Forced Intimacy at the Beach
This vignette comes to you courtesy of a beach run in at 8th street, which is where I hang. Reading books and doing other nerdy things. So I’ve been taking my own advice — going out of my way to talk to nice guys, regardless of the attraction level I feel for them. Everyone has a fair chance. Along comes Mr. Perfectly Nice Guy who’s chatting me up, laying on my beach blanket, when he says: “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.” I’m mentally forming some joke about how ‘you are actually going to go to a bathroom aren’t you?’ But figure, it’s not necessary. I was wrong. Next thing I know, he kneels down against the strand wall and relieves himself. Up until this point, I was totally gonna give him my number. I had almost handed him my card, even. His awkward innocence was kinda cute, except that I could hear it. This really loud steady stream of urine. It was not gonna stop anytime soon. I didn’t know what to do, so I just got up and walked straight toward the ocean. He follows me.
— What’s wrong? I hope I didn’t offend you? Well yah, you kinda creeped me out. I could hear it. You couldn’t hear it; the sound was going the other way! I could hear it. What am I supposed to do? Go in the ocean. You wanna swim in my pee? Yes, yes I do. That’s kinda sexy. —
Washes off self. Cause now he feels dirty. Gives me a soaking wet, unsolicited bear hug. I say: I’m just gonna go read my book now. He was sweet, just a little misguided.
Moral of the story: Guys, don’t urinate in front of a girl you’ve just met.
Girls, talk to guys before they get drunk.