milly-aubrey:He knew, immediately, that he should not have come. He knew he should have stayed hom
milly-aubrey: He knew, immediately, that he should not have come. He knew he should have stayed home. It had been months - almost a year - since the Event, and he had spent most of that time hermitted away in his apartment, avoiding the outside world and those who had survived…most especially the women. But he had grown lonely. Lonely and - he couldn’t deny it - needy. The virus had found him - it had found everyone. It hadn’t killed him, at least, but it had found him and it had changed him. He’d spent the last year doing his best to deny the temptations of the new society, the promise of life on the outside, of life with a new “wife”. But the propaganda was out there, now, and hard to resist. The Collective had begun organizing events like this, gatherings at one of the few, newly-reopened bars or restaurants in the city, trying to draw unassigned men out of hiding. Men they knew were growing weak. Weak and needy, like him. They were trying to draw them out to get them to meet women, to imprint, to start the process and commit themselves to a new “life”. He’d also read the reports, the studies published in the new, widely distributed papers the Collective was distributing. The new findings in the research being done on the psychology of the remaining men who have survived the worldwide plague. We’re all, it seems, being labeled together. We’re all “sub-betas”, or “sub-beta males”. No more alpha-males, or even beta-males, were left alive, read the reports. All that was left were men like…me. Men of weak personality. Men with submissive tendencies. Men who would rather have someone else making decisions for them, being the leaders. Passive men. Men like…me. And when he walked into this place, into this room full of tall, attractive women, he knew it was a mistake. They were all at different stages in the process, but he knew immediately that they all realized what he was. A sub-beta male, a weak personality, looking for someone to…take him. Take him, claim him, use him as their key to the greater stages of the Program, the Process. They all new this, and they all wanted him. But some, he saw right away, were further advanced than the others. These were the ones that drew his eye, and stoked that slow-burning fire that had started in him months ago. His eyes fell on the brunette, the brunette with the long, dark hair and grey, ultra-tight tank top. His eyes fell on her and immediately he knew he was a goner… Thanks to srevenbasic for another wonderful submission. Oh how I want to be that brunette making all those life decisions and taking care of little stevenbasic!! -- source link