Terror. Pure terror. It paralyzed me. It gripped me like a fat kid clutches a Twinkie™. Even in my inebriated state, I had never been so scared in my life.
I was trembling. Despite my best efforts I could not stay my shaking. My teeth were going to smash each other to bits if I wasn’t able to corral my fear and bring it to a manageable level.
I was tired of running from my fear. For years I’ve let this fear ruin my life. My friends and family have mocked me. Complete strangers have laughed at me. Small children can do what I cannot. It is time to confront this fear head on.
Towards that end, I had laid out a well-conceived plan. I headed to the local pub and ordered beer after beer. It wasn’t long before the urge arrived. It was time. Time to “pop the seal.”
When I strode into the restroom mere moments ago, I was bristling with drunken confidence. I was going to conquer this inane fear once and for all. I would become a normie.
Now as I stood only five feet away from the urinal, shuddering like I was powered by D-sized batteries, my confidence evaporated like water on a hot Arizona road.
I timidly approached the urinal. I slid between the two metal dividers separating my chosen urinal from the urinals on either side of it. I anxiously unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped my pants. Then I froze.
Fear. Overwhelming fear. I couldn’t budge. I began to shake uncontrollably again. More violently than I had been before. I knew what I had to do I just couldn’t make myself do it. “Man up, pansy!” I chided myself silently. “Five-year olds do this. If they can, you can. Asshole.”
I slowly tugged on the elastic of my underwear and pulled it down far enough to “unleash the cracken,” so to speak. Then…nothing. Again. Despite my best efforts, I just could not urinate. My bladder felt like it was about to explode. I exerted a tremendous amount of effort into pushing the urine through my urethra, but despite my best efforts my kegel muscles kept contracting.
Even though I was the only one in the restroom, I still could hear the music from outside. I could hear the ambient noise from all of the patrons conversing. I was not alone. I was never alone. At any minute, somebody could come walking through that door. And then, somebody did.
The bathroom door flew open suddenly. It slammed into the wall, startling me. Despite myself, I turned around to see what the commotion was. A man with Wrangler™ jeans, a flannel shirt, and a worn cowboy hat lay facedown on the floor of the restroom, seemingly passed out. His body was propping the door open and his face was buried in his faded hat. I would have immediately laughed at this sight, but something else caught my attention.
A stream of yellow fluid was falling upon the drunken man’s head. I followed the stream to its source with my eyes. The source was my penis. I was peeing. I WAS PEEING!!
I had literally had the piss scared out of me.
The fact that I was peeing on a sleeping man’s head totally escaped me. I was so elated that I was peeing in public that I didn’t care. I was entranced. I watched the urine flow from my penis, fascinated. I couldn’t believe it. I had finally conquered my Paruresis.
The drunken man on the floor began to stir. He began mumbling to himself and slowly realized that some form of liquid was showering him. He lifted his head, his eyes barely open and his jaw gaping. Next thing I knew he was choking on my urine.
I suddenly came to. I quickly turned back toward the urinal and finished my business. I glanced over to see that the drunken cowboy had passed out again, this time his head lay directly on the floor, urine dribbling from his slack jaw.
I quickly caged the beast (so to speak) and zipped up my jeans. I flushed the urinal and washed my hands as quickly as possible so I could vacate the restroom before the drunken cowboy awoke and realized that he’d been pissed on.
Once I was back at the bar, I gave my penis a congratulatory pat and told it, “That was close. I thought we’d never make it back from that one.”