mornings always began with the piercing shriek of an alarm clock at 5:30 AM.
My right hand, moving with a practice honed over thousands of repetitions, slapped the snooze button without my conscious input. Nine minutes of blissful, stolen rest. Then the cycle would repeat, my body locked in this familiar, miserable dance until 6:45, when the real alarm would blare, the one I couldn't snooze.
That was the point of no return.
I would swing my legs out of bed, my bare feet slapping against the cold hardwood floor, the shock of it enough to jolt me into a state of semi-awareness. The bathroom would be next. A quick, efficient shower in lukewarm water. No lingering. No enjoyment. A face wash with no facial. Toothbrush to the teeth, and right after I'd be gargling that green frothy stuff.
A morning shit and shave. No time for breakfast since I'd always sacrifice those last two or three minutes before 6:45 in exchange for the extra sleep I'd gotten from my alarm snoozing, and the day would begin.
At least, that's what would have happened on most mornings.
Except this one was different, somehow, the moment I awoke. Something inside of me just told me that my schedule was going to be thrown off completely. An illogical sensation, yet it was pervasive; an itch within my brain.
The world just felt... different, in some inexplicable way. I shuffled out of bed, staring as the entire room seemed to spin, my legs feeling too light. My whole body seemed wrong; I had no clue what was happening. Maybe I had drunk too much last night, though I rarely drank.
And I couldn't stop trembling, not in anticipation or apprehension - it was almost as if I couldn't even recognize my own room, no matter how familiar it had to have been after living in the apartment for nearly seven years. Even when I focused and willed myself not to be disoriented, I was.
Nothing in here felt real.
Everything seemed to have a sharp, yet dreamy quality. I shook my head, habitually checking my phone for any messages or emails. The lock screen showed the usual flood of notifications, but they were all wrong. The names, the context, everything. It was as if someone had stolen my phone and replaced all my contacts and apps with bizarre alternatives.
Still, what truly caught my attention was the time.
07:00 AM.
Not 5:30. Not 6:45.
Seven. In the morning.
I'd slept through everything. Not just one alarm, but both. My meticulously crafted schedule, the rigid framework that governed my life, had been shattered.
In a rush to recover some semblance of control, I scrambled to get to the bathroom, my mind already calculating how late I'd be, and the reprimand I would surely face from Ms. Harrow.
Except that the house must've gone a crazy flip at some point.
I stood at a place that could only have logically been the bathroom, but it wasn't there, instead a wall where it should've been. As I ran a hand along the cool white tile of what was an actual wall, my mind continued to race, conjuring a wild delusion about someone having pranked me, like in those videos where would kidnap an unsuspecting, sleeping homeowner and ship them off somewhere else entirely.
Or maybe have them wake up in the hospital, just to tell them ten years had passed and they're a father of triplets or something equally ridiculous.
'That's impossible, though...' I thought, taking several long moments to reassure myself that the whole situation was an overreaction, and likely a dream. This was the consequence of not eating something in the evening, I was sure of it. But still... I wanted to look a little closer, maybe see if I could discover where this absurd ruse had taken place and call someone, just in case I'd actually ended up... lost.
After glancing around my unfamiliar living space for several seconds, I finally found what had to be the bathroom door. I took a tentative step through and my whole body began to feel wrong again.
That's when I saw it.
Him.
Or rather, myself.
In the mirror.
Staring back at me was a face I did not recognize. Not just a tired version, or a haggard version. A completely different person.
A stranger stared back.
The man in the reflection was... beautiful. It might've as well been an angel, and I might've as well been fucking dead. I took a nervous step toward the mirror, and it did too; the reflection reacted, mimicking every nervous gesture, the hand now lifting as my own was.
An exaggerated exhale that was really a disbelieving laugh left my mouth.
The stranger responded in the same way, and my gut clenched with a sense of anxious wonder.
I stared at myself, at my own body and the figure reflected within. Every line and shape.
A softer beauty, with features so perfectly proportioned they seemed almost inhuman. High cheekbones, a jawline that was defined yet delicate, a perfect mop of black hair that was messy enough for it to be carefree yet trim enough not to be out of control, and large, silver eyes that held a startling, luminous quality. Unreal.
Even his eyelashes. His lips. Everything.
All the pieces of a puzzle that simply shouldn't have come together so seamlessly, to the point where his face seemed to almost hurt to stare at for too long, an anatomical absurdity that was so absurdly appealing that it could only have existed within the safe confines of fantasy and art.
He could have been a model or an actor, not the accountant I was.
So maybe I was dreaming, I surmised.
A really vivid fucking dream, or maybe even... an illusion? Something must have happened when I went to bed and it somehow altered my perception; my body.
Nothing made sense anymore. I had to calm myself.
Though what kind of dream lasted for more than two hours...?
If this wasn't a dream...
I staggered back, wondering whether my reality had just been fucked over.
"Who are you?" My voice was distinctively masculine, deep, soothing and oddly alluring. "How are you doing this?" I muttered to nobody in particular. The lips moved again and my reflection sighed as I did.
I staggered out of the bathroom, leaning my back against the nearest wall and exhaling sharply. "What the fuck. I am seriously fucking tripping..." It didn't matter.
In dreams, logic could be distorted, or it could become a trivial, fleeting, incomprehensible thing altogether.
Dreams made the rules. But when it came to perception, that was far less ambiguous. And one could always tell if a dream was a dream, a delusion, by checking.
By checking one's perception.
All the possibilities swam in my mind: amnesia, induced by an accidental or intentional brain damage that might have occurred overnight—perhaps even a surgical operation.
All the different drugs and substances that might have caused some kind of severe neurological effects and induced these hallucinations.
Illusions, to be precise. Illusions like this, ones of visual distortion and misrepresentation of objects and images and smells. Though, I supposed, those would be better classified under 'delusions.' Or perhaps under another subheading entirely.
Was this real or was I going to wake up with an IV attached to me and a bunch of worried doctors telling me that they were 'so glad I was finally awake, that they'd tried for over a week, but I was comatose'?
"Umh... you're awake already?" I was so preoccupied with my musings that the sound of another person speaking caught me completely off-guard; I was supposed to be alone, but I was also supposed not to be in this place. "Are you okay? You look..."
I froze.
A young woman, someone with red hair and bright green eyes that were simultaneously nervous, innocent, and filled with unmistakable adoration. The only thing about her that seemed at all reasonable and comprehensible was her expression—and her sheer, all-engulfing nearly nakedness.
"Who the fuck are you?" I could have been staring at a damned Playboy model for all I knew. And the woman could have been staring back as if I were her greatest wet dream made manifest; someone she had seen and obsessively dreamed of for countless hours.
"Huh...?"
A flicker of surprise and hurt marred her already distraught expression. "Damien...?"
Damien.
I began laughing. Not a quiet chuckle, but a full, unrestrained belly laugh that echoed in the spacious, unfamiliar apartment. I couldn't help it. The absurdity of it all had finally broken through my numb confusion. My name wasn't Damien. My name was Alex.
"Damien..." She repeated, her voice trembling now. "You're scaring me. Did you hit your head?"
"Oh, honey..." I said, the word rolling off my tongue with an unfamiliar ease. I hadn't called anyone honey in my life. "You have no idea."
The situation was so far beyond the realm of normalcy that it was almost comical.
Still... I needed to find a way to get out of this dream, or hallucination, or whatever the fuck was going on. I couldn't just stand here, admiring the view of this gorgeous redhead who was apparently my... what? Wife? Live-in girlfriend? Mistress? A total stranger who had broken into my home to play a prank?
The possibilities were both horrifying and hilarious.
I couldn't afford to stay here any longer. I had to go outside, see the sun, feel the ground beneath my feet, and confirm that this entire world hadn't just gone insane.
"I'm going to go for a walk." I announced, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I could even talk to this figment of my imagination. "I'll be back."
"A w-walk?" Her eyes widened. "But... you don't just go for walks, Damien. The women outside will... they'll lose their minds if they see you!" She was wringing her hands, her worry palpable.
'The women outside will lose their minds?' What kind of a fucked-up dream was this? It sounded like she was describing a zombie apocalypse, except with... horny women?
"Look, whatever your name is." The girl opened her mouth, but I quickly interjected, knowing that once she gave me a name, I'd never hear the end of it. "I don't care. I need to get the fuck out of here. Something is very wrong."
"....."
She just stood there, frozen as a statue.
I groaned. "Jesus Christ." Why the hell couldn't I just wake up? Why wasn't a car speeding toward me right now? "Alright, that's it. I'm outta here."
I stormed past the girl, taking long, fast strides. At a closer glance, she was not only beautiful, but downright perfect. One of those exquisite and rare feminine beauties that looked as if they were constructed specifically for the purpose of becoming models or actresses.
'This illusion is utterly unrealistic.' I decided.
What would have been, perhaps, a very enticing sight if I were living in a different world, became my least concern as I strode past her and hurried down an unfamiliar set of stairs.
"Wait...!"
Footsteps followed after me.
The redhead's house—or this illusion's house—was huge, with a sizable and well-maintained yard. It wasn't what I had expected. My apartment was a tiny studio on the fifth floor of an old building.
This place looked like a suburban mansion. It was just another layer of unreality that I didn't have the mental bandwidth to process right now.
I found the front door. I didn't know what I was expecting.
A busy city street. A quiet suburban neighborhood. A fucking barren wasteland.
I didn't care. Anything would've been better than this strange limbo. Anything would have brought me back to the real world.
The moment I stepped outside, a wave of heat and humidity hit me. The early sun was a merciless, white-hot disc in a clear blue sky.
A typical summer day.
Except it wasn't.
I couldn't quite put my finger on what was missing on this until I took in my surroundings.
Everywhere I looked, there were women. Women jogging, women walking their dogs, women chatting in small groups, women driving by in their cars. A flurry of activity that had not a single drop of masculinity in sight.
A few of them stopped what they were doing and stared at me.
And I mean, they really stared.
Like I was a unicorn. Or a ghost. Or a goddamn walking, talking, male stripper who had just wandered out of a club in broad daylight.
I looked down at myself. I was still in my pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Not exactly a look that would normally attract this kind of attention, not even from the most desperate of women.
"What the actual fuck..."
A woman, who happened to be jogging by, nearly tripped over her own feet as her eyes fell on me.
She was a tall, athletic-looking blonde with a body that was the epitome of fitness.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening as they fixed on me. Her gaze was so intense, so—
"Is that...?" She breathed, her hand flying to her mouth, then proceeded to take off her earphones.
"I think it is." Another woman, this one a curvy brunette, replied from her porch. She was holding a cup of coffee, but she'd forgotten all about it. "Oh my god... it's him."
"Who?" The blonde asked, her eyes never leaving my face.
"Him. Damien."
'Am I a celebrity or something?'
Considering this body's looks... it was a distinct possibility. It would explain a few things.
"Holy shit..." The blonde whispered. "He's even more gorgeous in person."
I took a step back and closed the door. Meanwhile, the redhead who hastened to catch up to me, let out a distressed whimper. "I told you...!" She wailed. "I told you!"
The women's voices carried through the door.
"Did he see me?"
"I wonder if he's single..."
"He can't be. A guy in this day and age has to be taken."
"Doesn't hurt to dream, right?"
This was insane.
This was utterly, completely, and certifiably insane.
I stood there, my back pressed against the cool wood of the door, my heart pounding like a drum.
"Damien, what's going on with you?"
I walked past her again, ignoring her cries for me to stop. I made my way back to my room, latching it shut for good measure. The last thing I wanted was to have that chick following me around. Soon enough, though—
Knock, knock, knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Damien... please... what's going on, you're scaring me..."
"Iris, what's going with Damien?"
"Did you guys have a fight?"
"Is he okay?"
"Damien, it's Mom, can you open the door for your Mommy, baby, please? We really want to talk to you... are you okay, baby?"
A multitude of women's voices. And they steadily grew louder as more and more women were drawn out to my doorstep.
'Seriously... what is happening?'
Finally, it got to the point that the sheer volume became impossible to ignore.
I needed a moment to think, a moment alone to try and process everything I'd seen.
There was no way I was opening that door for them, though. Still, in a brief moment of clarity, I decided to play along with this game of 'hallucination' just in case that had some effect. If this wasn't a dream... it might give me more control over what was happening.
I wasn't sure, but the desire for logic and sense was deeply ingrained within my consciousness; if nothing else, my hope for waking from this nightmare.
"Ladies..." I spoke up, and the voices quieted almost immediately. "I'm having a bit of an off day and need a moment of solitude. I just had a nightmare and have had the craziest... headache... ever since I woke up today. Could you please give me an hour or two?"
A moment of silence, then the chorus began again.
"A nightmare?"
"Oh, the poor dear..."
"Of course, Damien, take all the time you need, sweetheart."
"We'll be right here if you need anything."
I listened as their footsteps reluctantly retreated, though I could still hear them whispering and shuffling just outside.
This was beyond any sort of dream or hallucination I had ever heard of. This was a full-blown, immersive, alternate reality. I guess there was no use gaslighting myself. This felt... way too real. And I wasn't an idiot. I'd read enough books and watched enough shows to know what this could mean.
It just felt hard to believe. Right upon waking up, no less.
I sighed, rubbing my temples.
Then, I turned my attention back to the phone on the nightstand. I picked it up and sat on the bed, staring down at the screen. There was nothing there that was familiar, yet it was my phone. I knew it was my phone.
This was Damien's phone.
I scrolled through the contacts. Mom, Auntie, Grandma, Iris, and a bunch of other names I didn't recognize. I scrolled further down, my thumb moving automatically across the unfamiliar but somehow intuitive interface of Damien's phone.
The browser was already open to what looked like a custom news aggregator app—probably the default on every device in this world.
The headlines loaded one after another.
"..."
"What the fuck is this…"
Global Population Crisis: Male Birth Rates Continue to Decline
UN projects male-to-female ratio could hit 1:47 by 2045 if current trends persist.
New Law Passed: Men's Mobility Act Expanded
All registered males now require licensed female escorts for international travel; airlines cite "safety and preservation" concerns.
I blinked hard.
"GenderSelect" IVF Trial Halted After 312 Cases of Severe Syndromes
Experimental technology designed to guarantee male offspring linked to catastrophic neurological disorders, organ failure, and "Lotus Syndrome" in surviving children; class-action lawsuit filed against fertility giant VitaGen.
The article preview showed a somber female reporter standing outside a gleaming research campus, her face grave. "Health officials are urging parents to reconsider non-essential gender selection procedures after three toddlers developed irreversible spinal degradation and two others exhibited total cognitive regression by age four. VitaGen maintains the risks were disclosed, but critics say the desperation for male births has created a black-market industry willing to ignore the fine print."
I felt my—Damien's—perfect jaw drop open.
This wasn't some fringe conspiracy. This was front-page, above-the-fold stuff.
I kept scrolling, unable to stop.
National Fertility Alliance Launches "One Husband, Many Futures" Campaign
Major political party introduces Polygamy Legalization Bill, arguing regulated polyandrous unions are the only ethical solution to the birth-rate collapse; "A single healthy man can responsibly father dozens of children—denying him that right is denying humanity its future," says party chair Dr. Mary Shane.
The sub-headline continued: Opponents call the bill "state-sanctioned objectification," while supporters point to successful pilot programs in Scandinavia where select males in government-approved households have increased local birth rates by 340%.
My thumb hovered, trembling.
"He's Mine" Dating App Crashes Again After Viral Post from 22-Year-Old Male Influencer
Single photo of him eating cereal garners 47 million likes in under an hour; stock in parent company surges 18%.
Supreme Court to Hear Case: Can a Man Be "Public Property" for Reproductive Purposes?
Petition by 180,000 women argues that in extreme scarcity, unregistered males should be required to participate in national fertility programs.
I dropped the phone onto the bed like it had burned me.
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to more advanced chapters of this story and others too.
(50% off discount code here -> CD4CF)
The discount will be up for only a couple of days.
Thank you.
PS: In case you join, let me know if you have any issues with the code.Last edited: Jun 2, 2026 Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, DeathShade, Evolution lover and 279 othersNneeilMay 19, 2026Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 2 — The Scientific Method View contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?May 21, 2026Add bookmark#192 — The Scientific Method
There comes a time in a man's life, where the events occurring within that life change irrevocably and permanently, and in a way where there is simply no turning back from.
Maybe when I realized that this wasn't a dream. Maybe when I actually considered what being a member of this other world would mean for me in every conceivable aspect.
I spent the following two hours scrolling through websites that spoke of laws, conventions, traditions, the way that this society functioned, of the political systems, economics, social values... and discovered things which could have had only seemed absurd or impossible in my world—and were very much the normal in this one, which explained all the outrageous things I'd heard and seen so far.
Toward the end of my research, when I started coming upon blog articles that addressed how I, as a new generation male, should prepare themselves to handle life, I had the same sinking feeling that I did while watching the BBC documentary about Japan's declining birth rates.
In reality, Japan's population growth has declined steeply since 2005.
In this reality, this country—all countries, I was willing to bet—have probably passed the inflection point. That point in time at which the downward trend is so marked and inexorably steep and irreversible that if it were a house, it'd collapse like a rotten, wooden abomination and never be able to support anyone, or anything.
So, to make it brief.
Men were rare. Women dominated society and were the true backbones of this planet, and despite all of that, all their strength, their work and productivity, this entire civilization would cease to exist, and quickly, unless they could find a way to get some fucking dudes, too.
The only solution was obviously some form of gender selectiveness, which was to be done in an ethical and balanced way. Which wasn't working particularly well. While there were some exceptions, the overall results of this endeavor were a long and ongoing population decline with only minor bursts that ultimately turned to the opposite over a matter of only five to ten years.
This shit was so serious that every possible demographic group and community worldwide had been looking into it for years, and many were even investing huge chunks of their GDP into developing research in bioengineering and biohacking technologies.
It would've made no fucking sense to go all, 'we're gonna pick the sex of our children, let's be fucking pragmatic,' and not have made genetic manipulation and engineering one of the pillars of research, innovation, and development.
Scrolling deeper into the virtual abyss of Damien's phone felt like falling down a rabbit hole that had been excavated through the center of a dying world.
Each article, each forum post, painted towards the same terrifying outcome.
It wasn't just the numbers, the lopsided gender ratio, the plummeting birth rates—but the social consequences, the way this scarcity had reshaped the very nature of gender itself.
Men in this world weren't just rare, they were fragile, precious things.
Public spaces had 'Male Safe Zones' where no woman could approach without prior approval. Schools had separate entrances, separate everything. Men didn't drive; they were chauffeured. They didn't work dangerous jobs; they were coddled in climate-controlled offices or encouraged to pursue the arts, things that wouldn't risk damaging their reproductive capabilities.
They were living museum pieces, and every woman was a docent, a guard, and a desperate visitor all at once.
And then came the real mindfuck.
The men themselves.
I found myself on a forum called Male Perspectives, a space apparently created to allow men to 'speak freely' without female supervision. It was moderated, of course—nothing truly free here—but the content was illuminating in the worst way possible. Post after post, thread after thread, unveiled an image of masculinity so alien it made my skin crawl.
These men were shy to the point of pathology. And not only that.
They spoke of social obligation as if it were a physical burden. One user described being asked out on a date as dreadfully tiresome and how he'd spent the entire evening munching over the minimum level of engagement required to secure a second, even though he'd rather be home tending to his hydroponic orchid collection.
Another complained that his girlfriend's constant need for physical affection left him feeling drained and unable to concentrate on his studies.
Another thread, titled 'Tips for Enduring Unwanted Physical Affection' made me genuinely gawk at it for a good ten minutes, before I mustered enough courage to sift through the comments.
The advice being given was staggering in its implication.
'Pretend to have a mild cough. It's a plausible deniability for flinching.'
'If she insists on holding your hand, try to develop a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. Most considerate women will mistake it for nerves and release you.'
'My personal favorite is 'The Allergic Reaction.' A sudden, vehement sneeze into your elbow is a beautiful, non-confrontational way to create distance. Practice it in the mirror. Aim for sincerity.'
"..."
Sexuality, something that had been the driving force of my old world, was treated here as a biological inconvenience, a duty to be fulfilled for the continuation of the species.
Words like 'obligation,' 'responsibility,' and 'procedure' littered their discussions.
One particularly disturbing thread debated whether it was ethically appropriate for a man to fake enthusiasm during intimacy to spare his partner's feelings, with the overwhelming consensus being that honesty was paramount, even if it meant telling a woman she wasn't satisfying him—which apparently happened often.
It was all so backward, so fundamentally twisted from everything I'd ever known.
Women in my world had fought for equality, for the right to be seen as more than objects of desire or vessels for reproduction. Here, they had won that fight and then some, only to turn around and treat men with the same condescending possessiveness they had once endured.
And these men, these precious, fragile, arrogant creatures…
They had internalized it completely.
They didn't desire women because they'd never needed to. Women came to them, begged for their attention, their time, their genetic material. Why bother learning to hunt when the food is delivered to your door every day?
This was the world I'd been thrown into.
This was the body I now inhabited.
A face that made women lose their minds. A status that made me a public resource.
Would women really lose their damn minds if I took off my shirt in front of them? Every single of those light touches and intimate gestures I'd never think much about in my old world, was considered an insidious display of sheer audacity in this place.
Men, in this world, were sexualized and objectified, perhaps even more than the women were in mine. We were so rare, after all. Who had ever seen a penis in real life?
Every article spoke of the tragedy of this situation, of this generation that didn't see and appreciate the opportunity of having a loving partner.
This society was a hierarchy of power that dictated a woman's worth in terms of her ability to be chosen to reproduce by a member of the rarer gender.
Men were the gatekeepers.
They held all the cards.
The world outside my door was a pack of starving wolves, and I was the only steak for miles.
I stood up, and by the time I did so, it was actually almost 10:00 AM. I'd lost track of time.
'Enough.'
I had to get a grip. Panicking wouldn't help. Staying hidden in this room forever wasn't an option either. I had to get out there and figure out my place in this crazy new world.
I had to... be Damien.
My version of him, at least.
And I had to face the music. My family. Yes, my new collection of female relatives, the ones currently having a hushed panic attack downstairs.
Iris first. The redhead from the bathroom. My phone said she was 22, three years older than me. According to the sparse infos I could find around, she was my sister. And naturally, that little branch that was Iris led me to the whole fucking family tree. Calista, the oldest at 25. Ivy, the youngest. The baby of the family. She had just turned 18 this year.
I was somewhere in the middle in terms of age. At 19. There wasn't too much of an age gap between all of us.
And there was my mother, Willow.
And my aunt, Freya.
How many women were ìliving in this house?
God...
Despite looking through all of my contacts and social media and all that good stuff, I still couldn't find my father or any male members of my family. Not a single one.
My mother, Willow, had three daughters, a single son—me—and her younger sister, Freya, was here too.
Six women and a single man.
I walked toward the door, took a deep breath, and turned the handle.
The living room fell silent the moment the door clicked open.
I walked down slowly. I had no recollection of them; couldn't find a single memory with one of them. Still, there they were. I didn't even know how the original Damien used to be like, and it was not in my intentions to be a skinwalker and try to fit myself into his shoes.
Six pairs of eyes, all variations of silver, green, and hazel, locked onto me. It was like watching a nature documentary where the gazelles all freeze simultaneously at the sound of a predator.
Willow—my mother according to Damien's phone—was the first to recover. She was in her mid thirties, an absolute beauty with the same light-sucking black hair and silver eyes as me.
A rare beauty worth millions.
She took a tentative step forward, and it was all too easy to see how much money went into personal care and exercise.
A cartoonish hourglass figure that wasn't something you could possibly achieve without some side health issues.
"Damien, sweetheart... are you feeling better now? We were so worried."
Willow's voice was softly modulated, like she was trying not to spook a wounded animal.
Ah, yes, I'm supposed to be the precious, fragile male here.
I sighed, already hating the whole stereotype.
Behind her, the three sisters clustered together.
Iris, the redhead from earlier, looked like she might actually cry. I did give her a good scare, earlier.
The two others—Calista, a statuesque blonde with full lips and a future Sydney Sweeney lookalike, and Ivy, who had long, auburn hair and a pert upturned nose—stared at me. The older one with a hint of indifference, while the youngest with clear, enormous, and anxious eyes.
Meanwhile, the matriarch's younger, pretty sister, Auntie Freya, leaned forward with unapologetic interest, a smirk curling her full, wine-colored lips.
The perfect image of a slightly less conservative Jessica Rabbit.
'Seriously?'
All of these super hot models that couldn't have been any more real than a photoshopped wet dream… were actually my relatives? All looking at me like I was some porcelain vase standing on the edge of a shelf. One step to the wrong direction, one wrong move, and they might need a fucking mop.
"Damien... do... do you remember me now?" Iris' voice shook, her eyes searching my face.
I blinked.
'Of course I don't fucking remember you. None of this makes any sense at all.'
Instead, I just smiled, remembering Damien's mannerism from his photos. A smile was usually considered the socially appropriate response, in any situation. "I'm doing great." I replied, adding a practiced amount of uncertainty to my tone to sound belieavable. "Really great. Sorry about earlier, I've had... a very, very weird nightmare, and it might've been a bit too... much to handle. But I'm over it."
As soon as the words left my mouth, four out of the six women launched into relieved sighs.
"Thank heavens, son." Willow, my mother, came forward to stand beside Iris, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder and smiling kindly. "You really had us all worried."
"Oh yeah. Sure," I said. It was all so... predictable, the way each member of Damien's extended family instantly rose to coddle, defend, protect, comfort, and praise. As if the second a guy opens his mouth, an invisible spotlight turns on and all eyes and all ears and all attention fall to his every gesture.
'Fuck it.'
The thought materialized in my mind.
All this talk about men being fragile, women losing their minds, me being some precious commodity. Words on a screen.
But I couldn't easily trust words. I wanted to see the severity of the situation. Real-world evidence. I needed to test the boundaries of this insane social experiment.
And the test needed to be simple. Unambiguous. Or not? It's not like I cared either way.
The air in the living room was suffocatingly hot. Someone might've forgotten to turn on the AC.
Not that it smelled bad or anything. The air had that pleasant tang of whatever floral perfume they'd all marinated in this morning.
But the back of my neck was damp with sweat. It was uncomfortably warm. Perfect. An excuse.
"Sorry..." I said, my voice casual as I reached down to grab the hem of my shirt while I headed towards the kitchen. A man's upper body was nothing particularly exciting or censuring-worthy. There shouldn't be much of a reaction, normally. Just some good-natured confusion. "It's boiling in here."
"D-Damien, what are you—"
And then I pulled it over my head in one smooth motion.
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too.
(50% off discount code here -> CD4CF)
The discount will expire tomorrow.
Thank you.
PS: In case you join, let me know if you have any issues with the code. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, Evolution lover, Ardrianian and 247 othersNneeilMay 21, 2026Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 3 — Livestock with an Attitude New View contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?May 26, 2026Add bookmark#403 — Livestock with an Attitude
There are always situations in life that call for you to make quick decisions, that demand you act instead of simply thinking about something, and the way one handles those situations depends greatly on the level and extent of the risk, the time constraints, or simply, the knowledge or lack thereof in said situation.
Me, taking my shirt off in the middle of my living room while I'm standing right in front of the six most beautiful women I'd ever seen—women that also, conveniently, happened to be my relatives and care deeply about the safety and wellbeing of one Damien Winters, was definitely one of those moments.
First off, it was certainly not how I envisioned or wanted my day to turn out. At the same time, however, it's certainly not something I could just shrug off either.
So far, my encounter with this society has been the epitome of confusing, bizarre, and convoluted.
However, I needed to find something to ground me, something that could reassure me that no matter the differences this world and my former self had, there could have been, at least, some familiar, solid, rational logic within my world's basis.
The risk was high, but so was my curiosity. If I were in my old body, I might've hesitated. Alex wasn't the most adventurous guy out there, and certainly not the most handsome, but, again, this body—it was different.
And the data I got was immediate and overwhelming.
It was like someone had cut the power. All the lights came on in a dazzling flash of attention.
The six women, who had been a tableau of concern, froze mid-breath.
Iris, who had been wringing her hands, went completely still. A flush, so vivid it was almost painful to look at, crept from her neck, painting a crimson path up to her hairline.
Her mouth, which had been open to speak, now hung slightly agape, a silent, perfect 'O' of shock.
Beside her, Calista, jerked upright as if her spine had suddenly decided it had been a cord rather than bones. She immediately averted her gaze, with the great reluctance of Hercules on a life or death quest.
Still, even her glance at the floor had to pass me, so it didn't miss much.
And then there was Ivy, the baby of the family. Her huge eyes met mine, and her cheeks became crimson, as she took a half-step backward as though an unseen force had given her a gentle push. Her lips parted, then closed, before she tugged at her long hair and used the gesture to cover her face.
She looked like she might either faint or start hyperventilating.
Aunt Freya, the naughty Jessica Rabbit-ish female member of the family, let out a strangled noise.
"H-Holy..." She stuttered, coughing to cover her slip up. It would've been comedic if it wasn't so goddamn intense.
My mother, Willow, had to put a hand down on the nearest couch to keep from falling over.
"Damien!" She gasped, her voice a strained whimper. "W-What are you doing?! Put that back on right now!"
For a moment, my determination faltered. Had I been too heavy handed? Was there such a thing as social etiquette when it came to doing this sort of thing?
Would my being this straightforward, my taking initiative and not using Damien's persona of the shy, sheltered young man have an impact on something—someone—somehow?
It seemed highly possible, and the ramifications weren't small or inconsequential by any means.
Except that... none of them were running for a shirt, or their phones, or covering my exposed body parts, or scolding me. No, on the contrary, the women around the room looked like a troupe of characters whose cords had been expertly, and maliciously, sliced through, leaving their bodies at the mercy of an all-powerful puppeteer.
More importantly, I couldn't find it in myself to give a single shit about the consequences right now.
After all, what consequences could there be for the porcelain prince in his protective tower?
In this topsy-turvy universe where my mere existence qualified as a national treasure, the worst they could do was what? Shield me from their own eyeballs? Wrap me in bubble wrap and hide me away for my own good?
"Sweetheart..." Willow's voice was tight. "Please, for Mommy, put your shirt back on. You'll catch a chill."
A chill. In this furnace of female hormones? The only chill I could possibly catch would be from the absolute zero of their collective shock. I pretended that I couldn't tell they were only two seconds away from keeling over and opened the fridge.
A soft sigh swept over the group, like wind rustling through dry leaves. It was an odd reaction, as if someone had pulled a dagger out of a wound. I grabbed a bottle of water, closed the fridge, and with a sweeping glance at where the women were all trying their damndest to become one with the furniture, made my way back across the living room and upstairs.
No one stopped me.
No one. Not even one single "Don't go, we want to talk to you, and we would very much appreciate it if you could behave and not seduce our eyeballs".
Nope. Zilch. Zip.
Not even the slightest questioning gesture.
Just another set of obedient, dumbstruck puppets.
Was it me? Was it because of the rare-male-thingy? Whatever the fuck it was... it certainly looked and felt a bit too easy.
By the time I made my way to my—Damien's—room, I didn't know what to think, I didn't know what to feel. It was as if I'd lost all capability to even get in contact with my emotions and feelings. What should I be feeling, in the first place? Amazement? Relief? Satisfaction?
Why would I, in a moment as fucked-up as this, feel any form of positive emotions, much less satisfaction? I mean, I wanted to figure out, in a quick, efficient, and straightforward way, just exactly what the whole big deal about Damien was, and how things truly worked in this world.
And it happened to be fucking simple. Way too simple, for that matter. I knew better than anyone the value of showing skin. A man's nudity shouldn't be a particularly earthshattering event, not by any means. Women were bombarded with shirtless models in their billboard ads, their male movie stars, male dancers, male whatever-the-fuck.
There was nothing special, unique, or exceptional about a man's skin or physical features. They had more of that than we did. They looked at that all day. They could appreciate the symmetry, the muscular lines, the abs, or whatever they were, for days.
And yet, at the mere sight of me, at what should have perhaps been mere surprise and nothing else, these ladies were quite literally floored. Merely by the act of me taking a single article of clothing off, revealing nothing particularly new or outstanding.
I closed the door. Locked it for good measure.
"So, that's the whole big deal, huh..." I mumbled to myself, turning back to look into the full-body mirror, and raising an arm as I did so.
The face I saw, the perfectly symmetrical lines and elegant shapes that was Damien Winters' face. It'd get a bit to get used to, sure.
Millions of guys would kill for this body, this status.
A walking, breathing male in a world where my gender had become a protected species. They'd revel in it, let themselves be coddled and worshipped like an Olympus God of some fertility cult, a gift sent from heaven. Part of me was like that too. Who wouldn't want such an easy way to have the best of everything, with not an ounce of effort required to acquire said things?
That part of me was ready to be selfish, and go ahead with it, no questions asked. Women at my feet? Food and all sorts of luxury delivered at the door like in the fantasy of a thousand and one Arabian nights tales? Why the fuck not?
But there's a dark side of everything, even something so ludicrous as this. The darkness wasn't completely hidden in this, either. After all, for all the glamor and sparkles that made this perfect and beautiful gift to any man worth their shit—a handsome face, the rarest status imaginable—it didn't make the one simple fact undeniable.
I was livestock.
Not in the cruel, chains-and-whips sense. Nothing that obvious or cartoonish. Still, livestock nonetheless.
A special piece of livestock that had somehow grown enough to hold at least some awareness and will, maybe even an inch of autonomy. Something akin to having a chicken lay an egg every morning, or a cow give its milk without being provoked, only for the animal to wonder just why on earth it had to be the chosen one for this job.
I had no power, no right, nothing other than this empty title and this pretty face.
So, yeah, I could possibly fuck as many women as I wanted, and I wouldn't be held accountable for anything, even a damn crime. So fucking amazing, right?
Sink that much dick, become a local or regional celebrity for being such an angel for the continued existence of the human race... then fuck them, for all I cared. It'd probably be quite fulfilling, not giving a single shit, no?
I could watch as these ladies threw everything they had away just for the chance to lay a finger on me. Just for the possibility to gain one more iota of the pleasure my touch could provide, for the opportunity for some breeding.
'No.'
The word seemed to emerge out of nowhere.
I guess I didn't quite enjoy the idea of just being a cum dispenser.
Crazy, since I'd have enjoyed myself like that in my old world. But not here. No, in this world, I wanted more. I wanted to choose. Not for the sake of getting any power or something like that, but just because I could. To see where it'd all go. To see how far they would all bend their rules, their entire system, their whole damn reality before they'd start pushing back.
I'd enjoy myself.
But I would also have them enjoy me.
Just my way.
xXx
Willow
Back in the living room, where Damien had left them all behind, four members of the Winters' family were still quietly fidgeting in their places while trying their best not to acknowledge one another's reactions.
If nothing else, the group was united by the understanding that the only real way out of the last few minutes' events was simply... pretend.
There was no real point in bringing it up at all.
Pretend the whole incident never happened. Act the way it should have happened instead—the way the family manual dictated.
Calista broke the silence first.
The older sister crossed the living room towards the front door with a bit of stiffness in her step. Her heels made an audible click, click, click as they touched the polished floorboards.
"I have... work. Work." She mumbled under her breath, shaking her head. "Work..."
In a similar fashion, Iris—having at last gotten her legs to cooperate—turned with an unusually jerking movement to trudge towards the staircase, moving in complete silence and almost with a robotic pace. She, too, refused to make eye contact with anyone in the living room.
Ivy, quietly sneaked where Damien's shirt still lay on the floor. She collected the garment with her teeth clenched and eyes cast downward.
A flush remained fixed on her delicate cheeks, a perfect twin to the brilliant, red flush Iris still carried as she ascended the stairs. Ivy, upon securing the shirt, immediately scampered back to her room, just as the main entrance door swung open and closed, marking Calista's rapid and discreet exit.
Willow sunk in the couch, soon joined by her sister, Freya.
She decided to ignore her daughters' reactions, because her own mental state would go through the roof and straight out of the atmosphere the minute she did so.
"So..." Freya spoke in a soft murmur. "That went well."
"... oh, so well..." Willow replied sarcastically, a smile that was just a little too tight stretched across her face as she said. "What's gotten to him?"
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, Evolution lover, Mabubujengue and 241 others
An Important Lesson in Entrepreneurial Spirit
Willow
…
"What's gotten to him?"
It wasn't just that he had stripped in the middle of their living room, though that in and of itself was enough to give the family a collective heart attack.
It was the way he did it.
Damien, with his usually careful and restrained behavior, with his eyes ever-so-slightly cast downward. He always carefully took himself away from social interaction.
Their Damien wouldn't have removed his shirt casually like that. His actions lacked any shred of delicacy or discretion.
He didn't care what they would think of it. Didn't even try to conceal himself as he did it. The amount of brazenness the move displayed, the shamelessness, could only come from either a self-aware, playful streak of exhibitionism, or a clueless innocence that could never know shame in the first place.
And none of those things could belong to their Damien. At least, that's what they were thinking.
'Fuck...'
This was, perhaps, the first time ever a boy his age and with his genes did something like that. There had been instances when young boys did some pretty embarrassing stuff, some others slightly inappropriate, but none of that could be even remotely related to this sort of... brazen and out-of-nowhere act of striptease.
And the worst part of it was that Willow couldn't help but like it.
At least, somewhat.
She felt like some scoundrel, hiding inside her pristine and morally uptight exterior.
But what woman wouldn't find herself in a rather enticing, dream-like and dangerously captivating position, just by witnessing their baby boy stripping as easily and with as much ease and nonchalance as putting on his shoes, like that.
"Willow, your hands are trembling." Freya spoke with an air of mocking chastisement. "Should we check him up again, or—"
Willow shook her head, hiding her fists. "No, let him be. That nightmare or whatever he had, must've caused some stress, or even a bad image or trauma to his mind. We shouldn't pry; we might exacerbate the condition further."
Of course. This was the standard rationale her family had fallen upon to justify their ignorance. A mental and emotional collapse. Surely there could be nothing more complex than that in their world.
Men themselves were quite complex creatures, delicate, sensitive things, with the way they would sometimes come up with intricate webs of lies and half-truths for reasons one could only speculate.
But trauma? Maybe. An emotional breakdown? Unlikely.
Willow looked toward her son's room upstairs, frowning.
'Should I go talk to him...?'
It would be easy to. As a mother and the head of the household, it's easy enough for her to just say, 'get downstairs, dammit. We need to talk and reassess the situation'.
Except that the last thing Willow needed was to rush him, or any male of any age for that matter. It was perhaps the only sound piece of advice her own mother gave her—rushing a man when they didn't want something, tended to make the whole damn thing useless.
With another sigh of consternation, she settled for waiting until dinner tonight to see if Damien was back to his usual, quiet self. She certainly didn't mind his little experiment downstairs, although she couldn't help but feel anxious over his motivations—was he, perhaps, falling into that phase?
Willow paused, trying to recall if the Internet mentioned any type of phase a man like Damien would have in their late teenage years, with no luck. All she could remember, for her part, was something about hormones.
"Hormones..." She sighed, deciding that even if she couldn't recall the phase, it probably was hormones. It was safe to assume so, at least.
Freya eyed her, unsmiling. "Hormones... imagine if our little Damien suddenly discovered, overnight, the potential power his body held against us."
Willow cast her a severe sidelong glance, even as she thought, yes. Yes! What if?
"I have a conference call..." Freya remarked idly, coughing as she sauntered off, even though her conference call wasn't happening anytime soon.
Left alone, Willow glanced at the staircase, still lost in thought.
'Something strange, indeed.'
Just what was this aura Damien suddenly displayed, this sudden change in personality?
xXx
Damien
I didn't quite have the stomach to see anyone after my little scene, nor could I force myself back down there.
I stayed in the room instead, absorbing as much information as I could and sorting what was new and not.
One day was nowhere enough to metabolize everything that was happening, but it was definitely enough to have a somewhat clear picture. And everything I saw and read afterwards just solidified it. I used to say I lived in a crazy world, but this one really took the cake.
Could I even go out without causing a city-wide riot?
There were news reports of riots, all right. Riots because a male celebrity had smiled at the crowd at an event. Riots because a male influencer had posted a selfie. A goddamn riot over a selfie.
The more I read, the more I wanted to go out there and test the limits. But I had to be smart about it. A shirtless stroll through the neighborhood might be fun, but it would also bring a world of trouble down on this household, and on me in particular.
I wasn't ready to deal with the fallout from that just yet.
Besides, I didn't want to be known for flashing my chest. That would probably give me the same popularity as Mia Khalifa, or even worse. Ugh.
One thing to note was that the security system in this world for 'men' was extremely strong. And generally speaking, beyond some obsessed-as-fuck woman who decided she would literally hunt her male down no matter the risk involved, people generally, and understandably, didn't try to violate the rules that kept them all safe.
The repercussions, even when such attempts were largely thwarted or discovered early, were incredibly severe.
I spun around in my computer chair, thinking.
'I'd like to further explore the dynamics of gender relations in this society.'
I searched Google and got back what basically amounted to 'this society is insane.' So not helpful.
I typed in a search term, 'Gender war in this society', and added some date filters, searching for information from at least fifteen years ago and more.
That was the first time there was any mention of a public male in a Western country being subject to a murder attempt. It was an incident that sparked off a wild series of events which led to a riveting global debate about a radical 'breeding program' for the male species, and an international surge in efforts to encourage higher numbers of pregnancies and births from each female, which effectively meant an increase in the population of women.
A report, written at that time, stated, 'It's only by chance that we're still having male babies.'
Yeah, really reassuring.
Not that all of this shit affected me in any capacity whatsoever, except in the way that maybe someone would barge my bedroom door and force me to be a sperm machine and produce tiny perfect human beings who were destined to experience a lot of disappointment later in life.
'Should I look for a job?'
Independency had a big significance, even in this fucked-up universe. The desire for self-determination was just an imperative to be satisfied. Especially for a guy who had just discovered the beauty and the bitterness of the world of feminism.
"Yeah, sure... jobs... "
Looking through Damien's bank account, there were enough zeros at the end to make it all pointless. What kind of life would I lead without even having to lift a finger? I always thought that a man without purpose was bound to turn into a man without respect.
'So, you just want to use those amazing genes of yours and be lazy? In an environment where that's almost entirely unnecessary anyway... you still want to use all of that unfair advantage, and do nothing...?'
My inner monologue almost sounded judgemental at that. Maybe because, deep down, it was judgemental.
My current environment was pretty much perfect. The Winters' family obviously wouldn't protest—it would be a travesty to the notion of manhood in general if a male actively pursued manual work of any kind. It'd look downright heretical.
Being the child that they adored and coddled, especially with the recent series of events, I had no doubt that the Winters' household, if they could manage it, would see to my every comfort and desire.
I stood up, headed for my closet, and sifted through the drawers for a decent-looking shirt. A black tee, something decent enough to give off a first good impression and make it a nice 10 if I don't mess up. Khaki pants, with the bottom hems rolled up slightly for that chill and lazy kind of appeal.
Not that I needed all this effort, but it was still my subconscious going through my old habits, as if I wasn't already hot shit in this universe and women didn't basically line up in an aisle for a mere glance from someone who possessed the XY genes.
I opened the door, halfway expecting a silent rush of armed guards and military to spring the lock, only to be greeted by a wide-open and empty hallway. No sign of the three sisters I'd seen earlier. I made my way down the stairs and came upon the dining room and, finally, the living room.
Still, no one around.
The silence was so noticeable that I didn't have the stomach to look at the clock, lest I disturb the deafening nothingness. I didn't even know if I was allowed to go out, but decided to find the fuck out for myself.
I headed straight to the front door. I tentatively unlocked it.
And it slid open, just a touch, when I tugged on the handle, and no alarms were set off, no giant manhole cover dropped down on the floor from the ceiling, trapping my legs.
There was, for all intents and purposes, absolutely nothing standing between me and the outside.
'So... we got permission then. That's a good enough start, I guess. Also means I don't need a chauffeur driving me anywhere.'
I closed the door behind me and strode down the street. It was nowhere as busy as early that morning, and while there was the occasional car that drove by, I did manage to get to the main street in less than 10 minutes and head towards downtown.
A walk. A proper walk for some air. I looked over my shoulder once, half-expecting someone to catch up and try to take me back home or whatever. Again, no one showed. With how they freaked out earlier, it was a valid assumption.
As I delved deeper into the bowels of the urban jungle, the bustling traffic grew so heavy, I wasn't the only thing on the roads and pavements anymore. 'There are women everywhere...' The sight was even more staggering this time.
Perhaps I had missed a good portion of them this morning. This time, the city streets were alight with a sea of faces. Tall ones, short ones, plump and slender.
It wasn't even close to my estimation. I'd hoped to see ten women to a single male, at best, and yet, even after walking for no more than ten minutes, and reaching what I supposed was the heart of the commercial district, there were one or two men for every twenty or thirty women.
That online statistic wasn't some internet myth, after all.
Still, they didn't seem to be the cause of much of a fuss. People walked past them, women walking past them, not outright stopping, but quite outright staring. A few more bold ones even smiled, maybe waved, or offered a friendly hello.
It was like watching people at a zoo. And the men in the enclosures were the penguins. Everyone gawked, but the unspoken rule was not to tap on the glass.
As I marveled at the sight, the women marveled at me. A few heads turned, a few conversations died down mid-sentence. Even all those other rare males were ignored in lieu of a new shiny thing on the market.
No surprise here. With my face and body, and with the current odds of this society, women must've already been assuming they'd seen it all before. And just their luck, the jackpot chose to drop by on a sunny Sunday afternoon, strolling around.
But damn, it was real.
What the fuck, indeed.
I hastened my pace a bit, veering to the right and barging quite unceremoniously inside a café. I wasn't the type to get uncomfortable when more than a pair of eyes focused on me, but there were levels to this shit, apparently—having over a dozen of females openly stare at your direction, right in the fucking face, was certainly one of these levels.
Enough to make even the thickest-skinned man have to avoid their eyes.
"H-H-H-Hello..."
The girl at the counter had the whole sun-burnt tomato effect going on, her gaze darting from side to side as though her manager would pop out of a wall to tell her the obvious—this person was way too pretty for someone who was going to be on the serving side.
Her voice wavered. She wiped a single nervous palm across the apron she wore, not quite sure what she was supposed to do next.
I tugged at my collar a little, and waved back casually. "Good morning." I smiled; the girl was kind of cute, after all.
"Ah..."
She blinked once. Twice. Three times. And it was pretty much a surprise that she didn't do some huge dramatic anime scene, maybe passing out and getting dragged away while I watched helplessly.
Thump.
Oh no, wait. She just did...
"..."
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, Evolution lover, Mabubujengue and 244 othersNneeilMay 27, 2026NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 5 — Excuse Me, Miss Police Officer - What the Fuck? NewView contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?JoinedAug 24, 2022Messages303Likes received25,542May 30, 2026Add bookmark#515 — Excuse Me, Miss Police Officer - What the Fuck?
After a brief, panicky 911 phone call from the staff at the counter and an hour or so later, a total of five police cars and two ambulances arrived in response to the emergency.
What would've been just a routine call, and with perhaps just a single ambulance, turned into such a whole goddamn ruckus when dispatcher was told a male was in the vicinity and involved in the whole affair, for whatever reasons.
I was so swamped and dizzy with all those flashing lightbars that I felt like my eyes were getting cooked on their very own eyeballs. 'What the fuck just happened...' It wasn't like I'd done anything remotely questionable, to begin with.
Well, maybe going to a café with an almost exclusively women-orientated demographic could have possibly been a stretch, I didn't realize I could've given them a heart attack or a mental breakdown by merely showing my face.
Everyone was here. The café's staff. The police. The crowd of gawking pedestrians, and the medics. Would the firefighters show up next? The coast guard? Was the FBI coming in? A SWAT unit, perhaps?
They were treating this whole thing as an active shooting. And at this rate, even the goddamn military would most probably rush to the scene.
And I hadn't even moved from my spot at the entrance!
The poor cashier who had passed out was now recovering nicely under the watchful eye of a female paramedic. Still, it didn't stop her from looking at me dreamily as another police officer took my statements for what had to be the fourth time.
"... then, Mister, you didn't feel or sense anything unusual?" A young officer with blonde hair, green eyes, and a smattering of freckles along her nose asked. She was probably in her mid-thirties, with the stiff-upper-lip appearance and mannerism I associated with the law enforcement.
She was quite a beauty, in an austere manner.
I shook my head and stared blankly ahead. "Nope. I wasn't paying much attention; her collapse caught me off-guard. Didn't see her stagger."
"Did you do or say anything in the minutes leading to the incident?"
"I greeted her. Nothing more, nothing less."
She nodded to the statement and scrolled her eyes through the paper that, even to me, looked as meaningless as some bullshit receipt of a gas-station purchase. "What was your purpose in coming here, may I ask?"
Well, what else was there besides the allure of caffeine, I wanted to snicker.
"I wanted a cup of coffee." I replied simply, mechanically.
"You're not in any trouble, mister." She said, leaning down slightly, a look of compassion spreading over her face. She reminded me, for a moment, of the late Debbie Reynolds, the actress. "We merely need a thorough account to investigate how Miss Vivian fared an episode such as this... though this isn't exactly the first time something like this happened..." She trailed off in a thoughtful, but still distant enough tone, likely weary as well, if she had to rush here just for one small-scale disaster in the life of one particular girl in a massive sea of hundreds of thousands and billions of females.
I decided not to delve on the thought or dig further on that weird half-statement she just offered. "As I said, nothing I can add that hasn't been on this statement of mine."
She seemed content with my responses. Or maybe she just had nothing more to add and no point asking another round of the same questions over and over. Either way, it was over. "Anyway, Mr Winters... that just leaves on very important question." She looked up at me, her austere expression turning stony, serious.
"Oh? What might that be, Officer...?"
"Valeria." She answered quickly. "My name is Officer Valeria."
"Alright... officer Valeria. Your last question...?"
"Have you had your coffee yet? It'd be a shame to go back empty-handed, now. Don't you think?" The abrupt change of subjects, and the sudden segue towards a mundane direction was startling, to say the least, but also had an element of curiosity mixed within.
"I would never say no to caffeine, officer."
Valeria nodded. "It just so happens that my break begins in..." She cocked her head in direction of an invisible watch on her right wrist, not remembering she was wearing one on her left. "Right about now, in fact. Do you mind if I join you for the next few minutes?"
"No, I don't." I shook my head, taking the lead into approaching a new cashier, one who was a touch more recovered, a touch less panicking, and a touch more attentive than her partner that had to take an impromptu trip to the back for first aid treatment. When I turned around, I found Valeria rooted on the spot. "You're not coming?"
"You... don't mind?" Her tone wasn't the expected one I had been thinking she'd have. Instead of sounding suspicious, she sounded oddly relieved, and even... gratifying, for a lack of better term.
"Why would I? Unless you don't want to, in which case, have a pleasant day." I waved nonchalantly and proceeded to the counter, where the second cashier—a curly-haired brunette, instead of her co-worker—was looking at me expectantly. "Can I have a plain coffee and an éclair, please."
"Y-Y-Yes! Right away!"
"No, wait!" Valeria exclaimed a touch louder and quite a lot faster than before, visibly swallowing her tongue after that, and pointed a finger at my direction. "I... I mean, please wait! Please?"
I nodded. "Make it two coffees and two éclairs, then." I added, before turning a lazy gaze at Valeria, who was having quite some trouble sorting her thoughts.
Considering how professional and cold her demeanor had been when she'd questioned me, it was strange. Not that she had been hostile before.
I made my way to an empty table at the back as the cashier started preparing our orders.
Officer Valeria, unsure of her actions, stood rooted near the doorway, stealing a glance here and there. The remaining officers and medics, seeing there wasn't anything else they could do or that warranted their presence, scattered.
Attention was still bestowed upon me like I was standing on a freaking pedestal. It was not to the point where everyone quit whatever they were doing to stare, but it was enough to remind me I was still the only guy in this joint.
After a long minute, Valeria must've gathered some courage, and the attention was diverted off me in the direction of her. Maybe because I'd given her some form of my implied consent by being the one to initiate our impromptu and completely accidental 'break', that a female—a police officer no less—sat herself in the same table as I, and did this right under the noses of other women.
There was a look of mystical wonder on Valeria's face as she sat down in a proper manner from across me, with that dazed look of someone wondering if they had finally died and met their angels or some shit.
Now that I noticed, her police uniform wouldn't have passed strict dress-code inspection. Tight-fit. Revealing. With a disgustingly deep and exaggerated cleavage. A short skirt. Stockings. More skin than fabric. You'd likely see her uniform on some online store and a ten out of ten in their search engine bar when you typed the words 'police-dominatrix porn'.
The paramedics from earlier had the same clothing manufacturer, all right.
"Is everything okay, Valeria?" I decided to speak up. After all, no one spoke when she settled herself here, so who would.
"Aa..." The sound came from a foreign part of her body that was almost completely forgotten and dusty from disuse. "Yeah, sorry... I... this is my first time having coffee with a man, you see. First time ever." She explained in that same distant tone. Her eyes weren't glazing or teary, however. In fact, her tone suggested nothing.
A first time ever with a man for something as mundane as coffee.
"Really, someone as pretty as you?"
"...!!!"
It was a good thing we had yet to get our coffees, or she'd have spat or spit-sprayed or otherwise choked on hers after hearing that. Under normal circumstances, I would have worn a self-satisfied, smug smile at the red coloration rapidly rising from her neck. That would have made me stay up at night for many days, gloating over it.
But there was no rush of adrenaline or flair in the pit of my stomach, no real joy in this act.
This had all been given to me, in a way.
She wasn't blushing because I was suave or because of the beauty of my words, or the elegance of their utterance.
This was all due to sheer circumstances aligning in my favor that a hot police officer was here to eat her damn éclair across from me, and probably fantasizing about eating my éclair—my own meat.
The universe gave me this face, this body, this social cachet.
Everything here had already been accounted for.
This reaction I got, was predicated not on me and the worth that I actually had, but on something I had not earned whatsoever.
I was just a regular guy in my old world, with a regular job, a regular face, a regular-sized cock, a regular apartment, a regular life.
This was a social credit economy given to me in an absolutely unfair and unbalanced exchange.
It was too good to be true, enough that my reaction was a disproportionate one—I felt neither the pleasure that should have come nor any shred of victory from achieving this milestone.
"Do... do you really mean that?" Valeria swallowed thickly, tugging at the collar of her uniform to breathe better. That naturally had the sweet consequence of revealing a generous, if not a bit scandalous, display of creamy breasts. Was that intentional? A social faux pas I had to be disgusted about, like those males on the forums?
"Of course I mean it. Why would I say it if I didn't."
The color remained in her cheeks for a few seconds, after which she regained the slightest iota of control. "Thank you, you're... you're very handsome yourself." There was no hesitance, and the statement didn't look fake, either. Not that I would've taken insult if it were. Objectively speaking, I was already quite the 10 at the highest, without any additional garnishing needed to appeal to someone like her.
"Thank you."
"This is the first time a man tells me this, though."
I supposed they wouldn't tell a police officer who was about to haul their ass to jail. "Surely, other guys must have tried..."
"None. They never talked or reached out to me. After all, no self-respecting man would talk with a female. No decent male would be so... bold."
"Ah..." I tilted my head. "In that case, allow me to be the first."
Valeria's eyebrows shot up again, before she stilled her expression into something that was calm. It looked like a replica of some spasm of the face and lips instead.
I wondered if she thought I was being bold or blatantly trying to hit on her. Or maybe mocking her, as that could have been a valid assumption based on her preconceptions and beliefs.
She stared in a trance, removing her police cap, untying the severe bun behind her hair, and giving it a toss. It fell messily onto the nape of her neck, giving me a nice view of pale gold curls falling elegantly down her shoulders.
"Valeria...?"
She blinked, eyes re-focusing on me again. She had a pistol strapped to her belt. I exhaled, reminding myself that she wasn't a simple civilian but a full-pledged armed agent of the state. Whether she'd use it on a male was debatable, but one could never be too sure.
"Ah, sorry, Damien. I—Actually, could... could I ask you something?"
"Yes." I didn't think her line of questions would include asking about the nature of the universe or the reason why she and countless millions of others lived in this suffocating gender imbalance-infected hellscape, but I was curious. "Fire away."
"Do you wanna fuck?"
"...?"
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, Evolution lover, Mabubujengue and 225 othersNneeilMay 30, 2026NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 6 — The Misogynist Rocker NewView contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?JoinedAug 24, 2022Messages303Likes received25,542Jun 5, 2026Add bookmark#626 — The Misogynist Rocker
Officer Valeria didn't beat around the bush. And even if the bush had to be beat, there'd be absolutely no tiptoeing or nudging around it. I reckoned she might as well use an ax or a bat. She got straight to the point.
Was that common among the girls in this universe, or just a personality flaw she had?
My body was leaning casually forward, not quite surprised, but definitely fascinated by what ticked this woman to make such a weird and indelicate offer, right under the open sky and the prying eyes of dozens of female consumers.
It wasn't like some homeless guy sitting there in the middle of a street begging for pocket change, so yeah. I felt a smidgen of curiosity.
Her straightforwardness could have come from either ignorance, extreme sexual frustration, or both. The investigative side of me was quaking with excitement.
"You could put it a little less crudely." I advised, since what else was I supposed to say to a question like this. "Besides, I'd like to get to know someone better before I fucked them."
I smiled pleasantly, eyes crinkled.
And, in a way, it was quite refreshing and thrilling talking to a woman, a police officer no less, like I was talking to one of my bros or any normal person from my old world. Just say whatever I'd usually say. No dancing around the subject with stupid, useless and mind-numbingly polite talk.
A blush exploded across her cheeks.
Officers weren't supposed to flush like this, especially while drinking coffee on duty. But then again, I supposed most officers wouldn't make such an inappropriate offer to a stranger.
"Sorry." Valeria stammered, suddenly looking anywhere but at me. The café's ceiling, the window, the wall. I expected her eyes to land anywhere on me at some point, but she was incredibly stubborn in her efforts to avert her gaze. "That was... forward. Inappropriate. I don't know what came over me, God. I'm so sorry, so, so sorry—"
"It's... intriguing, I'd say." I shrugged it off, deciding that the blunt truth wouldn't make for the best ice breaker in the world, but perhaps the most interesting. "Why would a decorated officer like yourself ask a question like that? Aren't there some laws in place you're breaking here?"
I wouldn't know; I hadn't delved deep into this universe's legal system and all its finer intricacies. And I figured a well-learned officer would know a loophole or two.
Her eyes darted to mine, then away again. "I was..." She coughed, embarrassed, absolutely mortified. It looked genuine enough that I could easily tell she was beating herself up inside. "Testing you."
"Testing me?" I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head. "For what? With a booty call, of all things?"
That got a small, genuine smile from her. She relaxed a little, fiddling with her cute cap for a moment. "No. It's just..." Valeria struggled to find the words, not looking entirely convinced, but quite enough to speak up. "You're different."
Different. Yes, I knew I was. Different wasn't a word. Different was an abstract concept. How could I even respond to this, anyway, besides, a predictable but still mildly intriguing. "Oh, really, different how?"
She looked reluctant to delve deeper into the details.
The coffee arrived, delivered by a shaky-handed waitress who nearly dropped both cups before scurrying away like a frightened mouse.
As she disappeared, Valeria watched her with what I assumed was mild sympathy before returning to me.
I let silence spread and encouraged her to explain this idea further. Valeria wasn't a natural story-teller, not with all of those first-time jitters robbing her of basic speech—she must've been still reeling from her earlier slip-up.
It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I tried to convey to her that I understood and wouldn't condemn her for it, when the truth was that I, as a bona fide male, couldn't possibly hate a woman for such boldness.
In my world, I'd blow out the candles wishing for just that.
Valeria was cautious as she answered. "... not like... how the others act... more... calm, open..." Valeria couldn't find the right words, and that made her search and struggle through a number of other options. She sighed deeply before admitting defeat, and made a broad gesture in my direction. "... you don't look and act like I imagine a man would."
"You said it yourself, you don't have any experience, so what do you know about how a man's supposed to be?" I ventured, sipping on the coffee. It was alright, just another bean and ground beverage.
"It's just how everyone else I know who's met and talked to a male told me. Those males always act... either standoffish, and indifferent, or aggressively uncaring… they act like they're doing you a favor by existing in the same room. You're not… guarded. Or fragile. Or pretending to be interested."
It was surprising how she got going once she started. There was a lot of emotional baggage to unpack here.
I nodded as if that made sense. She may have expected some form of deep inquiry into that statement, or some opinion about her observations, but instead received nothing.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to disparage you or anything. I really didn't, okay?" She followed up when the silence became too long, nervousness edging on the corner of her voice. "And... I didn't really mean it when I said I wanted to fuck—"
"Don't." I held a hand, then a finger in front of her face. I guess one of the few ways I could reassure her of something would be with actions. "There's no need for you to explain yourself. That wasn't an insult. As far as I'm concerned, your comment didn't damage my fragile little ego."
She relaxed a fraction at my smile but didn't seem convinced.
I glanced up from my drink. She was peering at me nervously, staring from a corner of her eye, her features composed and carefully schooled. She sat and waited, shifting her weight slightly. She must've thought I'd refuse the conversation, maybe even her company, and storm out like some irrational and obnoxious male.