the man in heat
It was the density and desegregation, as well as the high turnover certain workplaces were subject to that were the main cause of the change in atmosphere. When men worked together, without women present, it was usually not a problem. When men worked together for long periods of time, they would often all end up, through natural phenomena, with coinciding cycles.
Francis wrapped his coat tighter around himself and stepped over the muddy stream flowing down the alleyway. He looked up, and then down its length, and he was glad when he didn’t see anyone. He had read that the Japanese felt emotions in their bellies, and this was how he was feeling his emotions. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to roll in dig shit. Anything to take the smell away, that ghostly vapor that fell from his body in hot, musky waves. Usually he was fine, he made it a habit of wearing strong cologne if he had to leave the house, or more often than not calling in sick. It was a rather accepted practice to do anyway, in his field of work.
It had started soon after he sat down at his desk, marking itself as a slight itch, a feeling of dampness. He had looked down to see if he had dropped a piece of his lunch in his lap and noticed the smell, a smell he pictured as dark blue, almost black, like the bottom of the ocean. He had not taken any cologne, and the manager was an old man, who worked most of his time before the desegregation, and who’s cycle had ended because of his advanced age.
After a while some of the female workers had started looking at him, speaking to each other like cats behind their paws. One woman came to his cubicle and asked him, with a glint in her eye, her lips red, her cheeks flushed, if he was okay, if he needed anything. He had desperately fought the impulse to scratch his crotch. When she left her presence lingered, like a weight on his shoulders. With an effort he shook the feeling of malaise that had settled on him and stood up, heading towards the back door, the service entrance that led out into the alleyway. Richard, the only other man in the office was there taking a cigarette break. He had been smoking more and more since he had started medicating his cycle.
“Hey Francis, how you doin’ guy?”
He smiled, trying to search Francis’s face. Most men looked down on what Richard was doing, seeing it as emasculating, of giving in or giving up what made a man a man. Many women, on the other hand, had taken to Richard and now spoke to him more freely then if he were another woman. The medication killed a man’s sex drive, and freed him from the social and physical bonds a full menstruation imposed on him. Richard no longer went into heat, and he and other men that decided to take the medication were often called “the cold sex,” sometimes even so far percieved as losing or giving up their masculinity completely and becoming a different gender.
“I’m doing alright, how are you?”
Francis, more than anything, felt sorry for the man.
“Oh, fine, you know. Enjoying a cigarette.” He laughed, and took another drag, indulgent and dramatic. “So… how are you today?”
“I’m alright. You just asked me that”
“Oh, right, right, I’m sorry…. Marlene was just telling me you looked kind of… distressed, I guess”
“I’m fine, I’m just… on my cycle…”
“And you don’t think they feel comfortable around you? You know..-”
“No, I don’t feel comfortable around them.” Francis wished he hadn’t said anything.
“Well I tell you, with this stuff, you know that new medication they’re talking about, well it’s gotten a pretty bad rap, but it’s really pretty fuckin useful, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah, sounds great, I’m glad it’s working out for you.”
“You should consider, you know, trying it”
Francis knew some men would want to hit or threaten or beat up Richard for even saying something, and he was torn. It was hard for him to accept that he was a nonthreatening person, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Yeah, it’s not.. not for me. Honestly, it seems so freightning.”
“Oh, maybe at first, but after a while… I don’t really care anymore, I mean, I’m glad, really. getting along better with the girls, at least.” He motioned with his head at the door to the office.
“Oh yeah? Getting along better with the girls?”
“That’s right. You’d never guess what they tell me now…”
Francis felt revulsion at the double meaning.
“Well, good for you, good for you.”
“Yeah… my mother told me treat a lady how I want to be treated and she’ll treat me right. That’s easy now.”
“Uh-huh”
“So… What are you doing?”
“Oh, nothing, just taking a break.”
“Mmm-hmm.. “ Richard took another drag of his cigarette. “Most men wouldn’t agree, I know, but I think of them as blind. They’re not looking at the bigger picture. Shit, I can work hard, my mind is always where I want it to be… I’m getting along better with the boss better than I ever have. He sees me as a real confidant now. I’m on his team now, you know?”
“Is that right?
“Right as rain. You know what he said to me the other day? He said if I ever need help with anything, just ask him. Just ask him! I aint trying to brag, but it feels good, that kind of job security.”
“Yeah.”
They were both quiet for a moment.
“Hey,” said Francis, “Do you have any cologne?”
“No.” said Richard.
Francis left the alleyway and started down the sidewalk. He decided the best thing to do was get away from the prying eyes and minds of women and eunuchs. He had met some understanding women, but they were few and far between. He walked to the corner store and see what they had in terms of masculine hygeine. Looking through the windows of the store, he noticed that both the pharmacist and cashier were both women. He bit his bottom lip and went in, circling around the outskirts of the store, walking slowly. He spent too long at the milk, and another woman who was shopping gave him an estranged, pitying yet also prudent expression when she stopped to look as well. His hands fell in to his pockets and his shoulder slumped. He sagged in his shoes and walked down the aisle marked “TOILETRIES, INCONTINENCE, MASCULINE CARE, SHAVING.” He had always hated how this aisle was set up, forcing the mind to draw crude lines, and he was suddenly disgusted by his own body, a wave of revulsion from his toes, groin, chest, upwards to his eyes. He could smell the inside of his nose, a soft cheesy smell, both so similar and dissimilar to the sharp blood and wet flesh scent of his cycle.
He walked to the section marked “Hygiene” and perused his choices. One box showed an outline of a man lifting weights, giant black sweat drops forming and falling from his brow. It was meant to be applied directly to the groin area. Another was a party/club scene, men and women dancing. It said “for all night coverup: no one will notice, NOT even YOU after just one vigorous dance.” It was a solid stick, made to be applied “to any area below the belt, particularly the thighs.” It was called “CLUB SWEAT.” Francis pulled the top off, smelled it, and reeled back, wrinkling his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose and mouth, ears almost twitching and head swimming in between sharp pangs that seemed to penetrate deep inside his brain. It was like inhaling bleach or some other chemical cleansers.
Francis left the store with the CLUB SWEAT in a small black opaque plastic bag.. He continued walking down the street, finally making up his mind to cut his losses and go home. He walked to the bus stop.
A homeless man was also at the bus stop. He smelled like he had shit his pants. Francis offered the man the solid stick he had just bought. The man smiled and waved his hand no.
When Francis got home, he called the office to say that there had been an emergency in his family, and that he wouldn’t be in for a few days. No one would say anything, although they might look at each other, or maybe wrinkle their noses in a private gesture of thoughtlessness when they walked by his cubicle.
He sat on the edge of his bath and ran the hot water. He got in when it was halfway full, and when he felt relaxed enough he started playing with himself, touching lightly his nipples, first one and then the other and then both, then stroking the folds of his thighs, the ticklish skin around his anus, the soft tip of his penis. His red blood tinted the bath water pink, matching his hot, sensitive skin.
As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror toweling himself he heard the phone ring over in the next room. He wrapped the towel around his chest and hips, walked to the phone and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hello? Francis?”
“Yeah? Who is this?”
“This is Molly!”
“Oh… hey, what’s up?”
“Is this not a good time?”
“Um…”
“Well I was just wondering what you were doing tonight, if you were busy, you know, if you needed anything…. I mean, you know, any help with anything or whatever”
Molly was not a very subtle person. Francis bit his lip, thinking hard. His body told him things he knew already.
“Well no I don’t think I need anything. Thanks for offering,” said Francis.
“Oh, O.K… That’s fine” said Molly.
“Okay.”
“Have a good night, I guess…”
“Molly”
“Yes?”
Francis sat down on the coach. “Are you alright?” he said.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m good. Was just thinking about you, I guess. Haha. Remembering when we used to work together…”
“Molly…”
“Yeah? What?”
“Why don’t you come over?”
“Okay…”
Francis sat on the foot of his bed, waiting for Molly. He sat with his legs crossed, his arms crossed on top of them, cradling his belly. When he heard a knock, and then the door bell, he stood up and wiped his eyes and went to answer the door.