Jake, I can hear you are not crying any more. Those are more like girly moans of pleasure, aren't they?
By all means, don't hold back; it is good for your system to vocalize your feelings. It brings your soul and your new body in balance, merges them into one new coherent personality, so to speak.
I am also glad you have stopped trying to negotiating with me, pleading me to turn you back into a man again. You probably see now that your old self has nothing that we need, anyway.
This isn't about your needs you know, it is about the needs of the community, of our common good.
I didn't engineer that plague, Donald. No one did, but losing 80 percent of the female population means that we have to make some drastic measures to retain social and economic stability.
You didn't lose the lottery, Donald, you won it. You are one of the 10 million men chosen to become mothers of the new nation. You should be proud of yourself!
You should feel sorry for Phil here, the stud that is fucking you right now. You see, he only got second prize in the lottery. He has been recruited to act as your guardian, with an obligation to make love to you every day until you get pregnant.
He will also have to pay for your livelihood and see to it that your kids get a good education. Poor sod!
We did allow him to choose your looks, though. We need you both to thrive and prosper, you know.
This one's for Jake.
Images from Totally Redhead.
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