The Standup Boys' Runaway

Author's Note: This story is one of a series, but they can be read in any order.

* * *

Kervin had time to relax. All of his chores were behind him. The pots were all cleaned and put neatly away on their shelves, the floor was swept, dinner was ready, and the offerings had been made to the household spirit who stood guard over their welfare.

Mercifully, his wife was not home yet. He had a moment of peace. Leaning his elbows on the perfectly square window in the ancient stone brick masonry of his wife's home, he gazed out at the city of Izaz.

Thousands of years ago, Kervin's ancestresses, the greater ones, had built a village here in the depths of the jungle. That village had been cleared into a town, then sprawled into a city, and was now the grand citadel he knew as Izaz.

The great step-pyramid temple rose from the center of the city, a beacon for the gods' protection. A thick curl of smoke marked an offering by the priestesses to the gods of the city, an offering of which Kervin's gift to his household spirit was an echo.

Right-angled buildings, all slightly bigger at the base than the roof, stood side by side, corner to corner, separated by the neat, narrow sand-and-tile streets than ran between them. Only bulging green fields of the farming district and the divine step pyramid interrupted the tasteful monotony of steep trapezoids. Everything was straight, sharp-angled and pure.

That was how it had looked when Kervin was a boy, anyway. Some additions had been made that intruded on the greater ones' handiwork. Telegraphs, those strange new devices that Kervin had never been able to coax his wife to explain to him, now populated all the most important buildings, wires snaking between them in unsightly tangles. A few electric lights hung at street corners, extinguished but ready to light the night. Aqueducts were being erected to carry running water from the distant uphill springs directly to those homes that had been able to afford the renovation. The builders did their best to meld the masonry of the aqueducts with the smooth-sided perfectionism of the city, but still their creation was an imperfect fit. Perhaps that was inevitable.

Even the step pyramid hadn't been immune. As Kervin watched, an acolyte marched up the long staircase with a canister of gasoline slung on her back, bound to feed the generator that the priestesses used to power who-knew-what. The paladins in the streets, those armored heroines whose duty it was to keep the city safe from thieves, cutthroats and man-stealing monster girls, now carried revolving pistols in addition to the traditional machetes that hung at their waists.

The only thing that hadn't changed was the wall. It was a perfect rectangle of sandstone brick, two arm-lengths thick and five stories high, boxing the city in, separating the civilization within from the jungle that crawled with beasts, monster girls, and whatever else lurked beneath the opaque canopy of trees and fronds.

In the streets, Kervin saw a familiar figure climbing the stone steps to this room, and his spirits lowered. His wife was coming home.

Retiring to a cushion at the end of the room, he sat mutely as if he had been there for hours. When his wife burst through the curtain, he waited a few seconds before making eye contact.

Anyone who did not know Krillica would have been struck by her beauty. Her tall, healthy physique and nicely set face gave a pleasant impression. Perhaps Kervin's mother had been fooled by it when she married him off to Krillica.

But when Krillica's eyes narrowed, Kervin saw the exhaustion in them, and he knew he was in for a bad evening.

"The whole trench filled in," Krillica huffed. "We spent all day digging that out, and it just caved back in! What's to eat?" She asked it in the same breath.

"Ring noodles," Kervin reminded her. "With tomato and squash."

"Ah, good, good." With a swift motion, she commanded him over to the table with her, where they ate a tense, silent meal. When Krillica finished, Kervin was pleased to see her mood slightly improved. Then came the dreaded command: "Get on the bed."

Kervin didn't dare disobey. Sitting on the neat stack of cloths that was their mattress, he gently laid himself down.

Krillica stood over him, and a cannibalistic smile showed her teeth. "Ah, so good to be home."

She practically fell on him, her hands pressing into his stomach, sending air rushing painfully out of his lungs. With ruthless precision, she attacked his clothes, and soon his manhood was bare—flaccid, but not for long.

She gripped his shaft, tightly as if she wanted to crush it, and pumped his foreskin. Rough as she was, Kervin couldn't stop himself from rising for her. 'I am not your toy,' he thought bitterly, but his body did not resist. Soon, his erection stood tall, welcoming her on.

When her hips came down on him, she leaned weight on his throat, and Kervin tried and failed to breathe. Gripping her wrists, he strained to free himself, allowing a little air into his lungs. Supporting the weight on her arms took all his concentration, leaving him helpless from the waist down as Krillica made one loud, moaning pull after another.

Shifting back, she pulled herself off his rod, then ran her womanhood along its length, rocking her hips back and forward. With most of her weight on his hips, Kervin could breathe normally again, and as much as he hated to acknowledge it, her slick warmth felt good, running along his length.

Her moaning rose in pitch, and her thighs squeezed him painfully. Kervin held his breath for the few seconds it took her to release, fingers digging at his skin.

Panting, she straightened her back, taking her weight entirely off Kervin's chest, and he relaxed.

Leaning back, Krillica sighed. "That's just what I needed," she said, as if that were all that mattered. "Now I need to go. There's a promise I plan to keep at the wood yard. But first..." A pull on Kervin's collar prompted him to sit up, and he allowed her to kiss him on the mouth. When she was finished, she rested her head beside his. "Now say it," she whispered.

Kervin fought back a sigh. "I love you."

Krillica chuckled. "Say it like you mean it."

With an understated intake of breath, Kervin smoothed out his voice to say, "I love you."

"Yes, you do." On that, she stood up and hobbled out the door, no doubt headed for the bathhouse before honoring whatever deal she had made.

With a hopeless grunt, Kervin stood himself back up. He hadn't bothered to ask Krillica to take him to the bathhouse. To her, he was a toy to be used, then put back on its shelf. And of course, he would not be so indecent as to walk in public without his wife. No matter what she did to him, he would never fall that far.

* * *

Vot kept his head down. It was what he'd always done. Twenty-one years on the street had taught him every dirty trick of survival, and now he put them all to good use. As he crouched behind a market stall where his disguise as a woman parried unwanted attention, he watched the traffic bustle by. There were monster girls mixed in among the crowd, nearly as well hidden as he, always on the alert for unprotected men to prey on. But in truth, every woman was a threat to Vot, who would have no recourse if one tried to force herself on him. More than once, Vot had been found out, hunted and pinned down by a female rogue, released only when he used his mouth or his cock to pleasure her to satisfaction. Standing haughtily out among the crowd were the so-called paladins, the women whose job was to keep the streets clean of monster girls, but also of thieving vermin like him.

From the shining guardians of the people to the monstresses they hunted, all were equally dangerous to Vot. Here in the choked, rotten streets of Izaz, safety and civilization were female privileges.

As he scanned the crowd for a likely-looking victim, Vot heard a male voice in the street behind him. Not a hushed, subtle tone like men always used, but loud and proud.

"No man should have to live a slave!" cried the voice. "If you want to reach out and take your freedom, if you want to live for yourself, not as an accessory, then come with us now!"

Vot turned a corner, seeing a young man standing on the first level of a building, his chest bare, showing off his chest and stomach in open defiance of the rules of propriety. Paladins clustered around the base of the building, debating what to do. Besides them, a whole mass of people, mostly women, had crowded around to watch him, most of them staring at his exposed chest. A few jeers and catcalls interrupted his speech, but he went on.

"The time has come to found a new city, one where men are not items to bartered away, where a man can determine his own fate, and we will live free of feminine shackles!" As he bellowed, he failed to notice a rough-looking girl manage to scale the wall on the building's far side. Sneaking up behind him, she made a big show of opening her arms, then clamped one hand over his mouth, the other clutching his groin.

To the cheers of the women in the crowd, the girl yanked the shirtless man back, then forced him onto his knees, her left hand dipping into his trousers, coming back up with a flaccid cock between her fingers.

"The women want only control!" the young man screamed, getting his mouth free for a moment. "There is no substitute for freedom!" That was as far he got before her hand got a firm grip over his face, while her other began squeezing the soft head of his cock. Cheering and laughter erupted from the crowd as his penis hardened, and she began pumping it with her hand. The man's breathing quickened, sweat glazing his chest under the pleasure he was helpless to stop.

Vot could not take it anymore. Finding a broken chip of road tile, he weighed it in his hand for a moment, then wound up and whipped it at the girl. The stone struck true, stunning her, and the young man burst free, sprinting out of sight. He did not yell any more of his speech, nor did he even bother to hitch his pants back up. His half-erect cock bobbed in the air as he hurried away, down into the streets, into a house that must have been one of his gang's safehouses. The women followed him there, but Vot knew they'd find an empty room. There wasn't a thief-taker born who could sniff out a proper rogue once they'd disappeared into one of the many trapdoors and secret compartments that riddled the walls of a safehouse.

Patiently, Vot waited for the crowd to disperse, hoping they would not notice him. Already, it was forbidden for men to be out in public without their mothers or wives, and the spectacle of the shouting man being fondled and exposed had stirred the women into a frenzy. If they found out Vot, he knew, they would have no restraint. Vot had never been gang-raped, and he had no desire to change that.

When at last, the street was clear, Vot skittered into the safehouse, through the tattered fur that marked the doorway. Indeed, there wasn't a thief-taker born who could pick up the trail from there, but Vot was savvier than any thief-taker; he could find out where that boy had gone.

For a moment, the indoor darkness blinded him. He waited a moment for it to dissipate, then saw the house, dressed up as if it were disused storehouse but with the subtle tells of habitation. He stepped past the threshold.

His ankle yanked painfully, and the world turned upside down.

Only Vot's instincts kept him from crying out. When he knew where he was again, a rope suspended him by the left foot, his head a few feet above the floor. Flexing the muscles in his middle, he brought his arms up to the noose, only to find that it took two hands to untie, and on top of that, it was impossible while it supported his weight.

He would be at the mercy of whichever woman found him. Defiant anger flared up inside him. 'No,' he thought. 'No way am I going to be some girl's prey. I'm getting out of this.' Swinging his arms, he built up a rhythm, shifting his weight back and forth, trying to reach the doorsill. From there, he might be able to reach something.

Footsteps brushed the floor behind him, and he struggled to turn around, failing.

"Wait," said a male voice. "You're not one of them."

Vot's back stiffened. 'A male thief?' He had assumed there were others, but never met one.

A hand steadied Vot's movement and turned him around, and he saw not just one man, but six. The lead man cut him down.

Vot stood up. "What are you?" It came out as more of a threat than he had meant it to.

"We could ask you the same thing," said the leader, a simply dressed old man with a calm, gentle voice. "Clearly, you didn't come here to hunt us."

Vot shrugged. "Came because I was curious."

"Then let me enlighten you. I am Fingir, and I lead our little movement."

"What movement?"

"Didn't you hear Algen? He tells me you came to his aid when he pushed his luck."

"Yeah, but-"

"Don't fear, I'll explain it. Our plan is to escape this city and found a new one, where our lives are not defined by the women we serve."

"A whole new city?"

"That's right. If women can march into this deathtrap of a jungle and erect a monumental city such as this, so can we."

Vot stared at the men, dumbstruck. 'A new city?' he wanted to say. 'May as well sail into the ocean and build a new continent.' But this man's confidence was electrifying. Always, matriarchy had seemed as immutable as the stone that made up Izaz. But if these men succeeded...

"Looking for volunteers?" asked Vot. "Count me in."

* * *

Something strange was afoot in the city. Traffic was thicker and faster than normal. Kervin saw a glint in his neighbor Nirret's eye as he hung his wife's laundry on the window. Things were too quiet.

Krillica had left in the same foul mood as always, which only made him more suspicious.

Turning from the window, Kervin took a sip from his pot of wine, another indulgence he did not bother to tell his wife about, and set to gutting dates of their seeds.

"Hey."

At first, Kervin had thought his ears were fooling him. Then it came again: "Hey."

Kervin looked back. There was a face in the windowsill. It was a male, blond, sharp-jawed and with the terrible sallowness that suggested a hungry boyhood. Kervin's mouth hung stupidly open as the man hooked his legs through the window and invited himself in. Only a vest, shawl and kilt covered this stranger, but he wore them well. Even starved as he was, he looked athletic, with a tantalizing hint of strength in his eyes.

"What do you want from me?" Kervin strained out. "My wife-"

"Don't worry about your wife," the young man insisted. "Listen. I've spoken to Nirret."

"You have? How is he?"

"Also spoke to Norvik, Ingo and Krallit. I know about you."

"You're here to threaten me..." Kervin edged closer to the idol of the household spirit.

Standing up straight, the boy folded his arms and grew a long, sly smile. "No. I'm not. I know how your wife treats you. Know she beats you whenever it's a bad day."

"No," said Kervin. "Well... she did once. When I suggested she could have handled herself better the day her labor-mistress accused her of stealing gold dust."

"They told me you've had more bruises than that. Listen, life doesn't have to look this way. Doesn't have to be all about satisfying your wife. You can live for yourself too."

"How?"

"Live with other men. Norvik will be there. And Krallit. And Ingo too, if you go. We'll work together."

"You're talking nonsense!"

The stranger's smile grew radiant. "Yeah, that's what I thought too. If you want a life besides being your wife's punching bag, hang a red cloth out your window. Someone'll come get you when it's time."

"But how-"

"Can't tell you anything else. I'm going."

With only that, the boy vaulted out the window, so quickly that Kervin was sure he would plummet and dash himself on the ground. Instead, his fingers found purchase between the stone bricks, and he crawled nimbly down.

Kervin scratched his head, not entirely sure he believed what he had just seen.

But when he looked out the window, the scarf hanging from Nirret's window was as red as a ripe apple.

* * *

It was time. Fingir had given the word, and the men were marching, filling up the deserted predawn street. Vot had never seen anything like it.

Fingir led the way, a man walking tall and proud even though he had no wife by his side. Fingir's five friends, the homeless cabal that had begun all of this, followed his example. So did street rats like Vot, bullied men from the brothels and sinister mystics Vot had scarcely believed in. Mixed in with them marched respectable men, husbands wearing marriage bands on their forearms and middle-aged men whose daughters had jobs and whose sons had wives. From other safehouses across the city, other men joined the march. To everyone's amazement, an aristocrat's husband joined the parade, his regal green cloak dragging on the ground with no manservants to carry it.

But still, Vot cast his eyes about.

"Vot," said the boy next to him, with whom he shared what he could hesitantly call a friendship. "You look uneasy."

"Looking for someone," said Vot. "When I went to the nicer districts, trying to find men for the cause, I saw this man Kervin. His eyes... you could see he wanted it. Wanted to be free. But he was scared too."

"Had his wife been abusing him?"

"Friends said so. He didn't. It's a sure sign. But I met a lot of men like that. What's different about this man... he looked scared, right? But he wasn't like the waifs you meet out here. Didn't snivel. Didn't beg. Didn't lie. He wasn't weak, was just... soft."

"So he was sheltered?"

"In a funny way, yeah. Now I want to make sure he stays safe."

Another clutch of men joined the march, and Vot scanned them for Kervin's long, clean brown hair. Then lightning ran through his spine. 'There he is!'

"Kervin!" cried Vot, elbowing through the crowd. "Kervin! It's me, Vot!"

Kervin looked, his clean hair swaying as he turned his straight neck. Quiet worry marked his soft features. "You," said Kervin. "You're the boy who clued me into all this."

"Yeah. Vot."

"Vot." Kervin extended his hand. "It's good to be introduced formally."

Vot shook his hand, a gesture he was not accustomed to. "This is scary, I know. But stay close to me. I'll keep you safe."

"Oh. I appreciate that. But I'm already protected." From beneath the folds of his draping emerald-green shirt, he drew a wooden carving in the shape of a tree, its branches spread evenly in a semicircle.

"Huh?"

"This is the idol of Atye, the spirit of my household. She safeguards harmony and prosperity." Kervin sighed. "You were right—my wife really has beaten me. But Atye stayed her hand more often than not, and I haven't forgotten it."

"This sprit... it's a woman?"

"It is female, but it's not a woman." Kervin cracked a weak smile. "There's no need to worry. She won't interfere."

"Whoah! Look!" Vot pointed ahead. A few paladins stood in front of the crowd, a handful of bewildered women before a mass of hundreds.

The crowd silenced. As people huddled together, Vot lost his view of what happened, but still he could hear it.

"Go back to your homes," said a deep female voice. "You are not safe from monster girls, especially at this hour."

Fingir's gentle, powerful voice replied, "There are three hundred and ninety-two men here. If any monster girl thinks we will let our brothers be taken, let her try."

"You shouldn't be out here," the paladin tried again. "It is improper. You are without your wives."

At this, Kervin ducked his head, his cheeks coloring.

"We are without are wives, yes," said Fingir. "We have each other. Now I'm afraid you'll have to let us pass, unless you plan to stop us with force."