I sigh deeply as we drive through the gate, the parting of metal. I count twice as many posters extolling Gwen and her ideas than posters of the End Men, her quotes slashed angrily across the white backgrounds, slapping anyone in the face who dares to look. A truth of marker and poster board. There could be a torrential downpour destroying every single one of those signs, turning them into pulp, and her words would still live inside of the people who hold them. Words are a powerful weapon and they never die.
The party is held on a rooftop. The open air encourages some life in me, a change from the stifling bedrooms. I smile when I should, get groped, and try to be on my best behavior. Several times throughout the night, I catch Petite watching me. I’m about to excuse myself from a group that’s been discussing the weather for fifteen minutes, a topic so banal I want to whip out my dick just to see what happens, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see Diana standing behind me, wrapped in peach silk. It’s the first time I’ve noticed a resemblance between her and Gwen. She smiles faintly and motions that we need to talk.
I excuse myself and follow her to a quiet corner. Crisis averted, dick tucked safely in my pants.
“Gwen says she’s feeling fine, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust her to tell me the truth,” she says. “And that article she posted—Folsom…” She shakes her head, her eyes cloudy with concern.
I grit my teeth. “She doesn’t quite comprehend the magnitude of what she’s doing. Talk to her, Diana. She’s not listening to me.”
“She’s staying at the compound with you. When the media finds out, they’re going to—” She never finishes her sentence because we’re interrupted by Governor Petite.
“May I request that you speak a few words tonight? To reassure the people after some of the rumors circulating.”
“What rumors are those?” I’m baiting her, but the look on her face, the self-righteous air…I need to get away from her.
Her lips pull into a tight line and she glances at Diana. “I’m afraid Gwen has stirred some negative feelings toward the End Men with her recent writings. The Society has requested that you ease their minds. Reassure them that you believe in the cause.”
Did they now?
“No.”
Her head draws back as if I’ve slapped her.
“No?” she repeats. “Must I remind you that this is your job and—”
I cut her off. “If the Society wants something said, they can say it themselves.”
I can feel Diana stir beside me. Her daughter’s reputation and safety at risk, I wonder briefly if she will say something to defend her, but in the end, there is only silence. She’s a coward, I realize. Just like everyone else.
“Folsom, don’t you think it’s in your very best interest to comply?” Petite tries to reason with me.
I smile stiffly. “I am here!” I spread my arms. Drink still in hand, several people pause in their conversations to look over at us. “Complying…” I give her a little bow before I disappear into the crowd, one thought repeating itself: I have to go home. To Gwen.
TWENTY-FOUR
GWEN
I tell myself to stay off of the Silverbook, but I’m getting dinged nonstop with notifications. When Folsom has been gone for close to two hours, I cave and open it up, reading some of them.
Thank you for sharing the truth with us. I knew there was something suspect about the way these men were kept isolated from the rest of us.
Gwen, you are so brave to speak out for the rights of the End Men!
The End Men fan club would like to extend an invitation for you to speak at our next meeting…please say yes.
You should totally run for governor next election…or better yet, President of the Statehouse! I’d vote for you.
Shut your mouth, you little whiny motherfucker. You forget you’re one of the fuckers who is impregnated by this so-called slave. Guess that makes you the pimp, according to your logic.
Ignore that person, Gwen. People who swear that much lack education. I think you’re right.
For thousands of years, men kept women in social and economical enslavement. It was about time they were endangered. Fuck them. They owe us this.
Girl, preach. I been sayin this for years now and can’t get nobody to listen. Finally! I hear you.
I let out a long puff of air and look down to see how many comments have been left and my mouth drops. It says (526) COMMENTS in the lower-right corner. I keep scrolling down and the majority of them are supportive, a lot of them women who have been around the End Men and have had interactions with them. I’m still shocked people have latched onto this so quickly. When I hear the door open, I shove my Silverbook underneath a pillow and turn to face Folsom, a ready smile on my lips. But it’s not Folsom who walks through the door.
Sera walks in nonchalantly, like she’s been here many times. It makes me wonder who all has full access to Folsom’s space. It’s no surprise his room of boots is overflowing if it’s his only escape.
“Hey,” she says, holding up an envelope with my name across the front. “I’ll wait outside while you get ready.”
I point at my pajamas and double top-knots. “Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”
She waves the envelope. “I think you might want to after you read this,” she says.
I open the note and admire Folsom’s straight block letters before I start reading.
GWEN—DO YOU HAVE A MIDDLE NAME? JUST ONE OF THE MANY THINGS I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU. I WANT TO KNOW. I’VE NEVER WANTED TO KNOW BEFORE YOU…
YOUR WEEK OF IMPRISONMENT IS UP. GIVE ME TONIGHT. PLEASE.
NO SOCIETY. NO WOMEN. NO LABS OR PILLS OR ANYTHING ELSE BUT ME AND YOU.
FOLSOM
I smile and hold the note close. Stop swooning, I admonish myself. Enjoy the moment and don’t dare dream. I hop up and rush to the bedroom, frustrated that I’m so excited and giddy with wanting to see what he has planned.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say to the mirror.
I put on a fitted blue dress and study myself to see if I’m showing at all. Still flat as a pancake. Bummer. I take my hair out of the knots and finger the waves then spritz on a pheromone spray. I grin, apply red lipstick, and rush out of the bedroom door.
Sera is blank-faced as she opens my door and I wonder if she could get in trouble for this. I climb in, half-expecting Folsom to be waiting for me inside.
She notices me looking. “We have to pick him up.”
The drive to the Council of Affairs is brief and when Sera pulls around the side, my nerves build. I watch the women coming and going, and I wonder how many of them have had him inside of them. It’s a dangerous road to go down. I avert my eyes.
The door opens and Folsom gets in.
“Are you wooing me?” I ask, waving the note and holding my lips together.
He laughs and looks away. “Is that what it feels like?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says quietly then clears his throat.
“Am I embarrassing you, Folsom Donahue?”
“Maybe.” He laughs again and I decide it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. Folsom laughing is my new favorite thing in life.
We’re quiet the rest of the drive. He laces his fingers through mine and my heart does a little flutter. I’m midway through trying to shut down my excitement and decide to just go with it. It’s one night. I want to enjoy it and go all in.
We drive out of the city, past the wealthier divisions. I watch in fascination as the scenery slowly changes, the buildings losing their slim lines and hard metals and morphing into something squat and colorful. They paint their walls! The artwork is so detailed and stunning that they’d be at home in any museum. I let go of Folsom’s hand to turn sideways, my nose pressed against the glass. A girl’s face fills an entire wall adjacent to a pharmacy. The colors used to fill her face and hair are jewel-toned. We don’t have this color and emotion where I’m from, more’s the pity. Sera parks outside the building with the sad girl
and we get out.
Folsom holds my hand out and looks me over, smiling at what he sees. “I never know which Gwen I’m going to get,” he says. “Each one is more interesting than the last.”
“I think you’re warming up to me, Folsom Donahue. And it’s just Gwen Allison,” I say. “No middle name.”
I feel his ears lift with his smile and he whispers back: “Folsom Chase…after my dad and uncle.”
I nod. “Very distinguished.” I back up and laugh at Folsom’s expression. “Where are we? You look excited. I didn’t know you were capable of it.”
He pulls me closer, almost playful. I like this carefree Folsom.
“You’ve never been?” He motions behind him and it’s then I notice the word “SIMS” over a door hidden in the painting. From farther back the door looked like the girl’s shirt. How do I tell him I’ve never been anywhere but my small, privileged corner of the Region?
“I’ve heard about this place!” I say excitedly. “I didn’t know where it was.”
“They don’t put them where you are,” he says, sadly. “Invented for the poor, by the poor.”
“So how did a man with his own private jet discover them?”
“When you spend all of your time with the same type of people, seeing the same things, you venture out.”
It couldn’t be farther from the truth when it comes to me, but I don’t say that. I follow him inside, my heart pounding with excitement.
Simulations were started a decade ago, usually in the rougher neighborhoods of larger cities. It’s the way the ones who can’t afford it live out their dreams. I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like for myself, but I’ve also wondered if I’d ever want to go back to reality once I started a simulation.
A girl dressed in black nods when we enter and waves a scanner over us. She then hands Folsom a smaller scanner.
“Room four,” she says, slipping her earbuds back into place.
We walk through the narrow corridor, the neon graffiti covering the walls lighting the way. It’s beautiful and too much at the same time. My eyes hurt with all the color.
When we reach our room, Folsom holds up the scanner and a door slides up from the ground. We step inside and are enveloped in white. It’s like the color was sucked dry. In the middle of the room sits a screen. Folsom places his handprint on it and a voice reverberates. “Hello, Folsom. Welcome back.”
Folsom types “stupidwoman” on the keyboard and smirks, showing where I should put my hand. I act like I’m going to punch him in the gut and he swerves.
“You’re in the system now,” he says. “You should go first. Either type what you want and it will show its interpretation of what you write, or put the band on and it’ll show exactly what you envision. Go crazy.” He grins. “How would your life look if you could have exactly what you wanted? Are you brave enough to show me the truth?”
I don’t hesitate. I put on the band and the entire room fills with me driving up to the Governor’s Mansion. I walk inside and my mother lovingly greets me at the door.
“Hello, darling,” she says and it sounds exactly like her.
I look at Folsom. “This is amazing.”
He nods, eyes bright. We both turn and watch the simulated version of me walking down the hallway to the governor’s office. The door opens and two large women drag Petite out of the room, bopping her on the head when she starts whining. They escort her off of the premises with her whimpering like a child.
Folsom’s shoulders start shaking next to me, his fist going to his mouth to stay quiet. When I walk into the office, Sophia is in a maid’s uniform and she curtsies when she sees me, a full tea service tray in her hands.
“Tea, beautiful one?” she asks timidly.
Folsom’s roar bounces off the bare walls. I start laughing too, and when I glance at him, he’s wiping his eyes.
“Sorry, keep going,” he says, still laughing.
A man walks into the office and Folsom goes still. I decide to give him a dose of what it feels like and have the man kiss me on the cheek. Folsom’s not laughing now.
“You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” the man tells me.
“Do you really have to do this while I’m here?” he asks, teeth gritted and his jaw clenching.
I giggle. “Just kidding…now you know how I feel.”
He scowls and I make the man disappear. I adjust the picture on the wall that says I’m the governor of the Red Region. And then I’m standing in front of a yellow Victorian with white trim and a wraparound porch that has a swing and rocking chairs by the front door.
“I thought your house would be white,” he says. I shoot him a look over my shoulder. “I’ll stay out of it now,” he adds.
I step inside and the sound of laughter fills the room. A little boy and girl around the same size run into the room and yell over their shoulders, “Hi, Mama! Bye, Mama!” when Folsom comes chasing after them. He catches the boy and throws him over his shoulder, tickling him mercilessly. An older boy comes into the room then with earbuds in and hair hanging over one eye. He smirks at the chaos and gives me a quick hug before getting out of there.
I sigh and realize then that there are tears dripping off my chin.
In the simulation, Folsom puts down the boy when he sees me come into the door and gives me a kiss so scorching, my heart pounds. The real Folsom positions himself behind me, putting his arms around my waist. I can feel his warm breath against my hair and I shiver.
“That’s more like it,” he says.
“Your turn,” I tell him, wiping my face and sniffling.
“Yours is not so different than mine,” he says softly. “Watch.” He types in “Foley97” and the view changes.
The scene I created melts away and now we’re in his. We see a large log cabin in a field of lavender; it looks to be in the country somewhere. When we go inside it’s sparse but beautiful, the walls roughly hewn from the logs. The sound of a woman laughing fills the house and Folsom walks right past us. This Folsom is different than the one standing behind me. His hair is long, touching the base of his neck in black waves, and his clothes are casual…untucked. I realize that the woman I heard laughing is me, and I feel such relief that it scares me. I look away from the picture to look at him and see the small smile playing on his lips. He’s making this up as he goes along, adding me to his fantasy. I wonder if he’s ever done this with another woman and my insides spark like a lightning storm. I grow stiff in his arms, afraid of knowing the truth. But then the scene changes and I’m lying on a bed naked, purple silk tied around my wrists and ankles and attached to the bedpost, spread-eagle. He has me bare, which makes me smile. He zooms in and I’m staring at my own waxed pussy. I turn my face away, embarrassed, and Folsom laughs in my ear.
“It’s beautiful,” he says. “I’ve seen thousands, trust me, it’s beautiful.” His arms get tighter around me as we watch him walk to the bed and run his fingers slowly down my body. He flicks my nipple and lowers his mouth to it, tugging it with his teeth and then licking the sting. The me in the simulation arches her back. My breath quickens as I feel his erection against my back and feel his hands wander down my body. I can’t tell what turns me on more, seeing him touch me, or feeling his hands on me in real time; my senses are on overload. My lids lower when in the simulation his fingers reach between my legs. I stare, unable to tear my eyes away, when all of a sudden I feel Folsom’s fingers reach underneath my dress. With one arm locked firmly around my waist, he strokes me through my underwear as we watch our simulated selves do the same. I can hardly keep my eyes open. It feels so good.
“Watch,” he orders me. He finds the edge of my underwear and slides one finger underneath the lace. I jerk when we’re skin to skin. I’m still not used to another human touching that part of me.
I force my eyes open and watch him lick me in the same place his finger is now snaking in and out of. I can feel myself grow tighter around him. “Folsom,” I whimper. If he weren’t hol
ding me, I don’t know that I could stand on my own.
The simulated version of me writhes on the bed, moaning, and I stare, transfixed. I remember when he did that to me on the first day we met. I remember the feel of his wet tongue circling me. I look almost feral in my want for him; I look the way he makes me feel.
“Is that really how you see me?” I ask.
“God, yes,” he says, his dick pressing hard against me.
“Show me,” I cry out when he slips in another finger, moving in and out, faster, desperate. Three fingers, I pulse around them.
In his vision of us, he unties the silk and moves behind me on the bed, pulling me onto my knees and shifting us so I can watch as he enters me from behind. The view of his cock pushing into me, faster, harder is so intoxicating that I’m drunk with what’s happening both in front of me and to me. I’ve never seen myself from that angle, but I know he has, and I blush at the sight of myself so open and exposed. When his dick slides out it’s wet, and when it slides back in, my skin turns pink to take him. It’s beautiful, and erotic, and embarrassing all at the same time. The simulated me cries out, head falling back, and I match her…chasing my fall right behind theirs.
TWENTY-FIVE
FOLSOM
She asks to be fed after we leave the SIMS, dancing circles around me in the parking lot. She’s wearing a dress and the boots I made her, and she looks like a fairy that can kick serious ass. She’s high on life, her orgasm, and she’s possibly in love with me. The sight of her makes my heart beat strong and steady. Sera looks on disapprovingly, and as we pass through the parking lot, people just arriving turn to stare. When they take out their Silverbooks to photograph me with Gwen, I grab her hand and move us faster. The fact that I’m out with her in public is going to cause a shitstorm in all twelve Regions. It’s not the first time the media has caught me out with a woman; there were others I spent time with, friends. And in the end, it was always the same for them: public humiliation, ridicule, online articles that picked them apart and called them unworthy to be with me. It didn’t matter who they were or what they looked like. In the end no one was good enough to spend time with an End Man, especially not the original one. I don’t want them to do that to Gwen. I pull her close, and Sera opens the door for us. I practically toss Gwen inside and then we’re driving haphazardly through the streets before anyone can follow us.
Folsom (The End of Men Book 1) Page 15
