A Million Versions of Right (26 page)

“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 Charlotte 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.”