He stumbles in and can’t wait for the release. He’s been holding off for over an hour, but finally the tension builds too high.
“I can’t get them loose.” He struggles, but the buttons won’t come open. He’s staggering around the bathroom in a drunken stupor. Considering asking someone for help, he notices that no one is at the urinals and no feet pop out from under the stalls. “What am I going to do now?” His blue jeans fit tightly over his legs and other body parts that might catch someone’s eye in some other situation. This and his not being able to feel his hands adds to his difficulty. His brand-new red oxford is soaked from splashes of alcohol and perspiration.
He begins squeezing his legs together because ht thinks it’s starting to flow, but realizes it’s only water lying on the sink he has leaned against. Suddenly, he feels a trickle creeping along his inner thigh and starts jumping around. “If I don’t go soon, I;m going to have a real problem!” He tears at the buttons again and in the process rips a hole at the crotch. Some weirdo-hippie walks in and he tries to act nonchalant. “I hope he gets out here soon,” he mumbles under his breath. After eyeing him, the stranger quickly exits without even using the bathroom. “Thank God! Now if I could only open my pants!”
He turns away from seeing the door, but thinks he hears it open and close. “What now?” he mutters. The lights go out and he feels a pair of large hands grasp him around the waist. “Hey, what the ….?” the stranger picks him up and shakes him around. He feels the tension in his bladder go away and wetness invades his pants and shoes. As the stranger lets go, he drops to the floor, laughing hysterically. The lights flick on and his buddy is standing above him, a grin covering his face.
“Thanks, bud!” he says through his giggling. “Thank anyone still wants to take me home?”