I got a call seconds later, this being an unusually heavy day already for a guy who normally only saw one or two sales calls a day.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Said my second wife, Florence, camera off. She'd actually been the one I'd decided to divorce, other than the others who'd divorced me, all claiming that I'd been used up and wasn't exciting anymore. To Florence, I was exciting, but she had to be the plainest looking woman on earth, redefining exciting, you see, and ten years my senior.

"I didn't do nothing, and hey, what's this junk about you telling my sister that I beat on you, spent you blind and of all things, am gay?" I said. Of course I knew why. She was vindictive, a liar, and always about saving face. There just simply had to be an excuse for my leaving that wasn't her.

She ignored my question. "You signed up for FemWorld. What's wrong with you? Are you stupid? I could have helped. What kind of trouble are you in?"

She was like a bad mother, all reactive advice. Damn, I had no idea that they notified everybody, and fast too! Who do they tell if it's a paying customer, I wondered? I'd not anticipated being outed as another male epidemic victim to the submissive persuasion, especially to everybody I knew. This could get embarrassing - even if it is sort of faddish.

"I'm not in any kind of trouble. Just thinking about some nano upgrades, maybe a checkup. I'm out of money. I need a vacation, an upgrade, maybe something a little kinky and fun. You're loaded; what makes me think you'd understand? You never showed an ounce of interest in nanoing me even a bit of youthfulness."

"I could have taken you on if I thought you steady. Sponsored you an upgrade. We could have set up a deal; a year or two for some genetic youthening, maybe a point or two for your pension fund. You could have just done the gardening; this property is enormous!"

"I can't offer myself out like that. What kind of guy do you think I am? A gigolo?"

"You're a man; what does it matter?"

"That's kind of a sexist thing to say, isn't it? Use em and lose em. Women are starting to be all the same."

"Watch that tongue, boy. Shoot, Joe, you've signed up with FemWorld. If it's sexism you're worried about, you have a strange way of showing it; and besides, they have a terrible reputation. I should think being a gigolo would be a step up! At least it's with someone who wants you for more than the company's bottom line."

"You don't know what you're talking about. They have the highest SEC, FBII and Good Housekeeping certification. It's a local company. Don't lump them in with the offshores," I informed.

"Local and international and sheltered by every Senator in Congress. The surprise is that they've managed to keep how big an operation they are from the male public by putting fear into the eyes of the media they advertise so heavily in." She paused, and then sighed, "It's just a shame. I'm so disappointed with you, Joe."

"I don't think it's much to ask for just a vacation."

"I'll see what I can do to get you out of it," she said flatly, as if it meant the world to her for some reason. I wasn't good enough to put out enough to stay married to, but in two minutes time she'd offered me both a job and a bailout from a measly vacation, as if running my life was still on the books.

My monitor lit up with several incoming calls, all at once. Damn, but the whole world was calling me, including three more former wives, and my sister again.

I cut the conversation short, and put the wives on "No Answer!" Picking up my sister's call, I was surprised by my computer giving me one of my ex-wives instead, the damned glitchy Windows again!

"Why didn't you tell me that you could be this exciting, Joe? Do you have any idea the chores around here that can use a man slave's work? I'll have to beat FemWorld's price now. Don't think you're worth it though!" She hung up, having gotten her funny little point across, and never really very sociable anyway. Of course, she had no intention of doing any such thing as her ludicrous offer. She and I were not on good terms, and the idea of that ex-wife spending a penny on me to keep around, even as a butler, was laughable. Funny thing is though, I couldn't remember if it had been Sharon's or Paula's voice? They both had odd Ids and the same caustic style and the same penchant for phoning and then saying their piece, followed by a hang-up, usually without even knowing for sure if I was on the other end.

My grandmother was calling me. I pushed the icon saying, "Not home." Then my bowling team and co-workers started in on me. I couldn't imagine speaking to any of them again, my reputation ruined by FemWorld's policy of telling a lot more people a lot more details than I'd even imagined.

I got an automatic update from the Tax Service that my bank account had been billed for the portion of my taxes that would have been due if all I made for the rest of the year was what I'd made up to that moment in time. Damn, my taxes were screwed up - just for a vacation. Then I got an e-mail from my boss at work. It read:

Dear Joe Anderson:

Thanks for tendering your resignation. We were in process of seeking three names for lay-off, and though your seniority would have saved you this cut, you should have the pride in knowing that you have saved a fellow employee from a similar fate. We all hope you the best of luck with your new employment at FemWorld. If you should need a reference, please contact our office.

It was signed. Mostly a form letter, I understood.

I tried to call my employer to tell her that I'd only signed up for a vacation, to which I had plenty of time, but I couldn't get through. Then I tried to click up the company sight, thinking I could get an e-mail through, but realized that I'd been cut off from the web. Even my sister's call was gone from the screen, and considering the rate of calls I'd gotten in a frantic, the blankness of my computer, left to its own programs and cut off from the world, was sort of numbing.

The computer blinked a few times, and then a screen came up that read, "Uploading all reusable program files . uploading all history files . deleting all personal files . securing operating system for fresh user and as-new logon."

Damn if someone wasn't hacking in and stealing all of my software! I was banging keys, but the thing just kept on dropping icons at lightning speed until I had the old 'Windows 2044 PMS' screen, the one that I'd last seen right after taking the thing out of the box two years ago. I hit enter, and the screen changed, saying, "Welcome to the Win 2044 environment. Please enter your new user access code or the serial number on your operating system disk!" I went behind the computer, and pulled the high speed access jack. Then I got my original operating disk out, and upon finding the numbers, typed mine in. The computer read:

"Sorry. A manufacturer code is necessary in order to revive your computer. The Win 2044 serial number provided is no longer functional. This may signal a security violation. Please call for a new user access code.

I had an old phone in the bedroom of my two room house, and thus, finding it under a pillow, picked it up, discovering a dead dialtone. That left the old non-terminal TV in my bedroom. I clicked it on, but there was only one channel on the regular airwaves, and it was the dating game, telling me that they'd jacked my TV cable as well. The dating game was silly - I'd seen my fill of lesbian shows.

Shit!

As if in response, there was a knock on the door. "As if phone calls aren't enough," I moaned, putting on a fresh pair of shorts and a sweatshirt.

"Joe Anderson? 267-87-20025?" A woman asked, looking up from her clipboard, sporting some antique glasses (they used them mainly as jewelry meant to imply intellectualism). She was a few overweight, nothing a pill or two couldn't deal with in a week. Maybe thirty, dark hair, up in a working bun, and like I said, wanting to look studious. "I'm Gloria Sanders. Here to help you make your first step as an associate with FemWorld." She held out her hand, which I nervously shook, she adding, "Do you have an extra key for the door; they never make one for the appraiser?"

"The . the . this door? My house?"

"I wouldn't ask if it didn't make things much easier. They do think of everything, but not nearly enough keys for everything. Well, if it's too much trouble, we can work around it," she said, as if dismissing the thought.

"I think there's a mistake. I'll not be moving; it's just a vacation."

"Oh. I'll have that checked then."

"Is this like my ride to the vacation motel?" I asked.

She'd checked her portable phone-link on the fly and said, "Oh, that's right; we just need someone to look after things. That's why the key." It seemed important to her, and she did have a clipboard, so I knew she knew what she was doing, and went to the counter for the spare house key.

"It's going to be looked after by someone reliable, I hope," I said, not that I owned much.

"You have my complete assurance that nothing will be stolen from its owner. They'll even make the computer fresh," she assured me, me wondering how she knew about that, but then remembering the Cray, it apparently all it was cracked up to be, only having gone a bit overboard for me. One of its best features, it seemed, was in keeping everyone but me informed; about par for my computer experience.

I complained, "They seem to have gotten me confused right off. I signed up for a vacation, and my computer has died, my boss has fired me and I have eight women on my ass about leaving town, not counting my grandmothers. Is there any way that we can get all of that adjusted before it gets too far out of hand?"

"Oh, certainly, Sir. Everything will be set perfectly right. This kind of confusion happens all of the time. There is really a bit of a company squabble on this very thing? Do you have some shoes? No, no bag; just as you are. We provide all of the clothing you will need; part of the deal. Oh, as I was saying, there are those who think we should be more careful about going off right away and telling everyone about some sort of transfer. I mean, what if there is a mistake or someone panics? Could happen, you know."

"Yeah, could indeed. Look at me," I said, rather severely, as she led me out to her van that was parked on the street.

"Exactly. I do feel very sorry for your situation," she said as I started to open the passenger door.

"Oh, but Sir, we can't have the clients up front. Insurance, and besides, not professional. We don't know you yet, is the word. Treat everyone the same; even the nice ones, and play the lonely chauffeur. For security reasons, we have all of our new clients sit in back. Watch your head." She slid the side van door open, all of the windows blackened, and thus, the interior new to me. There was a long seat, within which a younger guy sat, him all the way over. His face reddened as he saw me, a deep blush, as I assumed mine was as well. I mean, we both were signed on for a female dominant vacation, so it was a bit awkward, as I jumped in and let the seat and shoulder harness engage me fully. The door slammed, and in a half minute the van started up. I remembered that I'd not seen her close the front door to my tiny house, nor had I seen anyone with her. What if someone just walked in and stole my mess and busted computer? It wasn't much, but it was all that I had.

I looked out the window, and realized that they weren't black windows at all, but were, instead, the New View Windows that were all the rage, simulating scenery. They could be made to work both ways; people looking in could see what looked like normal passengers; grandma with a wheelchair, kids on the way to The Right Youth League. From the inside, the windows started off as if showing my house and neighborhood, but as we moved off, became landscapes that were hundred of miles away from my familiar city. And, some of the landscapes weren't all that bad, I thought, deciding to enjoy the scenery. Up front, a small regular window allowed me a view of Gloria Sander's head, it not at all unattractive, to the point where I was pretty sure that she'd had lots of nano upgrades, all of them pretty good takes.

After awhile I said, "I'm Joe. Thought it might be a good way to get my health insurance upgraded. You know, maybe a nano upgrade, and a bit of an assist, should I be about to fall apart. What you in for?"

He looked at me like I'd slapped him, but then said, "The bio thing. Free. I could have paid for something else, but I just thought it would be fun to see what they come up with. I dread it actually; did it in the spur of pre-orgasmic stupidity. It's odd ." He had a look on his face that said he was lying, even a bit afraid, thus the pause.

"What's odd?" I asked.

"Nothing. Just that the van came kind of faster than I'd thought, and I think my refrigerator is going to be a mess. Electric went out at just the wrong moment and I didn't get a chance to call it in."

Probably a really masochistic, unemployed sort, I gathered, keeping it short because he felt it as embarrassing as me that he'd been caught a masochist, still, after all these years and the liberty to seek ones own slave impulses as a part of the anti-discrimination laws, not the sort of thing one likes advertised. I could relate, my bio being about ten sheets to the wind further than I really was, as well, and not the sort of thing I really wanted to experience, much less chat about. I tried to reassure him. "Well, bloody hell. Just a spot of fun and games."

"Yeah, I had some appliance problems to look into too; besides the electric," he continued, though shakily.

"Gloria there told me that they mess that up all the time. She looked me right up and said someone would be over to fix it. Maybe you should let her know; the Cray seems crabby today," I advised. He nodded and shrugged.

We were on the road an hour. I looked in on the driver, but she wasn't into us, not once giving us a glance from the other side of the separating glass, as if we were cargo, and all in a day's work. The glass in front was Polaroid or something, me unable to make out much beyond the front cab other than her turns and long lengths on the superway. I went back to prying my partner. "I had a great sales girl. Green eyes, lips like . well, I don't know what they were like. Fact is, I kind of got to hating the spam these people threw at me; sort of surprised that I signed on so quickly. Shoot, I'm not even much into the kink; it being more of a hobby to me than a vice. You know, it's not popular to be into tying up women these days, so one has to compensate. Well, anyway, I do need an upgrade and a checkup; prices being what they are."

"Yeah. I figure they'll get past the bull-shit in my bio," he said defensively.

The van stopped, and I heard the front door opening up. Looking through the front window, the lady seemed to just be sitting in her seat, the door closed, all very confusing, but then I felt the front of the van shifting, and then heard the front door closing again, all while I was watching her just sitting there, and it struck me that the front window I'd assumed to be a window into the front seat was also that freakin New View Window stuff. I'd been a fool for over an hour, and for all I knew, we'd just changed drivers, the illusion maybe not even the same body?

The van started up again, and went up an incline, metal grating clanking under our wheels. The man beside me shuddered, him all scared to death and wimpy for some reason. I mean, what could they do? They had a business to keep track of; and everybody knows that unsatisfied customers never give repeat business. They'd have a way to make it all interesting and fun, even in a femdom context, so that we'd want to come back, I reasoned. One thing for sure; it wasn't going to be any fun if I let it get to me. The van stopped, and then we waited. After awhile, we started moving, sort of, it more of a rocking feeling. "We must be on a boat?" I told the man beside me. He nodded, and time went by, at which point we seemed to have docked, and the van went up another grate, circled some kind of lot, and parked. This time the New View showed the lady getting out, it maybe the truth, and maybe just a mirror of the truth.

The boat trip was short, us in the van for two or three hours, I was thinking, and then the door to the van opened up. There in front of us was the same woman who'd put us in a few hours ago. "Sorry; the trip took longer than I expected. Do you have to use the facilities?"

"Yes," we both said in unison.

"Just this way," she offered, us dropping down into a portable room that had a ceiling, three walls and our van as borders. I closed the door behind us. On an adjacent wall was an odd metal trash container with a lid that flipped up with a footswitch. Up above was a metal mesh sporting a pair of shower heads that matched a single drain in the concrete floor that extended under the open bottom of the van. On the far wall was a small blackened window inset into a door. The thing sealed against the van with an inch or two to spare, and a few seams at spots around the bottom, telling me that it was a temporary enclosure that they dropped anywhere they wanted, probably; in this case, beside our van.

"I'm going into the next room, and will give you your instructions. Before I do that, you should put this mask on your head. It's to protect you from your shower. We shower all visitors to make sure they have no skin diseases such as lice. The chemicals can be irritants and burn the hell out of your eyes and ears. Lots of strangers come here, and before the doctors can give you a look-over, they insist upon clean bodies. There you go. Yes, just like a gas mask, only it fits over your hair as well and the rubber is a special alloy that resists wear and yet seals perfectly if you seal the airways and blow to check for tightness. Good job, boys."

We were aliens, I was thinking.

"One more thing in there. Down at the bottom," she said. We found a couple of patches, triangular, and each took one.

"Peal off the back, and place the adhesive side right above your penis, narrow point down, as if aiming at the thing. Then we can ."

We reached into our pants and put the patches on, them sticking with a goo rather better than expected, right through the pubic hair. If it dried, I'd be ripping hair when I took that off, I thought. All the while, the lady kept explaining things that we could both plainly see, as if we weren't scrounging in our pants like pubescents fixing our equipment. I'd gotten kind of used to going with the flow, but as I reached in, it struck me that we were doing something truly silly. My fellow traveler didn't match my silly smile (he was a stick in the mud) at the realization that she'd just had us both doing something truly humiliating, as if for a functional reason that had gotten us doing it without thinking before we were in action. She'd done it without pause, as well, apparently not a real dominatrix, but rather, just someone doing her script.

". best for everyone if we are all clean, don't you think," she said before opening the little door and disappearing behind the blackened window.

We stood there gawking at one another through the great froglike lenses of our protective masks. Sealed in, our own breathing hissing in our ears, which were as covered as your faces, leaving only our necks exposed around the tight straps. "Now, I want you to each take off your clothing, one at a time, and set the things into the protective metal receptacle that is located by the wall."

My buddy hesitated, so I shrugged, thinking being made naked was certainly going to be part of any submissive scene vacation anyway, once we got to where we were going. I mean, the woman in charge of us had been nice and polite, and thus, a sign that she was just a driver, and that we'd not yet gotten to the real program; that made it feel truly strange, but all she was going to do was see our swinging dicks and it seemed that she did this all of the time, so it was kind of like disrobing for a doctor, I convinced myself, stepping out of my shoes and shirt. My pants were the last to go, me unbuckling them, and thinking about what I should do with my wallet, but then imagining it best protected along with my clothing. I dropped my things into the metal container, letting the lid drop. I was naked, and put my hands over my dick modestly, returning to a sideways stance to the window and shrugging at the other man who seem a bit mortified at the prospect of undressing. Baby, I thought to call him - choosing not to.

"Come along. We'll be at this as long as it takes," said the woman, her voice coming out of an overhead speaker.

I coaxed him, he still hesitant, "Jeezz man, it's not like nobody's every seen a dick before."

That got him into motion, and soon his own clothing was in the canister, him taking the time to fold them neatly; Mister fastidious. He faced away from me and the door. I noticed that only his face was red, an odd observation. I wasn't about to look at his prick, but my periphery noticed less than a handful.

"Good. Now, you can do your business at any time. I suggest that you do so as you shower. Any waste will be dissolved by waste eating bacteria in the chemicals in the water; an agent for such work included. If you don't take advantage of this at this time, we can't promise another chance for some time, processing for you about to begin and rather lengthy. This will include, of course, our doctor's anal examination, through which the doctor will be displeased if she finds your anus uncleansed. Sorry to be so blunt and rude about it, but it is policy, and I promise to not watch while the shower is on."

"Can't we just have access to a facility," the man beside me said, but he got no answer other than the water turned on over our heads. It wasn't actually warm, more cool, as it drenched us both with the smell of alcohol and other hospital aromas. At first the water was orange.

"There are two more minutes before the rinse. Please expel all wastes at this time; do not hesitate. Rinse both underarms thoroughly, and ensure that the water has access to under your foreskin; I can see that both of you are uncircumcised. Please, gentlemen; if this isn't done correctly, it will need to be repeated and as time goes on, the chemicals tend to sting," advised the speaker, telling me that she'd lied about not watching.

It wasn't a pleasant thought, but I dreaded the idea of a female doctor looking up my poop shoot with something in there, so I pulled my feet apart, crouched a bit, and aimed my butt away from both the other man and door, and while sticking as close to the drain as I could, let out the first standing crap in my life. I felt some worm its way down my leg, but then felt the water dissolving it before it hit the floor like the rest of it had. Looking down, the crap had already dwindled to the size of a few kernels, a few bits of corn the last to go. She wasn't kidding, the water probably worth a week's wages. Then I thought to rinse my underarms, and turning away again, I wiggled my foreskin, sloshing some of the orange (and partially blinding) water up there. I came away with a handful of hair. Wiping away a spot on my goggles, as I looked down, I saw the hair dissolve in my hand like a magical act. I rubbed the now clear hand against my arm, and as the orange slid away, I saw myself pink. The chemicals were really something, I understood, me not wanting two of these increasingly stinging affairs, I thought.

"One minute more before rinse. I suggest a stronger showing, Mister Wilson," the speaker told the man beside me. I looked at him, and he was cowering, down on his toes, knees and waist bent as far as he could go, and about three feet tall as he sought to protect himself like a turtle, all bent over fetus-like.

"Get up, man. You need to comply, or they'll do us again. My skin feels raw already. Don't be such a shit!"

I think I heard him whimper. It struck me that my fantasy was about acting like a wimp in front of a gorgeous and assertive model. His was about being all that he could be, which wasn't much. I kicked him when it got down to thirty seconds. "Christ man, take a shit and rub the juice on, or I'll put my hand up your ass and do it for you!"

He gave me a glare, but then put his head back down between his legs.

"Hey, look. I'll turn away. No, I'll go up by the window, stand in front of it and block the view while I turn away. Nobody wants to watch you take a dump. We're going to be here all day, if you don't." I walked up to the window, and put my head up to it, knowing that it didn't block it all, but hoping to reassure the bastard as I drew attention to myself to whomever might be on the other side; not a good thing judging from all the femdom literature I'd read, but hey, it was just Gloria.

I heard him groan, and then glanced back. He was still crouched, but more like he was attempting to do something foul. I looked away, least he see me checking and get a cramp. Then, the orange shower fluid stopped, and something that smelled like a rose garden descended. That was clear, but so strongly perfumed that I thought I'd puke. I backed up to where I'd originally stood, and the other guy had stood up as well. His mask was foggy with tears; such the pussy. The perfume stopped, replaced by warm water. I looked at the floor, and his dump was still half there, water wasting it away a little, but not enough to make a difference since the orange stuff had been the ticket, and it was no longer in the pipes.

"Expose the underarms, please?" Came the command. I held my arms up and a little bit of orange fluid was instantly washed away in the rinse. Damn if I'd lost my underarm hair as well. I let one hand touch my head in back, discovering that I was bald right up to the new, high hairline and as smooth as a baby's butt down from there. My partner's underarms were still hairy. "Sorry, gentlemen. We'll need to do this once more. Please follow instructions, and allow access to all parts of your body for each stage of the shower. Any waste that still needs expelled, should be offered at this time, and as early in the process as possible. Now, let's resume," explained our driver and attendant.

The orange stuff started over, the man beside me wailing from the not inconsiderable sting. I hurt too, but I was the only grownup, it seemed. He got to dancing around, almost slipping on his own shit, but it quickly dissolving enough to allow a steadier footing on the man's second try. "Shit again, if you can, buddy, and don't forget your underarms and dick. We do this a third time, and I'm going to wash you myself!" I threatened. He tried to ignore me, but I put myself in his face and clinched a fist. That got him going, even peeing some, though the blinding orange shower made it hard to tell for sure.

When the perfume started, I was more concentrated, making sure it got everywhere, least I open up my armpit and orange stuff fall out again like it did last time. Then the rinse, and then we two pink guys were done. I dripped awhile, and then walked over to the metal bin, and hit the footswitch. It was full of dark fluid, I noticed, though draining fast, all to my surprise. I thought about my wallet first, but then as the water went down, me seeing nothing more than some belt buckles and shoe eyelets, it hit me that there was a small opening in the top side of the canister, along with a drain below, and whatever had gone into it had literally dissolved our clothing down to a few metal trinkets. A few wisps of acidic smoke lingered at the bottom of the canister, the excellent shower ventilation system reducing even that to clear.

"Peel off the triangular patch above your cocks, gentlemen, and place them on the floor. Don't bother with the clothing. We provide all new clothing for our clients."

That drew the other guy's attention, him too looking into the canister. "My things! What about my wallet?"

"Everything is provided. We have an entirely new wardrobe, and all personal effect will be issued to you; the Cray has knowledge of all necessary personal items and licenses. Please, remove the patch and remain calm; this has been considered, and I assure you that we will be more than pleased by the results, in spite of the apparent setbacks. You will have to trust my instructions before we can proceed. I'll need both of you calm and beside the drain, facing the door. Take off your protective masks and set them just in front of the drain. Please gentlemen," explained the speaker.

I'd already taken my patch off, but the other man seemed stunned until I pointed to it and he gingerly ripped it away, the slowness of it hurting more than it would have if he'd have just ripped hair. I had bigger problems than ripping a few hairs where I seemed to only be allowed to have it, other than on my head.

"Well hell. The wallets are toast. My national ID, driver's license, cash cards; pictures of six wives; what a mess. They seem to have all our records though, so maybe that's part of the new wardrobe as well. Might as well move along, in any event, buddy," I told my fellow traveler. He didn't seem the practical fellow, not looking all that convinced as I took my naked foot off the button and the bucket lid dropped.

We moved our naked butts to our places beside the drain, already half dripped dry. We tossed our protective masks by the drain. Unmasked, we both caught our own smells, that of a pair of sunburned French whores trying way too hard to smell of cheap perfume.