So when he overhears a conversation in a club about a series of tapes called ‘The Sissy Hypno Tapes’, he’s intrigued. Apparently very few men can listen to all of them without losing touch with their manhood. Kent downloads the tapes as soon as he’s home, ready to prove that he’s more of a man than all of the poor souls who lost themselves because of some silly recordings.
CHAPTER I
Kent was a man and he was very proud of that fact. He went running almost every morning, worked almost every day, and he always spent his Friday nights in bars, picking up women. Usually he was successful with his pickup attempts, but sometimes he ended up with cold drinks being splashed on his face. “Toxic masculinity,” was the term the angry women used—or sometimes they would call him a ‘misogynist’. Kent liked both—he liked to be reminded that he was a manly man. And he was sure that his manliness was indestructible.
Though he was missing a few manly features. Women were always telling him that he had the best eyelashes. “I would kill to have eyelashes like yours,” they would say—a sentence Kent squirmed at the mere thought of. Also, one time a guy slapped Kent on the ass in a bar, thinking he was a woman from behind. Kent ended up beating the man up—and smashing a chair on the man’s back—before being kicked out and banned from the bar. But unfortunately, Kent did have a slender build, and he wasn’t quite as tall as his friends.
Kent was a busy guy. He didn’t have time to go pump iron at the gym. He worked ten hours each day, sometimes more, and then he still had to make time for his morning runs and his bar hopping and the other hobbies that probably deserved more time than they got. He never understood how men could spend hours in the gym every day. Where did they find the time?
Kent was out with his friend, Andrew, when he saw a beautiful blonde standing at the street corner, waiting for the light to change. Andrew saw her at the same moment, and both men were stopped in their tracks. She looked familiar, though Kent couldn’t figure out why. She had long, smooth legs, which looked even longer thanks to her tiny skirt and tall heels. She wore a white crop top that would have been translucent under the right light—and Kent was praying for that light now. Her lips were plump but light, like a nice slab of Angel food cake, and her eyes were big like they belonged on some anime character. “Look at that,” Andrew said after a moment of complete silence.
“Look at that,” Kent replied.
“Think I’ll ever meet a girl like that?” Andrew asked as he scratched the hairs on his chin. Andrew was recently divorced and back on the hunt for a new partner. He’d asked Kent the same question about a dozen times over the past week, but never because of a girl like the blonde standing in front of them now.
“No,” Kent said bluntly. “Not unless you go meet this one right now.”
He looked over at Andrew and saw that his face was turning a dark shade of red. His body looked tense and uncomfortable, as if the mere suggestion of approaching the beauty was unheard of. “W—What?” Andrew said, stuttering like a terrified teenager.
“Go talk to her. I don’t see any rings on her fingers.”
“I’m probably not her type.”
“How could you know?” Kent said with a big smirk. He liked watching his friend squirm. He liked feeling like the cool one, the calm one, the one that didn’t become red at the sight of a beautiful woman. Kent knew women—he knew how to talk to them and he knew how to seduce them, and they were all the same: beautiful or not. This blonde may have been particularly beautiful, but she was still just a woman, still just an easy target. “Just go and say hi. If she rejects you, who cares?”
Andrew looked over at Kent. His face was dark red now. “Why don’t you go talk to her if you think you’re such a big man,” he said.
Kent was tempted to freeze up, but he fought back the urge. He had to stay loose and cool. He wanted to impress his friend and prove how macho he could be, even though Andrew already knew how macho Kent could be. Andrew had been there numerous times when Kent successfully wooed women at the bars. Kent had felt the hand of Andrew patting his back many times, and this time would be no different.
“Fine,” Kent said, straightening his back and puffing out his chest like a gorilla ready to find his mate. He took a deep breath and then started towards the stunning blonde. He took two steps and then a bus cruised by—and on that bus was a picture of the blonde, posing with almost nothing on her body. She was a model for a big perfume brand—that’s how Kent and Andrew knew her. A cold tingle crawled up Kent’s spine. Maybe this girl wouldn’t be quite as easy as the girls Kent normally hit on at the bars. Maybe this girl was different.
Kent bit his tongue and powered on. He couldn’t let anxiety take over. He was a man and he had to prove it—even though a TV commercial was now on repeat in his mind: the one where the beautiful blonde sprays the perfume on her mostly naked body as an incredibly well-built stud walks up behind her and kisses her on the neck. Kent was a good-looking guy, but he didn’t look quite like the man in that ad. And now, Kent was wondering if the beautiful blonde and that man fucked after that commercial shoot. She could easily get a man like that—the TV studios apparently seemed to think so. But that was all fake. The actor in that ad was probably a homosexual and not at all interested in the blonde. And all of those muscles weren’t built from working on the farm—they were from tedious hours in the gym. Muscles should be built through work, not through the gym; that’s what Kent thought, anyway.
Kent stepped up next to the beauty and brushed against her body. He was going to use one of his oldest and truest techniques to start a conversation: leading in with an apology and a smile. But his plan quickly fell apart as soon as the blonde said, in her thick Swedish accent, “Oh, excuse me, miss.” Kent’s heart skipped a beat and then he could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks. Did she just say miss? Did she think that Kent was a woman?
Kent looked into the woman’s eyes and then he watched as she pressed her fingers against her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry. I mean sir. Sorry about that.”
“I—I’m not a miss,” Kent said, though he wasn’t sure why he said it. He felt so stupid for letting those words slip off of his tongue. An awkward tingle rang through his whole body and then the light turned green. The woman started walking away, leaving Kent on the street corner with one of the worst feelings ever lingering in his gut.
And then he felt Andrew’s hand pat him on the back, this time out of pity. “Did I hear you tell that woman that you weren’t a woman?” he asked with a big grin in his voice.
“Screw you,” Kent said, his voice suddenly shaken. He’d been rejected before, many times, but he didn’t mind rejection. This wasn’t rejection. This was something so much more worse than rejection. Kent suddenly felt so small and weak.
Andrew laughed. “A little bit insecure about our masculinity, are we?”
Kent spun around and grabbed Andrew by his shirt collar. He pulled him in tight and took a deep breath. “Watch your fucking mouth,” Kent said through tightly clenched teeth. Andrew’s face was suddenly white.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Damn right you are,” said Kent as he let go. “I need a beer. Let’s get a beer.” Kent looked around until he spotted the closest pub. And then he started towards it without waiting for Andrew to agree. Andrew followed closely behind like a little dog with terrible separation anxiety.
CHAPTER II
Andrew had his pity face on, and it wouldn’t go away. Kent kept trying to talk about other things, but that damned face just wouldn’t go away. “Can you wipe that depressing look off of your stupid face please?” Kent finally said after trying to talk about the football that was playing on the big screen across the bar.
“What face?” Andrew said.
“You know what face,” said Kent. “So she mistook me as a woman—she didn’t even look at me. She only saw me very briefly from behind. Get over it.”
“Whatever face you think you’re seeing is in your head. I think you just need to get
over it. I was confused for a woman just the other day—that’s why I went and got this haircut,” Andrew said casually, as if being confused for a woman wasn’t that big of a deal. But it was a big deal—it was a huge deal, even if it was just because of a quick glimpse of the back of Kent’s head. What about the hundreds of people who drove past Kent every morning when he was out for his runs? Did they see him from behind and think he was a woman? Had any of them ever checked out his ass, thinking it was a woman’s ass? And when he walked to work—the men walking behind him—were they ever staring at his rear-end, thinking they were staring at a cute girl’s tush? “I don’t look like a woman,” Kent said.
“Of course you don’t. You just have a small frame. Lots of people have small frames—men and women. I mean, mostly women, but it’s not like it’s a feminine trait or anything. Women have long hair but some men have long hair too.”
Kent wanted to throw a punch over the table. He couldn’t tell if Andrew was picking on him or if he was just being his usual idiot self… Probably the latter, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. “I don’t have long hair,” said Kent.
“No, I know,” Andrew said.
“So what are you saying?”
Andrew sighed. “I’m saying you need to get over it. Be a little bit more secure about your masculinity. Don’t worry about what other people think.”
Kent bit down on his tongue—almost hard enough to draw blood. “I’m more secure about my masculinity than anyone you know. That’s what makes this so annoying. I’ve slept with nearly one hundred girls in my life—maybe more than a hundred. And lots of them were hotter than that blonde.” Kent was stretching the truth, but it was for a good cause. He’d slept with nearly one hundred girls, but he knew none of them were super-model-tier like the blonde on that street corner.
“I know,” said Andrew, nodding his head as he took a long sip from his beer. “So just laugh it off. It happens. Maybe she didn’t have her glasses on or something. Or, like you said, maybe she didn’t even look at you. Maybe she just says ‘miss’ to everyone.” And that urge to punch Andrew in the face came back and had to be repressed again.
“Maybe we should go out to a bar tonight, and I’ll show you how to pick up a beautiful woman—a hotter woman than that blonde chick,” Kent said, taking a long sip from his own beer, wishing it was twice as strong and twice as fast to enter into his bloodstream.
“Sure. Sounds good,” said Andrew with that voice full of pity. Kent tried to ignore it. He looked back up at the football game and tried to change the subject again.
They went their separate ways after their beer. Kent had to shower and shave and make sure he looked his best if he was going to prove to his friend that he could get any girl he wanted—and if he was going to prove that he was a manly man and not some pathetic sissy.
The plan was to meet up at Roxy at 10:00 PM. It was Friday night, which was the best night for picking up young, pretty girls. In his best clothes, Kent took a cab down to the busy bar and got himself into the line-up a few minutes early. He knew from years of experience that the lines got out of control after 10:00 PM, and he knew exactly how quickly a cab could get him from his house to the popular bar. And he got himself a good spot in line. A few minutes after he arrived, the line-up was already around the block.
Andrew was running late, which wasn’t unusual. Kent didn’t mind. He liked being alone at the bars. He always assumed he was more approachable when he was by himself.
And normally, Kent would have used that lonely time to check out the night’s selection of girls. Standing in line was always a good opportunity to make eye-contact with a few different girls, to get on their radars so that making a move would be easier later on. One time Kent even took a girl home before he got to the front of the line—it was easy to do when it was cold out. Girls, dressed in their skimpiest little outfits, are usually quick to hop on the opportunity to go someplace warm, even if that place is a man’s apartment. And the girls in bar line-ups at 10:00 PM are usually already a little bit drunk from pre-drinking with their friends.
But now, Kent was too afraid to look around. He was worried he would look back and see girls pointing and laughing at him because of his apparently feminine figure. He was afraid he would show his face and people would realize he was a man, and then they would all start laughing. So he kept his gaze down while his heart pounded. Why couldn’t he get over that blonde’s stupid little blunder? Why was he so hung up on the fact she called him ‘miss’? He knew he didn’t look like a miss. He’d picked up nearly one hundred girls in just a few years. Surely they weren’t all sleeping with him because they pitied him, or because they had lesbian fantasies that they were too afraid to act on. Girls liked Kent because he was unapologetically manly.
Twenty minutes went by and Andrew still was nowhere to be seen. Kent reached the front of the line. “By yourself?” the bouncer asked.
And Kent felt awkward when he said, “Just me.” The bouncer gave him a sad look and then he let him into the bar. But Kent knew he would rebound. He would shake off the pity, and soon, people would be looking at him with envy.
He went straight to the crowded bar. He knew he would have to fight his way to the bartender if he was going to get a drink, and that meant bumping into a few people. But what if he bumped into them and they called him ‘miss’? What if some guy decided to cop a feel of his ass while he was leaning over the bar? Kent moved up and down the long bar, trying to find an opening, hoping he wouldn’t have to fight for a spot—but there were no openings. He kept trying for nearly fifteen minutes before giving up.
And now, he felt vulnerable. No matter what direction he was facing, his back was facing a crowd. And would that crowd think he was a woman? Slowly, he migrated towards the corner of the bar, so he could ensure that his back was only facing a wall, so no one would mistake him for a female. It took a few minutes to make it to the corner, trying not to bump into anyone, and trying not to make eye contact with anyone who might be snickering at his apparently unfortunate figure.
His heart was pounding. He’d never been like this before: so vulnerable and self-conscious. He wished it would go away. He wished he could be his normal self. He would never pick up a girl with this lousy state of mind.
He found himself standing with all of the rejects: the guys who were too afraid to talk to girls and too afraid to fight their way to the bar. Kent could feel their negative energy radiating off of their slouched and quiet bodies. There were fifteen of them, but none of them spoke a word. None of them made eye contact. They all had their designated spots on the floor to stare at, and that’s where their gazes stayed. Why were they even at the bar? Were they there with friends? Were they hoping girls would approach them and fire up conversations?
Kent pulled out his phone and sent Andrew a text message. “Where the hell are you?” he asked. Then he stood with those beta males for the next fifteen minutes while he waited for a reply. The music in the bar seemed louder than usual. The girls seemed prettier—intimidatingly pretty. The men seemed more handsome—far more handsome than Kent, so how could Kent have any chance at all?
He knew it was all in his head. He knew the crowd was the same and the music was just set to its pre-programmed level. He knew he needed to just slap himself on the face and snap out from his funk, but he just couldn’t do it. That blonde Swedish model ruined his ego. Now he was just praying that the damage wasn’t permanent.
He couldn’t linger with those beta males for too long. He knew their terrible energy would soon seep into his bones and ruin him for good. So he started to move, around the bar, hoping to find some spark of inspiration—maybe he would make eye-contact with a pretty girl and she would smile and that would be the end of this terrible phase. That’s all he needed: one little smile from a pretty girl.
He forced his gaze up, off of the floor. Whenever a girl looked his way, he dated his gaze away, and then he forced his gaze back. He managed to make eye contact with a fe
w girls, but he couldn’t manage to smile, so he got nothing in return. So far, his plight was a bust. But he kept trying.
He made his way back towards the bar. He scanned the crowd and his gaze met with a young blonde who happened to look a little bit like the blonde on the street corner. She gave Kent a nice little smile, and then Kent looked away quickly, his heart pounding. What if that smile wasn’t sincere? What if she was actually smiling while trying not to laugh at his small stature? Kent’s head was suddenly spinning. He was starting to hate himself and his body. Maybe he needed to start spending hours a day in the gym. Maybe he could cut down his hours at work and maybe he could stop going for runs. Surely no one would mistake him for a girl if he had big, thick tree trunk arms, and abs that pushed through whatever tight shirt he wore.
It wasn’t long before Kent found himself back in the corner of the bar, in the safe comfort of the men who couldn’t look up from the ground. At least they weren’t looking at him and judging him. At least he could understand how they felt.
And then Kent spotted two guys who seemed happy and confident. They were chatting with each other and laughing. One of the men had a body that wasn’t too different from Kent’s body: short and thin. But he didn’t seem to be having any self-confidence issues. So Kent cautiously approached the duo, hoping to get a taste of their energy so that he could pull himself out from his funk.
They were talking about football and manly things. Then the smaller man started talking about his job cutting down trees outside of town. “My brother finally dropped out of college,” said the larger of the two men. “He’s finally going to get a job working with his hands like a real man.” Kent kept his distance, but made sure he was close enough to overhear the macho conversation. It was nice, basking in a bit of manliness, refreshing his brain on what it meant to be a man.
“So your brother is over that phase, huh?” said the smaller man.
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