Snow Blast
The blizzard was scheduled to begin at 6 PM according to Reliable Weather app.
My brother and I thought we'd have time to see a movie at the mall and be home before the first snow fell.
But as we emerged from the multiplex mid-afternoon, there was already a dusting of powdered sugar over everything.
The sky was dark an hour too soon--a portent of the storm to come.
It was 8 degrees colder outside than before we'd gone in.
Every breath we exhaled looked like an almighty bong hit.
Jacko's black hair and jacket were polka-dotted with sleet by the time we reached the car.
There was even a snowflake on his eyebrow.
He had driven us to the mall in Dad's Range Rover which meant we had a luxury ride home for the winter apocalypse.
I had my beloved vape pen and a half-eaten bag of M&Ms from
Spiderman,
so I was set.
I turned on the seat warmer and selected maximum heat-arrows to attack me from the climate control.
Before long the car was a cozy place to be.
During a snowstorm in Winnipeg it's not unknown for temperatures to reach as low as -40 degrees Celsius.
To put that in perspective, your breath would freeze into visible ice crystals.
It's probably on TikTok.
Vehicle fluids would stop working, mercury would freeze in thermometers.
You'd get an instant frostbite if your hands were even exposed to the air.
This storm wasn't going to be that extreme.
But it was expected to bring several feet of snow over the coming five days.
Offices and schools had closed for the foreseeable future.
People had canceled travel plans, or made them last minute; and many had tailored their homes with makeshift storm defenses.
Nobody did these things with much drama.
Us Winnipeggers are accustomed to severe winter weather--we don't make a fuss.
We prepare wisely, then choose to think about other things.
Winnipeg is our home.
Even if home is sometimes really fucking inconveniently cold.
When I was a kid, a big snowstorm would be a source of great excitement or distress.
Excitement if I was happy for school to be shut down--which was most of the time.
Stress if I had a crush on a guy in class, and staying home meant I wouldn't be able to see him.
This happened once for 2 weeks straight.
He didn't like me anymore by the time the weather cleared up.
It broke my heart.
I thought the blizzard had magicked his love away.
II was young at the time, and partly conflated life with the
The Snowman.
In the case of tonight's storm, my brother and I couldn't have cared less about the meteorological event.
It was the traffic en route to the bridge that had us concerned.
We could already see it slow crawling as we waited in line to exit the mall.
Dad had advised us not to see a movie before bad weather hit.
It would be annoying for him to turn out to be so right.
While we waited in line, I spotted a middle-aged woman standing beside the open door of her SUV in one of the gridlocked traffic lanes.
She appeared to have peed herself.
A damp stain emanated from the crotch of her lilac leggings and extended in a visible journey--the approximate shape of South America, down the inside of her thigh.
She was attempting to dampen it with sheets of Us magazine while the snow coated her with feathers.
I couldn't help but laugh at the sight.
"Don't mock her!" said Jacko. "You don't know that poor woman's story."
"Her story is that she pissed herself," I said. "Which is a terrible sign of how bad that traffic is."
"She might feel so ashamed she never goes out again after this," he said.
"Are you for real?" I asked, not sure if he was doing a bit.
"I'm serious."
"Really? Because it seems like you're doing a bit."
"I'm not. And in fact, I'm going to tell you something that will blow your mind, Riley ..." he said, "Believe it or not, I
am
that woman ..."
My instinct was to explode with laughter.
"I'm not joking," he said, "I'm trying to be vulnerable with you."
I howled again, only this time harder.
"I swear on Mom's life," he said, starting to look perturbed.
"What do you mean?" I said, restraining my laughter, "do you wet your pants too?"
"In a way,
yes,"
he replied.
But then came the zinger.
"Except in my case it isn't
pee."
These words hung in the air while he had to feed the parking ticket into the mouth of the exit machine.
Of course, being my brother, he hadn't pulled up close enough to do it.
So he had to unbuckle his seatbelt, and eventually lean out of the car.
The temperature became glacial in the cabin while the window was open.
My mind was going a million miles a second.
Once we pulled away, I decided to shoot it out there:
"Are we talking about
cum?"
I asked.
"Yes," he said, but added cryptically,
"kind of."
I wasn't sure why it had to be communicated in the form of a riddle from a troll under a bridge.
But I remained patient.
I would let him tell me at his own pace.
I did glance over at his lap discreetly with a side eye.
There was a half-eaten box of Crackerjacks in it.
No sign of any cum.
We turned from the mall exit into the lane of slow crawling traffic--which was as far now as the eye could see.
It took several minutes until someone--a furious woman in a once-red Ford Ranger, let us in reluctantly.
Pretty soon, we'd stalled on the approach to Provencher Bridge.
There were no cars coming from the opposite lane, which made us wonder if the bridge was closed.
The weather was deteriorating by the second.
It had been a bad choice seeing
Spiderman.
On many counts.
"Ugh."
I said. "We're going to be here all night."
"At least we've got heat," he said. "And Red Vines."
Although I declined the one he offered me, and so did he.
We'd only recently finished the M&Ms.
And he didn't appear to be contemplating his Crackerjacks.
Not the non-figurative ones.
On the plus side, we had a fascinating topic to discuss.
"I never knew the details of your medical situation," I said.
"You never asked!"
"It wasn't my business."
"I wouldn't have been ready to tell," he admitted.
"I would have been too self absorbed to listen," I admitted back.
He laughed--probably because he knew it was true.
"I'd love to hear now though, if you want to tell me," I said. "We're stuck in Narnia traffic, after all."
The snow was falling so heavily that the windshield wipers had trouble keeping up with it.
"It's a bit embarrassing to speak of..."
"Don't be embarrassed, I'm your sister!"
He made a face as if to suggest that's why it might be.
"Well, only tell me if you want to," I said, without meaning it.
"I have this medical issue," he said. "At first they thought there was something wrong with me, but now they say I have overactive
bulbourethral
glands."
"Overactive
what-the-fuck
nows?" I said.
"I didn't know either! They're glands beneath the prostate that produce something called
Cowper's fluid.
It's not cum, it's the lubricant gel that carries the sperm. I have an overactive response that makes too much of it. But I have a normal amount of sperm. So I'm not more fertile, I just produce shitloads of this lubricant. And when I get turned on, I make so much that it starts leaking out. And if I don't relieve myself, the pressure builds up and I have these massive involuntary orgasms."
My jaw may as well have been in my lap, like a
Tom and Jerry
cartoon.
I tried to remain poised.
"Aren't all orgasms involuntary?" I asked.
I wasn't being a dick--I wanted to understand better.
"There generally has to be some physical stimulation."
"You mean you cum without touching yourself?"
"I'm a helpless witness."
"Mind blown," I said, trying not to sound too exhilarated.
I wasn't sure why I found it so thrilling.
It was more like far-fetched erotic fiction.
"And does this happen when you're out and about? Like the woman we just saw?"
"It happens all the time, everywhere I go!" he said.
"Fuck!"
I said--far more enthusiastically than I meant to.
It had grown increasingly difficult to remain calm.
"What triggers it?"
"I just have to be turned on for a few minutes with a boner ... Then it's game over. If I don't take care of it quick, I explode."
"Explode?"
"Explode!"
Jesus.
Did I gasp out loud?
I hadn't meant to, but I was pretty sure I heard myself do it.
Jacko's revelation had done something strange to my body.
Or was it the sugar?
It felt like the surface of my skin was humming.
I fanned myself with the empty M&M's bag and turned down the climate control by two arrows.
I'd never paid attention to my brother's medical issues.
I knew there was something he'd seen various doctors about.
But I'd been told it was a "cosmetic" matter, and reassured by my parents he was fine.
Learning the truth had cum as a revelation.
Ejaculations were not something I had strong feelings about.
I'd only seen them happen with any clarity in porn--so maybe three or four times in my life.
I was only 19.
In my limited personal experience, they'd taken place under dimly-lit conditions.
In dark rooms, beneath clothes and bed sheets; inside condoms--or, if he was really lucky, into my mouth.
These were all with the same boyfriend, by the way--I've only dated one guy seriously.
I'd never given much thought to a man ejaculating in the more literal sense.
The thrill was giving pleasure to a guy because I liked him.
What did or didn't come out of his body was not the point.
It was the
waste product
of the point.
And yet, at the same time, I had no recollection of ever thinking it was too much.
I couldn't help but wonder what that might look like.
"Can't they give you a drug to stop it?" I asked.
"I tried a few. Only one worked. A hair loss drug ... "
"You have more hair than I do!"
"Something called a 5-alpha reductase inhibitor."
