Woman's World

In the 21stcentury a mild disease spread throughout the world - no more troublesome than a cold. The importance of the epidemic only became gradually clear many decades later as it affected the Y chromosome. The next generation had a lot of male infertility and nearly all of the children born were female. The population plummeted and modern civilization collapsed. Communities became totally female and the most precious substance in the world was human semen. Meanwhile nature recovered, taking back the cities, the mass agriculture and the seas.

France's natural geography allowed relatively easy movement between the remaining groups of people and a little trade with neighbouring areas. Key roads were maintained. As the population of Europe plummeted, French speakers from Belgium and Switzerland had come in. It was one of the few places in the world which might still be described as a country, though without borders, taxes or rulers.

The people conformed well to rules which had been generally agreed. There was a system of administration rather than government, keeping records in the hope that either the disease would mutate or some method would be found to get more men. Their long history of science and invention, including many women, led to recovery or reinvention of earlier technology. Things unknown elsewhere still existed: motor vehicles, locally made electricity, and scientific medicine. Printing presses had been rescued from museums to keep knowledge alive.

They lived in a slowly decreasing number of villages largely self-sufficient from the surrounding farms. Each village had a midwife, who actually dealt with most medical matters and minor injuries but was honoured by the title for bringing life by insemination and childbirth. A cottage hospital served up to twelve villages, with facilities for surgery and longer-term care with one or two doctors and part-time nurses who came in as required. It also served as a distribution point for precious semen, which can last a few days if kept chilled.

CHAPTER 1

I was sixteen when it happened. Other girls had had their first period between twelve and fourteen.

I woke suddenly in distress, and called for Mama.

"What is it Noëlle, darling?" she asked.

"I've messed the bed! I think it's happened!"

"There, there, let's have a look," she said, and lit the lamp to see the wetness.

"Oh, my poor girl!" she said, hugging me to her breasts.

"You've just grown up," she sobbed.

Auntie came into the room just then.

"Has she?" she said.

"I think so," Mama answered tearfully. "Have a look yourself."

I suppose Auntie is a bit more used to that sort of thing, being a midwife. She just peered closely and felt the mess.

She looked at me so kind and loving as she said "I'm sorry, Noëlle, dear. You're a man at last."

"I don't want to be a man!" I shouted through my tears.

Auntie shushed me, and hugged us both.

"We'll hide it as long as we can, but they're going to find out eventually, and you'll have to go away to that place."

It was only a small village, so soon everyone knew, but they agreed to keep my secret as long as possible. Antoinette, the blacksmith, said I should continue my apprenticeship with her.

An older woman, Odette, who had lived in a village where a boy had been born told us what had happened.

"Any boy is named Prince," she told us.

"They have a terrible life. That's why your Mama wanted you to grow up as a girl."

I asked what was so terrible.

"A prince can have anything she, I mean he, wants, so he grows up fat and lazy. He never helps with the work. He doesn't play properly because everyone is afraid he might get hurt. He doesn't really have any friends, because all the other girls have to be kind and let him win in any games."

She stroked my cheek.

"You've been a lovely girl, Noëlle. A bit naughty sometimes, like you should be, but a proper kiddie in every way. I just hope you've been happy, and you can hold onto the memories when they take you away."

She began to cry.

I was crying myself. I had been so happy, though as other girls got their periods, I was afraid it would come to an end one day. When nothing happened, we began to hope that nothing would.

"What happens when they take me away?" I asked fearfully.

"It's a prison. You're just kept and fed and you give semen. When women get inseminated, that's where it comes from. You're like a machine. I'm sorry!"

She was sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's not so bad," Auntie told us, smiling as well as she could.

"In my midwife course they said it's quite humane. There's usually at least two or three men that live together and they have a garden they can go in. They have books and everything, and women that look after them they can talk to. It can't be that bad."

She was having difficulty not crying again.

I just howled.

Later she told me that in the old days there were an equal number of boys and girls, like with farm animals, but some disease stopped boys being born. To keep the population going, semen is collected from the few men there are, and if a boy is born, he is considered very precious. People used to live in pairs, a man and a woman, and they mated to produce children. Now there are no men, women still live in pairs and if one is selected for insemination and is lucky enough to have a child, the other one becomes an auntie.

My auntie, being the local midwife, had registered me as a girl, and as I had never been ill enough to need a hospital, no-one outside knew. All I knew was that I had a deformed peepee, so tried not to show it. It had been nice and small for most of my life, but had eventually started to grow. I was desperately afraid it was going to be up my belly like a boar or billy-goat, with huge balls. I was relieved that my balls were nothing like that, and thought perhaps I'd be OK.

She said that boys were rarely born, and those that were usually died before they were two. She had heard of a case of a boy who had been raised as a prince and survived but never made semen. She had become to hope that I was a similar case, and could stay in the village with my friends for the rest of my life.

CHAPTER 2

On my eighteenth birthday I made my decision. I was now a bit odd-looking, for a woman, anyway. Taller than anyone else, no breasts, and my shoulders were bigger than my hips. I grew bristles on my chin, so had learned to shear them. It was partly due to the realisation that someone official would see me eventually, and partly from guilt, that I decide to volunteer myself.

Occasionally a woman would get the news that she had been selected for insemination, and Auntie would go to collect the semen to give a course of three. Only one had been successful since my first release. I felt guilty that I was producing semen every week which was wasted. I was going to do my duty to France.

Next time Auntie had to go to the hospital to collect semen, I went with her and explained to the registrar. As you can imagine, that caused quite a fuss! As word got round, staff and patients came to have a peek at me and whisper together. They had never seen a man, of course. I think I slightly disappointed them. Just an odd-looking woman (in my best dress).

I was put in a separate room for the night, with a security guard to keep people away. The next day I was locked inside a sort of van with a security guard inside, and another with the driver. Both had guns - short ones to hold in the hand, not like hunting rifles. It wasn't a gazogène, like Auntie's car, with a big bag of methane on top, but had some kind of liquid fuel.

It was quite a long journey, but there was a toilet inside, and we had food and drink. The guard told me it was officially a National Generation Institute, but generally known as the Semen Farm. She explained that in the past men had been kidnapped by criminals for ransom, or by agents of other countries, so there was high security. The van was normally used to transport chilled semen to hospitals for distribution to midwives. As there were so few men and semen was essential for the next generation, it was the most precious substance in the world. It would, of course, be empty on the way back from the hospital so no-one was likely to attack it.

The Institute was also high security from disease. I would be placed in quarantine and not allowed to mix with the other men until they were sure I was not carrying an infection.

"Good Luck, Noëlle," she said, as she unlocked a door, and waved me through. I was the last time I heard that name inside. As I quickly learned, all men were called Prince. We were just given numbers, and as there were already three, I would be Prince 4. The youngest was Prince 3 and was in his thirties.

Inside, women in protective suits dealt with me. I had to strip, shower, then they rubbed a special medical cleaner all over, paying attention to my crevices, before I showered again. A doctor in full protective clothing and breathing protection examined me and took blood, saliva and urine samples, before I was passed into another room. It was both a hospital room and like a place where an animal was kept, unable to leave.

There was a window into the general area where the other men lived, three of them, and I could talk to them through a microphone. Through another window the medical staff watched and communicated with me. The princes said there was a garden where they could go out and smell the fresh air, but the high walls meant it was often in shadow, and mesh prevented birds coming down.

Both the princes and the medical staff were very friendly, but my heart sank to think of spending the rest of my life in this limited place.

I had a good dinner, a night's sleep, and my choice of breakfast from a wide menu before a technician instructed me to have what she called my first milking. I had to put what the staff called my penis and testicles (but the princes called my cock and balls) through a hole. Something sealed around them (I suppose for hygiene, but it meant I couldn't pull out) and some kind of mechanism massaged me until my semen came out. Once I'd got over the surprise of the first one, it was quite pleasant.

I had to do this every day, but Prince 2 said I might have to do it three times a day when they had assessed my capabilities.

I had been at the Farm for three weeks when to my surprise the door opened, not to the Farm as I expected, but back to the medical side. A doctor, in ordinary clothing, waved me through and into a side room. I was obviously free of any dangerous disease.

She smiled and told me to sit down. There was some sort of apparatus in front of her, and she put a small glass thing into it. She told me to look down two tubes where I saw what looked like lots of tadpoles wriggling about.

"This is the semen of Prince 3," she said.

"Those wrigglers are sperms. They are the things which start babies. We take some of this for insemination into women."

She then swapped the glass thing for another.

"This is your semen from this morning. Do you see? There are not as many sperms, and they're not moving."

"I think I saw one move!" I told her.

"It's just Brownian motion," she answered, putting her hand on my shoulder. I had no idea what that meant.

"And even if there are a few alive, there's very little chance of conception. I'm sorry, but there's no point in us collecting your semen. It would just be a waste of effort. I know you wanted to do your bit for the human race, but it's no good."

I was stunned.

"We can continue to look after you, of course, but I wondered if you would prefer to go home? I've talked to the director, and we've agreed we don't have to keep you, since you're infertile."

CHAPTER 3

I was devastated.

I had just become reconciled to a limited life in order to help humanity, only to be told I was useless for the only thing men are good for. There was simply no point in me living. I had thought there was no greater shock than finding myself making semen, but finding out it was dead was worse.

I didn't think I could stay with the princes. As Odette had said, they were quite arrogant - not their fault, of course - and I didn't want their scorn or pity. I said I would go back. I was still under armed guard. They said it was just possible someone might think it was a consignment of semen, try to rob it, and kidnap me anyway, not knowing my situation. It hadn't happened for ages, but there was always a possibility, perhaps from another country. I had an official note saying I was an infertile male, so unable to donate sperm, with a telegraph number for confirmation, to show if any official asked, or if someone tried to kidnap me.

The arrival of an armoured vehicle in the village caused some alarm. My getting out of it was a surprise, then I was overwhelmed by people asking me questions. I couldn't do anything but cry as Mama and Auntie took me home.

The first woman they let in was my best friend, Monique. When we were seven, we had decided we would be a couple when we were old enough, but we eventually stopped talking about it. We had perhaps become a bit distant as I had become more of a man. Now I was depressed and bitter to this lovely woman trying to comfort me.

It was her efforts more than mine which brought me back to some sort of life, doing my regular work with the blacksmith and household tasks, and taking care of myself.

I hated my penis.

It kept getting hard, and I knew it wanted to give the useless semen. I hit it sometimes, but it still discharged in the night. It was in desperation that I used my hand something like the machine, and got the wretched stuff out. At least I wasn't messing my bed. If I did it every couple of days, then my man's thing didn't bother me so much, though it sometimes got annoyingly stiff when Monique was around.

One day we had a stupid argument. At least I was the stupid one, for arguing.

"We can still be a couple, like we always planned," she said.

"There's a house we can have not far away. Our Mamas have looked after it."

The village population must have been much larger in the past. Some houses were just ruins, but older people kept some in usable condition for when their daughters paired up, in the hope of having granddaughters.

I said I was no good for her: there were other girls who would be better, and it would double the chance of getting a baby. She said she didn't want other girls. So far as she was concerned, I was still the same. She felt so sad when I went away, and my coming back was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

"What about love-making?" I said, stupidly and loudly. Everyone knew that two women together was the greatest possible pleasure.

"You have hands and a mouth," she replied, a bit cross.

"You can make love to me, and I'll do whatever it takes to please you!"

"Whatever that is," she added, blushing.

It was odd. What our Mamas and Aunties did together was not embarrassing. It was done in private, of course, but just normal. No-one would blush to mention it.

We were both quiet, probably with the same image. Me, acting like a billy-goat.

It was horrible. Natural, of course, but so demeaning. That's what a man was - a semen dispenser. As with the animals, we didn't need many, so it was only sensible their semen was collected and distributed by midwives.

Why wasn't I born a girl?

"I love you, Noëlle," she said, kissing me.

"We don't have to do anything, just live together, and I'll be happy, and I'll do anything, put up with anything to make you less sad."

At last I got it right.

"I love you, too, Monique. I'm sorry about what I am, but I can't help it, and if you'd put up with me, I would love to live with you. We don't have to do anything, just be together."

I kissed her, and she kissed me back, and hugged me tight.

I felt her breasts against my chest, and my penis getting stiff, so tried to pull away.

"Stay," she told me.

"It's all right."

Then she giggled.

"It's just a bit funny."

Itwasa bit funny, when I thought about it, so I laughed myself.

We started getting our home ready.

My first attempts at making love were clumsy. I put my thigh between hers and started to press on her while we kissed, not sure how hard and fast to do it. As she did the same to me, I felt a pain shoot up from my balls and cried out. It was just a reflex, and not her fault, but she didn't want to do it again.

My hand and my mouth were willing, but unlike every other girl, I had no vulva to practise on, and I had not even kissed her mouth since that terrible day when I was sixteen. Fortunately she was kind and patient in instructing me, recognising the need I had to love her like any other girl. I say any other girl, because I had never thought of myself as anything but one of the girls, despite my deformity.

She was tentative at first, but eventually my penis became a sort of toy between us. She got me to stand by the toilet instead of sitting down, and held it to point the stream, which made her giggle. She sometimes led me around our house by it. Often, she just played with it gently, and it got stiff to show it liked it. Finally she massaged it like milking a goat until it released. She thought it was disgusting the first time, but got used to it and said it was silly, but she knew I liked it.

Meanwhile I made love to her as often as she would let me, and had the joy of her several orgasms a day. She recognised that my making semen was a bit like an orgasm, so was happy that I got at least that. We were both a bit sorry that I didn't have breasts, but I said I appreciated hers even more. Sucking or playing with my nipples didn't seem right.

I loved the feeling of her round body, and was sorry my own was not so good, though she kindly said it was an interesting contrast, different from hugging other girls, and she liked it.

I think it was about a year and a half later she said we should try mating like animals. I was a bit hurt and offended. I was a girl with a funny peepee not a billy-goat.

Finally she persuaded me to try it as an experiment. We were disappointed at first, but later laughed. She put herself on her hands and knees, and I entered her like an animal, and we both waited. After a while I felt her twitching, until she pulled herself away and rolled over.

"I'm sorry!" she said tearfully.

"I don't know how to do it! I'm trying to massage you, but it's difficult with my vagina!"

After several attempts we discovered that trying to reposition my penis was interesting, until we both agreed that thrusting it in and out was best. It was odd and silly, but something like the machine and we both liked it, so we did it until my semen came out. I tried to pull out when I felt it coming, so as not to make her messy, but eventually she said it didn't matter, and I admitted I liked it best when I pushed right in to release it.

Eventually we discovered a pattern of lovemaking to prepare her, so that when I gave my semen she had an orgasm! She called it 'arriving together.' Auntie said it was a bit of a learned reflex, but was pleased to hear it. She said that made it truly lovemaking as well, and we both agreed.

CHAPTER 4

At last we were like any other happy couple, living our lives and doing our duties in the village. I looked a bit odd, but everyone was used to me, and our lovemaking might have been different but was private like everyone else. I just kept dressed more than others, changing and washing in private, only wearing loose shorts or trousers when the work needed it, otherwise skirts and dresses.

We had been together for just over two years, when Monique felt a little out of sorts, so of course went to Auntie. Her most important job was inseminations and helping with births and childcare, but she dealt with minor injuries or disease, and as the only person with a vehicle could take serious ones to the hospital. Auntie said what Monique suspected, that she was pregnant!