Max was still monitoring the surveillance footage fed from the District but it wasn’t the all-consuming obsession it had been. He kept handing me reports on the progress and I wasn’t too surprised to find that the District wasn’t doing too well. Perhaps my proximity to the instigator of the male menstruation meant that I had an easier time than most.
“They all look so lost,” I said to Max while staring at the footage.
“It’s not at all surprising,” replied Max, “You’re in a rather privileged position really. You know as much as there is to know at this point. These people are caught within the grip of something they don’t understand.”
“But surely they must be starting to get the picture.”
“It isn’t as simple as that, Jack. Acclimatising to a new reality takes time. The mind is stubborn and won’t give up without a fight. Add that to the fact they haven’t been told exactly what’s happening and you have chaos.”
I kept glancing at the screens, letting Max’s words settle on me like dandruff. The District was riddled with scientists, all wearing government sanctioned pink unitards. They held electronic devices up to random surfaces and gobbled upon reading the results.
“These people deem to call themselves scientists?” scoffed Max. “There’s no methodology in their approach. They’re attacking from every angle.”
“I bet they’d at least ask permission before sliding a camera up your dick,” I mocked.
“Shush! That was a misunderstanding. I already apologised for that.”
I draped my arm over Max’s shoulders and laughed. “I’m just winding you up, ya big lug. But seriously, how did all these scientists find out about the District?”
Max rested his hand on my arse before answering. “Look at this way. You get one man in a doctor’s office complaining of penile bleeding and you write it off as a freak occurrence. You get twenty men suffering the same affliction and you have the start of an epidemic. These doctors’ did what any responsible doctor would do. They reported it.”
“So that means news gets out and the District becomes a laughing stock?”
“Not necessarily. The District seems to have attracted an increasing number of female types. It’s reaching a point where the gender population is split 50/50.”
“That doesn’t make sense. What’s attracting all the women? It’s not as if they know their menstruation will vanish.”
“No, but they know they will at least find even footing. Perhaps they’re drawn to the area without explanation.”
“Like Close Encounters of the Third Kind?”
“I’ve never heard that song,” replied Max in confusion.
“Clearly.”
“Regardless, I certainly don’t think it’s a bad thing to give the District a burst of oestrogen.”
Something within me didn’t sit too comfortably and I grew silent. Max tightened his grip on my arse and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It’s just, haven’t you removed choice here?”
“What do you mean, Jack?”
“There has to be countless women out there who view menstruation as a key aspect of their femininity. Do you have the right to take that away?”
“Jack, menstruation was INDUCED. It was never a natural component of femininity.” He removed his hand from my arse and began rubbing his thighs. “Look at it this way, Jack, if menstruation makes a woman a woman, what makes a man a man?”
“Not menstruating?”
“That seems terribly pithy to me, Jack.”
I didn’t have the energy to retort. I wasn’t the right person to hypothesise about women’s rights. The only woman I ever had much contact with was my mother and I never viewed her through gender. She was always just my mother.
* * * * *
I decided I needed to clear my head, so I went on a knee-clad trip into the District. I didn’t approach anybody and nobody approached me. I eavesdropped though. It was the best way to get relevant information. I saw a group of horrified looking barbers speaking in hushed tones. I recognised them all but was surprised to find their names escaped me. It was almost as if my mind was erasing the District and I got the impression that eventually there’d be nothing left of it inside me. The discomfort I expected to manifest from this thought never eventuated.
I still had the desire to know what they were saying. The closer I edged, the clearer it got. The muffling caused by the knee costume combined with the whispered nature of their chat didn’t provide the clarity I wanted but key words jumped out at me. One word was mentioned several times. That word was ‘manpon’. From what I could understand, a couple of barbers in the babble were prepared to ‘give it a go’, whatever that meant. I was hoping Max could elucidate.
I had now edged so close to the group that I was somehow standing on everyone’s toes, which understandably pissed them off.
“…and that’s why I don’t like knees!” proclaimed one, while pointing toward his crushed foot.
The others nodded in response, mumbling knee-related obscenities while gesturing toward their own feet. I tried to bow in apology but only succeeded in rolling forward in embarrassing slow motion. Without the benefit of my arms I couldn’t maintain any sort of balance and flailed about on the ground pathetically. The barbers left me there to flail. It took me nearly two hours to rock myself back to my feet. By that time I was covered in home-printed towel advertisements.
* * * * *
I slunk home in a pretty sore mood with thoughts of the mysterious manpon flappin’ about inside. When I say ‘home’ I’m talking about Max’s. I had come to accept his home as my own. I even cherished it somewhat. What I used to find so alien and confusing now warmed my heart comfortably. As I entered, the familiar scent of hummus and buttons lulled me. Max turned away from the wall of televisions and faced me. A smile, warm as apple pie, beamed in my direction. I couldn’t help but reciprocate, even if the knee suit meant he couldn’t actually see it. He slowly got up and helped me out of the knee. I hadn’t told him I was naked underneath and when he discovered this, a cute blush coloured his face.
“Oh, Jack,” he gasped, “you are quite a sight.”
I covered myself with a hand and blushed back. Max brushed my hand away, penetrating my reluctance.
“Please don’t, Jack. Let me see.”
My arms fell awkwardly by my side. Max crouched down, getting as close as possible without touching. I felt his warm breath on my balls and dry wretched instantly. Max quickly popped up, a little ashamed.
“Jack, I strongly feel you should go to Charlotte right this instant.”
He looked intensely serious and I felt no alternative but to obey.
“Please, Jack, don’t linger. If you stay much longer I fear I may jump you. I’m randy as a two bob fountain.”
I made for the sewer entrance, grabbing a robe on the way. I stopped short and remembered to ask Max, “What do you know about the manpon?”
“I’m sorry, Jack, I’m in no frame of mind to think right now. I’m harder than Contra. I assure you, after I’ve experienced my release I’ll get right onto that.”
* * * * *
I no longer needed a map to locate Drippings. These liaisons with Charlotte were becoming quite regular. I could sense Max’s arousal with every slimy step I took, which sped my pace. I really wanted to satisfy him. I really wanted to satisfy myself. The cast of regular sewer dwellers traipsed past me on their day to day activities but I largely ignored them. My mind was on sex, pure and simple. Charlotte was an interesting specimen. We were both well aware that our use for each other was purely physical and we accepted this. I didn’t know why Charlotte should be so eager to partake in this arrangement. My understanding of women was clearly antiquated but I did wonder if she might begin to develop emotional feelings toward me. I shook the thought away. This was a bridge I’d cross if I came to it.
* * * * *
“Those scissors in your head remind me of my first boyfriend,” said C
harlotte as she twirled her hair.
“What, he had scissors in his head?” I asked, surprised.
“NO!” she yelled with a laugh. “He just had a very sharp mind!”
She fell backward onto the moss, laughing uncontrollably, clutching at her waist. I didn’t see what was so funny. I watched as she writhed about and pictured me fucking her into submission. I approached with intent and pinned her arms to the ground. She spat playfully in my eye and set off laughing again. The saliva clogged my sockets, turning her into a watery blur. I slammed my lips against hers, preventing another spit attack. She slid her slimy tongue into my mouth and lapped at my fillings, a few of which broke off into her mouth. She swallowed with satisfaction and moved her mouth toward my ear.
“I think I’m going to fart,” she whispered before doing exactly that.
“You stinky firefly,” I said before we both started laughing.
“I’ve been eating pine.” She ran her knee over my crotch.
I tore at her vest with animalistic hands, revealing her two storey breasts.
“Fuck me like a communist dictator,” she pleaded.
I didn’t know how to go about this so I just fucked her in the normal manner. She didn’t seem bothered. Instead she moaned in F minor with a hint of vibrato. Her arsehole sucked at my finger like a dummy, trimming my nail in the process. I tried placing Max’s face over Charlotte’s as a means to acknowledge my purpose here, but the image forced a string of reflux over her chin. She flicked at the reflux with her tongue before glistening her lips with it. We climaxed at the same time, our gushes colliding and blending. Both of us flopped to our backs. Charlotte retrieved a severed finger, lit the tip and smoked it like a cigarette.
“I wonder what daddykins made of that?” she asked.
The question seemed creepy, really hammering home the situation. I decided not to dwell on it. Instead I blew a wet kiss toward the sewer roof and imagined it splashing over Max’s lips. I smiled.
Max was waiting for me when I arrived home. A goofy, post orgasmic grin plastered his face.
“You filthy vixens,” he said while rubbing his backside.
“Did you like?”
He nodded. “I’ve written you a little song, Jack.”
“I didn’t know you wrote music.”
“I don’t. This was an act of love. I felt the music blasting through me. Would you like to hear it?”
I sat down wearily. I wasn’t sure I did want to hear his song but I nodded anyway.
“Great!” he yelled with a hand clap. Then he scurried off to retrieve the necessary tools. He returned with a zither and already I was cringing. He sat down and began to play.
With you in my life I feel happy
Life with you is just great
I hope that you’ll stay by my side
Meeting you was fate
Inside I feel a burning flame
This flame it burns for you
Now I know the joy of love
Jack, you see me through
Oh Jack!
Sweet Jack!
You are the one for Max
You are the ying to my yang, dear
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do
One thing I can promise
I’ll always care for you
Loving you is flowers, baby
Loving you is joy
Loving Jack is beautiful
Jack, you are my boy
Oh Jack!
Sweet Jack!
You are the one for Max
The song ended and Max carefully put down his zither. Tears of happiness leaked from my eyes despite the mediocrity of the performance.
“What did you think, Jack?”
“It was beautiful,” I responded, feeling truly loved.
* * * * *
I had already forgotten about the manpon when Max bought it up the next day.
“So this manpon you mentioned, it strikes me as a truly productive measure.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, suddenly recalling. “So what exactly is it?”
“It’s a sanitary tube for menstruating men according to these documents,” Max said, waving a handful of papers.
“How does it work?”
“The tube itself is made from absorbent cotton and slides over the menstruating penis. A strap is secured beneath the scrotum to keep the tube in place. To top it off, a small cottony nub penetrates the urethra to control blood from the source.”
“Holy shit! Does this mean they’ve accepted male menstruation?”
“Not quite,” Max said with a smirk. “They insist on referring to it as penile bleeding but the fact the manpon even exists is a very positive sign.”
I nodded in absolute agreement, feeling strangely proud of the District. “So, where do I get one?”
“Well, it’s currently in beta testing so they aren’t yet commercially available. I think I can get you on the program though.”
“You can?”
“Just leave it with me,” said Max while tapping his nose mysteriously. A little dribble of blood crept out, suggesting he’d tapped too hard.
I instinctively lunged forward to help him but he turned away. “Don’t worry, Jack. My nose is always doing silly things like that.”
* * * * *
Max went out the next day. I could feel the symptoms that I now associated with PMS nipping at my heels. Max had the habit of leaving the house whenever PMS would rear its head and I was pretty sure this was a deliberate ploy. Clearly I was difficult to live with during these periods.
My nipples began to tingle, which was always the first sign. It was like someone had rubbed salt in them. I silently cursed this invisible person with a clenched fist. Thankfully my emotions were still relatively in check but I did have the unshakable feeling that I was bloated and fat. I pinched the perceived excess on my thighs and focused intently on my stomach, which I could swear was inflating right before my eyes. I’m hideous, I thought. Who will want a fat cow like me? I tried to move through this mindset. I imagined it as a pool and I was wading slowly, in measured strokes, trying to reach the safe end where tranquillity ruled. Instead I felt the end I was in thickening and trapping me. Where the hell is he? What kinda bastard leaves someone alone like this?
The day progressed and the anger was starting to really take hold. I drew a picture of Max on the wall with stink lines climbing off at every angle. A voice bubble floated above his head. He was saying, “I’m a big bag of smelly cocks and I taste like smelly cocks,” and it was cathartic. Boy you smell, Max! That’s what you get for leaving me alone, you know. He wasn’t listening though. He just stayed on the wall in all his poorly drawn apathy. I wanted to kick him. You don’t care about me! You piece of shit. You think you can write me a love song and then leave me alone? Think again bud! I’m not that kinda guy!
I rummaged around for a few scraps of paper with the intention of writing Max a hate song. I found a few reports on the District lying about and used the back to scrawl on. I wrote the first line: Oh, Mr snotty anus pants. I stared at this line for some time. I began to find the word ‘pants’ profoundly sad and I cried and I cried. I threw away my unfinished song, still weeping, still thinking about pants. I bemoaned the inevitable death all pants experience when they wear away. I bemoaned the pants that get ignored when they don’t fit. I felt like an ignored pair of pants and I wept for myself. I wanted someone to hug. I wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep. I wanted Max to walk through that door and suck the feeling out of me like a vampire. I stared at it. I kept staring. He didn’t come. I ran toward the door, trailing tears along the way. I pounded with my fists, screaming Max’s name. I motioned to slam my head melodramatically against the door but stopped when I remembered the scissors propped in my forehead. I fingered the scissors and my crying intensified. It wasn’t fair. Everything was unfair. Why did I have scissors wedged in my forehead? Why hadn’t Max tried to remove them? How had my life turned into this? How could I go on like this? Wh
y did I feel so dirty? I needed a shower. Why didn’t I have the energy to shower? Did Max even have a shower? Had I ever showered at Max’s? Why couldn’t I remember? I began to think about pants again. I wept with increasing intensity. I fell to my knees. The first cramps punched from within my gut. I buckled over, scrunching myself into a ball. The gut punches persisted, again and again. I remained in a ball. I continued to weep.
* * * * *
Max finally arrived home just after eleven in the morning. He shuffled toward my position on the floor. I was still balled up, surrounded by urine. I glanced up at him with bloodshot eyes.
“How could you leave me alone like this, you heartless fuck?”
“Shhh, Jack. I have something for you.”
He gently lifted my head and placed two ibuprofen tablets on my tongue. He hurried toward the sink, letting my head drop sharply. I vocalised the discomfort this caused like a wonky fire alarm. Max attempted to cover both his ears with one hand as he filled a glass with water. He offered the water to me, apologising profusely for letting my head drop. I refused to willingly take the glass so he resorted to awkwardly dribbling the water into my uncooperative mouth.
“Don’t be such a child, Jack. This will make all the hurties go away.”
I snatched the water from him and took an exaggerated mouthful. It must have been a little ambitious because I coughed and choked as the water flooded my throat. Max gently patted my back until my coughing fit stopped.
“I have something else for you.”
I just stared at him, refusing to say a word. Max retrieved a box I’d never seen before.
“What is it?” I eventually asked.
“It’s those manpons you wanted. It looks like I got back just in time too.”
He pointed toward my crotch and waved his hand across his nose, batting away phantom smells. I snatched the box from him and examined the plastic-wrapped tubes inside.
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