A Million Versions of Right (27 page)

“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? Why 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.

“Why don’t you try one on, Jack?”

“Why don’t
you
try one on, MAX?” I replied mockingly.

He simply rolled his eyes and reached for my fly. I tried to struggle out of his grip but he was determined. When he finally unzipped me, my cock flopped out like a dead body from a closet.

“Yes, see? You’re bleeding. You need this.”

He tore into the manpon wrapper with his teeth while holding my cock with his free hand. I sat there, half resigned, half turned on. I watched as he rolled it down my shaft and felt a pinch as the nub penetrated my urethra. I noticed that Max was grinning ear to ear and it pissed me off. I wanted to deny him this joy but I felt so utterly helpless that I just let him go about it. As he secured the strap around my balls he lingered, telling me he was making sure it was on tight. I assured him it was but he really wanted to be sure. When he was finally finished he stood up.

“There we go! All done! Now stand up and give me a twirl.”

I obeyed him without thought, turning around slowly with my pants at my ankles.

“It looks sterling, Jack!”

With arms outstretched, I moved in for a hug which Max warmly reciprocated.

“Thank you, Max,” I whispered before pulling him closer.

Part 4: I’m never leaving Max

I was summoned into the District by a mysterious note slid under Max’s door. I wriggled into my knee costume and waited in Peter’s Peatery as the note suggested. I hadn’t been back in months and the District seemed to be doing well. I was surprisingly pleased, which suggested that my rage had subsided.

A new ad for Manpons blared from a television. A group of men were playing soccer on a field with vigour and exuberance. The camera zoomed in fast to a handsome man who had just kicked a goal. He gave a knowing wink to the viewer, which was followed by a voiceover proclaiming
Nobody needs to know. Live life as it was intended without embarrassing stains and leakage. Try new Action Man Sanitary Tubes.

The ad ended just as Messy Phil sat down opposite. “So, you got my note then?”

“That was you, huh?” I responded, still amazed by the ad.

“You know it, sport.” He leant in close, “You know, just between you and me, I’m pretty sure you can take yer costume off now. Although I
can
understand what you’re saying now.”

“Yeah, I had the designer re-think the mouth hole. By which I mean, it actually has a mouth hole now. What do you mean I can take this thing off?” My attention was completely on Phil now.

“They want you back, Jack. Those dipshits think their cock bleeds are some kinda divine punishment for kicking you out.” He erupted in phlegm-drenched laughter.

Phil’s laughter was infectious and I joined in, “Are you kidding me? How do they figure that?”

“Remember, these are the same people who had you kicked out for something you didn’t even do. They don’t know what the fuck they’re on about.” His laughter stopped and he grew quite serious. “So, you gonna come back to us or what?”

I hadn’t even considered re-entering the District as a possibility. I was amazed to find my initial reaction was a giant no which I illustrated with a slow shake of my head.

“Whaddya mean? You gotta come back, Jack. This place ain’t the same without you.”

I glanced out the window, absorbing the serenity that had now overcome the main street. Couples were holding hands. Women were walking in and out of barber shops. Some barber shops had even converted to a unisex salon-type arrangement. Things were better than they had ever been and we had male menstruation to thank. “You know, Phil, you guys don’t need me. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t need you. I think I want to focus on other things now.”

Phil flashed a big, teeth-stained smile. “You know, you’re a bit like me in some ways.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, you are. We do our own thing. We’re not tied down by convention.”

“I used to be.”

“Nah, fuck that. I mean, yeah, you had a real hard on for this place but you weren’t one of those hair cutters. You found your own way to get involved. I respect that.”

I had to give it to Phil. He was more on the ball then any of us gave him credit for. “I’d shake your hand but this costume kinda makes it hard.”

Phil laughed again. “Well, I won’t beg ya or anything. I’m not that desperate. Just make sure you come and see us from time to time.”

“You know it, Phil. Where’s your wank fairy by the way? I thought you two were attached at the hip”

Phil went all quiet, his face growing pink. “Yeah, umm… About that… I sat on her. She’s dead.”

He looked more embarrassed than upset but I gave him a consolatory pat on the shoulder anyway. “That must have been hard for you. I’m sorry, Phil.”

“Yeah, well. It ain’t so bad. She did fucking stink and once I got the stain outta my pants…”

“I’m sure it was for the best.”

“Yeah…” Phil stared past me, lost in memory.

I stood up and began to leave. Phil snapped out of his reflection and interjected before I reached the door.

“They should be thanking you, ya know.”

I spun around. “Why’s that?”

“Well since the bleeding, everyone’s hair has become fucking remarkable. It’s thicker and more luscious than ever before.”

“It is?

“You bet it is. Anyway, you get going. Don’t be a stranger.”

I waved at Phil and walked slowly out of the Peatery. I hadn’t really thought about it since we spiked the water but I was under the impression everyone was supposed to lose their hair. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it sooner. The more I thought about it the more agitated I became. Max had some explaining to do.

* * * * *

I arrived home to find Max preparing a romantic dinner for us. I was beginning to feel PMS taking over my body again.
Had it really been a month already? More like three weeks I suppose, when you subtract the lead up and the actual period. What a jip.
Max wiped his hands on a towel before approaching me with outstretched arms.