Once upon a time, back in the days when all men walked on two straight legs and had opposable thumbs, there lived a particular fellow. Particular he was, and composed of microscopic bits of matter, so it is undeniably true. This particle-man had a problem, which taxed him day and night. Particle-man, or Pman for short, was all alone in the world. Alone, as in all by himself, as in without female companionship. Pman was unattractive to women. Although this was true without question, he couldn’t understand why he sparked such deep feelings as utter revulsion and nausea in his female counterparts. “Haven’t I got two legs and opposable thumbs, just as good as anyone else?” he often asked, rhetorically of course. Who was there to answer? This isn’t to say that Pman had no contact at all with women. In fact, he had ample contact, of a limited variety. In a way, women loved him. “Pman,” they said to him, “you’re such a good friend.”
Friend. Pman hated that word. It summed up for him everything he was not: virile, sensual, masculine. But what else can a slightly overweight, effeminate man expect? Women adored him; he was better than a brother. They thought he was gay. But they never went to bed with him. This is way Pman was lonely. He was misunderstood. He didn’t want to talk about painful menstruation, or the latest fashion fad. He wanted to get laid.
Pman put up with his unsatisfying status for years, until it became too much for him. His female friends, used to him as a confidante, included him as “one of the girls.” Scantily clad, they ran around bedrooms and excitedly pumped him for information. “Do you like my dress, my bra, my panties? What about my butt, too big? Do you think my breasts are small?” For them it was a fun, instructional gathering. For him, it was a veritable zoo of lust. He was definitely on the outside looking in. But Pman, don’t feed the animals! Don’t touch the bars! Monkeys may bite! Pman was suffering. When the suffering became too much, he decided to use his two straight legs and opposable thumbs to his advantage. He slowly developed a plan, designed to put an end to his loneliness. Essentially, he wanted to bust his monkey-zoo wide open and set all the animals free. Yes Pman, go for it. You’ve waited long enough! But he knew he had to be careful. He didn’t want to scare his monkeys away.
Pman began slowly, imperceptibly at first, to stalk his monkeys. When Daisy asked him to “please be a darling and zip up my dress, thank you!” he did as she asked. But, for the first time, he allowed his fingertips to brush her back as he pulled the zipper up, and let them linger a moment when he was done. He began to breathe faster, mesmerized by the nearness of female flesh. Moment later Daisy skipped away all unsuspecting, leaving Pman with nothing but a memory, which he took with him to bed that evening. But memory faded fast, and Pman was lonelier than ever.
His next chance for monkey-stalking came to him, and he seized it, as any self-respecting biped would. When Betty Sue modeled her new bra for him on a sunny afternoon, he told her it didn’t look like it fit quite right. Reaching out, he adjusted her bra straps and grabbed a breast. Betty Sue pulled away quickly. “Pman! Why did you grab my breast?” she demanded. ” I didn’t Betty Sue; my hand slipped, I swear it.” She smiled at him and pinched his blushing cheek. “I declare, you are so cute when you’re embarrassed.” Later that night, behind closed doors and pulled-down blinds, Pman took full advantage of his opposable thumbs not once but twice. Afterwards, he found that he still felt lonely and even, well, a little cheap. Pman was deeply bummed out.
Upset though he was, he found it impossible to resist temptation. “Pman, would you just look at this?” Sally Ann asked him. “Now what do you suppose this mark is, a rash? All the way up here on my leg?” He examined it intently, that red mark on the fleshy bulge of her inner thigh. He stuck out his tongue and licked the spot vigorously. “Tastes like poison ivy to me, Sally Ann,” he explained to her incredulous face. Sally Ann finished pulling up her pantyhose and asked him to stay to dinner. Lucky Pman!
But how lucky was he really? So far his monkey hunting had been unsuccessful, resulting in little more than monkey spanking. His efforts gained him nothing but memories, mental pictures of a beautiful back, a breast, a thigh–and an infected thigh at that! Oh Pman! Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, is an uninfected thigh, and it’s waiting there for you! Don’t give up! So many other relatively unattractive men in the world have found women, and so can you. Pman steadied himself on his fine, straight legs, flashed himself a thumbs-up sign, and vowed to continue his quest. You might say he was keen to open up a new barrel of monkeys. He knew that he needed to change his methods to gain results, so he put his more than ample brain to the task.
Pman knew that,in order to attract females, he had to work on becoming more masculine. He went to an obscure place in a dark alley, known as “Mom n’Pop’s Stop and Shop,” and purchased a blow-up doll. He got her home, blew her up, and declared loudly, “practice makes perfect!” Pman went to work on his doll. First he asked her for a date. “Hey doll-face, how about you and me getting together some time?” Somehow that didn’t sound right. It wasn’t smooth; it wasn’t suave. Maybe it was the wording. He tried again. “Hey doll-face. You. Me. My place. You wanna?” Dollface was no help. She just gaped at him. To Pman, it sounded confidant, aggressive, manly. This was going to be easy!
The next night, he cooked dinner for her. He was so nervous his hands were sweating. Dollface was nervous too. He could tell. She couldn’t eat a thing. Just knowing that he, Pman, was capable of making a woman too nervous to eat made him feel masculine. He was ecstatic. The manhood-increasing experiment was working like a charm! He was so elated he even gave her a goodnight kiss. Dollface looked surprised, but she didn’t resist.
The following week, Pman invited Dollface to watch old movies at his apartment. He fed a Bogart movie to his VCR and hit the Play button. After a while he noticed that his date was looking a little stiff. He built up his confidence and slid closer to her on the couch. He put a hand on her neck and massaged gently. He could feel her relaxing, sinking down into the cushions a little more comfortably. Pman put his free hand on her knee. He could feel the inside of her smooth leg with one opposable thumb. He began to get excited. He put a hand on her breast and left it there, hoping to appear casual about it. When she didn’t protest, he started stoking her softly, appreciating the resilient texture of her rubber skin. When he slid a sweaty hand under her shirt he heard a satisfying squeeeeaakkk! Pman stuck his other hand under her skirt until he encountered her underwear. He loved the sexy things she wore. Of course he did. He bought them for her, right down to the crotchless panties. He was breathing hard, almost panting. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He was touching Dollface and she was letting him. She even looked as if she liked it. Pman couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her upstairs to his bedroom. After tossing her on the bed, he removed his clothes. Slight gut, smooth chest, hairy ass–and she didn’t laugh. She only stared in seemingly delighted surprise.
Pman ripped off Dollface’s clothing, revealing her Mom n’Pop’s sexy lingerie: panties, garterbelt, fishnets, and all. He left her with her six-inch stilettos. After all, heels are sexy! He flung himself on top of her and slid into her KY-jellied canal. Squeeka squeeka slosh slosh. Squeekasqueekasloshslosh. Sweat on rubber, jelly on flesh. This was fun! Really great, oh God! Yes, this is what it’s all about. Pman was masculine, virile, a sex machine, a. . .OH GOD! Whew. What was that? Suddenly he understood all those jokes and dirty magazines and sex education classes. That was sex. Pman was thrilled, euphoric, glowingly happy, and . . .oddly tired. He fell asleep. Dollface didn’t mind.
The next morning, Pman felt disoriented. He was in his own room, his own bed. But who was that in bed with him? Then he remembered. Dollface’s eyes were open, so he knew she was awake. Still, he didn’t want to talk to her or touch her. She kind of disgusted him. She seemed cheap to him now, easy. She let him sleep with her on the second date. What a slut! Pman thought her unworthy of his love. On top of all that, the bitch wouldn’t even cook him breakfast. In a wild rage, he folded her up and stuck her in the back of his closet. Dollface had cheapened herself in his eyes. She didn’t even have opposable thumbs.
A little bitter and yet wiser, Pman vowed never to see her again. He wanted someone worthy of him, worthy of being pursued. With his newly acquired masculinity, he was sure to get what he wanted. Feeding time at the zoo! Open admission! Passengers, don’t put arms outside of the vehicle! What?? No, that was weak. Who cares if wild monkeys bite? He was willing to chance it. What a Pman!
Deciding that he was ready to move up from rubber dolls to flesh and blood, Pman wanted to seek out a real woman. He wanted to put his masculinity to the test. That very evening he went cruising in his vintage Pinto until he was approached by a young girl wearing thigh-high boots and hotpants. Just his type! He couldn’t unglue his eyes from the straining front of her halter top and only nodded when she asked if he was looking for a good time. She eyed the Pinto doubtfully but got in anyway. “Hey baby, what’s your name?” she asked around a mouthful of bubblegum. “Pman? Hmmm. So, uh, Pman, what are you into?” Into?? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “What do you like, Pman? Do you like me? Do you want to touch me?” He couldn’t believe it. He was floored, stunned, astounded. He pulled his car into an unlit parking lot and looked at the girl, unsure of what to do with someone so generous and willing to share her body. She sensed his indecisiveness. “I know what to do. You just relax,” Girl told him. She moved closer to him and unzipped his pants. Then, oh my God, what is she doing? She’s not really going to. . .but she did. He wondered briefly if he smelled of rubber and forgot to care when he felt her lips on him. Girl really knew her business, and before he knew it, the business day was over and it was time to shell out the payroll. She spit into a kleenex and grabbed twenty dollars from his hand. “Thanks Pman. See you around.” Was she really leaving? Was Girl actually walking away, walking out of his life? How could she? He was in love. “Girl, don’t go. Come back. I love you.” Pman began to cry. He missed her already. He loved Girl. She was so kind, so generous, so skillful, so polished. You would almost think she had done this kind of thing before. My God! She had done this before! How many millions of drowned sperm gave up their tiny lives so that she could become a skin-flute virtuoso? Pman was played out. Forget it, let Girl go. She’s not worth it, Pman.
After a nice, hot, soapy shower, he began to feel human again. After all, he could shake hands. He could open jars. He could use tools. That proved he was somebody. And a manly somebody too. Two women in two days. He wondered if he should buy a poster bed so he could keep track of his conquests. Who knew that manhood could be so complicated?
Pman decided that what he really needed was a challenge. he wanted to test his new skills on someone special. Someone who wanted him for himself and not just because he could give her things, like a bicycle pump, or money. Pman was primed and ready; it was time to begin the hunt. But where does one begin to track down monkeys? Where else! Silly Pman, real monkeys live in the jungle, in the wild. After all, free monkeys are better than caged monkeys. And where else do wild monkeys go, if not to a bar. A bar? You mean they drink? As in alcohol? Pman had never had anything stronger than daiquiris and pina coladas, but those aren’t manly drinks. Real men drink beer. Real men drink whiskey. Real men drink. . .tequila! Go for it Pman, swallow that worm!
Pman raided his closet for the manliest clothes he could find. No Levi khakis or Ralph Lauren polos for him. He needed to dress for the hunt. Nothing would do but to wear jeans and flannel and large, clunky boots. No deodorant for him. Cover up that bald spot Pman, you’re ready to go!
In a dark alley right next to Mom n’Pop’s Stop and Shop–oh, the memories!–was a bar: The Blackout. Pman entered through red plush doors and found a dimly lit interior, rife with the leavings of naugahydes and taxidermists. This was a manly place. Masculinity wafted out from the walls, And speaking of wafting, Pman, someone is wafting in your direction. Someone graceful, someone long-limbed, someone male! Pman, what is this? “Hi sugar, want to buy me a drink? I think you’re really cute.” Is this some kind of obscure male-bonding ritual? Is this the Elk’s Lodge? Where are the women? Pman! This is a gay bar! There are no monkeys here. Be careful!
Pman’s new friend flitted over to friends at various tables as they made their way to the bar. He was remarkably lithe for a man; it was sort of sensual. But Pman was not gay. He really wasn’t paying attention to the way the flit’s butt moved under his satin pants, or the way his chest hair disappeared into the deep vee of his leather vest. Pman licked his lips and shifted uncomfortably on the bar stool. He ordered a tequila from the bartender and bought a daiquiri for Flit. In fact, he bought him many daiquiris. Several shots of tequila and a beer-back later, Pman was ready for action. He gazed longingly into Flit’s bleary eyes. “Come with me to my apartment,” he asked him, throwing all caution to the wind. Oh Pman, what’s going on here?
Flit and Pman moved staggeringly through the bar and out into the cool night air. Pman sobered up enough to drive back to his place and led Flit to his bedroom. He put his hand on the bulge in satin pants and felt something stirring deep inside. It was Flit’s tongue in his mouth. Pman had never felt anything like this before. “Let me see you,” Flit whispered, and began to unbutton the flannel shirt. He ran his hand down smooth chest, over hairy gut, inside blue jeans. Flit was fishing for trouser trout. Pman took the bait and was reeled in slowly. Oh no, he was caught! Flit had fish for dinner. When neither of them could wait any longer, Pman ran to his closet. Pushing Dollface aside, he grabbed the KY. Oh Flit! Oh Pman. Oh Flit! Oh, PMAN! Insert coin in slot. Push Play. Move joystick right, left, up and down for action. Right. Left. Right. Left. Up. Left. Down. Right. LeftDown. UpDown. UpDown. UpDownLeftDownUpUpUPUPUP! GAME OVER GAME OVER. Pman, you Gameboy of Love, you got a great score.
That was unbelievable. Somehow, on a monkey hunt, bigger game was found. Pman wanted to nail his trophy to the wall. “Well, I’ve never done it that way before, but I’ll try anything once,” Flit told him. Hours later, shiny pants draped across a chair, leather vest in a ball on the floor, smeared mascara, and oh my god, look at my hair! I look like a witch! Pman knew he was in love. Not just lust, but love. This was the real thing. Never before in his life had he felt so completely happy or satisfied. Who would think that true love wore lipstick and stubble on its face? Flit made him feel like a Pman. After all, any pussy can attract a woman. It takes real masculinity to get a man. Pman thought this over while he stroked his sleeping Flit with one opposable thumb. Never had he felt so strong, so fulfilled, so at peace with himself. He fell asleep and dreamed of firm young butts.
In the clear light of early morning Pman woke to find Flit curled up next to him. They kissed and Flit offered to go make breakfast. Pman went to the closet for his robe and encountered dollface in a heap on the floor. He threw his old girlfriend away like so much useless garbage, and managed to feel a little pity for her. He had found true love and manhood while she would always be hollow and empty inside.
Pman smiled when he thought of how he had been. Daisy, Betty Sue, Sally Ann, Dollface, Girl–all had been desired briefly, if uselessly. But, at best, they were nothing more than monkeys in a zoo. Pman was a man. He had two fine straight legs, and his thumbs were more opposable than ever. Poor monkeys had to live in cages. Do not feed the animals, Pman! Do not touch the bars! Monkeys may bite! Forget it, Pman. He didn’t even want to pay for admission. He had everything he ever wanted.
“Breakfast is ready, Pman!”