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.