Nichole and Sheridan had long looked forward to their trip. Many of their friends had spent a year or even more traveling with one of the famous peripatetic schools of Gynarchy of Amazonia. They spoke fondly of their experiences riding with the cattle herds during the day and studying with the adepts of the physical, mental, and spiritual arts late into the night. Now, finally they were in New Themiscyra themselves to visit their college friend, Voula. Her official name was Agave, High-borne.

They had somehow survived the long, boring flight with its endless succession of bowdlerized movies, the hurry-up and wait of immigration, and the free-floating anxiety of customs. They took a modern hydrofoil from the airport to Aretia Island, and then a battered old ferry to the historic city of New Themiscyra, carved from the ancient granite of the eastern slope of Mt. Skyrion overlooking the fabled River Terme.

They could taste the history in the jasmine scented air . High above the city, the women could see the reconstructed Temple of the Goddess Temiste with its famous Towers of the Sun and Moon. A famous mosaic depicting the Serpent and the First Tree covered the floor of the Great Court. Here Queen Hippolyte II returned in triumph with her ill-omened gold belt, a gift from the Hittite King of Kings Mutawalla for her aid in the battle of Kadesh. Here also, her granddaughter, Hippolyte III was slain with many others by Herakles. North, at the river's mouth was the beach were Pantariste had fought the Minyan invaders and the traitor Antiope fled with Theseus, the King of Athens. West was the bountiful alluvial Dioantian plain, coursed by six streams, named for the leaders of the most ancient Amazon tribes, the Myrinê, Mitylinê, Gorgonê, Prienê, Pitanê, and Kymê. South and east, near the river's source in the Amazonian Mountains stood the Alalcomeneus, the fortress where the last of the ancient Amazons made their stand about 800 BC before being overrun by the invading Cimmerians. After its fall, all that remained of the Amazons were the embattled wandering bands that gradually faded from history. Fortunately, their memory did not die and their history was ultimately rediscovered. Nichole and Sheridan looked forward to their pilgrimage to that revered site.

New Thermiscyra was an official United Nations Monument and unlike any other place in the world. Many global corporations had shared in its reconstruction and maintained modern cyber-enabled offices behind the historically accurate facades. The city served as headquarters for the famous peripatetic schools that trekked the plains of Kappadokia and tried to recreate a bit of the lifestyle of ancient Amazonia.

Agave was really glad to see her friends from the States. Sometimes, her friends from Themiscyra seemed so provincial, knowing nothing and caring less for the broader world beyond their rather narrow horizons bounded so sharply by the Amazonian mountains to the south and the Black Sea to the north. As much as she loved her homeland, she had been pleased to have an opportunity go away for college. Some outsiders were even more ignorant of the Gynarchy than some of her friends were of the rest of the world. People always used the "other" to project their fears and fantasies. At college, Nichole and Sheridan had taken her under their wings, so to speak, and rescued her from her naïveté and ignorance. Now Voula was pleased to have an opportunity to reciprocate their goodwill and warm hospitality.

She helped Sheridan and Nichole gather up their bags at the north dock, next to the walled Arsenal. A long winding road wended back and forth up the steep mountainside to the Temple Square near its summit. A broad, steep stair shortened the way for those strong enough of leg and lung and without much baggage. Today, they were too tired and simply had too much to carry. Motor vehicles were limited to the modern city on the western slope of the mountain and completely prohibited in the old city. In the new 'old' city, carts provided transportation.

Voula whistled for a cart and turned to watch her friends' reactions. From a line of waiting carts, one brightly painted cart broke from the line and approached. A male - naked and unmistakably male - trotted over dragging his cart behind. His arms were firmly secured to the poles of the cart.

Nichole and Sheridan knew from the outset that New Themiscyra was quite different from any other place they had known. Nichole had not expected their mode of transportation to be a two-wheeled cart pulled by a stark naked male. He was larger than any of them, though not nearly as massive as the gigantic males featured in the Circus that regularly visited Boston. Manifesting even more than the usual gender dimorphism, he stood a full head taller than any of the women and likely weighed as much as any two of them. He looked well nourished and clean enough. The thick hair on his head was pulled back neatly in a thick braid and he smiled broadly. His genial smile was misleading His gender was all too obvious in the sweep of his back and the shape of his ass. His bulky muscles stood out through his skin, giving him his unmistakably male angularity. He had not been depilated. His body hair was dark and abundant, betraying his undeniable link to the bestial. His heavy sex arose from his groin. On careful examination, the end of his penis was pierced. A short metal chain attached the ring through his peehole to the ring placed in the skin between his scrotum and anus. His thick penis was pulled back over his ripe scrotum. Besides his harness that secured him to the carts poles, he wore only a small bag, hanging from a string around his neck, where his customers might put their fares. Compact muscles rippled beneath his skin as he shifted his weight back and forth, awaiting their pleasure.

Sheridan was clearly rattled. Abruptly, her cheerful chatter ceased. She had studied history in school and was only too aware of the ever-present male alacrity for violence. She reached out and held on to Voula for support.

Nichole had paid attention in class too and avidly watched popular fiction. She studied the male for signs of imminent danger. Despite everything, he looked rather placid despite their agitation. She found no hint of peril and then, chagrinned at her own meekness, worried that he might sense her fear and that perception evoke his latent violence.

Voula smiled and allowed her friends time to overcome their shock. Outlanders knew so little about her country.

"Is it really safe?" Nichole asked. "He just runs around like that?" She wasn't really sure how to deal with a naked male in public. With his arms strapped securely to the poles of the cart, he offered, in truth, no possible threat. And he wasn't the only one; other males just like him propelled the other carts.

Voula just smiled and piled their bags in back. She knew that once upon a time a male could intimidate a dozen sane healthy adults, simply by threatening to expose his male parts. Those strange days were now safely in the past, both in New Themiscyra and the rest of the world. Nichole, Sheridan, and Voula climbed in back. "The Square, now!" Voula commanded and the male or jack as he was called, set off at a brisk but easy trot.

The large male managed the steep climb easily. His powerful thighs worked steadily. The thick muscles of his ass propelled him up the steep grade. His breathing remained steady, but sweat trickled down his long back revealing his effort in the hot sun. Negotiating the throng of people gave him more problem than the steep grade. Many found males, the fabled white donkeys of Kappadokia, better able to navigate a crowd than a four-legged brown donkeys and easier to feed and to maintain in the city.

Just above the Arsenal was the Great Market. A road - the Processional - rose through the lower levels of the middle city, Sheridan and Nichole gawked at the brightly painted buildings on either side of the path. The streets were filled with women going about their business.

Many women wore skirts, long skirts, medium skirts, and short skirts - unlike back home where slacks were almost a uniform. Historically, pants had long been a potent symbol of male authority and offered freedom of movement without the threat of exposure of a women's underclothes or worse her "shame" or private parts. Pants offered pockets and the opportunity to secure one's most vital possessions close to one's body and not leave them vulnerable in a readily snatchable purse. In the rest of the world, women adapted this male prerogative as they gained power. Here, the story was obviously different.

Nichole and Sheridan saw other carts, pulled like theirs by similarly naked males and no one seemed to pay them the slightest attention. Except for the males pulling carts and a line of heavily burdened males climbing up from the Market, chained in a coffle neck to neck, they saw no other males among the many women who went about their business without so much as a glance at the naked males on their streets.

"I had read in my guidebook that you use males as beasts of burden in New Themiscyra," marveled Nichole, "and now I've seen it for myself."

"Believe it or not, it's all rather economical. Our males are rather efficient. A horse might carry 150 kilos but eat 10 kilos of grain a day. A male carries 50 kilos but eats only 1 kg of grain a day. Horses need grain, but males - like other swine," Voula smiled, "- can thrive on table scraps - just about anything. You can even teach males simple tasks." Voula explained. "It takes them longer to reach maturity, but our scientists are working on it."

"I read somewhere that males never really reach maturity," Sheridan quipped.

"You know what I mean, old enough to work," Voula responded. Males invest energy everyday in the production of sperm. Women develop one follicle every month. The male pre-occupation with sex and their measurably inferior intelligence guaranteed the ultimate destruction of the Patriarchy.

" I read that you actually slaughter males for their meat and skins," Nichole asked.

"We cull our males to limit their numbers," Voula explained. "We don't hate them any more than we would hate other useful creatures like cattle or swine. We simply think that making full use of their carcasses is simple efficiency. "

"Someone told us that you had twelve slave boys at home," Sheridan continued. She loved reading historical fiction. She hadn't gotten around to reading the guidebook. "I can imagine a threesome and maybe a foursome. What do you do with twelve?"

Voula had to think for a moment. "My mother, my sister, and I actually have about two dozen males on our farmette. I never said that I had twelve 'slave boys' or at least I don't think so. Slavery is illegal in Themiscyra. The males are livestock - not slaves."

Sheridan took advantage of the pause to return to her favorite subject. "Let's see," Sheridan calculated. "One cock in each hand, one in your pussy, one in your mouth - and -forgive me - one up your butt. That makes five. Let's have one boy suck on each tit and one suck on your clit for three more or eight in all. Have you a bed large enough for them all at the same time? Aren't you sore and tired afterwards?"

"No, no," Voula laughed. "I only said that my family - my mother, sisters, and I - keep about two dozen jacks on our farmette."

Nichole had read the guidebook and kept silent.

No other males were in evidence on the streets. Every male in the city required a license and the city government sold only so many licenses.

As they moved higher, the buildings were all on the western landward side and to the east, they enjoyed a panoramic view of the river, and vineyards beyond on its lower eastern bank, and the dense forests of Chadesteia further to the East. The crowds thinned and their path became straighter with fewer starts and stops.

"Aren't you worried that the males might rise up and rebel," Nichole asked in a whisper, worried that the large male pulling their cart might hear.

"Speak up, Nichole. You really needn't worry that our friend up there might hear you. I really don't think that we're in danger of a revolt. I'm not afraid of the dinosaurs coming back. Livestock are unlikely to take over the farm. Male numbers are strictly monitored and restricted in the Gynarchy. We cull males at eighteen. Some males are taken in the Hunt while others are signed over by their families for a quite generous bonus and put down humanely." Voula waved to a young woman in a jack cart next to theirs.

"I read about the Hunt too!" said Nichole, more than a bit pleased with herself. She couldn't understand how Sheridan could invest the time to travel across the world and not invest a few hours with a good guide book.

"A Hunt?" Sheridan tried to imagine what it was like. "You actually hunt and kill your males. We have nothing like that back home - nothing at all these days, for sure."

The Processional passed under the archway of the Government Center and opened into a wide plaza at the very summit. The Temple stood a brilliant white above the square, flanked on either side by the red Tower of the Sun and black Tower of the Moon. The outer wall of the Temple compound enclosed the Court of the First Tree. There teams of 100 women danced in honor of the Goddess in relays 24 hours and day and 365.24 days a year, accompanied by whatever tourists were up to the rigors of a 4 hour shift. Around the sides of the square were the better guesthouses and inns.

Voula pointed to the Silver Moon sign. That's where we'll stay. Nichole and Sheridan wrestled their baggage from the cart, while Voula dropped a shiny coin into the male's purse. Then she reached into her pocket where she had secreted a candy for just such occasion. She showed it to the male. He smiled gratefully but made a resigned gesture with his shoulders. His arms were securely restrained to the cart poles.

Voula perceived the problem immediately. Unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth. The fellow ate it greedily. Voula returned, smiling to help Sheridan and Nichole with their bags.

Once the cart was unloaded, the male walked over to the side of the road and squatted over a sewer opening.

He caught Nichole's eye and she stopped what she was doing to watch. "Hey, is he doing what I think he's doing?"

Voula and Sheridan stopped and looked too. Voula look quickly away. For a long moment, Sheridan was puzzled. Suddenly, she understood. "He taking a dump - right there in the street!"

"He can hardly use a rest room with that cart and all. The City maintains a number of comfort stations for the males. Watch." The male finished his business and stepped on a pedal. A stream of water shot up and sprayed his ass." His face registered obvious distress.

"I bet the water's really cold, said Nichole.

"I hope it's really cold," said Sheridan. "He's disgusting. He doesn't deserve any better."

Bags unpacked, Nichole and Sheridan were too excited to rest. Their slacks actually drew stares. Women in the Gynarchy seemed to prefer skirts. Voula guided them to the common room of the inn. The day was late and many had stopped for a drink and some conversation before heading home from work. Women of all ages and all shapes and sizes occupied the crowded tables.

Voula left briefly and returned three glasses of a crisp white wine, while Nichole and Sheridan collapsed into empty chairs at a vacant table. The day had been long. Fatigue inexorably overcame their enthusiasm for exploring a new place. Nichole took a deep breath and looked around the room, trying not to be too obvious. The customers were all women sitting in twos, threes, and fours with one large table with a dozen or so people.

Sheridan saw several pairs that made her smile - holding hands and gazing longingly into each others' eyes. She saw two share a kiss. Public displays of affection always made her uncomfortable. "Where are the naked slave boys?" she asked.

Voula thought about the question. "You know, Sheridan, naked boys with their dripping male things hanging out would not be very hygienic in an establishment that serves food. You know, you just might find some boys in the bar area.

Nichole snickered. She had read the guidebook thoroughly. "The only males here can be found in the kitchen, I bet." she quipped. The three women walked into the bar. The crowd was rowdier than the common room.

Then, Nichole pointed out something new to her. A naked male knelt before a fully dressed woman with his face nuzzled into her groin. Like Voula. Nichole noted that the women worse a skirt the reached to the knee. The male ducked his head under her hem. She stood with a wine in one hand and one and resting fondly on the male's head. She spoke quietly with another as if it were nothing out of the ordinary at all. Every so often though, her body jerked and her eyes closed. She pressed her sex into the male's face. Quickly, she regained composure and continued her conversation. The male kissed her shoe and she handed him a pair of silver coins.

A larger party was getting rowdy. They were younger and more casually dressed than most of the other customers. Suddenly a naked male - a party boy - Voula explained, burst into the room fleeing someone or something unseen. Two steps behind him, a blonde woman followed uncertainly. She wore a tank top and miniskirt. Jarringly, a foot-long phallus preceded her, mounted on a harness that she wore under her short skirt.

All gawked for an instant before laughter erupted. "Don't look at me! Please, don't look at me," she pleaded even before she was assaulted by her friends' raucous comments. "Just don't look at me! I simply don't know how in the world I let you guys talk me into this."

Even the male stopped and turned to look at her. The wrist-thick phallus was comically painted to look like a cartoon thermometer. The fear on his face was a step or two beyond mere play-acting.

In the moment that he stopped, strong hands seized him and pulled him prone over the heavy table. One woman, Arete, sat on his back while one secured each leg, pulling them roughly apart.

 

"Just look at his ass, Xanthe!" a Ocypete marveled. "If you don't want him, I'll take him." Her friends called her Toula.

The male opened his mouth to say something and Toula slapped his ass hard leaving the shape of her hand in red. "Anything we want, cutie. Keep your mouth shut and spread those yummy cheeks and see if you can earn a tip." Toula couldn't resist. His helplessness made him even more appealing. She just couldn't keep her hands off of his ass.

"Come on, Xanthe, your boy friend is waiting," called one of her laughing

Determined, Xanthe set her jaw and stood behind the powerless male. She grabbed his balls in one hand. "Hand me the oil, Toula." Xanthe took the oil and rubbed it over her phallus then poured a good measure over the helpless male's crack.

"Are you guys sure this is a good idea?" Laomache asked. No one answered. "I'm told it takes practice."

Xanthe opened a lubricated condom with her teeth and sheathed the dildo with one practiced hand belying her apparent naiveté and inebriation.. She aligned herself behind him unsteadily with one hand on his tailbone. The artificial phallus bobbed up and down. She looked confused.

Xanthe smiled. She poured more of the cold oil on his warm ass. He shuddered from the cold and started to move again. He stopped abruptly and froze when she grabbed his balls and squeezed. "Spread those legs a little, honey. We're going for a ride." His brain screamed at him to get away, but his limbs only flailed ineffectually and Toula sat, perched firmly on his back. Finally, he just gave up and lay limp and unresisting.

Standing behind him at the side of the bed, Xanthe readied herself keeping a firm grip on his balls. Flushed with drink and excitement, she probed his anus with her thumb first, taking care not to scratch him with her long, pointed nail, and then she positioned the dildo. As much as she liked his ass, she had little appetite for fecal material and she was glad that he kept himself clean. Toula had her hand on his back and one hand in her pants.

"Relax, baby," Xanthe cooed, suddenly sounding quite sober. "It'll only hurt for a minute. Right, that's what they always say! Relax, now. Relax. Relax." With the third 'relax' she moved strongly and penetrated his asshole with a single, fluid motion. He grunted in his stupor and rolled forward. Her grip on his balls limited how far he could move. He quickly gave up and tried to hold still, hoping only that she would finish quickly.

That's a boy," Toula cheered. Take it like a pro. I'll bet your asshole is no cherry. Ooh, baby! Take it all!"

He moaned and tried weakly to twist away with each of her first abortive thrusts, but Xanthe kept her intimate grip and soon found her rhythm. His groans were replaced by the slap of flesh against flesh as he moved against her seemingly involuntarily and his ass seemed to devour the sheathed dildo. Xanthe ground her way slowly and methodically to a very public and very visible orgasm.

"You really like it, don't you. Being fucked, boy?" Xanthe asked breathlessly, she herself grunting with each thrust. "You really do!"

"Sure he does," Toula grinned wickedly. "Look at his body language. Just look at his wicked woody." Xanthe was solidly in the saddle and Arete slipped off his back to get a better look at the proceedings and to insure her place in line.

"I asked the boy," Xanthe repeated, increasingly flushed and breathless. "Tell me you love it, or what? You love being fucked? Being fucked by me." She slapped his ass sharply.

He made some sort of noise but his face was pushed into the table. He tried weakly to turn and push her away. No one even noticed his feeble resistance.

Xanthe leaned forward and grabbed his ponytail in her hand without interrupting her rhythm. Stronger than she looked and enjoying considerable leverage, she pulled his head up and he reared like a stallion, throwing his arms forward to steady himself. Xanthe held her position. "Say it! Say it. I want some assent - right - 'ass<' sent?"

He moaned unintelligibly once more. He tried weakly to unseat her with some writhing twisting movement.

Xanthe held tight with all her strength and kept her mount, the effort twisted the dildo against her sex and carried her to a second orgasm. She shuddered and came - hard quckly and then again. She promptly withdrew the soiled dildo with a popping noise and let go of his balls. "Thanks for the ride! That was a big one!" she said breathlessly. "Thanks."

He groaned and collapsed. The dildo was soiled with fecal material and blood and blood trickled down the inside of his thigh.

"What a way to earn a living!" Toula contributed cheerfully. "I'm next. Remember when I fucked that guy at Poula's party. He was lying on his back with his legs back over his shoulders. He sucked his own cock like a baby sucks her bottle while I did the dirty deed on his tight little butt."

She was next but she wasn't last. Arete followed and then the others. Fucking a man in the ass is an acquired taste, like red wine and cigars, and required a bit of practice.

Sheridan and Nichole had never, ever seen anything like this. Even Voula was a bit embarrassed by the raucous proceedings. "I'm sorry for all the noise. They really should have gotten a private room for their party.

Exhausted form travel and their first day and late night in New Themiscyra, Nichole and Sheridan slept hard and long. The shades kept the room dark long past sunrise. Sheridan awoke in the morning to find that she was alone. Nicole was already out of bed.

Suddenly, Sheridan felt a chill as Nichole lifted the blankets and slipped back into bed. Nichole's breasts and belly felt smooth and cool against her back. Sheridan smiled when Nichole slipped her arms around her and sighed when Nichole gently kissed her neck. Sheridan felt something rubbery and hard against her naked thigh.

Nichole's strap-on was a plain, utilitarian device. He had given them very much pleasure and he never disappointed them. Sheridan reach down and captured him in her fist and brought him up softly between her thighs. She pressed him firmly against her sex and moaned in pleasure.

Voula took them to visit her family's home. First though, she found them skirts like those worn by so many women in the Gynarchy.

The males looked clean and well nourished. Their naked bodies were branded but showed no sign of abuse or mistreatment.

"You don't raise males for their skins and flesh on your ranch, right?" Nichole asked uncertainly. "Please?" She knew her history, but the idea still troubled her.

"We certainly don't," Voula reassured her. We just milk them - like cows on a dairy farm. They eat an unbelievable amount too."

"What?" asked Sheridan incredulously.

"We milk them and save their sperm - not milk, silly. All males are characterized by their genetic polymorphisms and a few of the best specimens are kept are kept for artificial insemination. Most go for cosmetics. Male sperm contains hormones that nourish female skin. Milking every second day maximizes yields."

"So this is where they get the sperm base in my cosmetics?" asked Sheridan.

"Actually, most cosmetics now use sperm obtained at the abattoirs," Voula explained. The buggers have an agonal reaction when they're stunned. They milk them mechanically after they hang them. Here's our mechanical extractor. This sleeve fits over the cock and vibrates - this probe slips up the butt and massages his prostate. Prostatic fluid is rich in hormones and important for the survival of sperm. The extractor has a great yield and saves a lot of work, but it tends to wear our males out faster. Over months, our yields fall and you have to get new males. Milking by hand takes more time, but the males last longer."

The women marveled at the clever device.

"We're PET'M approved - People for the Ethical Treatment of Males. Only the most expensive cosmetics use our PET'M approved jism." She showed them the certificate framed and posted on the wall.

"I always look for the 'Save-the-Males' logo when I buy cosmetics," Nichole said.

 

Sheridan wanted to see where they milked the males.

"You do it like this," Voula explained. "I've helped out here since I was twelve." She checked the clipboard and retrieved six males from the pen. Soon six males were strapped supine on the tables. Their gags were placed and secured. They glanced dully this way and that. "A boy's first few times are the hardest - I guess it's scary for them at first. Sooner or later, they all come to love their work - get it - 'cum' to love their work?"

Voula washed the first boy with antibacterial soap, then hosed him off. The frigid water raised crops of goose bumps. He, like the others, had been circumcised to facilitate cleaning. The collections had to be strictly sanitary. Every sample was monitored for bacteria as well as sperm count and motility before freezing in liquid nitrogen.

"Sometimes you have to inspire them." Voula secured the label to the vial and placed it between the boy's splayed legs. She slipped her hand into her skirt and touched herself. She sniffed her hand and smiled, then rubbed it on the boy's face. His erection grew even firmer. She rinsed her hand and began to work his cock. "Like this," she demonstrated. First, she grasped the engorged cock with her palm and pinky and then worked her fist closed, gently but firmly. Closed and opened - opened then closed - gently and firmly. Soon she established a certain rhythm and the cock grew still larger in her hand. Beads of pre-cum appeared on the glans. "This can get tiring," Voula admitted but you should see my tennis serve. His fat balls rose visibly in his scrotum. "Someone put her hand there - between his ball sac and his anus - quickly now."

The boy groaned and Nichole and Sheridan jumped. Neither could tell whether he groaned in pleasure or pain. Had Voula hurt him somehow? His head suddenly rose and smacked down on the padded table - hard. His body strained against the strong restraints. Voula moved quickly too and positioned the vial to catch the gushing sperm.

"See! One down - Mikey - and five to go! Do you guys want to try? Practice helps but it isn't all that hard. These boys are well trained"

Nichole was game. She reached for Mike, the male whom Voula just milked.

Voula laughed. No, Nichole, this boy is done. Males need time to recover - one more male frailty. We only milk them every second day and no more than three times a week to maximize yields." Voula point out a second male. "Just remember, whatever noises he makes, you're not likely hurting him," Voula cautioned her.

Nichole took the vial. Sheridan and Voula watched.

Nichole worked the second boy's cock - Jake - and watched his face carefully. She wondered whether he could tell that she hadn't had much experience with this. She snickered at her ineluctable female sentimentality. Come to think of it, it really didn't matter what he thought.

"You're doing great - Nichole - just keep milking him."

"Gawd," Nichole exclaimed! "His cock is bigger still. I can hardly get my fist around him.

"Whatever you're doing, Nichole, don't stop!"

Jake ejaculated, then Voula milked Matt, who was more than ready. Sheridan tried out her technique on Dan. Voula finished Matt and milked Josh before she finished.

When they had finished, they led the boys back to their pens and washed their hands.

"Those males sure have a soft life!" Sheridan exclaimed.

"What happens when a male is milked out?" Nichole asked.

"We have to replace him," Voula answered.

"I understand," Sheridan continued, "but what happens to the males?"

"We have to sell them. You know, they fill stalls and eat so much."

"Okay then, who buys them?" Nichole asked, feeling like she was finally closer to an answer.

"What do you think? The slaughterhouse! Let's not talk about it here. I honestly think that the jacks don't know. You know, if someone went and told them, they still wouldn't believe it!

 

On the day preceding the new Moon ceremony, the women gathered in a vast amphitheater. Nichole and Sheridan had heard of the spectacle and had long looked forward to attending themselves to see the solemn pageantry. Voula had tried to explain the tradition and pageantry. Nichole worried that she would lose her nerve at the moment of truth and turn her head away.

First two women, riding beautifully caparisoned horses, raced toward each other from opposite sides of the arena. A collision seemed unavoidable, but somehow or other the riders passed without by without touching.

A large male ran out naked onto the raked sand. When he reached the middle of the arena, he stopped and looked around. He likely weighed between 150 and 200 kg. His head was covered by a large bull's head. The razor sharp horns gleamed in the afternoon soon. His thick arms were drawn up beside his head and secured to handholds behind the horns. Mask and all he stood at two and a half meters. However, the mask restricted his field of vision. For millennia, male size and alacrity for violence made him the Lord of the World. The world had teetered on the edge of destruction. Now female intelligence and networking had given her undisputed supremacy.

Compared even to the largest of the women, the male was large. He stood a head taller than most and twice the weight of many. The bull mask made him taller still. His male paraphernalia, combining reproductive and excretory function demonstrated his crudeness. His bulky angularity and abundant body hair betrayed his link with the bestial. His stunted Y-chromosome made him something less than fully human.

Each match proceeded in three acts. In the first act, three lithe young girls, no older than 14, teased the male. One ran up and touched him, then darted away. He would pursue the first and a second would run up and divert his pursuit. As he tired, the girls became bolder. One ran up and attempted a handspring off his shoulder. He grabbed her light body and threw her roughly to the ground. The crowd groaned. The male pursued his victim relentlessly. Suddenly, the second girl ran up and grabbed his balls. The male howled in pain and the crowd howled in laughter as she dragged him from his victim. The first girl jumped to her feet and scrambled for safety. The male was confused and distracted when the third girl ran toward him then stopped and backed away. Suddenly the first girl came out of nowhere, leaped and executed a perfect vault over the taller male. The crowd cheered. The male had been through this many times in the practice ring. He stood with his hands on his hips and stewed while the three girls jogged their victory lap. Before the finished, he charged them and they jumped over the low fence to safety.

Next two young women, between 14 and 16 years old, entered the arena. Each carried a pair of barbed darts, banderillas - trailing long colorful feathers. One stayed in front of the male, dodging his razor sharp horns, while the other stayed behind him. At first, one behind tried to set a banderillas in his butt. He turned at the first feel of the sharp barb and gave chase. The girl fled and the banderilla fell to the ground. The male took no more than two steps when the second girl lodged a brightly colored banderillas in his right buttock. The barb made it too painful to remove. He turned again, but it was too late. Her partner retrieved her dropped banderilla. In the instant when he turned the second girl dashed in and lodged her second banderilla in his left buttock. The crowd went wild.

He male was confused. He had played the banderilla game in the practice ring. Never before had the darts been barbed. Reason fled before pain and anger. The male raced for the wall of the arena. Before he reached the wall and turned to face his tormentors, the first girl finally had lodged her first banderilla. Now three brightly colored feathers trailed behind him. He tried to rub them off against the wall, but the barbs held and pain quickly convinced him to stop trying. The crowd alternately cheered and jeered. When the Picadoras had finished, the male was huffing and puffing and trailed six magnificent tail feathers, like a peacock,

Now the Matadora entered the ring alone. The male was crazy with anger and pain, but tiring despite his physique and rigorous conditioning.

The fifth match was most memorable. Freddy had always been larger than other boys. He was taller than his mother when he was ten. When he was twelve, people pointed him out on the street. In the Patriarchal Era, he might have played American style football. Now American style football was never played. Both rugby and soccer were popular, but males never played.

His mother was pleased to receive a generous bid from him from a well-known and wealthy academy that trained bulls for the ring. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals had long protected bovines from the bullring. However, People for the Ethical Treatment of Males or PET'M had had less success with human males or jacks. Some might think it unkind, but Freddy's mother thought that the Academy and a moment of glory in the ring might be preferable to several years of dreary existence on a ranch and a quick but uncomfortable trip to the abattoir.

Freddy knew nothing of his ultimate fate. He relished his life at the academy. Food was plentiful. Sports were unending. No one asked him to sit quietly at a desk and read.

He ran with the older jacks who trained proudly in their intimidating bull's head helmets. In the arena, they gleefully scattered the screaming joeys and matadoras-in-training who fled before their padded horns. He looked forward to the day when he would have a helmet of his own.

Finally the day came. His wrists were lasted to the horn's supports and the heavy helmet was lowered over his head. It was heavy and the eye-holes restricted his field of vision. He knew that he looked great because the people wanted to take a picture with him.

A few older males worked with the trainers. They were the veterans of the ring. Their scarred bodies revealed their histories and proved their unarguable courage. Few males survived one fight, let alone the required three. The novices watched but were never allowed to speak with the veterans.

The gleam on the matadora's suit of light was blinding. Freddy look away for an instant, then look back squinting. She faced him and stood rigidly still. Despite his conditioning, he was beginning to tire. Sweat ran down his body and over his face stinging his eyes and clouding his vision.

He took one more deep breath, lowered his massive headpiece and charged. He tried to watch his tormentor through the bull's head's tiny eyeholes. He surged ahead and the matadora held her ground. Freddy anticipated that she would step away at the moment of contact and hooked back towards her as he had done so many times before.

Nichole knew how the drama would end. This was the fifth of six scheduled matches. Twice the bull had succeeded his knocking the matadora from her feet, once with serious injuries and once with only cuts and bruises. However, this courageous male won her sympathy. She looked at her program and learned that his name was Freddy.

The matadora had watched Freddy's tapes and stepped towards him, anticipating his move. He passed cleanly behind her. She pivoted and slapped at his buttocks with the flat of her sword. He should not fear the sword.

He charged again and earned another slap. He charged again and once more, his breath heaving. Despite fatigue, his efforts did not flag. Every time he impaled only air on the helmet's razor sharp horns. His ass burned and bore the marks of the flat of the matadora's sword. She had not broken the skin.

Freddy bellowed his rage and humiliation. He charged again, his breaths now heaving. The sound was amplified by the bull's head and elicited silence from the cheering crowd. Freddy pivoted and turned. The matadora's quiet presence was a taunt. He charged once again, lowering his head and shoulders to impale the stationary woman. This time he did not hook to the let or right. Freddy's polished horns glistened. The matadora waited until the last second, pivoted clockwise and took a half-step back. Freddy burst past. Precisely and almost delicately, the matadora inserted the biter point of her glistening blade between Freddy's wingbone and his spine, carefully avoiding touching any rib. As quickly as she inserted the blade, she withdrew it and watched Freddy surge past.

At first, nothing slowed his rapid pace. At first, Freddy was aware of only a mild burning. Suddenly though, his legs felt weak. He sighed deeply once and coughed. His mouth filled with foamy blood. Both strength and consciousness fled. He collapsed to the sand and never heard the audience cheer for his conqueror in her suit of lights.

Four bulls had been killed this day. All hung by their ankles for the inspection of the aficionados. One had been so cut and sliced by the matadora's sword that his much-abused carcass hung intact. The judges had awarded the novice matadora no trophies. The judges and awarded ears to two matadoras. Nichole and Sheridan were impressed with the males' size and the massive size of the genitals that hung flaccid between their heavily muscled thighs. Nichole was convinced that their balls were bigger than her clenched fists.

Freddy hung next to the others. He was every bit as large as they. However, his male parts were missing. Their place was marked the a rectangle of bloody flesh. The judges had award the matadora his genitals in recognition of her memorable performance. No one, not even Voula who had very high standards, could disagree.

Next, they visited Kiki's ranch the second day. Laomache's family raised males in a regular solera system. Male children were raised in a crèche with female attendants until their third year. Three year olds were moved out to the male compound where they were housed with the eighteen year olds, the four year olds were housed with the seventeen year olds, the five year olds were housed with the sixteen year olds, and so on. The older males minded the younger males and tended their garden plots with their hoes and simple tools. Child rearing responsibilities made the males a bit more manageable and freed up ranch hands for other duties. Nineteen year olds were ready for market.

The women returned from an exhilarating day in the saddle. Nichole had spotted a gang of males or jacks, as they were called, tending their bean patch. Properly supervised, the males might themselves raise a fair part of the massive amounts of food that they consumed. Clothes were never required in the temperate lands between the Amazonian Mountains and the Black Sea. Kiki gave a whoop and raced toward them. Voula, Nichole, and Sheridan followed enthusiastically. The large males scattered like sheep when confronted by the still larger horses.

The women were tired and hungry when they returned to camp. The air was permeated the aroma of roasting meat. Even Nichole, the noted vegetarian, was salivating after a bracing day in the out-of-doors.

Laomache, Kiki's formal name, stabled her horse first and ran off to find some food. The others were seeing to their mounts when she returned with flat breads heaped with seared slices of meat and pungent onions topped with a sprinkling of cilantro. She led the others to the center of the camp where the others were jostling for position, crowded around the cooking pit.

Turning slowly on his spit, was the unmistakable form of a skinned male, a jack, folded uncomfortably into a compact cylindrical shape. The parts closest to fire cooked most quickly and might burn before the rest of him was adequately roasted. The skeins above his knee caps were cut. His lower legs were flipped backwards, his bony shins rested on his meaty thighs. Then, he was bent sharply at him at the hip, his inverted knees rotated under his armpits where they were secured with twine. Next his arms were gathered around his sides and held in place by the spit that passed through the backs of both hands and the bottoms of both feet before disappearing into the hole where his rectum had been. The spit finally emerged from his slack-jawed mouth.

A busy woman wielded a long bladed razor sharp knife with precision. You might even call it a sword. She shaved the outer layers of roasted flesh, leaving the uncooked meat beneath exposed to roast over the fragrant wood fire. The white bone of the left upper arm already peaked through. People shouted orders from all around her and she kept gamely at her task.

Quick and lithe, Laomache disappeared into the crowd and quickly re-emerged with heaps of bread, meat and onions.

"Laomache, You're a magician!" marveled Agave. She piled meat and onions on her flat bread until it was so thick that she couldn't fit it in her mouth. Sheridan watched her carefully and imitated somewhat awkwardly. Nichole took only bread and onions.

"This is a really special treat, Nichole," Laomache pleaded. "Try it."

"No, thank you. I'm more than happy with what I have, Laomache" answered Nichole. Laomache's cute face was marred by a smear of grease. Sheridan and Agave ate with gusto and wasted no attention on anyone or anything.

However, Laomache was really disappointed in Nichole's refusal to share fully in the festivities. This was really something special, special even for her who lived in Amazonia. "Come on, be a sport." Laomache pleaded.

"Nichole is a vegetarian, Laomache." Sheridan said after she swallowed. "She just doesn't eat meat - no matter how tasty."

"Well, I usually don't eat red meat," Nichole said, taking a certain quiet pleasure in showing Sheridan to be wrong. "But I'll try it." Tentatively, Nichole pickup up a slice of meat between her thumb and index finger. She inspected in minutely, then placed it between her red lips. She closed her eyes and chewed once. She opened her eyes to find all eyes upon her, Sheridan's, Agave's, Laomache's, and a few of the people just standing there. Always loving drama, she waited for a long moment and then made her pronouncement, "Delicious!"

Laomache was more than pleased. "Tell me, Sheridan, how do you cook your males back home?" she asked in all innocence.

Sheridan almost choked. "We really don't cook any males back home, you know, Laomache."

"Really?" asked Laomache. "What do you do with them? See what you're missing. Isn't he delicious?"

Agave was embarrassed for her friend's naïveté. "Laomache, they don't cook their males back home. They just don't have any males back home. Males are extinct everywhere but here - completely and absolutely."

"Right." Sheridan popped the last of her bread and meat into her mouth. "You know, Agave, perhaps it's time for us to re-introduce males to our world." She licked her fingers clean and decided to brave the crowd and get another helping. She took a deep breath and looked for an opening. "Anyone want seconds?" She asked.

Agave watched Sheridan dash off for seconds and wondered what her proposal would do for the Gynarchy's monopoly on sperm. Perhaps, though, there might be an additional market in neatly trimmed, cellophane wrapped jacques and processed skins. Intimate relations with livestock was unlikely to be of much interest.