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A New Pair of
Genes Part I
"AAAAIIIIIIIiiiIIIEEEeeeeeEEE!" Mitch gaped as he saw the naked man clutch his balls, collapse, and
roll on the floor in agony. The fifteen-year-old's
eyes grew wide as the tall man who had caused the pain approached the downed
man and intently looked for an opening to kick his balls again. A hand slapped Mitch's shoulder. The older man's eyes gleamed. "You like it?" Mitch was reluctant to turn his gaze away from the two who were performing
in front of him. The naked man, with both fear and anticipation in his eyes,
moved his hands away and slid them over his thighs as he spread his legs. The dressed attacker grinned, his eyes shining with an eager glow as
he turned and placed the heel of his shoe on top of the hurt testicles and
pressed them down against the hardwood floor. Slowly, deliberately, added
pressure pressed the tender sac, squishing the normally round glands into a
painful-looking flatness. Watching as the victim of this torment squirmed under the pressure,
Mitch stood mesmerized as he gased
uncomprehendingly as the man lay struggling to keep his hands in place, loosing the battle, and slapping the hands against his
head to keep them from interfering with the actions of the man between his
legs. His face was contorted in pain, yet he did nothing to stop or interfere
with his agony. Tears streamed from his eyes and he uttered guttural noises
as his mouth gaped open and closed like that of a fish out of water. In contrast, the tall man was gleefully intent on the task at hand.
The pleasure it brought him was obvious, and he seemed to be in a highly
euphoric state. When he was satisfied that enough pressure had been given to
the tender jewels and that his prey wouldn't be able to take any more, he
quickly raised his foot. Just as the testicles resumed some semblance of
their normal shape, he slammed the heel of his boot onto the man's nuts.
Relief and pleasure washed over him. The resultant shriek got the attention of the others in the room and their was a round of applause as the tall man strutted
cockily around the writhing, naked man clutching his testicles. He stepped
back with a self-satisfied air and looked directly at Mitch. "You wanna try it?" he gestured to
the curled up form, then directed his next comment to the prone man.
"Hey, shithead! You ready for more? This kid would like to take a crack
at those nuts, too. Or are you ready to quit?" The agonized man, curled up in a fetal
position, rocking from side to side as he clutched his sore baby-makers,
vigorously nodded his head. It took him a moment or two before he could rasp
his answer, and Mitch was certain the man did, indeed, want to quit. "Please! Yes! I need more, dammit! This
hurts too fucking much... I... I don't want it anymore, but... I do. I need
it. Yes! Yes! Hit my balls more, tear at them, burn them if you want, but
GIVE ME MORE!" he nearly roared. The tall man looked questioningly at the lad, who gave his uncle a
confused look. The older man chuckled and slapped his nephew on the back. "Go for it, Mitch. You looked like you were really enjoying the
show," he pointed to the obvious erection that was tenting the pubescent
lad's pants. "But, but, but... why would he want me to kick his balls, Uncle
Steve? Doesn't that hurt?" "It hurts like hell, kid!" the prone man whimpered. "He's got the virus, Mitch. That's all. He's at the early stages
where he eventually will want to stop. All of the men getting their nads wrecked here are at about the same stage. Go ahead.
Have some fun. I'm, uh, going to go in the next room for a while," Steve
glanced nervously at the door marked Code Yellow, yet it was obvious
that he was itching to leave his relative." The leery lad spoke to his uncle while hungrily looking at the man on
the floor who was making a conscious effort to remove his hands from his nads and splay his legs open. "Will I, uhm, get like this from the
virus, too." His uncle chuckled as he grabbed the duffel bag, throwing it over his
brawny shoulders. Metal clanking against metal caused him to blush, for,
apparently, he hadn't wanted to let on to his nephew that he, too, was
suffering from the effects of the virus and was itching to do more than just
have his balls whacked around. "Naw," he said. "You're gay.
Those gay genes probably will save your ass, as the virus doesn't affect most
gay men--I think only 2% of the homo population are ever affected by the
virus. Only us real men--the breeders, as your kind say--are the ones who
seem to get it where it's active. Then, boy does it act on us! Listen, kid.
Stay here and look around a bit or do some of this shit if you want. That's
why I brought you here anyway. I have REALLY got to go. I'll pick you up when
I'm done in the next gym." With that and a nervous good-bye wave, he was gone towards the door. Mitch almost hurried after him, but the naked man's voice caught his
attention. "Well, are ya gonna
slam my nuts, kid or should I get someone else?" He had spread his legs, laying on his back with his hands behind his
head like he was sunning himself at the beach. The tall man had moved off and
was at the other side of the room whacking the ass and nuts of a man
suspended upside down by his feet, writhing and screaming with each stroke. Mitch shrugged and gave a quick, sharp, and vicious kick that
connected resoundingly against the malleable testes and had the man bouncing
along the floor like a frog on a hot griddle. Yet, there was a contented,
almost euphoric glow on the agonized face. One more kick for good measure,
and the man was swooning with ecstasy--and shot a huge wad of semen into the
air, followed by a volley of the white bullets for an entire minute. Then he
sighed, smiled blissfully, gave a wink to the young man and swooned into a
pleasant unconsciousness. A firm hand spun him around, and a young, athletic man, who only wore
a tank top, commanded, "Come with me." With an air authority that no youth could resist, he led Mitch to a
locker-bench. He handed Mitch a long, clear-plastic tube and reached into his
duffel bag. With an impish grin, he handed a foam-filled tennis ball to
Mitch, laid back on the bench with a leg on each side, and positioned the
tube over his nuts. The lad caught on. The mouse-hole cut at one end was positioned over
the testicles so they were completely surrounded by the vertical column of
plastic. Mitch slid the ball in from the top and guided it down the tube,
sliding his fingers down the slot that was cut along the opposite side. There
were graduated markings along the slot and Mitch grinned and asked,
"Where should I stop?" "At ten inches. That should be enough to start with. We'll go up
from... Aaaack! Fuck! That hurt! Do it again--from
twelve." The young man complied with the eagerness of youth and dropped it
several more times, from various heights onto the man's reddened ball sac.
The higher releases, obviously with the most momentum, had caused the
reclining man to leap off the bench, clutch his nads,
and moan his pain--yet, he had gritted his teeth, refusing to scream. As he knelt next to the bench and weakly hoisted himself up, Mitch
stood awkwardly, unsure of what he would need to do next or if he was
finished with this task. He felt unfulfilled, like he had somehow failed both
this man and his own yearning needs. Neither of them had that blissful look
like the first victim had had. Moving his tank top up and rubbing his ridged abdomen, the man grinned
as he repositioned himself. "You want to do more, too, huh, kid? You fags got us real men by
the ball with this virus--literally. I'm not too keen on gay men watching me
suffer, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna scream for
one unless I really have to. You're kind of different, though: young, raw
talent swelling up inside of you. I can tell that you are a real natural for
this shit, and that's what I need. I need it bad, kid. I always knew I'd get
this fucking virus and that it'd hit me really bad--and I've only had
symptoms for two weeks. Fuck, I might live a year or two like these
shitheads." He gestured to the room of victims. "Well," he said with an exaggerated look around the room as
he dropped one hand into the duffel bag, "I suppose no one will mind if
you use this on me. We aren't supposed to use anything this heavy or this
hard in here," he said, handing the lad a cue ball, "but no one's
going to give a fuck if we go a bit overboard your first time. You can always
claim that you didn't know. Besides, the exuberance of youth can be tolerated
if not fostered. Remember kid, plead ignorance first, then remember that it
is easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission. Now drop
this from 15 and go up in five-inch increments. Fuck. When we're done with
that I should be too sore for anything else." There seemed to be a
wistful tone and an unspoken desire to urge the young novice to go beyond
what was requested. Most young men his age wouldn't have dared to go beyond the limits set
by an adult, but Mitch was so into his role, energized by the reactions he
got from the screaming man. Fortunately, the victim had had Mitch put
handcuffs around his ankles under the bench ("Don't want to accidentally
kick your nads, kid," he had explained)
and on his wrists, also under the bench. The contorted face and the muffled screams as the man valiantly stifled
them seemed to strike a resonating chord like some musical epiphany that
swathed the young lad's brain in endorphins. Likewise, the bound man kept
demanding more, even as he wept, his eyes clenched tightly as he hissed
through gritted teeth, "More! More, dammit!I'll
be damned if I'll scream in front of a fag, so give me more or I'll kick your
ass when I get through." Mitch's face grew hot. The man was insulting him, and he was
determined now more then ever to bring the man to
experience so much pain that he would emit a continuous, cacophonous roar of
excruciating screams of agony. He focused on his work with a purpose. After the hard object was dropped from its highest position and his
partner in crime had pulsed his screams down from its initial screech, the
man begged to have Mitch stop. Mitch hesitated. He compared this man (who was
struggling against the unyielding board of the bench, his tank top crumpled
under his armpits, revealing dark-brown, erect nipples) with that of his
first victim. He retrieved the fallen cue ball and, sneering, returned to the
whimpering man. "You are nowhere near done, asshole. I haven't had an
orgasm yet and I noticed that although your cock is hard enough to split, so
you aren't ready to splurge your spooge either! Looks
like a fag not only has you screaming, but begging, too." "No. Please! Stop. I mean it... I really do... oh, fuck," he
collapsed in resignation against the bench. "Do what you want to my
balls. I won't have them for much longer anyway," his voice relinquished
a small sob, followed immediately by a change in the man's eyes. To Mitch, it
looked like a wave of a shadow passed over the man's face. His expression
changed, becoming more intent, more aroused, more lascivious. There was a new
light in his eyes. Unknown to the youth, the virus had used the chemicals released from
the experience of pain to fire off the pleasure centers
of the man's brain. A wash of new endorphins was drowning the man's
resistance and reason as every fiber of his being
was pleasured. His eyes flashed almost like an animal in heat. Indeed, his
flesh warmed and he became fidgeted. "Go for it!" he growled. "I had planned to, whether or not you asked," Mitch grinned
lewdly at the quivering penis. "Now beg for it, asshole!" he
demanded. The man, reluctant at first and turning red from the humiliating
embarrassment, beseeched him to continue, his body pulsing in expectation,
almost thrusting his pelvis up for a better the pupils of his eyes dilated
almost to saucer size. Taking the cue ball firmly between two fingers, the novice slid the
heavy object into the tube and held it at the top, allowing the anticipation
to build. Then he whipped his arm down and sent the ball hurtling towards its
target. Several more times, he pummeled the reddened,
swollen pack of sperm builders until both he and his victim spewed their load
without touching themselves. This victim didn't have the quantity that the
previous man did, although his orgasm shook him violently and he shot several
loads at least five feet into the air (hitting a grinning Mitch twice--once
on the cheek and once on his earlobe). "Thank you! Thank you! I knew I had selected the right guy for
the job." The older man was trying to regain his composure. His voice
still shaking, he fondly grabbed Mitch's arm as his cuff was opened and
grinned, saying "I've been waiting for a good work-over and hadn't been
able to reach this level of bliss before with any of the other guys here. I knew...
I just really knew you were right for me. Thank you. Bless you!" When Mitch finally released him, and the tank top fell to cover his
magnificent torso, the man gratefully hugged his tormentor, kissing him from
the cheek, to his neck, to his chest, to his stomach. Finally on his knees,
he looked up and grinned. "I've never done this before, basically because I am straight,
but I would really like to thank you by giving you a blowjob. May I? Thank
you. I need the humiliation of servicing another man's sexual needs. Uh. You
are hard again! Ah, the vigor and lust of youth. I
hope you're here the next time I come here." Mitch had a goofy, Cheshire cat grin as he undid his fly. As a newly
developing adolescent, he was easily brought to an aroused state once more
and was almost as quickly brought to orgasm. As the man finished, pulled his biker shorts
on, stuffed his toys into his bag, and tucked the tube under his arm, waving
wildly to Mitch, the insipid grin on the boy's face turned to worry as he saw
an older, stern-looking man looking at him. He was wearing sweat pants and a
gray T-shirt, with a coach's whistle nestled between some very round chest
muscles. He briskly walked towards the young man whose eyes darted about
looking for a place to make an exit, but the coach's arm shot out and landed
heavily on his shoulder. "How old are you, kid?" "Uh, I'm uh..fourt... I'm... no, fift--" "No you're not," the balding man grinned. "You are now
eighteen and of legal age. Want a job here? I like how you work. That
customer was a tough nut to crack--so to speak--and you had the moxie to do
what it took. He'll be back here soon and I want you to be working here. Can
you be here tomorrow at eleven? I'll have the papers showing you are
eighteen, so don't worry. We'll send a cab to get you and bring you home.
You're a natural and we need you. This virus is bringing us more customers
than we can handle. We've got our employees going to men's homes 24 hours a
day and it's not enough!" For another hour, the coach showed Mitch around and let him do some
more of the work that he seemed so fired-up to do and did with such zealous
joy. He paid attention to detail and seemed to know when to embellish this
technique or that, and when to push a victim beyond his bounds and when to
stop. When Uncle Steve came up (pale, visibly shaken, and walking
awkwardly), his spirits were buoyed up by seeing his kin so diligently and
eagerly involved. He chuckled. "I knew you'd take to this like a fish to water! Here, hold my
duffel bag. I am too sore this time to carry it. Are you ready to go?" The bag was open and his relative hadn't tucked in the whip. Mitch saw
an electrotorture device he recognized as a tens
unit and a mace with two one-pound, spiked, metal balls dangling from the
handle. "You've got the virus, too, Uncle Steve?" He said this more
as a statement than a question. The older man grinned sheepishly and nodded, hanging his head. "Yep, and it's getting pretty bad--three months into the symptom
outbreak. It won't be long before I'll be looking to get mutilated and
then... Anyway," he sighed, "I was kind of hoping you'd get into
this shit. Maybe you can do some of this to me," he grinned. "I'd
rather that my own kin rip my genitals off, filet me, or whatever and finally
terminate me--or at least watch and learn." "Oh, I think he'll be up to it," the facility director said
as he handed the lad an envelope with a wad of money. "Your first
earnings. It's only $500, but we can get you more in no time. You'll be
earning at least two-grand a day for only four hours of work, plus anything
you get extra if you do home visits. It may take a couple of years before you
are ready to do terminations, but I think you will really enjoy those and
they pay a whole lot more. Not everyone can do those, but I have a gut
feeling you'll be chomping at the bit to get started on that work detail!
Ha!" Mitch's eyes flashed. He knew that those affected by the virus often
eventually sought out their own deaths or committed suicide in order to
achieve the ultimate orgasm. He looked at his uncle and mentally catalogued
some options he might employ once his kin had reached that point. He loved
his uncle and would do anything--anything--to help make his termination a
spectacular, orgasmic and euphoric send-off. Steve shook his head and grinned. "You fags really dig this. Oh,
well. If the virus is out to kill us, I suppose it's better that some men can
help us get through it so we can get the most out of it. C'mon, kid. My balls
and ass are killing me. Here are the car keys. You are driving back." Part II
It had only been three decades since the first appearance of the
virus. Back then, people were unsure of what it was. "Please! Please! I understand your concerns. The members of the
press and media will have ample opportunity to ask the Surgeon General any
questions about this epidemic that haven't been answered already in his
speech. What he has to say is extremely important and the President and
Department of Health are grateful that so many of your TV stations have
pre-empted their normal programming during prime time, as this is an
extremely important... Wait! Here it is. Yes. I believe that the Surgeon
General is, indeed, ready to begin..." The President's press secretary wasn't going to bring the viewers in
if he kept talking, though. The American public's attention span is no longer
than a thirty-second commercial. News anchorman Jim DelaCroix
has already been briefing the viewers on the need for the speech. "I am sure that many viewers are disappointed at the cancellation
of this station's award-winning, intensely popular, prime-time sitcom Am I
An Idiot or What? show, but our sponsors and the management of this
station and its affiliates believe that what the Surgeon General, Dr. Eli
Thompson, has to say about the grave epidemic that has struck the male
population not only of this nation but across all nations, almost all ages,
and all ethnic and racial groups. Television and radio stations across the
world are tuning into this very broadcast, which is also being presented in
real time over the Internet, I believe. Yes, I am getting a nod from our
producer. "Men have been beating their genitals, setting them on fire,
hanging themselves, and even assisting other men in their suicides. As you
have probably seen, naked men are asking complete strangers to stab them,
whip them, kick their testicles, or even behead them in public. "The Surgeon General, we've been told, has been momentarily
delayed, as his driver and his aide apparently are both afflicted with this
disease or whatever it is, and have started to develop symptoms. We can see
that the podium is empty, so let's take this opportunity to bring everyone up
to date with the latest information. "As you may know, an epidemic is devastating the male population
on every continent, and the cause and cure have been veiled in mystery. We
expect that Dr. Thompson will be able to inform us of-- Wait. Our director
has informed me that... Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Surgeon General has
arrived and--" "Ladies and gentlemen, I am Horace Wagner, Secretary of Health,
Education and Welfare. Tonight, we have some grave news that will, I am sure
affect all of us. I now present to you, Dr. Eli Thompson, the Surgeon General
of the United States." "Thank you." The older man's face is careworn. "With me
tonight is Dr. Francois Guillotine, head of the World Health Organization who
has been assisting in coordinating the research on this disease from
hospitals and research and investigation agencies around the globe. There was some tittering among the press when the Frenchman's name was
mentioned. "As you know, men all over the globe have inexplicably, it seems,
begun to behave in--well--self-destructive manners, tormenting their bodies
with the goal of getting intense pain from such actions, and, in the majority
of instances, are seeking innovative ways to kill themselves. This plague has
mystified the medical and scientific community, and it is important that all
people are aware of the cause and its ramifications. As yet, there is no
cure, but our government, and, indeed, the governments of every nation, are
pouring vast resources into searching for answers and a cure. "At present, we have discovered how this disease infects the
bodies of men and what it does to the body to cause these behaviors.
The virus is a very simple one, which is why it has avoided detection both in
health screenings and by the body's immune system." Dr. Guillotine has placed a chart next to the Surgeon General. "The virus is an airborne disease and the infection is spread
through the simple act of breathing. Once in the system, it rapidly
replicates, using the body's own DNA from certain sections of the XY
chromosome. This explains why only men are affected, as it latches onto only
certain genes on the X-chromosome for which there is no matching gene on the
Y-chromosome. As you can see on this chart, the genes in red are the affected
ones and are scattered along the X-chromosome. In women, because there are
two X-chromosomes, the virus attaches to those same genes in pairs, it seems,
and they cancel each other out except for harmless reproduction. But here,
where the Y-chromosome is too short, the virus on the matched viral genes
along the X-chromosome actually short-circuits, failing to replicate. The
viral-infected genes are changed from their original function. " The immune system fails to recognize and attack the virus,
partly because it masks itself in the genetic code. We in the medical
community have been asked why this disease was not discovered prior to its
having reached epidemic proportions. Part of the reason is that the immune
system itself never discovered the virus. As a result, there were no
indicators in blood samples or tissue samples that would indicate that
anything was wrong. "Secondly, the virus didn't actually do anything to the
body. It simply replicated, left the body, found new hosts, and replicated in
a continuous cycle. The insidious aspect of this disease is that it disguised
itself so well, attaching itself to every XY chromosomal pair in the
male body, duplicating itself, and spreading itself through the simple act of
breathing yet never causing any of the usual changes to indicate that
anything was wrong. Infected men were never sick, never sneezed, never
coughed, nor ever spread the infection in the usual manners in which traditional
viral and bacterial infections are spread. "Thirdly, the disease remained dormant for years. A man could
have had the infection for five or more years and never know it, but he was
actively spreading this plague at work, on the bus, in church, in an
elevator, even at outdoor activities. By the time the first case occurred
seven months ago, no one had exhibited any symptoms. "Then all hell broke loose." Dr, Guillotine put up another chart, and he continued the
presentation. "As you see here, the human male excretes certain hormones, chief
amongst them is testosterone, which is responsible for several
sexually-related characteristics. These hormones are responsible for the
physical traits that separate men and women and even men from boys. Facial
hair, pubic hair, and many of the other what are called 'secondary sexual
characteristics' are driven and produced by the actions of these hormones,
which are secreted into the blood stream and, as a result, stream past every
single cell. "Normally, only certain responses result because certain cells
are stimulated by these hormones." He pointed to the brain and groin, but also showed where body heat,
heart rate, etc. were also affected. "The human species has relied upon certain males who are more
dominant, aggressive, and competitive than others. These character traits
are, in large part, built into the male brain. This explains behavior such as bullying, schoolyard brawls, and even
the usual dares that are prevalent in masculine adolescents and warlike
aggression and competitiveness in sports, as well as abusive behavior, and violent temper outbursts in adult males. "We are familiar with the effects of steroids on building both
manly physical characteristics and performance as well as the vile outbursts of
the men on steroids as their personalities become more aggressive. Dr.
Thompson?" "I think we should point out that the steroid analogy is more
than just that. At some point, and we still don't know how or why, the
virus-infected genes attached to the brain cells become altered in men who
are more aggressive and competitive. It seems that in these macho or highly
masculine men, there is an overabundance of certain hormones and chemicals
and in their proportional ratio to other chemicals in the body. As the brain
is bathed in these chemical baths during periods of sexual arousal and other
excitement--especially when the male becomes angry or competitive--the virus
is also stimulated and begins to alter the DNA structure on the genes to
which it has affixed itself. "This has the effect of rewiring the brain. Character traits that
have been responsible for self-preservation and the preservation of the human
species are dramatically altered. Although the changes don't appear to have
any effect for a while, they will make subtle alterations to the brain
structure and, as a result, the behavior of the men
changes. Instead of aggression towards others, the man has an urgent need to
inflict that aggression towards his own body." "Yes, and what is more insidious is that the effects of the
disease are tied to the pleasure centers of the
brain, so that when the body experiences intense agony, the brain is washed
with endorphins and a chemical bath that triggers intense pleasurable highs.
Like a drug, the pleasure--which often also has a sexual component of intense
arousal and orgasm--is so stimulating that the brain demands not only more
intense pain and agony, but demands it more often in a growing and more
hazardous, repeating cycle." "Aaaaauuuuggghh!" Everyone in the room jumped at the agonized scream from behind the
door where the two presenters had entered. Dr. Thompson winced and developed
a twitch in his eye as he sighed. "I must apologize for the disturbance. Michael, my aide, is
infected with this virus, and although we have attempted to counter the
effects of this devastating disease with sedatives and estrogen
therapy, as you can hear, the disease still grasps its victim and increases
its devastation almost exponentially. Even with restraints these men will seek
to inflict pain upon themselves and are depressed and morose without the pain
and resultant pleasure-highs. If you think of a drug addict unable to get a
fix, you have some idea of what these poor men are going through. "Now, where were we? I need to explain that nothing these men do
to themselves or to other men who are infected is their fault. When the
disease first made its appearance, some men were gleefully assisting other
men, subjecting them to excruciating torment and even murdering them in horrendous
ways. The killers, who were most often themselves infected, helped these
other men with the assisted suicides only because their own compulsion to
destroy themselves was so intense that they realized they had to help each
other if they were going to be able to get killed, too. Society initially
responded, both here and abroad, swiftly by arresting these men and charging
them with murder in an effort to stop these heinous crimes. As we all know,
this failed. The men eagerly admitted their guilt and demanded that they be
executed for the crimes. "I need to point out that the genetic traits responsible for
self-preservation are also affected so that the opposite occurs. In their
pursuit of their addiction to the pleasure and pain required by the disease,
men eventually become intent on killing themselves--often in the most
horrible manner possible. It is as if they are trying to outdo each other in
dying. If you think about it, when young men in particular hang about in
groups, they often dare each other to do increasingly dangerous and stupid
things, and those who participate seem to use one-upmanship in order to
impress the group or to win some imagined victory over anyone else. That
feature of the human male psyche has led to devastation. "When the men are so inured to pain that the pleasure it had once
brought is diminished, the virus cause the infected victim to seek pleasure
from the very act of perishing." Dr. Thompson seemed to be emotionally exhausted when an eager reporter
jumped up and shouted out his question. "Are you saying that all human males are infected?" "Well, there may be small pockets of the population, especially
in remote rural areas, where the men have not yet been infected, but,
essentially and for all practical purposes, yes, that is the--" "You mean to say that every human male is doomed?!" "No, no! Those males who are--how shall I put it?--less masculine
in terms of their behavior and the quantity and
ratio of their testosterone and hormone levels may never trigger the virus to
alter the brain. We have been trying to limit the body's production of
testosterone and other hormones, although at this time there are no
significant findings indicating that we have succeeded or that this treatment
has any effect. Actually, it doesn't look like any treatment will reverse or
stabilize an infected victim's condition." "Doesn't the virus improve a man's sex-life? I mean, I've heard
they have tremendous orgasms!' "Well, in terms of the pleasure that results from the rampant
infection, the virus is particularly focused on sexual arousal and release
mechanisms. Sexual gratification is, after all, one of the greatest pleasures
in the animal kingdom. Most of the infected men who seek pain for pleasure
have had physiological aberrations occur that could be construed to be
'improvements' on their sex lives. Their arousal is more intense, with more
turgid erections developing. Medical tests show that, not only is the penis
more sensitive (as most of the nerve cells of the skin overall also increase
in pleasurable sensitivity), but it also has more pressure built up. The
arteries that supply the penis with blood are doubling the usual input of
blood and the release of blood is less. This results in a painful, throbbing
of the organ that feels like the penis is going to explode. Indeed, some men
have had the skin split open because the pressure is so great. "And, yes, to anticipate your next question, the orgasms are also
far more intense and voluminous than normal. It seems that the virus knows
the business of erotic enjoyment well and the body produces a far greater
volume of seminal fluid--up to ten times as much as the normal amount.
Additionally, the forces behind the ejection of this fluid also become more
powerful. Infected men, on average, shoot their load, to use the vernacular
expression, much farther than they usually do. Ten feet is the average
distance and a quote normal end-quote orgasm lasts from two minutes to ten,
with as few as twenty spasms and as many as seventy. The coupling of a more
intense arousal with a more voluminous and extended orgasm is quite an
addiction. So, I suppose you could say that the sex-life is 'improved', but
look at the cost to a man's body! In order for these men to get their rocks
off, they have to be tortured almost to the point of passing out!" "Isn't it true that the sedatives and estrogen
therapy also hasn't worked--except to give some men breasts?" There was general laughter as Dr. Thompson's face turned beet-red. "The results aren't clear on that study. As I said, those men who
were aggressive, competitive, brutal, or temperamental to begin with are
least likely to benefit from treatment. Those who were more average to begin
with haven't developed the viral pattern of behavior.
Some men only develop a minor need for the pain/pleasure cycle and can still
carry on their daily routines on a limited basis, taking an occasional break
for a ball busting or other S&M session or something similar." The questioning that had interrupted the two good doctors continued.
The journalists were panicked as they feared how the disease would affect
them, if, indeed, they even had the disease, and a frenzied flurry of poorly
planned inquiry continued. Was there a test to see if one was infected? No,
because the virus is an undetectable genetic alteration in the body. How can
we protect ourselves? Would condoms help? No, because the virus is primarily
airborne; chances are every male in any city or town and in most communities
in industrialized nations has been infected for months if not years. "How does the President explain that a vast amount of government
money is being poured into this research whereas when AIDS first hit the gay
community, resources were actually withheld?" "No comment." "Some are saying that this is God's punishment to straight men
for being straight." "Naw," someone interrupted and
nervously joked. "It's God's punishment to us straight men for being
such tremendous assholes."
Both doctors were weary and exhausted. The driver of their car had had
to be hospitalized, so a cab driver was commandeered. The Surgeon General's
aide had accosted the poor doctor with pleas for him to kick him in the nuts,
and the medical man did just that. A wave of fear swept over him as he felt
the first wash of euphoria overtake him after he assisted his aide. |
