Folsom (The End of Men Book 1)

by Tarryn Fisher

  EIGHT

  GWEN

  “Should you be drinking?” he asks me.

  “If I am pregnant, Folsom, all I have are a couple of cells soaking in your come. It won’t hurt anything yet. Besides, I had a hell of a day, didn’t you?”

  “Same as any other day.” He folds in his lips and nods. I find the expression endearing.

  Just another day for him—meanwhile, my entire world has shifted.

  My older friends from work talk about the romances they had with men…when there were men. It’s a novelty for me imagining that once there were as many men as there were women, and they just walked up and down the street like the rest of us. When they talk about them they get these dreamy expressions, eyes all glassy, blinking slowly. Laura’s stories are my favorite. Henry made her feel like the luckiest woman alive, like she was the only one he saw…he treasured her. And when they “made love” it was as if they were the only two people in the world, nothing else mattered but the two of them. Making love—that phrase doesn’t quite seem to fit what Folsom and I did.

  Maybe sex is one of those things that in memory looks one way, but in reality is just a whimsical fantasy. It’s something I’ll never know. The stories are nice, though.

  Folsom motions to the bartender and she fills up his glass. You’d almost think they knew each other with how comfortably they exchange words.

  “So do you feel older and wiser now that you’ve finally had sex?” he asks. He swivels slightly in his stool so that our knees bump.

  “I feel more in the dark than ever.” I pick up his glass and drain it dry again.

  He laughs. “Easy, kid. I’ll have to carry you out of here.” He reaches over the bar top and gets a glass. He lifts it and the bartender ignores all the women clamoring for her attention to fill up both of our glasses.

  “Would that be the worst thing?” I ask, turning to face him.

  His eyes narrow on mine. “Did you follow me here?”

  I scowl back, feeling the first blurring edges of the bourbon hitting me. “Are you always such an asshole?” I take another long swig and clank my glass down hard, making liquid drip down my hand. “Welcome to the Red Region, Folsom, and our one and only bar,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I thought you had your fancy party to go to.” I practically spit out the word “party” and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, licking away the drops of bourbon while I’m at it. Parties are the foulest form of dim-witted entertainment. I was forced to attend them for most of my adolescence, and the minute I turned eighteen, old enough to make my own decisions, I refused to tag along with my mother and sister, the Ball being the exception since Folsom was there…

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies me until I get itchy.

  “What?”

  “Are you normally such a mess?” he asks.

  “Define ‘mess.’”

  He faces forward again, narrowing his eyes and smacking his lips like he’s thinking real hard about it.

  “Oh God, that bad?” I ask.

  “It’s the look in your eyes mostly. Crazed. Like you’re ready to bolt at any moment.”

  “Yikes.”

  “You don’t even try to hide it,” he says.

  “Should I?”

  Folsom shrugs. “Wild eyes, wild hair…makes you interesting.”

  I look away. Two girls are making out next to me. One of them accidentally bumps into me and calls out “Sorry” over her shoulder. I sigh. “It’s hard losing something you never really had.” I turn to him. “You know?”

  “Can you try again in English?”

  “I’m not attracted to women,” I blurt. I widen my eyes, expecting him to understand, but he just stares at me. “So if I’m not attracted to women, and there are no men, it means I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.”

  “Aloneness sounds pretty good to me,” he says, looking away.

  “You don’t really want to be alone,” I tell him. I’m feeling loose-limbed and bold; blame it on the bourbon. He looks shocked that I’ve said this, so I expound.

  “You said it yourself earlier today, you’ve been forced into this life. But no one wants to be alone. We all want to be understood by at least one person. You just don’t get to choose one person to be with.”

  “You’re attracted to me,” he says.

  I laugh and then look exaggeratedly around the room.

  “Everyone in this bar is staring at you, Folsom. We’re all attracted to you.”

  Even the two girls who just had their tongues down each other’s throats keep shooting him looks. I see a few of the bouncers, women well over six feet with plenty of muscle, holding back a few dozen women. Trans, DSD, and straight alike…they all want him, they’re all trying to get to him. If nothing else but to say they’ve experienced an End Man.

  “But if there were many, many other men—you’d still be attracted to me,” he says.

  I consider this. He’s probably right. Something about the moodiness…and the boots. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of answering.

  He pries my glass out of my hands and sets it down, shooing my hand away when I try to reach for it again.

  “I’m going to miss doing…what we did. But, it was worth it,” I say. “It was. To have a baby will make it all worth it.”

  “You liked fucking?” he asks. “Which part?”

  He’s teasing me. I don’t like how vulnerable it makes me feel.

  “The part where you put it in all the way to the part where you took it out. Well, I didn’t like the part where you took it out, but you know what I mean.”

  He has a weird look in his eyes as he watches me. A little smile plays on his lips.

  “The women are starting to circle,” I say suddenly. “I’m surprised they’ve been as accommodating as they have, but it’s going to blow in a moment, mark my words.”

  Folsom glances at them warily.

  I look around and ask, “Is it like this everywhere you go?” I’m shocked he seems so calm. I’d lose my mind if I were being stared at like bait all the time.

  “Normally it’s much worse. There’s more restraint in the Red Region than I’ve seen in a while…maybe ever. I don’t want to push it, though. Walk me out?”

  “Hmm. I might be wobbly.” I shift my legs to the side of the barstool and set my feet on the ground. It swims a little but then goes into focus. “Not bad.”

  He shakes his head and holds out his arm for me to take and I grip it hard. Jo, one of the bouncers I know, motions for us to follow her. We go out a side door and walk down the long hall. Jo points to the exit sign above the back door and Folsom thanks her.

  The sun is just starting its descent and the night sky is blue slashed with pinks and purples. I twirl around in a circle, taking in the color.

  “Don’t tell me you’re dancing now,” he says.

  “Look up,” I tell him, pointing at the sky.

  He does and stops walking, making me barrel into the back of him. He steadies me and then drops his hand to his side, still looking at the sky.

  “It’s beautiful here,” he says quietly. He turns to me. “You’re fortunate to be here. Are you aware of what it’s like in the other Regions?”

  “Only what I’ve heard. I haven’t been anywhere else…I pretty much live in the lab. Tell me what it’s like.”

  He shakes his head. “And further wreck your ‘hell of a day’? I might be an asshole, but I’m not that bad,” he says.

  “Ready to go, Mr. Donahue?”

  I turn around and notice his driver for the first time. She looks nervous and I wonder if he’s supposed to be here—better yet, where is his security?

  “Five more minutes, Sera,” he says.

  She nods and walks back to the car, pacing with her hands in her pockets.

  He turns to me. “Come to the party with me.”

  “What? No. Are you serious?”

  “I’m always serious.”

  The laughter burst
s from my throat before I can stop it.

  His eyes roam down my neck and to the cleavage that shows when the wind catches my dress just so.

  “Let’s go,” he says like it’s already decided.

  It’s probably asking for more anguish to get to know Folsom any better. Nothing good can come out of it, only more confusion. But how can I refuse him? I get into the back of the car with him.

  “I wish I could at least freshen up,” I say, looking down at my dress.

  He’s sitting surprisingly close and when he turns toward me, my eyes are drawn to his lips. My face flushes when I think of all he did with that mouth.

  “Did you shower after I left?” he asks, voice low.

  I swallow, unsure for a moment that I heard him correctly. He stares at me, waiting.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I squirm in my seat. Suddenly I don’t want to be so close to him.

  “I couldn’t wash you all the way off just yet,” I admit. “Is that weird?”

  “Yes,” he says.

  I want to die. I want to die a thousand deaths. I wish someone would let me out of this car so I can die…

  “But, I like it.”

  “Oh.” I get comfortable in my seat again.

  His pupils dilate, pulling me in deeper. I gasp when his fingertips trace from my neck all the way to the dip between my breasts then lightly tweak my nipple. I hold my breath, unwilling to move an inch for fear he’ll stop. His other hand travels down my stomach to my thigh and rests there. I want to beg him to claim any part of me he wants. Right here, right now. I don’t care who sees or hears, just to have him inside me one more time will be enough.

  I lean my face into his and brush my fingers across his lips. His tongue flicks out and licks my finger. He inches closer to my face, his lips hovering over mine, our breath searing into one another. I close my eyes and wait for his kiss.

  It never comes. My eyes flutter open and he pulls back, scoots over in his seat, and runs his hands through his hair. His breathing sounds heavier, but that’s the only sign that I might not have dreamed it up.

  I look at him and he stares steadfastly out the window.

  “I know you want to take all you can get while you have a man around, but I’m all used up today,” he says.

  My mouth drops. “You act like I asked for any of that.”

  A lump gets lodged in my throat and I swallow hard a few times trying to get relief. I square my shoulders and scream inside to not let one tear fall over this man. I meet a man and in one day he makes me cry? I don’t think so.

  “I can take you home if you’d rather not go to the party,” he says.

  “No, I’ve changed my mind. I want to go to the party,” I tell him.

  He looks irritated and I don’t care. It’s been a long time since I’ve stayed out late anywhere other than the lab. I’ll go and enjoy myself just to spite him.

  We’re getting closer and closer to the oceanfront, and the sun takes one last dip into the water. The hotels and high-rise buildings that used to line the sand are few and far between. Most have been torn down and sleek glass, dome-shaped buildings take their place. We turn in the parking lot for the Council of Affairs and are driven all the way to the entrance.

  “I don’t want to walk in with you. Can you have her just drop me off and I’ll walk in somewhere other than the red carpet?”

  The car stops and he shoots an annoyed glance my way. “We’re here already.”

  Are all men this infuriating?

  Sera lifts the divider and turns to face me. “It’d probably be best if I take Miss—”

  “Gwen,” I respond.

  “Thank you, Miss Gwen, I’ll take you around to the side entrance after Mr. Donahue exits. I didn’t want him to be late; otherwise, I would’ve dropped you off first.”

  I gloat while he steps out of the car. And then watch as not one but two women grab his face and kiss the hell out of him.

  NINE

  FOLSOM

  Different night, same party. I’m pushed and prodded down the red carpet, dozens of hands reaching toward me. They call my name—“Folsom, a picture!” “Folsom, we love you!” I stop to take selfies and sign the printed photos of myself that they shove into my hands, each one more ridiculous than the last. A woman grabs my dick as I pose with her, and I let her because that’s what I’m told to do. I am the property of the Regions; I belong to these women. I smile and move down the line, stopping in front of a girl who holds up a sign. Give me a baby, Folsom! It’s my birthday! I give her a kiss instead.

  Gwen was taken around back and I wonder if she’s made her way inside and is watching the shitshow unfold. When all of this started years ago—the End Men commissioned to save the dwindling population—it had been flattering to attend events like this. I was young and saw the lifestyle as a game. Any party I attended would turn into an orgy with me at its center. And then when I reached the age of twenty-nine, something changed. The sex became contrived, and the women desperate. I longed for a familiar face to wake up to every morning; I missed being known. Unhappiness settled over me like a stifling blanket. Where once I found freedom in my ability to have any woman I wanted, I now saw the truth of our situation. We were property, and they would milk us until we were dead while fooling us into thinking we were enjoying ourselves. I would never know my children, never see them walk, or laugh, or play. I was sent yearly updates on them, all lined up on a spreadsheet in order of their ages.

  Jaoxin, ten years old. Location: Blue Region. Mothers: Adeline and Garva Lutin. Health: Excellent. Excels in Math and Science. There would be a small photo of the child as well, something grainy I could barely see. My sons were not yet old enough to enter the End Men program. When I thought about the life that awaited them, it made me sick.

  I turn around to face the crowd when I reach the end of the red carpet and wave once before going inside. The crowd screams their goodbyes, and then suddenly the noise is cut off, and a new, more sophisticated crowd greets me. The upper crust of the Red Region stands there, clapping politely. I spot Gwen in the back of the crowd talking to someone and then a familiar face is right in front of me saying something.

  “Sophia,” I say, once I remember her name. It takes me a minute to recall the woman I fucked not even five hours ago.

  “Let me introduce you around,” she says, taking me by the arm. I notice that her dress is less revealing than the one she wore this morning, the hemline reaching her knees. She really shouldn’t cover up; her body is the only thing she has going for her. She guides me through a throng of people all with drinks in their hands; they watch us curiously as she stops in front of Governor Little…no, what was it…Petite! Goddamn, I’m bad with names.

  “Folsom! Welcome, welcome,” she says jovially. “Get this man a drink,” she calls over her shoulder.

  Gwen’s mother stands off to the side smiling at Petite, and I wonder what the nature of their relationship is. I am introduced to a dozen women, all who work in various branches of government. I’m still buzzed from the bar, which makes all the introductions bleed together. Name after insipid name, broad smiles and blindingly white teeth. They’re leading me off somewhere else, Sophia still clinging to my arm like a monkey, when I spot Gwen a few feet away.

  “Gwen!” I call. Her head jerks up, her eyes large. She looks around like she’s embarrassed at having her name called out so publicly. “Are you still drinking bourbon or have you switched to something else?” I wink at her just as she turns a deep red.

  “Gwen and I had a few drinks earlier,” I say to Sophia. “At that underwater bar.”

  “The Fish Tank?” Sophia looks stricken. She recovers quickly. “I didn’t know my sister was such a lush.”

  “Sophia, stop hogging our End Man.” A group of girls saunters up to us and I feel Sophia’s grip tighten on my arm.

  “This is Folsom,” she tells them proudly. “These are my friends.”

  I’m introduce
d to a lineup of names I’ll never remember. The most interesting of the group is a tall redhead in an emerald green dress. She’s striking and sexy and she bites her lip when she catches me watching her.

  “Folsom,” I hear from behind me. Governor Petite approaches us, a benevolent smile on her face. It’s time for the lottery drawing. I nod to the group of women and untangle myself from Sophia’s fingers. Sophia’s hand is replaced by Governor Petite’s.

  “It looked like you needed some saving,” she says quietly as we walk arm in arm.

  I glance at her. “Can you save me from all of these women, Governor, or just the one?”

  She looks up at me, surprised. “Do you want to be saved? I thought that…”

  “There it is,” I say, interrupting her. I didn’t want to hear her surprise about me not finding contentment in being an End Man. I approach the lottery draw and see that it’s a giant fish tank, a miniature of their grand bar.

  “Yes,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We had it constructed just for this. You put your hand in and pull out a plastic fish. Inside each fish is one lucky girl’s number.”

  “Brilliant,” I say dryly. “Should we get started?”

  Governor Petite mistakes my sarcasm for genuine excitement and she runs off to make the announcement that we’re going to get started. I see Gwen out of the corner of my eye. She’s standing nearby with a bottle of water in her hand. When I look over, she shakes her head at me, a small smile on her lips. She mouths the word “brilliant” and rolls her eyes up in her head. I stifle a laugh and turn my attention back to the fish tank.

  Fishing the plastic molds of fish out of the water and calling the numbers out as the cameras stream it live takes less than ten minutes. I’m given a towel to dry my hands, and I’m told that a lottery winner is here, one of the women who waited to see me walk the red carpet.

  They pull her inside for an interview and check her number against the one we drew from the tank. When all is confirmed, she starts to scream. I try not to grimace, especially when the camera pans in on my face. Her circumstance calls this a miracle. She is not part of one of the elite families, my fee too exorbitant for someone of her standing to ever afford. If she becomes pregnant from our coupling, she will be hailed a hero among her people. The Region will financially provide for both her and her child. She is led up to the stage where I wait with the governor, and when she reaches me, she throws her arms around my neck. She’s a pretty girl, fair-skinned with long, auburn hair. Her dark eyes fill with tears when they meet mine.