[ WP ] You are the last man on earth . The world is dominated by women .

( Possibly NSFW. To be honest, I have no idea how /r/WritingPrompts *can* be NSFW, since it's word based, but whatever. ) 
 
 Why did it have to be me? That's the question I ask myself everyday, as I wake up to the machine, constantly harvesting my sperm to be distributed across the world. Okay, let's backtrack a second, why am I hooked up to the machine? I can answer that in two words, but even that wo n't be enough. About three years ago, when I was sixteen, aliens arrived at our humble planet. They were n't the bug-eyed, `` Take me to your leader.'' aliens, nor were they silver skinned, flying saucer aliens either. To be exact, they looked like, well, *us*. They announced, or at least, caused everyone to know, that in exactly twelve hours, they would begin the extermination of our race. In those twelve hours, more declarations of love were said than in the past year, the prices of goods and services dropped to almost nothing, and wedding bells ringed like birds. It seemed like everyone around me was either hooking up with each other, getting married, or otherwise engaged in one final act of crazed, fear filled love. 
 
 Except me. 
 
 I remained a virgin. Guess I'll die as one too. As soon as the twelfth hour tolled, the attack began. There were no lasers, no mechanical terrors, no saucers, just death. In that moment, every man, child and pregnant woman died. Except me. The virgin. Now, most would think that the world would become some sort of harem for the survivor, a sex-crazed orgy of unprecedented proportions. It was anything but. For the first two years, I lived a semi-normal life, many of the women that had survived in my town were lesbians and payed me no attention, and even after the Manpocalypse, as it was being called, I was never handsome or cute, or *anything* enough for the few straight women that still survived. I lived this way for two years. Then the government found me. 
 
 Apparently, word had leaked a week before that there was still a living human male in my town had leaked through Twitter, then proceeded to go viral, fitting it's way into every Starbucks ( Hunt for the Last Man on Earth ), News stations ( The Last Man Standing; Fact, or Fiction? ) and then finally to the Head Honcho herself. I have never felt more fear in my life. Women patrolled the street, using dowsing rods, matching up the photo to the streets of the town, releasing bloodhounds to find my scent, even asking the local women if they had seen me. Finally, the government landed a huge-ass helicopter in the middle of my house, no kidding. They grabbed me and carted me off, bound and drugged to the supreme court, who would decide my fate. I watched, unable to make a word to defend myself as I was cut open and had tubes and whats-its and whose-its stuck into my body to prevent any need to feed me, water me, bathe me, then waited, as the drugs slowly wore off, and I suddenly felt all the pain that had been inflicted upon me return in an instant. My body would have writhed and contorted in some sort of sick, disgusting, orchestra of limb and lung if it were not for the titanium nails that were pounded into my arms legs and hands into what seemed to be a crude mockery of Jesus on his cross, and as the pain subsided, the movement began, a soft, up and down movement along the shaft of my penis, and my torment began, an endless cycle of ejaculation that never seems to satisfy whatever sick, perverse women are put in charge of monitoring the system, if there were any to begin. 
 
 **Happy Ending, if you feel that our hero dying alone in a dark, wet, unsanitary room is a little sad. ** 
 
 But this time, it is different. There is no machine, no ejaculation, no tubes in my stomach, pumping drugs into my bloodstream. I look up, and standing in front of me is a girl, roughly my age. I feel as if I've known her from somewhere, but my mind is blank, empty. With the removal of the presence that I have reviled for so long, wished for our mutual destruction, some sort of escape from the constant torment, inflicted upon me by a face that I can barely remember, I feel not free, but empty. She holds a metal bar with a crescent on it's end, perhaps some sort of new torture designed to pull more fluid. I would n't be surprised. She walks up to me, speaking in a language that sounds familiar, but at the same time, distant and empty. I shake my head, trying to convey the fact that I have no idea what she is saying, but she runs up to me and begins talking again, fast, rapidly, and high pitched. When I try to open my mouth to attempt to talk back, all that comes out is a dry, exhausted croak, a final admittance of defeat, and I slump forward, my world spinning into blackness. 
 
 When I woke up, the girl was there. I still did not remember her name, but she sat next to me, softly running her hand through my hair that has grown to lengths beyond measure as she whispered softly into my ear two words; `` Rachel. Jacob. Rachel. Jacob. Rachel. Jacob.'' 
 
 Even I, in this disgusting state, realized that there must be some significance to what she is saying, and tried to copy her, ``'' Hrashel. Jackeb,'' I said, my voice cracking, `` Hrayshal. Jeycob.'' 
 
 I spent the next year living in that tent, as Rachel ( That's her name apparently ) taught me, who is named `` Jacob'' how to talk again, how to do things like math, and science. Rachel and the other women that are here in the camp are part of an organization that formed out of the girls from my high school ( apparently that's a place where things like math, science, and speaking are taught ) that have been trying to free all the males that have been locked up by the government since their birth, and me, for the past two years.I still have no idea what this all means, but I do know one thing. 
 
 Wherever this is, whatever their goals, as long as I do n't have to return; I'm happy.
