#gynarch

No, don’t be silly. This isn’t punishment or some torture chamber, we’re not going to, like, have rats eat your face off or something. The Gynarch Court just determined that you, like many men, were having difficulty adjusting to the changes. Now we’ll be doing guided self-evaluations every day and when you and I are both satisfied that you can deal with being the weaker, helpless gender without emotional trauma or lashing out where you might get hurt, we’ll let you out, 

She warned me.

At Dinner a week ago Thursday, she said she wanted to move to a intimate relationship, and made me admit I hadn’t been to a checkup in two years.

I laughed at her when she said ‘I’ll be gentle’. I mean, I’m hardly a virgin. I daresay I’m no sexual Olympian but - hey, even bad sex is pretty darn good and I’ve had enough forthright partners to know I’m not bad sex. But by the same token I’ve had some really good sexual partners, at least one of which was an Olympian in her college days. Great sex is great too, but it wasn’t going to kill me.

She reached across the table, patted my hand, and made me schedule a doctors appointment with her doctor. Which is kind of silly in itself, like New Women ever need doctors anyway, but there I was like an asshole explaining to one woman that my girlfriend wanted to have sex and was afraid that at thirty-five I might keel over or something.

Two Dinners, one movie, and one clean bill of health later we’re having sex.

I didn’t even know I was a virgin.

It wasn’t power. I mean, it was, but I think a normal woman could do what she did. It was control. She knew my body better than I did - her hands were always touching arteries like in the midst of everything as though she was casually checking my pulse. I mean, I tried to give her pleasure too, but she accepted it like from a fumbling teenager trying to get a bra off, 

Until penetration, where I found out I wasn’t a virgin - I was a puppet. Once my cock entered her, we were one ... and that one was her. I wasn’t fucking her - I wasn’t even making love. I was plugged into her, my body an extension of hers just as surely as if my dick had a data transfer rate on the side of the box it came in. 

She was having fun. I was trapped in a heavenly hell of sensations that weren’t actually orgasms but more like my right are tasted like pink orgasms, with a touch of cotton candy, while my left leg felt like a perfect musical piece. 

She gathered me up in her arms. I’m pretty sure I was drooling, but I must have been conscious because I remember what she said next.

“Since you’re in such good health, i’m going to kick it up a notch”

I was incapable of speech but she must have seen the look of panic on my face. I wasn’t capable of handling this notch, I couldn’t imagine what the next one would be but it was going to blow breakers that couldn’t be reset. 

“Shhh - Trust me, I’m ... “ and a pulse traveled down my cock bounded out to the edge of my body, and rebounded “... Really quite ...” as I ... felt the rebound entering her somehow, a second pulse entered my body, “... good at ...” a third pulse reinforced what I could feel as the first pulse re-entering my body as she took the second into herself “... this ...”

She shot it all up my spine and hit my brain like She-hulk at a carnivals strongman game

I exploded. She exploded. We all exploded for Ice-sploded

She was snuggled up to me when I came too. I needed water, but I could hardly move She was nice enough to get me some. I found myself wanting to keep touching her, which felt odd. it occurred to me this was scary sex, addictive, and I needed to be very careful or I could be a junkie, needing another act each the first wore off.

She snickered. I looked up from my momentary concerns.

“You really really thought I was full of myself when I said you needed to see a doctor first didn’t you?”

I blanched. “Uhh ... ‘lil bit, yeah ...”

Oh, you’re going to fire?

I don’t think so. That gun seems awfully heavy for those weak male arms.

Especially with all that blood going to your cock.

Oh, don’t blame your scout - he had the misfortune to run into me and get dosed with the same pheromones you’re experiencing -- A half-dozen forced orgasms reinforced by some oxytocin therapy and we turned that pheromone arousal into the worst case of puppy love you ever saw. He didn’t want to betray you, but when I whispered in his ear about how his whole platoon was going to love me and my girls, his heart just went pitter patter.

Since the New Women Gyms weren’t legally ‘Clubs’ and didn’t technically require memberships, some men insisted on trying to hold their own there with their wives or girlfriends.

Between pheromones, occasionally militant women, occasionally militant men, and the sheer stubbornness of fit but not superhuman men trying to deal with machines designed for superhumanly fit women could reward even mild carelessness with lifethreatening injury, eventually Gynotech lobbyists successfully changed the law to ‘protect men’ and establish the gyms as women-only territory.

It was the first wedge of a chisel that slowly started establishing more and more ‘protected’ zones; First Emergency Services like police, fire, ambulances became female dominated then female only by virtue of men being unable to physically compete as the standards adjusted to women. Then the military moved men into support positions. After various lawsuits about pheromones being used, deliberately or not, to affect mens judgement, contracts without a woman certifying the man was not under the influence became de rigueur, and from there it was a short step to men being unable to form contracts at all and slowly frozen out of positions requiring clear judgement.

Accusations were made that all that was deliberately traceable to the New Woman exception in equal rights, that the thin wedge was deliberate; if so no formal investigation ever found evidence of it. 

You’re right.

You are in good condition. You outweigh me. You’re physically larger so you have a leverage advantage.

If New Women were just ‘a little’ stronger than men, that would be sufficient.

We’re not ‘a little’ stronger. I have carbon filaments running alongside my muscle fiber. My muscles are literally diamond hard, attached to bones that are almost literally actual diamonds. 

Leverage is not going to cut it.

Now do the dishes before I start to think you just like me wrestling you down.

Head Cheerleader: “I want to hear you say it.”

Quarterback: “Ah come on!”

HC: “Say it!”

QB: “We lost, okay! You won.”

HC: “Who lost? What did you lose?”

QB: “The Football team lost a touch football game to the ... to the Cheerleaders ....”

HC: “And what was the bet again?”

QB: “That if we won, we’d all have dates with any girl we picked and if you won, we ... had to give you control of the Gym and locker room.”

HC: “And ...”

QB: “And ... we date who the cheerleaders tell us to. It’s not fair.”

HC: “awww . Big man couldn’t handle the cute little cheerleaders?”

QB: “The whole thing was a setup! You didn’t tell us you had the New Woman stuff!”