adventures in watersports

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[yet another from the "back when i was new" file]

at three o'clock on a sunday morning, the boy was as incongruously out-of-place in vaseline alley as a pearl in a pigpen.

young and fresh-faced in his letter jacket, he was the spitting image of tom cruise in all the right moves, and all my drunken mind could think of was whisking this sweet, untainted kid away from that awful place to somewhere safe (like my bed) as quickly as possible.

he had other ideas, however--his parents were gone and he wanted to go back to his place, which turned out to be a mcmansion in westwood.

we headed up the stairs of the darkened house and into his bedroom, stripped down--he was everything i'd hoped for and more--and it was just as i was reminding myself not to push this innocent boy too far too fast that he pulled away, dragged me into the bathroom and the evening took its left turn.

"wait--you want me to do what?"  because this was new, but whatever--mkf is nothing if not accommodating, especially when he's drunk.

problem is, even when i'm drunk, i'm shy.  and even more so, turns out, when there's a boy crouched wide-eyed and expectant in a bathtub between my legs.  talk about performance anxiety--jesus.

but by now i'm on a mission, so i tell him to wait, walk over and flip on the taps full blast and stand in front of the toilet.

as soon as i feel the urge, i stumble over to the tub, but by the time i get there, it's gone.  damn.

so i head back to the toilet, determined to wait for the optimal moment this time.  when it finally arrives, i whirl around, triumphant--and in so doing, spray a wild, uncontrolled, drunken arc across the boy's bathroom, coating pretty much everything but him in the process.

my take-aways from the evening:  (a) never judge a book by its cover; and (2) people who are into that sorta thing have absolutely no sense of humor.