Battle of the Sexes Part 3

I wasn't a virgin. I had sex before the war started. And no, that does not make me some sort of slut who deserved what she got. I felt just as humiliated as any pure woman would. My heart crumbled just as fragile. I even blamed myself. But it wasn't my fault. He was an animal. Maybe society had crafted him but he was still responsible. If the law is all that keeps you from ravaging and killing women you are less than human.

As three men dragged my beaten body into an abandoned house, I told myself these things. I needed something, anything to draw my mind away from reality. How did they find me? I'd hidden for so long and the instance I came out from hiding it was over... Men were looking for any sex they could find. I guess I was it.

The pig, no worse than pig, was unzipping above me. I struggled and he hit me. My mother flashed through my mind; raped and murdered just as easily. My father protecting her; my sister leaving me; it was all surreal and yet too real. At times, before they had impunity, men pretended to be police, and got inside. That's how they killed her, my mother and the closest thing I ever had to a friend.

Oh, God, he was inside me. I wanted to throw up but threw my mind toward memories that were only slightly less horrifying. Father struggled. He was strong, maybe stronger. He could have won if not for the blade. It stabbed his side as I watched helpless from the stairs.

Nausea took me. Every thrust made me wish he'd end it all and slit my throat. Worse, my mind became focused on the living hell. He grabbed for my breasts and I had no will left to stop him. I heard a door opening. Was it heaven? Maybe God had come to take me away, if Satan had not already. It was impossible to tell before I saw her. She was not a demon.

A halo hung above a goddess with an automatic rifle. The worse than pig pulled out. I felt bleeding in full force. He rose toward her, moving inches seeming miles and was shot. The other two were next. I may have cheered if not for her own blood pooling on the carpet. "She was a hero," I thought, witnessing her body collapse. "I wish she hadn't paid the price."

Battle of the Sexes Part 2

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT

Women called it a Battle of the Sexes. We were just after the pussies God made for us. If that's wrong none of us cared. My buddies Buck, Tyson and I were winning, getting our fill. So were any women we came across. Most of the mature ones died off fastest. That left younger ones without hair on their cunts. I'm sure some born out of the struggle. Maybe twenty or so were my own kids. I only felt a little guilty. The pleasure made it worth while. Them girls were so lean and tender, like a fresh cut of veal. My mouth waters just thinking of it. I remember pulling one of these young calves into an abandoned house with my buddies. She was crying something fierce, maybe a virgin, if there were any left to be had. There'd be some blood, I thought, a little tearing but she'd be good and worn in my the time we all had our way.

I went first, thinking I'd make an honest women out of her. She screamed as I unzipped my jeans with one hand and pinned her with the other. Not an easy flower to unpluck but I was up to the job. A few squirms, a hit to her face and I was in. She wasn't wet but I took it in stride. Couldn't let the little slut enjoy herself too much. Her breasts were small but I grabbed onto them just the same. I missed the fuller ones. A ride was a ride so I pumped her a good five or ten times. That's when the door opened.

In walked this big-breasted goddess with an automatic rifle. I might've thrown the little git aside and gone for the main course if she hadn't fired rounds into me and my buddies. I got one shot off but that was it. I felt a twinge of regret, for her and the other women; a little respect for the bitch shooting. "She was a goddamn hero," I thought, hitting the ground, "and we all paid the price."

Battle of the Sexes

It ended sooner than we thought it could; the last and final battle of the sexes.  The battle for sex itself some said but they were mostly men.  The majority of women saw more; equality, an end to persecution, a host of other pipe dreams. I fought for something else entirely; myself. Ideology just got you killed. It made you a target. I'd seen too many head-in-the-clouds types get themself shot. The action takes place on the ground and you can't afford to be anywhere else.

I holed up in a basement, not hoping for things to get better so much as going down on my own terms. The fire fight still raged around me. I hadn't started it and I wouldn't finish it. There were no goals or strategies; just a gal and her automatic rifle. If vengeance took over for self-preservation, it didn't matter; not at this juncture. I wasn't coming out alive.

A door opened above me. I readied the trigger, waiting to fire. Two men were talking. They had a young girl with them. She clearly did not want to be with them. I felt for her; young, naive, thrown into a war of ceaseless ravaging. That's what it became in essence. Men grew tired of being men, reverting to their natural state. Some tried stopping it but only got themselves murdered by others. My father was one of them; the only decent man I'd ever known.

Her screams shook the walls. I smelled her fear. It wasn't that different from my first time. But it would be. I was alone; a penetrated wretch of guilt and shame. She had me. I readied my rifle once more, climbing the stairs.

I wasn't prepared for the sight but neither were they. Her bruised and broken state ignited a rage I promised myself would never get the better of me. I was idealistic as I fired rounds into a grotesque ape fondling the young girl. It was an unstoppable state. I penetrated the rest of them with bullets; disgusted and joyous at the same time.

The young girl stared at my moment of triumph. Or what should have been. I did not notice how I bled profusely. It hadn't seemed like I was hit. But I was. The room was blurred and spinning from control. I was a hero I thought hitting the ground, and I paid the price.