World Without Men

For thirty years now the world had been without any births of male children. Females proliferated. The Y chromosome had become obsolete.

Karen and Sylvia had been partners for eighteen years and were reasonably happy together. But about once a month Sylvia, with Karen's somewhat reluctant agreement, went to stay with one of the older remaining men. Adam Wainwright, who had just turned fifty-five.

Men even old men were now at a premium, with about one man to every seventy women. Never had they had it so good. Even young women had to make appointments way in advance to spend a night with an older man. Some men auctioned themselves to the highest bidder while others advertised blatantly for female slaves. Men were slowly dying out, soon to become as obsolete as the dinosaur, the brontosaurus or the dodo.

Sylvia was hoping to become pregnant by Adam. Already, she had three daughters, one by a former fiancé, Graham Holman, one by IVF, and one by Freddie Saunders, who had died a few months ago at the age of sixty-seven - of exhaustion!

Like millions of other men, Freddie had been compelled to donate to the International Sperm Bank, as administered by the United Nations, from the time he was forty-five. At first Freddie was a conscientious objector, arguing that the Femocrats were invading his fundamental human rights. He told the tribunal of seven women, 'I'm quite happy to impregnate each one of you, individually - but only in the old-fashioned way.' But when the tribunal threatened him with imprisonment and consequent isolation from all women, he readily gave way and agreed to make regular sperm contributions, despite his age. Freddie continued his relations with several women friends until his untimely death.

Karen Ackerman recalled vividly how the situation of no more males came to be, way back in 2008, when she was only ten years old. It was difficult to explain, the newsreaders said at the time. But somehow there would be no more men. Scientists had known for years that the male chromosome was declining and that an increasing number of men were becoming infertile. A recent nuclear fallout had somehow accelerated the process and meant there would be no more Y-chromosomes producible from that day onwards, every child born would be female. A world without men!

Karen smiled to herself as she made her way home to the flat she and Sylvia England had bought jointly in suburban Oak Park; she was delighted that the Amazons were finally taking over. She herself had never wanted a man, she reflected as she fitted the key into the lock of the front door. After all she had been living in a world without men ever since her mother had put her on guard against them. A brutal father and an abusive older brother had shattered her childhood. But she was more than willing to take on the shared responsibility of Sylvia's three children.

Karen put down the shopping she had just purchased on the kitchen table and recalled how she was to have been chief bridesmaid at Sylvia's marriage to Graham Holman. Already there had been several fittings for the wedding dress and it was only three weeks to the big day. Sylvia had been radiant. She was also three months pregnant.

The rain was pouring down the afternoon Graham arrived three hours late to see Sylvia. He was more than slightly drunk. He asked Karen to wait outside while he spoke to Sylvia privately in the living-room of her parents' home. Karen sat out in the hallway but the door was not properly closed and she heard every word of the altercation going on inside. Graham was utterly heartless, telling Sylvia outright that he no longer wanted to go on with the wedding.

'I know I should have done it earlier ... I want to break the engagement ... Well the thing is, I want my freedom.'

Sylvia was stunned. She could hardly speak, the words choking in her throat. She moved to the window and stared out into the rain-soaked garden. 'But Graham, all the invitations have been sent out, the catering's all arranged ... you can't just walk out on me.'

To make matters worse Graham then admitted to Sylvia that he had been two-timing her, that he had been seeing another girl, Rachel Collins. 'Look, none of the other blokes at the office are into one-woman relationships and very few people are getting married these days,' Graham said clearing his throat. 'Men are no longer interested. There's about a dozen girls for every guy, now. So, why settle for only one! Why not have a bit of fun?'

'Fun!' Sylvia cried. This bald admission completely staggered her. 'Fun? But don't I mean anything to you?' She had been so trusting. And now she had been jilted, lost her fiancé not just to another girl but to as many women as he could find.

'What's wrong with a little fun?' Graham spoke defensively in a tight voice as he made his way to the front door. 'You're too damned strait-laced, Sylvia. That's your problem.'

She's going to be ill - have a breakdown or something if she continues like this, Karen thought as Sylvia sobbed in her arms later that night. It was dreadful to witness her friend's suffering. In the months that followed Karen had comforted Sylvia, often spending the night with her, picking up the pieces, and stood by her when her first child was born, a girl of course.

Karen's soft-brown eyes and elfin features were not difficult to read. She was fully aware that every man now thought of himself as an Adonis. And that women were regarded only for their transient value as diversions.

'You don't realise it now, Sylvia, but Graham Holman isn't worth a moment's thought. But all Sylvia could do was to lie face downwards on her bed, her shoulders heaving with silent sobs. 'I know it's awful of me, Karen, but I don't want to live,'

A few days later Karen tried to explain. 'When a man had to compete with other men for a woman, this made him possessive, made him think of marriage, but now there's a surplus of women this possessiveness evaporates. Sylvia had seated herself at the dressing-table in front of the mirror, staring morosely at her reflection. Smoke-blue eyes. Shoulder-length hair. She picked up a silver-backed brush.

Karen came and stood behind her. 'Here let me do that ...'

Karen took up a handful of Sylvia's long blonde hair and began long sweeping strokes. Then she massaged her friend's scalp with her fingers, her thumbs curving down stroking the back of her neck. She rubbed so rhythmically that Sylvia slid slowly down into a wonderful feeling of relaxation.

Sylvia told Karen that the comb in her hair felt like a tenderness given, she thought privately to herself it was like being kissed. How starved I must be, she thought as the other girl gently stroked her hair. Her hair tumbling down like silk.

Karen spoke calmly, unemphaticlly, talked in a low tone as she combed. 'Men always seem more immature than women, I think. They are childlike, you could say. If they weren't, they wouldn't be so aggressive, would never go to war, would they?'.

The rhythmical combing went on, becoming more gentle, more slow. Karen's voice was lower, closer to Sylvia's ear, a little uncertain. 'Sylvia, you are very beautiful'. Sylvia's eyelids began to close. In spite of herself Karen stirred her. The disturbing nearness of her body.

And then Karen's hands were under her arms, helping her to her feet, guiding her to the bed. Sylvia fell back, on the bedspread. The light went out ... Karen slid down beside her. She felt her own body stiffen but felt no fear or aversion. She waited ... lying relaxed now ... wanting to know what would follow ... to learn who and what she was.

'I love you, more than any man could,' Karen was saying, burying her face into her shoulder. 'You know that, Sylvia.' The kiss planted on her lips, to which she had tried to respond, but at first could not. Then her whole body surrendered to the other woman. Sylvia had enjoyed the act; could not deny it.

Was she then like Sappho? Sylvia recalled her mother saying that to most people such a relationship was unnatural and unclean. But Sylvia had not felt this. She reflected that millions of women throughout the world were now having to come to terms with the idea of a female lover. Yet, try as she would, some instinct, as old as time told her, she could not see the relationship developing.

The following morning Sylvia said, 'I must go out and be by myself for a time.'

'Is this ... because of what happened last night?' Karen asked in a choked voice.

Sylvia struggled for words, she had to speak the truth, she did not want to hurt her friend. At last she said, 'In a way ... that was a symptom of what I'm suffering from, it's frustration, I suppose.. I ... I don't think I'm really that kind of woman.'

'All women are that kind of woman, if they are lonely enough, long enough,' said Karen. 'You only have to look at the prison-system. Women separated from men often turn to other women for comfort.'

'You said you loved me, Karen. I love you, too, but not in the same intense way you do, and I don't see how I ever will. I mean, I know still want and will need a man one day. It won't make any difference to the way I love you ... I'm frustrated, Karen but I've got to get out, and ... be what I ought to be. And I want to be able to define what I really feel.'

It was the second shared sexual act of Sylvia's life, and it ought to be important, but it wasn't, she felt. There was no place for here for the expansion of love - only the satisfaction of needs of the moment, when her body would demand it and it would take place.

'Men are so - such bullies', Karen was saying. They think everything belongs to them, including us, just because they're men. None of them are any good,' said Karen. Sylvia had heard all this before. Often she felt she was being preached at. That Karen was coming on far too strong. 'One woman wasn't enough for Graham Holman - or for any man for that matter, it would seem,' Karen went on. 'A man who is promiscuous is not a true lover. He is too centred upon himself. Whereas a one-to-one relationship offers security.'

In some ways Sylvia believed the relationship between herself and Karen was a very suitable match, and clearly Karen loved her. But whether I love Karen with the same single-minded determination is another matter. I also want to try to define what I really feel. But men were becoming so scarce. Maybe, she mused fancifully, I might in the end have to go out and buy me a man in the street.

She thought of Coral Fellowes, a neighbour, who had recently met up with a man, standing under a lamp-post in Pascoe Vale Road and how Coral had gone with him to his room for an hour. Sylvia reflected that throughout the world millions of women had to adjust to the idea of a female lover. The only other option was to cry all alone in a cold bed, withering in celibate solitude.

By the end of October Sylvia's first child was born. Karen was present at the birth and they named the baby Zoe. But twelve months later Sylvia was wanting another child. Karen managed to persuade her to have Lucy by IVF. But then two years after Lucy's birth Sylvia told Karen she was having an affair with Freddie Saunders. Another daughter, Freda was the result.

Sylvia had realised that for some time now she was suffering from a nameless yearning, a longing to share, to give - what? The nights she spent in Karen's arms had not abated it, or told her what it really was, only what it was not. She felt lost, drained ... missed the presence of a man. The urgent thrust of a man's body into her own.

And now she was thinking of Adam Wainwright. She had spent the previous afternoon with him at his flat in Essendon. She had met Adam at a Parent/Teacher meeting when she was enrolling Zoe into the local primary school. Adam was one of only two male teachers in the school. There had been an instant rapport between them and a few weeks later they were dating. Sylvia was amazed to feel excitement throb in her body again. Karen had not aroused her to this extent. No use pretending. Sylvia desired Adam as he desired her. The movement of her body against his. What I needed most was a man, she thought, just to remind me I was real. To cope with stress by sexual release. She was on the verge of knowing her womanhood fully, she thought.

Adam was finely made like a steel spring with a gaunt angular face beneath a receding hairline. But it wasn't long before Sylvia realised that Adam was taking over the role she herself tended to play with Karen. He won't fully give himself to me, she thought, just as I couldn't wholly give myself to another woman. There's nothing but the brittle cord of passion to bind us. His only interest in me is the pleasure my body can afford him. She felt the pain of tears behind her eyes.

And now as time went on and the supply of men was diminishing, women were finding themselves more and more in positions of power, taking over everything - banks, industry, commerce, insurance, teaching, government. And in the Middle East women were at last coming into their own, coming out of purdah, and for the first time challenging male supremacy.. Australia had its first female Prime Minister and government departments were dominated by women, but parliamentary debates seemed to go on three times as long while women argued for more social and economic justice for disadvantaged minority groups.

With regard to personal relationships women found they could no longer indulge the classic female games of playing hard to get, or pretending she was going to satisfy a man without intending to go through with it. Female modesty was a thing of the past. Now it was the woman who initiated sex. Women competed, often violently, to be serviced by the increasingly fewer remaining men. Frequently, at night, packs of prowling women would stalk the streets looking for solitary men to prey upon. Men were now the victims of sexual predators.

Like Karen, Sylvia was keen to follow the latest scientific research. For thirty years scientists had been attempting to clone males from bone marrow but with no success. Many women, however, were opposed to these experiments, arguing that the recreation and repopulation of the world with males would only lead to the return of violence against women and the recurrence of war. Sylvia reflected that there had been no major war for about twenty years, ever since the United States and Australia had been humiliatingly defeated in the Middle East.

Ten years ago the alqaida movement had set fire to the Kuwaiti oil fields in a massive conflagration. The US and Australia had been compelled to withdraw all their troops. It was Vietnam all over again.

But a few years later it was being announced that Australia and the US were again sending troops to the Middle East, as more oil supplies had been discovered beneath the sea. And that all women aged between eighteen and twenty-two would be conscripted for combat duties in either Iraq or Afghanistan. Men would be automatically exempt from military service as they would be required for fertilising purposes. One cynical male gad-fly journalist, Horace Handcock, was arguing that since every war had an economic base, this second Middle East was necessary to stimulate economic growth, that we were heading into economic depression with all the bleeding-heart welfare policies the governments of the world had been promoting ever since women came to power.

Sylvia's eighteen year old daughter Zoe did not wait for her call-up papers but immediately enlisted voluntarily in the regular female army and would be sent to Afghanistan as were many of her friends at the now almost female university she attended. But before Zoe left Australia, she became a war agitator, an urger, urging other women to volunteer for military service. Often Zoe would go out clubbing on Saturday nights searching for girls with boy haircuts. She would hand out or post white feathers in envelopes to any young women she encountered who were not in uniform or who opposed conscription and the war.

Karen could remember the time when most students, female and male, were anti-war oriented. But this had changed in recent years, thereby shattering one of the major fictions of feminist utopian literature, that the impulse to war and violence would automatically disappear once women took control in a world without men.