actually see each individual hair moving. He watched closely as the hairs moved together again and again, in unison when she shook her head. It reminded him of a sporting event he once attended with his dad when he was about six.

He could still remember being there in the stadium, watching the fans across from him. First they stood, than quickly sat down again, all in sequence; it was a raising and collapsing wall of colorful, elongated shadows moving across the stands, reacting together in formation. It fascinated him so much, as a school project he made a series of three dimensional transparent drawings depicting the evolving and transforming pattern of shadows forever moving across the computer screen-

he leaned forward a little and smiled the best he could into her bright red face and greenish-gray eyes, and pretended to be excited by her promise of violence and trauma. Despite his effort to defuse her anger with his playfulness, the luminous, burning eyes kept glaring at him…into him, determined to leave their eternal mark in his skin…

he knew that particular look, and knew if this one got to collar him for a full session, it wasn’t going to be a good time, or at least not for him. This one had a considerable amount of animosity built up toward men, and at this moment, it was completely focused entirely on him…and unfortunately, on some of his more fragile body parts-

As he took a breath, he took a chance and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping she would hurry up and move along, with the rest of the crowd. He knew in his heart-of-hearts, it wasn’t because of who they were, or because of anything they themselves had done. It was because he was a man and she needed to blame some male figure for being alone, or that’s how he rationalized the undescribable hatred that many of them seem to have toward all men.

He remembered how it was between men and women back then, about twenty years ago, before the war. No one seemed to be really happy about anything, he remembered.
But he felt, people had a damn good reason to be unhappy, the way they were all being played against each other by the billionaires and the media.

According to his oldest brother, Marty, there was a ‘war against men’ and a ‘war against women’ all at the same time. And he said there had always been an endless ‘war against sex’ ever since the patriarchal religions took over most of the earth, about four or five thousand years ago.

He went on to say that around 1990 the oligarchy launched an undeclared, highly-strategical hidden war that was specifically designed to divide the genders, just as blacks and whites, straights and gays, liberals and conservatives, and many other groups had been divided.

Other than most of the media and the politicians, no one else realized how they were being used against each other, mostly based on fear and misinformation, until it was way too late to stem the animosity, which many felt led to the final war.

Meanwhile, the billionaires were getting more and more wealthy off the sickness and countless wars. The money they made was used to buy politicians and judges by paying for their million dollar elections, which was perfectly legal at the time. This made the “elected” officials beholden to anyone who was willing to fund their next campaign. The billionaires knew by purchasing key elected officials and controlling the flow of money and information they would control the society.

The evening news, the radio and television talk shows, along with the editorial boards from most of the print media, were all well-paid instigators on behalf of their corporate masters, and their real job, and a few probably didn’t even know it, was to promote fear, hatred and ignorance in America and most of the world.

Marty said, they had these “think tanks” that were made up of thousands and thousands of the most brilliant scholars recruited from all around the world. They were specifically hired by the billionaires to devise a million different strategies about how to best divide Americans from each other, which kept anyone from asking the real important questions…

Like how is it possible that one of the alleged 911 high-jacker’s passport, presumably tucked securely away in a jacket pocket, was able to safely float to the ground, undamaged, while over a thousand human bodies were completely disintegrated, including the body of the passport’s alleged owner?

This hostile, fearful, ignorant environment gave rise to the slow dismantling of the constitution by both the courts and politicians from both parties. They gave us laws such as the Patriot Act, the M.D.D.A. and other well-hidden Draconian measures intended to take away more of our freedoms, which most in Congress never bothered to read.

According to Marty, another similar unjust law they pushed through back then that specifically targeted poor and uneducated men, was based on the murder of a five-year-old boy named Adam Walsh. About three weeks after he was abandoned in a local shopping mall by his mother, who said something like, ‘I was searching for the most perfect lamp shade and left him with three older kids hanging out by the video machine (in a crowded mall)’, Adam’s head was found floating in a Miami canal. The rest of Adam’s
body was never found…

Some years later, a convicted cereal killer locked up in a Florida jail had watched an ABC movie based on Adam’s kidnapping and murder, and apparently, wanted to be remembered as one of Adam’s killers. The very next day he sat down and wrote a letter to the parents, John and Revere Walsh, claiming to be the murderer of Adam and demanding $5,000 from them if they wanted to know how him and his lover had killed the little boy and disposed of his body–

Only problem is that Ottis Toole’s gay lover was locked up at the time the brutal murder occurred, making Tool’s first confession, based on the specific details he provided, absolutely impossible. Not discouraged by Toole’s second false confession, Florida police tried again to help the convicted cereal killer “get his story right” (and give him his fifteen minutes of fame before he died of cancer, a few years later) by driving Toole around the Miami neighborhood where Adam first disappeared, and
where his partial remains were found.

After providing Toole with a few helpful hints, Hollywood police were at last able to get a third confession from him that would fit, and provide the desperate parents with some closure. But strangely, Toole did not apparently provide police with any information in this final, “true” confession about what happened to Adam’s body, which Toole promised to reveal to the parents in his first phony confession. “Whoops!” Marty added.

Marty, like me, had an unbelievable memory. And I loved to listen to him talk about politics and history. His bright blue eyes would light up, as he explained things.

And you know what’s absolutely crazy about this story, these same Hollywood cops lost all of the evidence they collected from Toole’s car, including the carpet where Toole allegedly stashed Adam’s body. Can you imagine that! Marty slammed his fist on the table. Here you have the biggest murder ever in the history of the state of Florida and they just happen to lose all the evidence that could have been tested for Adam’s DNA. And guess what, this evidence came up missing just a couple years before
the DNA testing became available. Wasn’t that real convenient, Marty added sarcastically.

And then just before the Toole confession came out, ABC puts the mother on the radio talking about seeing the likeness of her son in a picture of the carpet the cops lost! Except she is tricked into saying the photo of Toole’s carpet looks like “the shroud of Adam.” Not surprisingly, her comment causes many Christians to either resent her blasphemy against Jesus or seriously question her sanity. Although Disney obviously thought it would make the audience feel only sympathy for the mom. It didn’t
work.

So maybe that’s why they pushed for this third Toole confession, and then suckered the Walsh’s into putting their son’s name on a bill sponsored by a well-known pervert, who especially liked to prey on teenage boys-

He went on, as a result of the publicity from Adam’s gruesome murder, his father, John Walsh, became the FBI’s public voice for expanding the prison industrial complex. He did this by constantly vilifying average men on his weekly crime show, but wouldn’t touch the wealthy rats who had private islands where they were raping kids as young as eleven-years-old, such as this place called Orgi Island in the Caribbean.

Marty said, John Walsh probably couldn’t blame his wife for leaving Adam alone in the Mall since when they first met he was twenty-four-years-old and had picked her up — a seventeen-year-old girl in a local bar with a fake ID. And, under most state laws, raped her, statutorily.

And after all, he explained, how would it look for the FBI’s most famous “stooge” to be considered by many of the viewers as being a “child rapist”, himself.

Ironically, John Walsh went on to be law enforcement’s best tool, Marty said. And the prison population boomed. Everyone demanded law and order, even if a few innocent people got put away or executed.

two decades later Walsh agreed to use his son’s name to create the “Adam Walsh Act”, which along with some similar state laws, was allegedly written to protect all children from “sexual predators,” such as Ottis Toole, but apparently, not Jeff Epstein or some of his close friends, like Bill Clinton and Alan Dershowitz.

There was no evidence that Adam was ever sexually assaulted by Tool or anyone els, which raises questions about John Walsh’s true motivations in exploiting his son’s name and murder on a bill like this. Or was he played by the FBI and the media? Marty asked. I think so-

Consequently, like most other criminal laws passed, the selectively applied statute only gave opportunistic politicians, corrupt law enforcement agents, and unscrupulous government lawyers and judges an excuse to target activists, protesters, the poor, and uneducated men, mostly racial minorities and men with disabilities.

Marty explained, FOX, ABC, NBC and the rest of the corporate media at the time completely ignored the fact that the bill’s sponsor, Congressman Mark Foley from south Florida, was molesting dozens of underage male interns at the time in the presence of many of those in Congress who voted for his bill, which substantially perpetuated the ‘war on men’, who weren’t politicians, billionaires, police or federal agents.

He went on, Since Mark Foley had already been exposed for the same sort of behavior back in the 1980’s, and it’s hard to believe that the FBI didn’t also know what almost everyone in Congress knew about Foley’s “preferences”, why wouldn’t the FBI warn the Walsh’s about going up on stage before the entire world with Foley, when they signed the Bill in 2006. Do you really think this guy John Walsh would be seen in public, let alone use his murdered son’s name on a bill, if he or his wife were told
about Foley’s past? Marty asked.

Then, ten years later, in 2016, the former-FBI Director Louis Freeh comes out of retirement to represent this scum-bag lawyer named Alan Dershowitz!

Marty explained, at the same time the Walsh’s murdered kid’s name was being pimped out by Foley, Dershowitz was defending one of the most prolific convicted pedophiles in American history, Jeff Epstein.

Marty lowered his head and said, sadly, despite 34 documented victims, between the ages of eleven and seventeen, billionaire Epstein got a sweetheart deal that only included thirteen months in the Palm Beach County Jail, which he helped remodel to meet his special needs. Apparently, these “special needs” included having a private entrance where he could secretly come and go, unnoticed.

And you won’t believe the the special deal the Federal Persecutors, Alexander Acosta and Marie Villifana, made “off campus”, as Villifana put it in one of her E mails, (Which meant, out of the office ‘where no one could hear the dirty details’.).

Marty went on, in this dirty deal Epstein had to spend an entire eight hours per day in his cell. And many of those lonely evenings included hundreds of overnight visits from lots of friends, including his masseuse and apparently one of his close male friends, Sean Bernal, according to the Palm Beach County Jail records. They say this Epstein guy raped over four hundred underage girls, yet he only got thirteen months in a jail he was able to re-model!

And the creep who made this happen, Alexander Acosta, was picked to be the Secretary of Labor by former-President Trump. All the sudden, every fourteen-year-old girl in America had a guaranteed job, he paused, serving these rich bastards!

Meanwhile, most average men were being completely destroyed over any sort of sexual allegation. It was really sick how this gender war all started! Marty screamed. And got up and walked around the room, but never stopped talking.

Marty ended his rant by saying, and you know what’s really nuts? Alone with Dershowitz, Epstein was being defended by a guy named Ken Star. And Star was the same government lawyer who a few years earlier was pretending to prosecute President Bill Clinton over having stained a young intern’s blue dress with his fluids, if you know what I mean. He pointed to his crotch.

And get this, the plea bargain also included immunity for any of Epstein’s friends, like coincidentally, the same Bill Clinton and Epstein’s own lawyer, Alan Dershowitz, who very likely also committed crimes against some of these children while on Epstein’s island, according to at least one of the victims, Virginia Roberts.

He wiped his forehead and continued. She described how there were hundreds of these sexual encounters going on, all the time; on Epstein’s plane, his island, and his homes in Florida, New York and New Mexico.

And the FBI Director, Bobby Mueller, who came in one week before 9-11, apparently never looked on the island or the New Mexico ranch for any of the hundreds of thousands of missing kids.

We know back then thousands of Hispanic kids were coming to the boarder, desperately looking for a way to get across in to America. And there’s that same white van offering them a ride.

So Trump brings in Acosta to serve on his cabinet, while a lot of people are saying the globalists, who I call the “dark state”, are the ones who got Mueler to investigate Trump. And you know how that eneded up.

So no one had anyone to really root for any more, but kept telling them who to hate.

But here’s the twisted part of this story. You see, this Roberts girl was a fifteen-year-old towel girl when she was originally recruited by Epstein. He found her at a local south Florida athletic club called Mar a Lago, and guess who owned it? He stopped to look at me.

That’s right, Trump owned it. Of course, this was before he was elected President, but his own ties to Epstein began to surface when he announced he was going to run for president.

But other than some of the alt media, no one in the corporate media wanted to talk about any of Epstein’s friends who Acosta let off.

So a massive witch hunt had begun, from both the left and right. They were going after everyone who was anybody, not just the little guy any more. Not that most of them didn’t deserve it, little brother. He paused, and looked me in the eye.

And of course, because of Clinton’s own connection to the “Lolita Express” — Epstein’s private plane, that always included at least two very young hostesses and a room with a bed, their lips were sealed. Unless one of these creeps wanted to shove their tongue down your throat. He stopped and grabbed his throat and start making this gagging sound, and I laughed aloud. Marty laughed too and grabbed his coffee.

He said, the Democreeps, as people began calling them, couldn’t touch Trump on this one, so some said they brought in Mueller instead and starting accusing the Russians and Trump of everything they could think of, true or not. The country was going crazy, and the number of mass shootings and bombings increased exponentially.

Meanwhile, while we’re blaming the Russians, President Putin is granting his people more and more religious freedom, and starts turning the entire country’s food processing system in to a massive organic farm! And then he has the audacity to start offering small farms to the poor.

Meanwhile, more land is being swallowed up by the government and more and more Americans are being made houseless, and being fed more and more of the corporate made poison they call food. It’s such a joke! I mean how it all got this crazy little brother.

He closed his eyes and thought about how when his big brother was talking politics he would sometimes pause for a moment, and for no reason slap him on the back, and then just go on with his rant, without missing a beat.

Marty said, in one interview, Virginia Roberts tells about how once Epstein had these two twelve-year-old French girls brought to him on “pedophile island”, as they called it, for his birthday. You see, in France, the age of consent at the time was thirteen, so these girls were still illegal in Epstein’s mind. Roberts said, Epstein forced her to watch as he had sex- Or I mean, raped the two underage French girls.

And his lawyer, Dershowitz, who once joked in front of a group of Jewish lobbyists about killing Palestinian children with American rockets, was not just his attorney as he claimed. The fact is, they had been friends for a long time. Think about this, Dershowitz, or Douche-o-witz as people began calling him, was the one Epstein chose to edit every book he ever wrote.

And if this dirty Dershowitz deal, letting Epstein off with a gentle slap on the wrist, wasn’t enough, I can tell you, never before, or since, in the history of American jurist prudence has any plea bargain ever, ever included protection for other unknown co-conspirators. And were talking about the rape of dozens of children…and as I said, there was probably hundreds of other victims! They say Epstein would brag about having sex with a minor every day for three years straight sometime back in the 1990’s.

And what about kids who wouldn’t cooperate with Epstein’s people? Bet most kids wouldn’t…and were probably– Suddenly,
Marty stopped speaking and closed his eyes, and rested his forehead on the table.

“You little bastard Mueller,” Marty cried.

From Marty’s writings, he remembered, the oligarchy was also indoctrinating young girls into the gender war at the time, by brain-washing them about how to be “happy”. Teen magazines, television and social media, were all used to convince them that motherhood and having children, along with hairy, muscular men with low paying jobs were all gross things to be absolutely avoided if they wanted to be successful. And they were trained to believe true success could only be rationally judged by one’s
personal wealth, along with one’s primary means of transportation. Having a perfect body, not scarred by motherhood, was one of the keys to their success, they were told by the corporate media and their mentors.

Meanwhile, openly suggesting that all male defendants needed to be raped repeatedly as part of both their pre and post-conviction punishment was a normal comment among most Americans when they discussed any sort of sexual allegation brought against a man, who wasn’t wealthy. One congressman began handing out bats and suggesting we needed to go after these same accused men who had no lawyers with even tougher laws, while the rich did what they wanted.

While at the same time, some “radical feminist” in the alternative media began suggesting rape was “anything” a “female” said it was. And they added no female “victim” should ever be made to face cross examination if
it makes them feel uncomfortable-

Meanwhile, for most American men the only good-paying job left involved fighting in one of the endless wars. The alternative was being labeled a bum or a villain in what had become a massive surveillance-prison-state, where new powerful tasers and psychotronic weapons, along with shoot first and ask questions later, became the standard policy and practice for most police and federal agents when it came to incidents involving angry, unemployed men and any anti-government protesters.

So, when it became clear to most American men that a blatant policy of reverse-gender discrimination existed within the entire society, especially in the public education system and the courts, and the prisons, the unspoken anger that men, who couldn’t afford private lawyers, felt throughout the society over this injustice could no longer be contained. Many of the women told him they believed this is what led to the oligarchy’s decision to launch the “Final War.”

Marty wrote, “Wars have always been fought by mostly men…and throughout history, when the men in a culture become discontented, the leaders would take the men into war, rather than risk a possible revolution and loss of power-”

Marty began telling him about how this same President, Bill Clinton, got ratted out by one of his interns for having sex with her in his office, and then lying about it. He even said, “It depends on what is is.”

Just like his friend Dershowitz, who gets caught lying about getting a massage from a woman apparently during one of his visits to Epstein’s Orgi Island with Clinton, then claims it doesn’t count since he was wearing underwear at the time and the female masseuse was a “forty-ish” woman, he tells his wife.

So first Bill Clinton claims it isn’t sex if it isn’t intercourse. And his friend Dershowitz, in his fifty-six-year-old mind, says it doesn’t count as being sexual, if she’s over forty and you keep your underwear on. Apparently, his wife and the American “feminists” were okay with this idea that having intercourse with any woman over forty was no different than having sex with a rubber doll with a vagina!

So, I’m wondering how in the hell could the former director of the FBI defend a creep like this guy Dershowitz? Marty shook his head furiously-

They were eating ice cream Marty had brought home for breakfast as a birthday surprise, at the time, he recalled. It was his favorite, Raspberry Chunky Crispy Cream!

Thinking about it now, he could actually taste the sweet, cold raspberry cream dripping down the back of his throat, and he could clearly see his brother brushing back his curly light brown hair from his face as he began speaking. It was a visual clue letting him know that he better pay attention to what’s coming next and stop counting hairs. Whenever people spoke to him, ever since he could remember, he had this bad habit of counting the person’s individual hairs while they spoke. Usually on their
head. But once, he met a friend of his dad’s who was bald, and so he began counting the hairs inside the man’s nose, until he was noticed, and reprimanded-

“You know, men should have realized that it started going really, really bad for the average man when the Clinton’s took over the White House and the Republicons went after Bill Clinton for the exact same thing that they were all doing!” He said that the whole “Monica” scandal was scripted.

He swore, “Clinton knew that it was a big puppet show. He knew he wouldn’t be kicked out of office, but would have the legacy of being the greatest presidential womanizer in American history, getting it under the presidential desk like that while on the phone! Hah! Then he would be even more famous than his hero, John ‘f-me’ Kennedy, which I think meant more to Clinton than anything else. And of course, they promised him that if he and Hillary went along with “it” — set us up for 9-11, he would
get rich by selling a million of his crappy books and she would get to be president too. That’s how all these politicians are being paid off by the oligarchy, That is, except the ones who take these really sweet jobs as lobbyist, and then poof! You never hear about them ever again unless they become some politicians chief of staff, while they keep cashing in these phat checks from their corporate murdering masters. For the rest of them, they get rich by giving them bullshit book deals and lots of
sold-out public appearances when they retire.”

He remembered reading one of Marty’s papers that was marked with a bright red “F” that began, “Under former-President Obama, universities and colleges were required to begin adopting grossly unconstitutional rules involving the processing of sexual misconduct allegations in order to receive further federal funding. ‘the new rules gave female students a disproportionate level of power in bringing any sort of sexual related allegation against a male student, which not surprisingly has led to an abuse
of the system by any woman who has felt regretful, for any reason. Or maybe felt embarrassed, like if she had a boyfriend or parent back home who found out. Or maybe felt vengeful, like if she never got a call back, but expected one-”

While he could remember this one paragraph Marty wrote, almost word for word, he couldn’t remember who his brother had credited this last line to, but it always stuck with him as being absolutely true, in those earlier times:
“Men almost always regret the sex they don’t have and women often regret the sex they do have.

When the rest of the 9-11 government papers were released and the Saudi Arabia War began, his brother was killed. Marty was a medic and not surprisingly, was one of the first casualties of the war. That was when he started going through all of Marty’s personal papers, including his written series called “The Coming Gender War.” There were a few newspaper articles along with the well-documented failing papers about how men were being systemically, slowly forced out of American colleges and universities,
and society.

One of the articles was a review Marty wrote of a Rolling Stone story involving a young woman named Jackie, who had apparently made up much of the facts involving an alleged gang rape at a fraternity. Some of the horrific allegations were not fully investigated, but were included in the original article anyway. The publication of her story led to numerous sanctions being immediately imposed on the falsely accused fraternity.

This was done under what was called “exigent circumstances”, Marty explained, which was a common lie political figures use at the time to deny poor and uneducated people due process when they know they are creating unjust laws and rules, and don’t want them challenged in the courts before they can be implemented. Politicians and administrators know, rarely is any law already on the books ever removed by the law-makers or the courts, no matter how unjust it is.

He remembered how another article had what he thought of as a kind of humorous headline, given his current circumstances… He smiled. The headline read something like:
WHILE DRACONIAN SEX LAWS MAY SCREW YOUNG MEN IN THE FUTURE,
ONE YOUNG SEATTLE WOMAN HAS ALREADY SCORED BIG!

Apparently, she had written an ap for any cell phone or PC that could easily create a contract for consent, where a couple could each quickly make a private video clip granting verbal consent to the other for sex. For the next twenty-four hours each person would then be able to access the other’s video and confirm that consent had been given, explicitly describing what sexual activities would be okay, and any that would not- Each would be able to view the fourteen second clip once, but only once.
and no one else would ever have access to its content. And no one else would be able to even confirm that any person had given their consent to anyone else. even the couple themselves could never return to their original recordings, and confirm it exists. The video would be completely sealed and secret to the public, and would only be revealed under order from a court.

“Otherwise,” as the ap’s ad claimed, humorously:
“Without this e-sex-insurance, the only way you men cam ever again truly experience safe sex is to have two witnesses and a notary present during the act”.

The ad went on to say:
“for most of you men who aren’t with the NSA or some twisted, sex-task force, take something away from the normal spontaneity that humans have enjoyed for the last million years or so.”
By the start of the Twenty-First Century not only had the universities and law schools begun openly discriminating against men, through their admissions process and graduation rates, 60% to 40%, any man that had ever had any sort of sexual allegation made against them, innocent or not, were almost completely blocked from receiving any sort of secondary education in America after 2020.

When he was a little older he began seriously reading Marty’s writings, and began to remember all of this gender discrimination stuff they were talking about back then, when he was still a kid. He knew, it had led to what Frank and Bobby and some of their friends had done. He would always feel guilty for showing Marty’s writings to them. They went ballistic! They first posted it on the Internet, and then made tens of thousands of copies of Marty’s work and passed them out to everyone, disappearing
for days. He was scared after that, since mom and dad, and Marty, weren’t around any more.

His two remaining brothers and some of their really nutty friends, would march around the house with their guns and penises hanging out, which they always assured him were both fully loaded. They were ranting about marching off to fight in the “Gender War”, singing, “THIS IS MY WEAPON, AND THIS IS MY GUN.”

They got especially riled up after these ‘men’s rights rallies’, being held on the weekends somewhere up in the hills east of town. They explained, “all of us men who have lost our jobs and kids to women get together and share our outrage, and talk about how we’re gonna take this country back! You’ll understand soon enough little brother”, they would say.

Thankfully, he wasn’t made to go with them. He never wanted to go either, since he was still a kid, about thirteen. At the time, it didn’t really make a lot of sense to him why they were so angry over this gender stuff-

He knew the insults and threats from both guys and girls online were getting more and more abusive, and it made him uncomfortable when a thread he joined went that way. It was almost like people were sitting in their cars or bedrooms waiting for an excuse…to spit something slimy out online, rather than just swallowing it-

He remembered reading about how Marty said some French “journalists” were intentionally publishing obscene cartoons about another religion’s most holy leader, knowing that some people would overreact. Marty said that many of the media creeps from both the left and right were eating it all up, and privately probably laughing about it. He said they were always intentionally pushing all the right buttons between different groups of people, not just men and women, waiting to report on the inevitable
violent result And maybe even hoping for it….to make their point, that some religion’s or genders are more ruthless than others, or about needing more gun control, or about needing more prisons, and needing more and more laws.

For the corporate owned media It was always, always about keeping the most powerful ones out of the conversation, and focusing on fear, celebrity and sports nonsense, and stoking the next war and handing out peanuts to some of the foolish liberals-

The final result was, and the only one that mattered, that in this new world, in the year 2047, verbally abusing, and in some cases physically injuring, a man was what was expected of every strong woman, in order to protect the human race and keep the “dangerous animal — man”, in his proper place where he can never again do harm!

He knew, if this woman was the one who was selected for him, for those three days he would be the one who represented all the men who she hated, or pretended to hate, or maybe needed to hate.

And he knew, if she ended up being his handler he would probably have to have some additional plastic surgery done, again.

There were a couple of times when one of what he thought of as the “truly kind ones” was selected for him. But it was rare. In the beginning, it was a big thrill for most of them to have him there at their beckon call. there were so few intact men around, and they weren’t ever likely to run into an undamaged man, again.

As his time to leave would draw near, he noticed the women would start getting more and more angry, as if he were to blame for having to leave. Nothing he could do was right or good any more, and “it was their obligation to correct him any way they felt appropriate. they each owed this to the collective sisterhood,” it was said, so that “the next handler would have a more enjoyable experience with her server.” He pictured the pinched face of the woman with the wooden spoon, the one who had so, carefully
explained to him about her duty as a “virtuous woman”, as she slapped his manhood with her spoon, over and over –

Even though he could still hear the dark haired woman screaming at him, he didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he smiled broadly and let is mind drift away, back to the thoughts of Wendy. He could smell her hair. It reminded him of a gentle breeze blowing threw a cherry grove.

He would never forget those incredible 72 hours they spent together. The smell of her hair, the taste of her skin, the sound of her gentle voice, and the way she would kiss him for hours.

Usually, he was more than grateful to leave.
But returning to the center that one particular time was one of the most difficult things he could ever remember doing, knowing that he would never see her again. But that was just how it was for all the men who were servers here in the city of Ihatem, along the Columbia River, in the western territory of Atwood.

There were some things that a man never ever spoke of aloud if they wanted to survive. But the truth was he thought about Wendy almost every day, or that was what he called her. He felt that she had telepathically sent him this very personal information — her name, while they were making love. They were not permitted to ever know the true name of the handler. To ask for this, or ever ask any other sort of personal information from any woman, was an automatic capital offense under the Atwood Constitution.
And who knew when they were actually listening or watching you…

It depended on the nature of the inappropriate question asked or the indiscretion committed. But, in a few cases the server was subjected to something that was said to be worse then death. That was, being locked in the isolation Dungeon with a barrel of water for forty-two days with the ones who had already gone mad… screaming and pounding on the walls and doors all day and all night. As like obedient soldiers guarding the Dungeon’s gate from the “Seductive Angel of Sleep”, It was said each of
these tireless screamers would take their scheduled turn being disruptive, like clockwork. The few servers who ever came back from being locked in the isolation bubble said it seemed like it was designed that way by some real monster, to make every sound echo over, and over, and over, and over.

When ever he thought of Wendy it made him feel appreciated, and maybe even allowed him to imagine being loved for a little while in this ugly place-

This was the name he first thought he heard her say to him in her mind, and so, he began secretly calling her this name, as they lay together, naked, in the sleeping chamber. Sometimes, they would briefly put on their robes and sit together by the table that looked out over the Columbia. And a few times they even stopped making love to consume something of substance, besides each other. He never ate much during these times since the booster also suppressed his appetite. He especially remembered how
she kept holding on to his hand as they sat at the small wooden table. She would gently run her fingernails up and down his forearm while staring into his eyes without ever saying a word. It was that particular memory that kept him alive, and kept him hoping that…that maybe someday, when this was all over, he would see her again, just once, he hoped-

“WHACK!” His eyes flew open wide. He felt a massive sharp pain on the left side of his face and faintly heard something crack in the distance. It was odd, he thought to himself. While the pain told him it was definitely his own noggin that had been struck by something, the sound of the object hitting his head seemed like it was much farther away than that. But he recognized the pain and knew it had been a rock, jammed inside of something like a piece of fruit.

Ice balls, eggs, and packed fruit, along with the narrow cane polls that some of them carried, were the most favorite weapons of choice among the more aggressive women who came up each week to Ihatem for the festival. Leaving the safety of their valley settlements and risking exposure was the sacrifice they each made; the ones who won the first phase of the Lottery.

During the Weekly Fest a few of the friendly ones would throw flowers or what he thought were wonderfully exotic smelling undergarments. He would try to catch them in his teeth, which would always make them laugh or blush. But most seemed to be angry. He figured they already knew they had little chance of being selected since Only a few of them would be chosen as handlers.

Throwing any solid or hard object at any of the servers, who had no way to defend themselves, was a violation of the rules, so they said. Yet, many of the women did it anyway, and there were no real consequences. The worst that would happen is that they would be asked to leave. But this only happened if the server was really bloodied or knocked unconscious.

The men were easy targets. Their hands were tightly chained to a rail that ran the length of the platform, a few feet above their heads. Their feet were chained to eye bolts in the floor, and they were all completely naked. He felt a trickle of blood running down his cheek, and tried not to think about the pain the best he could. He forgot about Wendy, for the moment.

He looked to his left where the rock came from, and stared into the blazing eyes of the same screaming woman who vowed again, “I’m going to get you! I hate you! I hate ’em! I hate you fucker! Do you hear me, I HATE YOU!” She screamed.

He watched carefully as she reached into her pocket and yelled, “Better wake up fucker!” Several of them laughed when he flinched and briefly loss control of his bladder, in response to her suddenly pulling her empty, clinched hand from her pocket and hurling it at his face. He tried to gather himself and close his eyes, and almost instantly, felt a couple other objects thump against other more private parts. This was both a relief, since it wasn’t his head being struck, yet still extremely unpleasant,
feeling your manhood being publicly pummeled like that-

This time he responded exactly as he was taught, and shyly smiled. But the screaming woman, who was now being shuffled along by the mob, pointed her finger back at him and mouthed the words, “I’m going to get you, fucker!” He quickly looked off in the other direction and tried the best he could to think about Wendy again–

It’s funny now, but he once believed for any man being selected as a server was a whole hell of a lot better than any of the other options available. A few of them, who he now began to think of as the lucky ones, agreed to have their private parts removed in exchange for being permanently assigned as day workers. Being a day servant involved, along with being around the women most of the time, cooking, housekeeping, “moving heavy things around, and firing up the Bar-B-Q,” the day workers would say,
jokingly. It mostly depended on how you looked as far as where you ended up. Like for example, men couldn’t be too unattractive, or they would have to be permanently removed from the gene pool, even if the deformity or physical defect had nothing to do with genetics. It was much like the “Ugly Laws” that once prohibited certain physically-disabled Americans from coming into town, uncovered.

Following the final war, and because of the virus, there were only a few males of any age who were left alive. Among the few children who were born after that only a few were ever born as male children. No one really understood why the gender of the babies being born were also effected, other than it had something to do with a residual affect of the virus.

Among the six or seven million humans known to still be alive on earth, almost every one of them were female. And most of the adult women were not shy about saying they felt it was the fault of men that the war had begun simply because of “the inherent stupidity of men”.

After the war, a new religion emerged among the surviving women. They called it a Neo-Goddess religion. but unlike the goddess religion of the past, women were not the gentle nurturers and benevolent governesses of the society, but rather, the ruthless masters over the useless men, whose only true value was to serve as “reproductive devices.”

They taught that the war had led to the virus being released as a weapon and it really didn’t matter which side had been the first one to release it since the destruction and loss of life, including almost all of the men, was unforgivable. There was this really deep hatred among most of the remaining women toward men. He felt maybe it was because they all had lost their husbands, fathers, sons and brothers, and they just needed someone to blame for their loneliness.

It was the common belief in this new culture that there was something defective with the male human gene. They taught, there was plenty of evidence to prove that this has always been the case among humans, beginning with the dissolution of the goddess religion, which was replaced by violent, patriarchal religions.

Similar to how Marty had once told him, the Neo-Goddess followers would point out that these dominant religions ruled over most of the earth for almost 6,000 years and as a result billions of human beings, who were mostly poor and uneducated, died in hundreds of these barbaric wars.

In this new world, less than one tenth of one tenth of one percent of the remaining population were male, and because of it, they had no real voice when compared to the wishes of the angry majority, Eventually, all males were considered to be only slightly more valuable than the bull. And everyone knew the bull’s only true purpose in life was to serve the cattle, who because of their superior genes were selected by nature to give life and produce milk, not just donate sperm.

‘”437, your assigned to the second level,” he was told. “And get that cheek fixed up by the medic before you head up to the rest chamber.” The Master Server told him, without looking up. He scrunched his nose, and added firmly. “Shower first.”

“Sure thing Master,” he answered, assertively. “But I can assure you I’ve had a lot worse than this,” he added, pointing to his cheek. “And to be perfectly honest sir, the one down here hurts a hell of a lot more.” He pointed below the table and frowned.”

“In my expert opinion 437, I think it’s just your pride that’s hurting,” the Master replied, with a quick grin that was barely noticeable, as though he were concerned that someone might be watching.

Following the green walkway to where the showers were located, he turned into one of the empty stalls and dropped his bundle to the floor. Stepping into the circle and pressing the raised triangle, he felt the sonic waves roll across his body, first back and forth, then up and down.

He felt his fingers and toes tingle, and felt a few invisible pin pricks pierce his skin, which became numb for a moment and then went away. It only took a couple minutes for the shower to clean his skin and remove any new hair, and he was sure glad. The pulsing sensation always bothered his central nervous system, and made him feel really weird all over until the instant that the microwaves stopped.

After putting on the florescent red robe given to him by the overly-sympathetic Master Server, he followed the opposite hallway down toward the medical unit.
As he approached, he saw another server he knew walking off and nodded to him.

He also recognized Number 111, the day worker on duty. One Eleven was a small, older man with a long, curly white beard, which was well trimmed and extremely distinguished looking, in his opinion. It was one of the other advantages of being a day worker, you could let your face and body hair grow out, and no one cared as long as it was kept clean.

He thought, because of the long beard and oversized white robe he wore, the tiny, thin-faced medic’s diminutive size gave the impression he had some special unseen mystic powers. Stepping onto the platform, he imagined the medic tossing some sort of magical powder into the air and chanting an ancient melody, while casting a fertility spell upon him-

But instead, the medic ran the little metal box he called an automated skin leveler across his body, from top to bottom. While reading the output, the medic held it over his face and groin a little longer than anywhere else. Then he punched something into a key pad and opened the top drawer of his desk.

Pulling out a cylindrical tube, 111 pressed it to the inside of his wrist and pulled the clip. The tube beeped as it discharged the contents. He felt the booster take effect almost immediately as the warmth flowed through him. It instantly picked him up, considerably. He was sore and exhausted from being on his feet for the last twelve and a half hours, but suddenly he felt a whole lot better.
Even so, he was glad he would still have a few hours to eat something and rest before heading across the walkway into the engagement chambers.

The uptake booster was designed to slowly release the polymers into his blood, and thereby, maximize his potency and endurance over the entire seventy-two hour stretch. The drug would allow him to sleep for a little while and then take full effect in about four hours from now, keeping him completely awake and alert during the entire time he was with the handler. It definitely worked well since it was rare that he met a woman who could keep up with him, in that way-

He awoke to an awful sound that reminded him of an old fashion horn he once had heard coming from an antic car. Apparently, these horns were once used by everyone to announce their arrival even though most of the horns sounded exactly the same as every other horn. Like a lot of things, it didn’t make a lot of sense to him, not to mention, how annoying it would be to be constantly surrounded by these blaring identical personal announcements, that told you nothing.

He jumped to his feet, which instantly silenced the alarm. After using the water lift and spraying, he put on the robe and left.

He crossed the bridge, and paused to take in the cloudy view of the mostly gray sky and valley. He was told, this particular view of the valley faced west. When he got to the chambers, he looked around for a minute before locating the door with his number posted in large Roman symbols. “IV III VII.”

He paused for a moment before pressing the light that would automatically open, and then close and lock the door behind him for the next seventy-two hours. He waited for another second and took a deep breath before going in. This particular moment always made him a little more nervous, knowing that there was still a small possibility that it wouldn’t be so bad–

Entering the room he instantly lost his breath at the sight of her walking toward him. Dropping to his knees, he cried aloud, “Oh Wendy!”

She brushed back her short, dark hair and quickly moved toward him. She was cupping something metallic in her hand and smiling, sardonically.

“I told you that you’d be mine, fucker”! She smiled wide, and took another step toward him as she unfastened the front of her bright purple dress.

“But first, there’s something else you can do while you’re down there-”