The Future Does Not Look Bright For Men

By hughgee

The year was 2064 and women were kicking men's asses all over the place. No, actually, that's not right. What they were in fact doing was kicking their BALLS all over the place. Folks, what we are looking at here is very much a matriarchal society where men do what the hell they are told and women are the tellers.

Let's digress. How did it happen?

It was through the "new" sport of karoxing that society itself was revolutionized in terms of gender roles. Now, as a sport, karoxing, or the KAPKA (Kick Ass Pro Karoxing Association, est. 2031) was not all that innovative. All it was was a melding of karate with a certain Marquis of Queensbury rule of boxing--the "10 count." Yeah, I know, ridiculous that it should change society like that. But the funny thing was, it did.

What happened was, sure, for awhile there, as expected, men ruled the roost in the karoxing ranks; then a funny thing happened in 2049: a little gymnast girl named Susan Walker learned how to kick guys in the balls. Boom. History was changed just like that. With the flick of a foot. Well, okay, so there were a lot of flicks.

"Suzy" was an accomplished gymnast in college; she was also something of a raucous tomboy. It was just in her nature. At the age of 18 her first boyfriend took her to a karoxing match and, after having a few beers, and while her boyfriend had gone to the head, she hopped into the ring and accepted the going challenge of a karoxer named Carl "Machismo" Jenkins. Yeah, I know, tough name.

Wow.

Now, the thing about Suzy was, she was little, but she was a stoutly built gal--picture this: typical gymnast chick, but stockier than average. Ok, ok, you want a better mental image. Here you go. http://bbgroups.tlcnet.com/files/7/108/The.Kind.of.Gal.This.Story.is.About.jpg. Now, that's a bit what Suzy looked like. Just a bit. Only stockier. You take Mary Lou Retton, you take the incredible looking gal in the first attached pic, you combine them, put their muscle together, and more or less you have Suzy Walker's physiognomy. Hell, she was a little studette fireplug.

Which wasn't good news for Carl "Machismo" Jenkins because, though he was able to knock her down a couple times, given her drunken state and given her robust little figure, she was able to weather his kicks and punches until she suddenly was able to end the match with a brutal, and I mean brutal, kick to his nutsac.

Something happened that day. Suzy liked what she did. She felt great, triumphant. She got rid of her boyfriend, hired a trainer, and became the first female karoxer. She soon found that she could defeat any guy she fought. You see, what Suzy had stumbled onto was a little anatomical advantage that females had in the sport of karoxing. That advantage was this: No male on the face of the earth could get up before a simple count of "10" if he was hit in the nuts in any way, shape, or form, and if you as a female had a stout enough figure to take a couple shots from a guy and still get up, you had the necessary time to land your coup d'grace and win the match.

Ok, ok, side note here for you futuristic history macho unbelievers: Yes, on occasion, a guy might get up after 20, 30, 40 seconds and angrily defeat the person who's just grazed his nutsack. But no man can do it in 10 seconds. Indeed it was almost found by 2064 that a strong gust of wind could put a guy down for the 10 count, or so it seemed, thanks to Suzy "The Mocker" Walker.

Oh, I forgot to mention the nickname deal, didn't I. Well, okay, I'll do that. Remember I said she was a tomboy, right? Remember I said, I think my words were "raucous tomboy" right? Well, Suzy, once she gained confidence, and had beaten a few men with simple, sometimes even grazing nut shots, well, she took to making fun of them. Yeah, she did. Sometimes it was because she was already drunk before matches, sometimes just because her personality type thought it was amusing. But whatever the reason, Suzy Walker soon earned the nickname "The Mocker" by teasing, tormenting, humiliating, degrading, and yes, mocking the hell out of every and any nut-clutching guy she'd dropped to the canvas.

What would she do? Geez, where do we start. It was galling what she would do. She would on occasion, standing over a stricken male opponent, feign clutching her own crotch, feign bending over involuntarily, feign facial expressions of woe and agony, then stand up laugh and walk away to a neutral corner and watch the prostrate helpless male get counted out by the referee. Sometimes she would stand over her defeated opponent and hurl down cooing invectives at him in a baby tone voice, pronouncing her L's as W's, etc. Oh, wait, I should mention, on occasion Suzy wouldn't leave it at that. Yes, on nights when she felt particularly cruel she would stand in her neutral corner while the referee counted the ball-cupping man out, and if the man looked at her she would blow kisses at him and wink and yes, sometimes grab her crotch and feign pain down there and feign facial expressions of agony and feign bending over involuntarily etc. etc. You get the picture? Okay, the gal turned into a bitch for guys. But hey, she was very soon a hero to young women, okay all women.

And...sporting type women soon learned that the sport of karoxing offered them a one-up on men, and more women began entering the ranks of this "macho" fighting sport, they began having their arms raised in triumph by male and female referees alike, and men, well, they began falling down defeated to the canvas in droves for 11 or 12 seconds at a time. The bottom line: Suzy "The Mocker" Walker was KAPKA karoxing champion for 12 years straight, folks, so it wasn't a fluke.

Suzy ended up retiring with a record of 59-2-4 (she'd lost to and/or fought to a draw six female opponents, never having lost to a male) after a knee injury in a routine hovercraft accident in the year 2060 and, after taking a couple years off and stepping back and observing how women had become so empowered all throughout society, all thanks to her, well, Suzy got involved in the sport of karoxing again, this time from the vantage point of a trainer.

What happened was, Suzy felt guilty. After all the guys she'd dropped to the canvas with ball blasting kicks, punches, knees, slaps, and even the occasional desperate head butt, she felt guilty looking back. She was mellowing out, and she remembered the helpless and pleading facial expression of Mickey Wilson after she'd got him in the corner and kneed him; she remembered the look of alarm and panic of Rick Sanders as he slumped down after a snap kick caught him dead on; she remembered guy after guy she'd destroyed; and, on top of it all, she'd seen the effect her feminine triumph in a previously male-dominated sport had had on society. She saw how females rose to the highest ranks now in most any endeavor because they were (finally) being appreciated as the more valuable and superior and less vulnerable sex.

But she felt kind of bad about that. Yes she did. She was 43 now. Hormones were changing. The kinder, gentler Suzy "The Mocker" Walker was coming out.

And she wanted to make it up to the male side of the species, she wanted to make amends with them. When she saw Craig Pedersen swinging away futilely at the heavy bag in the gym one day, she knew exactly how she would go about it too.

Craig Pedersen was a Renaissance statue walking. He was a chiseled, muscular, tall, imposing male specimen, in his early 20s, sandy brown hair down to his shoulders, and what huge shoulders they were. Craig was around 6-3 and he weighed 215, and had next to no body fat. Suzy approached him and made him her pet little project.

Suzy was soon training Craig at the sport of karoxing. Her plan was to make men sure of themselves again, make them not feel so bad, so pathetic, about having such a glaring weakness about themselves. After all, they were still physically able to lift heavier weights and all that, right? Suzy aimed at making Craig the next karoxing champion, and she dedicated herself for two years in this quest, day in, day out, in the gym.

She taught Craig subtle ways to protect his groin, what angles a female might aim for, etc. Craig was awesome, a helluva specimen. Sometimes in sparring sessions with Craig where she herself held the attack padding and let Craig wail away on it, commanding out orders at him, she nevertheless could not help seeing telltale openings in his defense. She would tell herself little things like, "Ok, he's looking ok, but I could've dropped him there, I could've dropped him there, I could've gotten him there..." etc. She told herself, she convinced herself not to worry about Craig's occasionally letting himself be open for the groin shot, After all, he was a helluva specimen, very imposing. Plus he hit the practice pad like a truck!

Finally, after the two year training period, Suzy did what any good fighting trainer does. She scheduled her fighter Craig in a match against the most flagrant cream puff she could find.

Her cream puff opponent proved to be Jenny Gilmore, an 18 year old brand new karoxer, who looked more like a nerdy bookstore cafe boy's wet dream than any fighter. Indeed, Jenny herself looked like she belonged at your local bookstore cafe, she looked like a nerdy bookstore chick and all, but maybe it was that nerdy, lame looking sugar-bowl haircut. What was even more unusual, and more unathletic, about Jenny, was the fact that her tits were inflated beyond belief beneath her karate gi. (http://bbgroups.tlcnet.com/files/7/108/The.Kind.of.Gal.This.Story.is.About.jpg).

What the hell made her ever enter the fighting world, anyway? Suzy Walker wondered. Of course, Suzy knew it was her own feminine dominance in the sport in the preceding two decades that made any young woman think they had the stuff, though. But Suzy had to laugh over this gal. This gal did not belong fighting. To say Jenny was ungainly was one helluva humongous understatement.

The match began, the bell rang, the ref said "get 'em going" and Craig vs. Jenny began. It was comical. Craig towering over Jenny, Craig so lithe and strong and intimidating. Jenny could barely find her way across the ring without tripping over her own two feet. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn't see the floor underneath her huge tits.

Craig proceeded to deck Jenny one, two, three times. Jenny was crying. Her corner, while considering throwing in the towel, one last time urged Jenny to get the hell out there, whereupon Craig knocked her down one more time, and surely this would be the last time, Suzy had chosen her opponent right. Suzy had done her good deed for MANkind, reminding men of what they used to be, etc. etc.

Funny thing happened though. As Jenny the big-titted little nerdy girl was falling on her ass for the last time under the reign of blows from huge strapping stud Craig, Jenny's foot came up. If you'd had omniscience, or at least if you had binoculars, you might have seen Jenny's baby toe, her pinky little baby toe, fly up and graze big muscular Craig on his left bulging hanging testicle.

Suzy knew the look instantly. She saw Craig's eyes kind of glaze over and look off into unfocused land, she saw his body curl inward, she saw his hands cup his scrotum. Damn if Suzy didn't know that old familiar look, as Craig sank to the canvas, a sinking ship. Trouble was, nobody had seen the blow.

Craig got up on the count of 12. Gee, that's great Craig, thought Suzy. Just a couple seconds too late, you big dumb bastard. Thanks for wasting my time.

Jenny, the goofy, ungainly little big-boobed nerdy girl was a jumping and jutting all over the ring, triumphant. Her boobs looking like hovercraft airbags as they rapidly blew up inside her gi on the upswing of her jumps, then her boobs deflated as she hit the ground. She was a jumping, goofy nerdy girl.

"I won, I won" she goofily cried. Jenny stopped jumping after the fifth time, however, as her their heaviness of her tits started to seriously hurt her, and she swung her arm across to brace them, to lift them, to shelf them up and protect them from any further painful gravity drops. The nerdy chick was out of breath from gravity drop breast pain as much as fighting. Suzy was disgusted in the weakness of her fighter, having been defeated by this ridiculous gal.

Craig came over to the corner, tried apologizing to Suzy. Suzy initially embraced him, bringing him into her arms, seemingly comforting him. Then, she suddenly brought her clenched fist up and slammed it upwards into the hanging balls of her ex-fighter. She hit him hard, she hit him old-style. It was the old ball killer Suzy's fist which nailed Craig, and he wouldn't be rising for a little while. She saw Craig go rigid, his eyes go wide as though suddenly terrified, she saw him curl inward clutching himself, fall down in that old familiar fetal position on the corner of the canvas. Then, leaning over the ropes, leering down at him, she said, her old taunting self coming out, "You wasted two years of my time Craig. I just took away 15 minutes of yours."

Suzy left for the locker room, her sandy brown pony tail bobbing up and down. An old familiar picture of confidence, of sexual superiority.