Kent
Mason is an author of some modest fame. He was on his way home from a
three state book signing tour when his new car broke down on the side
of the road and he had to be rescued by Calliope Jacoby, who co-owns
a towing company with her brother. They become involved and go out of
town for a weekend, only to rush home because her home has been
vandalized. At the police station, Kent has to use the restroom
I've
long wondered why men's restrooms are set up the way they are. Women
have privacy, but we're expected to yank it out and take a whiz no
matter who's around. It's always made me nervous. There's always this
sick impulse to check the other guy's junk, but you look like a perv
if you do that. Not that I'm embarrassed about what I'm packing, far
from it. I just don't particularly like to be stared at, especially
with my fly down. Then there's the problem of where to look.
Do
I look down at myself? That looks like I'm not sure I can take a piss
without help. Do I stare at the wall? Then I look like I'm nervous or
have something to hide. In a police station, I don't want to look
furtive. I'm not gonna look at the piece of the guy next to me, so
there aren't many choices left.
I
chose to gaze at the flush valve. That's not so low that I seem
perverted and not high enough to appear furtive. Glad I was done, I
flushed, nodded politely and flashed a nervous smile as I went to the
sink. I watched the other men casually in the mirror as I soaped my
hands.
Seconds
later, I was soaked from waist to hips. Cold water sprayed me from
the faucet, spattering the mirror, counter and floor.
"What
the fuck?" My vocabulary choice was probably unfortunate due to
where I was, but I couldn't help it.
The
two cops were laughing. I was soaked and standing in a puddle, and
the two duffers were laughing at me.
"Sorry,
pal, we should've warned you," the guy on my right zipped up and
walked to the sink.
I
noticed he avoided the sink I was standing next to—dripping.
"Then
why didn't you?"
"Didn't
think about it. We all know not to use that sink. The work order's
been in for three months."
"Give
me a wrench, I'll fix it myself."
"You
a plumber?"
"I
apprenticed awhile when I was a teenager. I could fix that in five
minutes."
"Wish
we could oblige, it has to go through the city."
"Got
a towel? My girlfriend is talking to Sergeant um. . . ." I drew
a blank. "Stacy," I bumbled to a finish.
"Lanier,"
Mr. Right finished for me.
"Thanks,
yes."
"Oh,
you part of that vandalism case?"
"Yeah,
my girlfriend's property got hit."
One
of the cops handed me a roll of paper towels. I started blotting the
front of my jeans.
"I
look like I had a serious bathroom accident," I fussed. "This
is just great."
"We
could find you some dry pants, maybe," the cop on my left
suggested.
"Actually,
my bag is in the car. We were out of town when we got the call. If
you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to get my pants."
"I'll
let Stacy know where you've gone," Mr. Left said.
"Thanks."
Feeling
like an idiot, not for the first time, I wandered outside, glad that
I didn't meet anyone on my way out. Gabe and Chas were leaning
against the Jeep sharing a cigarette.
I
grabbed my pants out of the back seat and joined them. They examined
my wet crotch with a smirk.
"Someone
get too excited?" Gabe asked.
"The
sink in the men's restroom attacked me. Don't use the center one.
Gimme a hit?"
Gabe
handed me the cigarette. "Sorry we have to share, it's my last
one."
"God,
that tastes good!" I moaned with almost sexual delight as I took
another puff. "I was hoping it would taste like ass, then I
wouldn't feel so shitty about giving it up."
"It's
a Sobranie, of course it's good. I don't smoke anything else."
"I'll
pay for them, if you'll get more. I'm dying for a real smoke."
"Calliope
will have your balls in a sling if you start smoking again."
"One.
I just want one. Then I'll give it up, I swear."
"I
bet you said the same thing about sex a long time ago." Chas
smirked, nudging me.
"Hell
with that. I had one hit and couldn't wait for another."
Both
men laughed, shaking their heads.
"Find
out anything useful?"
"Yes,
don't use the middle sink. I need to go change. These pants feel
nasty and my balls are getting chilly."
"Oh,
God forbid he get frostbite on his extremities!" Gabe said
loudly enough to attract the attention of a couple police officers
who had just walked out the door.
I
recognized my bathroom pals and waved self-consciously with my dry
jeans. They laughed all the way to their cars.
"Thanks.
That helped." I punched Gabe hard on the arm. "Now they
think I'm a gay man who can't control his own plumbing."
"They
don't," Gabe replied. "They just think you're a useless
twit."
"Thanks
that makes me feel so much better."
"Anytime."
Sometimes
Gabe is annoying. I didn't want to go back into the police station
with wet pants, so I clamored into the back of my rental and changed
my jeans. He and Chas kept up a running commentary about my antics,
laughing the entire time. At least I didn't have to change my
underwear. I can only imagine what the comments would have been like
then.
"Have
you finally caged the rampant beast?" Gabe asked when I got out.
"Caged
but still rampant." I grabbed a handful of my crotch for
emphasis.
"Is
he really that well blessed?" Chas looked curious, but not
hungry.
"It's
a thing of beauty," Gabe said with a serious frown. "Were I
that blessed, I'd share it as often as possible."
"Could
we not!" I raised my voice more than I should have.
Several of the police officers coming out the door looked around at
me.
Lowering
my voice, I continued. "Could we not have this conversation
right now, please? I don't particularly feel comfortable with it. Not
exactly comfy with the fact you've seen me naked," I said
quietly to Gabe.
"It's
okay, honey. I've seen lots of naked men." He put on his best
simper, winking at me.
I
wanted to hit him, but maybe in front of the police station wasn't
the best place for that impulse, so I didn't. Instead, I threw my
pants in the back seat of my car and went back in the station.
