dorm life

of course some of our memories change a bit over the
years, but this happened when i was 19, living in the
college dorm.  the facts may be a little screwy, but
they're pretty much the way things really happened.
there was this guy. when
he got drunk, you just never knew what he'd say.
example:
cold wintery night, i'm in the dorm bathroom showering.
he comes in and stands at the urinal and pisses and pisses and
pisses, wobbly and drunk.  i'm drunk,
he says.  really really drunk. and boy have i
gotta pee.  so he stands there and pees.
boy does he pee.  i don't think i've ever seen
anybody pee so much at any one session.
suddenly,
out of the blue, he says when he's at home on breaks
he likes to masturbate into the bathroom sink.
he says
it's neat.
he says
it's tidy.
he says
it's quick.
he says he has to push down on his cock, decrease its
angle a bit, and aim it into
the sink just so, but that it's not too uncomfortable.
he says also he gets to check himself out in the mirror that's above the
sink while he's beating off. he says he likes his nice flat belly,
and the shape of his cock. he says his cock is smooth. and while
definitely not huge, it's not small, either. he says the head
is aesthetically shaped. he says the pee hole is understated.
he says he really likes masturbating into the bathroom sink.
he says the height is just right. he doesn't
have to scrunch or stretch too far or anything. he says
it's just perfect. so he's
standing there pissing and pissing and pissing into the urinal
in the dorm bathroom, and
i'm in the showerroom, showering.
then he adds that even though he likes masturbating into
the bathroom sink while he's at home on breaks, that's not to say that
he has given up the more messy forms of masturbation, the forms
that require lots of pillows and cushions and towels and
lotions and oils and petroleum jelly and paper towels and tissues
and old t-shirts and stacks of magazines and tight tattered underpants,
and 3 or 4 properly placed mirrors. he says
these more complex, messier forms of masturbation
can occupy an entire
afternoon, and can leave him quite content and deliciously distracted
for hours, he says.
still, though,
the bathroom sink certainly has its charms,
and he's not going to give them up anytime soon,
he says.
he's nearing the end of his piss.
i'm nearing the end of my shower.
my dick has gotten longer and thicker than is appropriate
for it to be when i'm standing in the middle of the showerroom
in the college dorm. he doesn't seem to notice.
or if he does, i think he thinks it doesn't mean
much. sometimes guys get sort of stiff in the showerroom
and everyone always politely ignores them. strange but true.
anyhow, i still remember that guy talking to me that night
while he was pissing. he was really really drunk.
nothing ever happened between us. believe it or not,
i still thought i was straight, and, get this,
i think he actually was straight, but a tease. and actually,
and even though he was cute, he was generally one hell of a bore.
sober, he never said one goddamn thing that was even vaguely interesting.
but drunk, well, let's just say
that almost 30 years have gone by,
and i can still hear the sweet sexy sound
of his deep woozy voice.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Nerve Cowboy, Number 16, Fall 2003.)