The Rest Room
Men's Rest Rooms are, it seems to me, the same all over the world, which I find quite curious. The French are a bit of an exception, but you would expect that - the idea of taking a leak whilst peering over the top of a screen at all the folk passing by appeals to me no more than the casual way a Frenchman will take a leak in the street when he feels like it. If you ever need to take a dump in Morocco you are in for a rare treat too - it sort of explains their confusion with shower cubicles, but lets leave it there. I imagine that any lady readers will have no knowledge of such things so you may find this informative at least. I myself have strayed into that secret habitat of the fair sex three times, twice by accident and once, well we won't go into that right now.
Its a Saturday guys, and She wants you to take her to the Mall. To do that you have to drive the biggest goddamn UTE that ever left the lines of General Motors or whatever. It has an eight litre V12 engine, its shiny black with matching windows and more chrome than a shop full of Harleys. There is a gun rack in the back and its the biggest baddest damn truck in the neighbourhood. Its just perfect for the fifteen minute commute across town to the office, or for the Mall to pick up the groceries. You fire her up and wake up the whole street at the same time, when you think you need a leak. Well Hell, its ten minutes to the Mall so you'll wait until you get there.
You join the Freeway and its gridlock. After an hour the guy in the station wagon in front thinks its a good time to wash his windscreen. You can see right over his little girly car and you watch those two jets of water spray right over the top of his windscreen and splash the front of your gleaming chrome bumper, but its the water that gets to you and you grit your teeth because now you really need to go. Another hour passes and you move up three cars, and now you can see the fountain they have in front of the Mall, over on the right. All that water gushing up into the air and it HURTS!. You see a gap, you floor the gas pedal and you are gone. When you reach the Mall you park where the hell you like because you are driving one seriously bad truck.
She is still doing her make-up in your rear view mirror but you are gone, like a Cruise Missile targeted on the Rest Room. Now, there is an unwritten code of conduct about Men's Rest Rooms. No mother or father ever taught it to their kid but it exists almost like the rules of an English Gentleman's club. I should point out that in the English club I refer to they have a method known as ‘black balling', to prevent a member from joining. There is no such thing as ‘black balling' in the Rest Room, except maybe up on Route 85 North of Boston, but I believe they closed those due to complaints. There is one written rule however which involves the ritual of waving wet hands under a blast of icy cold air that only gets warm after you have left. Mind you, if we all obeyed that rule then those free peanuts they put on top of the bar would not taste half as good. I often wonder if there is a guy somewhere with such a refined palate that he can eat one of those nuts and say to the bartender, "Hey! There's a guy from my hometown in here someplace, Numbnuts Ohio!"
Excuse me, I digressed again. The first rule is, The Entrance. No matter what, when you enter the Rest Room you don't rush in and shout, "Hi guys! How you all doin' ?" There are two very good reasons for this, the first is that guys hate wet shoes, and the second is that you don't give a damn how anybody is because all you need right now, is a leak. So you made it in. There is one, and only one exception. If you are on the road with a pal, your boss, whatever and you both need a leak, why then you go in real loud, "Did you see that dumb jerk ? Did ya ? I whupped his ass!", because its two guys going to the Rest Room right, together, and you have to tell the world that you are one tough mother and the guy with you is a regular kind of guy. Am I right or am I right ?
So Rule Two: Where to stand? You never, ever, stand right next to a guy if you can stand one urinal away. Now sometimes in a small Rest Room there are only three urinals and if there are two guys inside they will, I guarantee, be on each end of the three. Then you have to take the middle, but etiquette we will come to takes care of that.
Now we get to the real close in stuff. All guys shuffle as close as they can to the urinal, so that their face is an inch from the wall in front. Then you can use your arms to kind of make a shield while you get the little fellah out. Now this is important too, you can take a quick look - what you don't know where you zipper is ?, but just one peek, and then you have to move real fast because if you take too long about it the guys on each side might think you are enjoying that part, if you see what I mean.
Two hours you have waited for this moment and you know that when it happens the sensation is almost as good as a screw, or in some cases I can think of, its better. Nothing happens, but you stare right ahead - no way must your head move now until you finish your business. Two guys leave and two more come in and you are still willing it to happen because that's how it is when you wait for so long. And then sweet mother of Jesus, it starts. A tiny little drop that goes plop onto those yellow cubes that look like Pineapple chunks. You manage another, then a trickle and then it comes in gush like a fire hydrant and you feel a shiver up you back and you want to shout out "YES!", but you can't, not in there, so you stare at the wall.
At last it stops. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. So we have the last rule: The putaway. More than one shake is pleasure so you carefully give it a little shake and slip it back inside your pants - its okay to look now because we know what you're doing and that you're not trying to see how big the guy's dick is at the next urinal. Then you straighten up, shrug your shoulders and run some cold water over your hands hoping to God it does not splash your groin because leaving the Rest Room with a wet groin is the very worst thing in life that you may ever do, the worst.
I was lucky that day because I was not bustin' to go but I have to admit I was excited and looking forward to it. I walked in and scanned the room. I counted eight guys in there, all looking at the wall. Then I broke the rules. I chose my urinal and I stopped a good foot away. A couple of the guys had given me a sideways glance by then. I had a brand new pair of Levis on, the kind with buttons, and I had not got used to them so I fumbled around before I could undo them, and then I got my dick out, and I was so proud. My hand was wrapped around the shaft and there was as much man-meat showing as there was in my fist, and I could see those guys taking a sly look. I started and aimed at the urinal, a golden jet of steaming piss and I smiled and said out loud, "How you guys doin' today ?" Well they all zipped up real quick and got the hell out - I don't think the ever dreamed a dick that size existed. Because the Rest Room was empty, I went over to the mirror and pulled off the jumper I was wearing. I needed to adjust my brassiere because the straps were too tight. My plastic surgeon is gonna take my breasts away next week and I can't wait. He did a great job on my dick and soon I will be the guy that nature intended me to be.
NOW PLEASE WASH YOUR HANDS