A new infection

Dr. Mercedes Cortez was doing a routine
gene sequence when the wail of the All Seal
alarm froze her heart. Putting aside false
hopes that it was only a drill, the Chief of
the National Institutes of Health Western
Biodome looked at the maze of lights and lines
to see where the emergency originated. Only
the gravest accident would require an All Seal,
which severed all chemical and biological links
of the Biodome with the outside. Carved into
the heart of a mountain, the top secret
facility was virtually impregnable. Until they
unsealed it, Mercedes and the sixteen other of
the world’s elite women scientists working at
the Biodome were as isolated as if they were on
the moon.

Amazingly, the All Seal order had come not
from one of the laboratories, but from the
communications center. Trying to remain calm,
Mercedes touched the appropriate videocom
button and asked, “Ayo, what the hell happened?
Who hit the All Seal switch?”

The image of a tall black woman filled the
screen. “I did, Mechas. Look at this!”

Ayo Obkonko patched the television feed to
the viewscreen in front of Mercedes. The
annoying CNN logo and fanfare was at last
fading and the bearded talking head of Wolf
Blitzer appeared. “To recap the breaking news,
CNN has learned that two days ago scientists
working for Saddam Hussein released a virus
into the atmosphere that has already spread
over Europe and is expected to reach every
corner of the globe within days. The virus
attacks and blends into the human genome,
producing virtually a new species of human.
Effects of the disease appear to be sudden
massive physical, emotional, and intellectual
change in women and lesser but still major
changes in men. Needless to say, there is no
known cure for the malady and there is little
chance of one being found, given the rapidity
with which the virus is spreading and the
dramatic nature of the effects. For the most
recent information, we take you now to our
correspondent in Baghdad, Christiane Amanpour.”

The scene shifted to a pan of the Central
Mosque as seen thousands of times from the top
of the Ministry of Information headquarters,
the place all the foreign correspondents in
Iraq go for the most authentic information.
Then the camera focused in on a gorgeous young
woman with long, lustrous black hair and
smoldering, deep-set dark eyes. Mercedes was
shocked at what she saw, recognizing CNN’s top
foreign correspondent, but just barely. The
image before her and 100 million other viewers
world wide looked more like a slightly aging
movie starlet than a serious reporter. The
cameraman didn’t pass up giving viewers the
full body shot that showed a luscious woman
dressed in the shortest mini the religious
authorities would allow, even on a kaffir, and
sporting a set of tits that hadn’t been seen in
the Old World since Gina Lolabrigida was a
filly.

“Hi, folks,” chirped the painted lips of
the remade journalist. “They want me to tell
you about what this virus thingy is doing here
in . . . uh? . . . here. So far as I can tell,
it’s doin’ lotsa good! Oops, I shouldn’t have
said that. It’s really going to be a problem,
I think, the way all us girls are getting sort
of filled out.” She paused to give her
knockers a demonstrative little shake for the
camera. “How are we going to keep our guys to
ourselves?” she asked rhetorically. “Experts
say . . .” Here she broke off with a sly grin,
“I wonder why they couldn’t get any real
‘perts’ instead of just EX-‘perts?'” The new
Ms. Amanpour clearly had wandered out of her
depth.

“The Vir-us pro-du-ces an extra-ordin-ary
in-crease in the lib . . .?” The confused
young woman stumbled over the text she was
trying to read, “The libby? . . . the Libby
Dole?,” she giggled. “That doesn’t make any
sense . . . . Huh?” She tossed her locks and
cocked her head to hear the earphone better.
“Oh, yeah! That is sooo RIGHT! . . . . They
told me to say it just makes you want to ‘do
it’ all the time,” she grinned, nodding.

“Thank goodness Jamie came over here with
me to sorta keep me in line. I know last night
over at the palace talking to Sadammy I got so
horny I was ready to him . . . Oh, oh!
I guess they don’t want me to say the ‘F’-
word,” she tinkled. “Well let’s just say it
was hard to worry about what that big sexy guy
may be hiding out there in the desert when
you’re wondering what he’s hiding inside those
cool ‘jammies he wears,” allowed the
internationally famous correspondent, unable to
suppress another titter. “Fortunately Jaime
got me back to the hotel before I did anything
foolish and just ed the out of
me. . . . Oh damn, I mean he and my producer
took turns calming me down.”

“Oh, well, I can’t think of anything else
to say right now. So, this is Crissy Amanpour
for CNN in . . .? Well, one of those really
neat places they send me to!”

Mercedes was unable to speak for a moment,
then recovered. “God! This is awful. I see
why you had to act quickly, Ayo. Thanks to
you, at least WE are in no danger of
infection.”

“Yes, but how long can we keep the seal on
place?” Ayo asked.

“We have a vast store of water and several
months of emergency food rations. It won’t be
very comfortable, but with power to run
electrolysis for oxygen and scrubbers to remove
the CO2 we can hold out her for months.”

“But it’s still pretty hopeless, isn’t it?
Sooner or later we will have to unseal the
facility and then we’ll be infected, too. Oh,
God! We’ll all become mindless bimbos, like .
. . her!” Ayo cried.

“Not necessarily. We can . . . .”

“Hey, Mechas! There’s a call coming in on
the Red Line!” Ayo interrupted.

“My God! The President. Put him on.”

A familiar boyish face appeared on the
screen. “Good afternoon, Dr. Cortez.” The
President paused, looking her over. “Sorry I
have to meet you for the first time under these
circumstances.” As she listened, something
about the glint in the Commander in Chief’s eye
made Mercedes wonder if he was referring to the
global crisis or the fact that via TV images,
certain kinds of intercourse were excluded.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President. Oh!” she
exclaimed when she saw the President was not
alone. The camera unzoomed to reveal the
entire Cabinet in session. The First Lady and
the VP’s wife were there, too.

“Dr. Cortez, I have been informed about
your quick action in sealing the Biodome.
You’re in charge of our best microbiological
research facility. I’m afraid the bulk of the
effort to stop this horrific plague will fall
on you and your excellent staff. I’m sure that
you will rise to this challenge. Aware of the
responsibility that our nation, indeed the
whole world, . . .” Mercedes tuned out as the
President was off on a speech about the key
role of women in the global economy, but her
attention was jerked back when she heard him
say, “You know that women are found in various
positions in my administration!”

The Secretary of State blanched and the
Secretary of Labor tried unsuccessfully to keep
from rolling her eyes at the unfortunate choice
of words. Several of the cabinet started to
snigger, but the First Lady silenced them with
a murderous glare. The Vice President, oozing
earnestness, did not seem to hear anything
amiss.

“You can count on us to do everything we
can, Sir,” Mercedes replied keeping a straight
face. As the communication broke, Mercedes was
surprised how attractive she found the
President –he was a sleezebag, but a sexy
sleezebag, she thought.

Within hours Mercedes had reorganized the
group’s work, everything else being pushed
aside to work on the Virus problem. As soon as
things had settled down at the lab, she called
her boyfriend Robert to tell him she would not
be coming home for – she wished she knew when
she could return.

“OH darling, I’m so proud of you, but does
this mean we can’t . . .?” he asked nervously.

“Afraid so, Sweetie. I’ll be here until we
find a cure or we run out of food.”

“There is no way I could . . .?”

“No, honey. The dome is completely sealed.
Not even air, not to mention a probably
infected male can be allowed to enter.” This
was not easy for Mercedes to say. She was
already missing her lovable if otherworldly
poet. He was not a prize catch by many
standards — only averagely handsome, certainly
not rich on his salary from the University —
but he wasn’t intimidated by Mercedes’ fierce
intelligence and sometimes monomaniacal
dedication to work. Under her tutelage, the
sex was even improving. She would miss that,
too.

*****

A week later things were going better than
Mercedes had any reason to expect. Her deputy
director, Vivian Wu, had identified the Virus
and determined its lineage — an ordinary cold-
like virus that lived innocuously in human
breathing tracts, never causing more than a
sniffle. The Virus’s creator had chosen well;
the body had almost no resistance to such a
virus. Shireen Kumanundawata had found the
active sites on the virus that melded with
human DNA to produce the changes in women’s
(and men’s, it turned out) bodies and sex
drive.

Interestingly, the parts of the virus
that effected the somatic changes were not
those that reduced women’s mentality to that
of oversexed schoolgirls. Again the Virus’s
creator had worked brilliantly. Mercedes
herself was the one who discovered that the
other business end of the Virus attached itself
only to the XX (female) chromosomes, leaving
the XY unaltered. Diabolical as this was, it
at least confirmed what Mercedes had long
suspected, that men and women were intelligent
in different ways. It turned out that at least
some different genes were involved.

In other ways things were not going so
well, however. Her most recent call had shown
that Robert was now clearly infected. As
Mercedes looked at him on the view screen, her
heart beat faster. Robert had grown so
handsome! His shoulders were broader, waist
trimmer, butt tighter, abs flatter; he appeared
to have gained a couple of inches in height, as
well. Damn, he had become a studmuffin and was
totally out of her reach! “You’re not doing
anything foolish, are you darling?” she
inquired.

“No, honey, but . . .”

“But what, Robert? Is it another woman?”
Mercedes demanded suspiciously.

“Well, yes, but I haven’t DONE anything.
It’s just that Ruth Morris, she’s been hinting
. . . .”

“Well, let her hint. You leave her alone,”
Mercedes replied, feeling some relief she was
careful not to show. She knew Ruth Morris, a
scrawny, red-haired, forty-year-old divorcee
who taught in Paul’s department. Mercedes
could not imagine a woman whom she should fear
less.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll keep my hands
off of her,” Robert said, not too convincingly.

Only after she hung up did her doubts
return. After all, Mercedes didn’t know how
the Virus might have affected the mousy
professor. And it was not Robert’s hands she
was worried about.

*****

Weeks later things were getting dicey.

Events on the outside certainly gave
Mercedes and her team plenty of motivation.
The scientists were horrified to see how
quickly the Virus was turning society upside
down. Plastic surgeons were practically out of
business, except for women of eighty and ninety
who were desperate to attract younger lovers.
Surgeons able to reverse tubal ligations and
vasectomies, on the other hand, had more
patients than they could handle. Women who
decided holding a job was too taxing discovered
that their husbands or boyfriends had ideas
about how they could pass their time, ideas
that involved new additions to the family or
first babies, even of women in their forties
and fifties. Single women gave up waiting for
Mr. Right and let Mr. Whoever-Was-Handy make
them pregnant.

Sales of women’s apparel shot up as
millions of former career women ditched their
conservative business attire, which no longer
fit anyway, for slinky skirts, revealing
blouses and spikey heels, only to have to
change again as their bulging bellies required
a hot new maternity wardrobe.

A new de facto jurisprudence grew up: a
woman who eliminated a rival for a man’s
attention could almost always get off lightly,
pleading temporary insanity, if she could show
she had gone over twenty-four hours without a
proper fuck. Women who killed men out of
jealousy, although very rare, received no
mercy.

Outside events, on the other hand,
created a morale problem for Mercedes as well
as the others. Last week, when she had called
to check up on Robert it was a woman’s voice
crying out, “Yes! Oh, Yes!” that triggered the
voice-activated videocom link. Mercedes saw
all too well why Robert himself had not
answered. The automatic camera zoomed in on
the speaker, a voluptuous woman with long
flaming red curls riding Robert’s upthrust
prick, crying out and coming repeatedly. Oh
God, Mercedes thought, could that be Ruth
Morris? As if that were not bad enough, she
then noted Robert’s head, or rather where it
should have been. There, grinding her muff
into Robert’s mouth was a younger version of
Ruth, screaming in orgasms of her own, “Oh Mom,
he’s eating meeeee! . . . He’s got his tongue
in my . . . Ayyy! I’m coming so good, Mom.”
Mercedes broke the connection in disgust.

At the next staff meeting most of the
other women reported similar problems. The lack
of sex had them frustrated, jealous, and bitchy!
“Dammit, Mechas. Here we are slaving away like
nuns for humanity, or at least for femininity,
and our husbands and boyfriends are off
screwing everything in sight,” Bridgett Lafonte
exclaimed in ire. “I’m tired of getting off
with my hand up my twat night after night. I
need a real fuck!”

“Me, too,” added Kimberly Bradshaw.

“Oh, God, yes! I need my Leroy,” Vivian
Wu complained. “I can’t think straight without
that big black python up in me every night!”

“Now, now, ladies! Don’t go gettin’ so
hot’n bothered,” drawled Mary Jo Lipscom, a lanky
Texan who was the Biodome’s Ms. Fixit. “I like
a nice hunka raw meat packed into m’ pussy’s as
much as the next girl, but let’s be practical.”
All eyes turned to the big blonde with her
boots propped up on the desk in front of her.
Indeed, she didn’t look nearly as uptight as
the other women. “I don’t like knowin’ that m’
Billy Bob is off bangin’ his Aint Josey ‘n’ her
girls, but since I cain’t do anythang about it
riot now,” she paused long enough to indicate
that in the future Billy Bob was probably going
to pay dearly for his fun, “I just make do with
Billy Bob, Sr.”

There was a gasp of amazement when the
assembled women saw what Mary Jo was talking
about. Leaning forward, she drew out a hugely
wicked-looking dildo, black as night. Another
gasp went around the room when she sat the base
of the implement on the desk and a low-pitched
vibration reverberated through the room.
“Yessir, ever night I jus’ slip old Billy Bob
Sr. in there where he’ll do me the most good
‘n’ git off a buncha times. Sleep like a baby.
If any of you girls would like to drop ’round
for some help, the US Gummit has put some of
the finest plastic in-jecshun moldin’ equipment
money can buy in my workshop. I’d be happy to
whip you up a personalized set.”

“A set?” someone asked.

“Well, yeah. Unless you are ONE lucky
woman, I’d recommen’ startin’ with a plastic
pussy pleaser that’s only a teeny bit longer
and thicker than your current boyfriend’s dong.
Graj’ly. you can work up to a real four- or
five-inch thick prod that can provide some gen-
you-wine simulated fuckin’.”

“‘Course, if ya cain’t wait, I could share
the Hardy Boys with somebody,” she said,
holding up a double-headed dildo with one
phallus considerably larger than the other.
For a moment shocked silence reigned, but to
everyone’s surprise Tammy Bostrop, the little
high-school girl who had been trapped in the
Biodome while delivering papers, got up and
slid into a seat next to the big woman.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Lipscom,” the child sobbed,
“I just miss my Tommy so much.” Mary Jo pulled
the girl into a comforting embrace and kissed
her tenderly. Tammy’s sobs died away as Mary
Jo opened her blouse to release her big boobs
from confinement and Tammy began gently to
suckle them. Soon her sobs turned to little
whimpers of pleasure as Mary-Jo’s hand slipped
between Tammy’s legs and found her clit. It
appeared the Hardy Boys would have a busy
night, or perhaps, again, they would not be
needed at all. There was an embarrassed pause
and more than one hand disappeared beneath the
table before the meeting turned to the topic of
microbiology.

In the next few days, Mary Jo’s workshop
was quite busy. It didn’t take Mercedes long
to notice the difference, either. Productivity
was back up and squabbling almost disappeared,
although the moans and cries of ecstasy in the
makeshift quarters at night could make sleeping
difficult. Mary Jo had offered to make
portable devices that could be worn at all
times, but Mercedes outlawed these, finding
they reduced tensions altogether TOO much.

Most of the women unimaginatively named
their new helpmeets after their most recent
lover. A few, however, chose whimsical
appellations reflecting their personal
fantasies. Some of these were obvious, “Miles
and Miles of Naismith,” “Bit-Bard’s Big
Banger,” “Frank’s Real McCoy,” but no one could
figure out why their intern, Monica Lou Insky,
named her new companion, “Slick Willie.”

*****

As more weeks wore on, Mercedes was
pleased with the progress on a number of fronts.
The group now knew how the Virus attacked the
genes to destroy women’s intelligence. There
was no time to focus on any of its other effects
nor, Mercedes grinned, much motivation. The
conceptual breakthrough came from Vivian Wu,
who realized that what was needed was not a
vaccine — the Virus had already altered the
DNA of the infected host — but a new infection
altogether. With that insight Mercedes could
organize efforts to create a new virus that
would attack the modified DNA of the infected
host and modify the genes for intelligence in
women yet again. This would be merely applied
lab work. Another week or so would do the
trick.

“Mechas! A call on the Red Line,” Ayo
informed excitedly.

The President’s broadly smiling face
appeared on the little screen once more. He
looked happy — entirely too happy, Mercedes
thought. “Good morning, Mercedes. We’ve been
thinking about you,” the President said.

“Thank you, Mr. President. We have been
doing everything we can to defeat this thing.
I’m happy to tell you I think we are almost
there.”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to
you about, Mercedes. I’ve had the boys at NSA,
DIA, OMB, and the FRB looking into this Virus
business. We’ve concluded there’s really
nothing to worry about. In fact, they tell me
it’s doing the country a lot of good. Why, the
new projections for Social Security show that
the baby explosion we’ve got going will have
the Trust Fund in the black for a century. So,
I’ve decided to call off your work out there.
Of course I really do appreciate what you and
the girls have been trying to do and I’d like
you to come to Washington in a few days and let
me show you just how grateful I am!”

“The pig!” thought Mercedes. Yeah, she
could imagine that “the boys” couldn’t see
anything wrong with a world full of bimbo
sexpots. And she could guess how the President
intended to say, “Thank you,” too. He’d
probably knock her up if Robert didn’t beat him
to it.

“Is this an official decision, Sir?”
Mercedes inquired, playing it straight.

“Of course, the whole Cabinet agrees, don’t
you, guys?” The camera panned the oblong table
where it was obvious there was no dissent.
Most of the men, trimmer and with more hair
than before, were nodding agreement. The
voluptuous and amazingly rejuvenated Secretary
of State, though, was not paying much
attention, apparently too busy pulling aside
her panties to let the Secretary of Defense
give her a delightful little finger fuck.

The Secretary of Labor was similarly
distracted, holding her miniskirt up to let the
Secretary Housing and Urban Development inspect
her tummy. Proudly he was patting the
unmistakable little bulge that had resulted
from a late-night meeting at which had started
when he undertook the development, but would
end only when she went into labor.

The VP’s wife was looking down over her
enormous rack in adoration at her husband who
oozed earnestness as she ran her fingers
through his thick blond curls with one hand
while with the other she fingered her dripping
pussy.

The Secretary of Health and Human Ser-
vices had no complaints about the Virus’s effects.
Until a few weeks ago, she hadn’t gotten laid
for years. Now with her newly cinched waist
and large firm boobs and having started
dressing like a woman again, Madam Secretary
found even her hunky interns giving her the
eye. She was pretty sure that Jack, the one
she had taken home, was just playing out a
fuck-mommy fantasy every night, but she didn’t
care what was going on between his ears, so
long as what going on between his legs kept her
happy. She grinned, thinking of his face when
she told him he had gotten “Mommy” pregnant!

The Attorney General’s mind was elsewhere,
as well, planning the fiesta for that night.
She bet she would be the first Cabinet
Secretary in history to pull a train for the
entire corps of US Attorneys AND three Special
Prosecutors.

Mercedes would have asked the First Lady’s
opinion, but thought better of it when she
noticed the top of a blonde head bobbing up and
down between the President’s legs.

“Sir, we have almost finished. I believe
we can reverse the worst effects of this bug,
if you will just let us continue,” Mercedes
pleaded without much hope.

“Sorry, my dear, I order you to stop work
and unseal the facility.”

“In the name of humanity, Sir, I refuse.”

“You’ll have to open the facility Mercedes.
We are prepared for your intransigence. If you
do not follow my order, I will have the power
cut. Soon you will be without breathable air.
Then you can choose between becoming happy sexy
women and asphyxiation. Have a nice day!” A
ruthless sleezebag, Mercedes concluded,
amending her earlier opinion.

“How long will our backup power last, Mary
Jo?” Mercedes asked, near desperation as the
lights dimmed briefly.

“The BATTERIES will last only about six
hours, Mechas,” the big girl grinned, “But I
don’t think all the President’s men remembered
our flywheel. It weighs seventeen tons and is
spinning at 15,000 rpms. We can draw power
from that sucker for a week.”

“And even after we open the air vents, we
will still have a day or so before the
infection makes us . . . makes us . . . too
silly to work,” Bridgett added.

“OK ladies. That gives us ten days. You
know what you have to do. Let’s do it!” Mechas
ordered.

*****

Ten days later Mercedes called everyone
together for the final meeting. Outside air
had been coming into the Biodome for seventy
two hours and Mercedes could tell she and all
her team were infected with the Virus. The
physical changes already were evident. Her own
bust had increased by two inches at least and a
growing, giggly horniness made it difficult to
keep her mind on business.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Ayo asked.
The large pretty black woman had always been
curvaceous, but in the last two days she had
become mouthwatering. “I’m not sure I even
care. I just want to get home to my Carlos.
I’m going to see if he still wants to screw
those high school girls he coaches when he’s
got a real woman.” She smirked and wiggled her
tight, eyepopping butt.

“There’s only one way to find out,
ladies. Drink up!” Mercedes indicated the small
cups distributed around the table and one by one
each woman drank down the pink liquid. “And
that is that!” Mercedes said with finality.
“With your permission I suggest we wait until
tomorrow morning to unseal the main entrance.
Right now there is something I have been
wanting to do for a long time.” A little cheer
went up as Mercedes drew the petite but curvy
form of Vivian Wu into a sizzling kiss that did
not go unreciprocated.

The next morning the entrance opened
by a time device and allowed an armed SWAT
team to storm into the Biodome. The men felt
considerable embarrassment when the most
threatening thing they found was rooms full of
semi-naked women lying asleep in each other’s
arms or making slow, passionate love.

*****

“But, Vivian, can’t you see, deconstruc-
tion of a text ALWAYS requires attention to the
semiotic conventions of time and place. I find
your attempt at a-historical analysis futile,
at best. A deeper analysis . . . uuh, yes, a
little deeper. DEEPER, Darling. You KNOW how
Mommy likes that. Oh, oooh, OOOOH!,” Mercedes
groaned, not to Vivian, but to Robert, who had
been dutifully tonguing his wife’s snatch to a
series of gentle orgasms while the two women
talked.

This was Monday and Mercedes always
started the week over at Vivian’s house dis-
cussing literary criticism. Tuesday was
philosophy with Ayo and Wednesday she used for
quantum cosmology with Bridgett. Thursday was
devoted to political science with Monica Lou;
and on Friday she and Mary Jo talked engineering.
Weekends she kept for herself — and Robert
except occasionally when Christiane was out of
town and she sent Jamie over for safekeeping.

“Mechas, my dear, you simply fail to
recognize the importance of STRUCTURE. A
hermeneutical exegesis of a messages can no
more be disguised by convention than can the
language in which it is transmitted. With a
little more time I know I can explain it to
you. I’m really so close. YES! So CLOSE.
AYYYYY!”

Vivian paused in her discourse to allow a
thunderous orgasm to take her. She didn’t mind
the interruption, as she always said a good
come clears the head and sharpens the analysis.
Fortunately, in her husband Leroy, Vivian had
the services of one of the best analysis
sharpeners in the business. After a dozen or
so comes this afternoon she felt quiet well
honed, but a little sleepy, too. She looked
over at the lolling head of the beautiful,
dark-skinned girl beside her and smiled.
Notwithstanding her friend’s remonstrance,
Robert had Mercedes nearly orgasmmed out.

A nod of Vivian’s head sent the two men
away to cook, or change diapers, or whatever it
was that men did. Mercedes could see what her
sexy friend had in mind and scooted her face
between Vivian’s legs. With a grace that comes
from frequent practice each woman deftly
adjusted her pregnant belly so the bulge did
not prevent the other’s easy access to her
pussy. Gently, they kissed and sucked each
other to a last sleepy orgasm of the afternoon.

*****

In the first interviews with the “Biodome
Seventeen,” as the media dubbed them, Mercedes
and her team gave the impression they knew
exactly what they were doing and fully expected
the results. Some historians who have looked
carefully at the lab notes are not so sure the
investigators realized that the virus they
created would not only reverse the intelligence-
destroying effects of the first virus, but would
actually make women over twice as smart as men
as it spread through the population. Intended or
not, the consequences are those that we now see
and enjoy.

Whereas the effects on women’s minds
are clearly the results of the new infection,
different theories account for the changes in
men’s behavior. Some think the new virus has
made males less aggressive and, therefore,
easier for their women folk to keep at home.
Supporters of this theory point to the
disappearance of Bruce Willis and Mel Gibson
movies, demands from men for sequels to films
based on Jane Austen novels, and men’s utter
absorption by magazines like “House and
Garden.” They also adduce changes in sports as
well. Football and other contact sports have
disappeared, but the boys do enjoy watching
those top-heavy girls try to figure skate.

Others suggest women have to keep men out
of public life in order to protect them from
other women who are not only smarter, but who
can screw them into submission at the slightest
disagreement. Knowing men’s vulnerability,
wives and girlfriends wisely keep them home,
where they are relatively safe from
exploitation. Imagine a man trying to turn
down a saleslady if his woman were to allow him
to go out to buy his own clothes! Why, she
would just take him in the back of the store
and fuck him until he didn’t know one side of a
credit card from the other.

Still other observers point out that men
stay home because for the first time in human
history they can have all the sex they want
without having to go out to slave, lie, steel,
and kill to get it. With women in charge, the
world is so rich and peaceful it hardly
requires then to work. Since child rearing and
household chores are not their concern, women
can indulge themselves with large families.
Occasionally, a man may be reluctant to take on
the burden of another child, but that
reluctance never lasts long when his woman has
decided he’s going to make her pregnant again.

Most people, however, feel there is really
nothing to explain. Everybody knows men just
naturally want to let their constantly pregnant
wives keep them screwed silly while they stay
home and take care of their burgeoning
families. It is just another demonstration of
the Goodness of our Creator and Her divine
Providence.

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