Dark 10: Piss in my pants

Lock eyes from across the room

Down my drink while the rhythms boom

Take your hand and skip the names

No need here for the silly games

Make our way through the smoke and crowd

The club is the sky and I'm on your cloud

Move in close as the lasers fly

Our bodies touch and the angels cry

Leave this place go back to yours

Our lips first touch outside your doors

The whole night what we've got in store

Whisper in my ear that you want some more 

And I

Jizz in my pants

This really never happens you can take my word

I wont apologize, that's just absurd

Mainly your fault from the way that you dance

And now I

Jizz in my pants

Don't tell your friends or I'll say your a slut

Plus its your fault, you were rubbing my butt

I'm very sensitive, some would say that's a plus

Now…

( The Lonely Island is an American comedy trio, formed by Akiva Schaffer, Andy Samberg, and Jorma Taccone in Berkeley, California in 2001. The three first met in junior high, and went on to write and feature in the American TV program Saturday Night Live. )

Later I stood outside the noise laden establishment with my loaned suit wrapped around me. It was cod that late night and heck, it was not past my sleeping hour that my mum set for me twenty years ago. She used to threaten me that if I sleep past that hour, the succubus will grab my balls and slung them over my shoulders. That would be painful. I could not stand the pain when I tried to squeeze more jism out from it.

So much for jism.

I lost It there.

I had it all go … jazzing. It would have been nicer if my pants were down and I was barreling down the straight but I was not even in the lineup let alone enrolled in one. I felt like a racing horse pulled to the gates and before they strapped me in, I had sunk to the grass gasping for breath.

It was a total shame.

Embarrassment was reserved for the walk I had to do; all coated inside and the doorway was only a mere twenty-five feet away. I swore I walked as if I got iron balls tied to the chain below me. Or having been in an orgy with the hyenas and I was the captive fawn.

I am going home soon after.

My only consolation was the place was blinking with lights then given that it was supposed to be to cover the study of your companion you picked up at the floor. The quick shift of the lights would baffle the visual sights if you tried to study the person you were to share the evening with. Mine was dejected by lack of control; I tried to say ‘it was your butt ….’ But that did not go well. I got the message when my companion reply to me by saying; ‘up your butt, arsehole’.

My ride arrived, and I climbed in.

“Could I join you?” I saw the person asking was not that great but worth looking. After all, she had the dimensions but I was not on the list to be choosy. I nodded and she climbed. She wore a dancing dress where the hem stopped just below the self-sealing part. You know like the self-repaired leakage seal. I can help it for I am a plumber during the daylight.

Oh, she was going my way and we shared the ride, with an hour to ride in, we have much to ride on from the weather to the politicians and to the morning milk that came late. I was just changing subjects without knowing it until the driver interrupted me.

“Why are you out so early?” That was a hit below the belt then.

“Oh, my drink ran out.” I replied with the creative line.

“Mine…. Well, I hated the scene…” The lady broke out in tears. And I reached for her like the pastor would do after the prayers. And I don’t even know her name yet.

“Oh…” The driver spoke out. “Give me twenty more and I will add the ride for another ten minutes.” The driver was an ass but I nodded. I had to for she was bawling on my shoulder. I held her closer and let her soak my loaned suit. She moved closer and was soon snuggled under my neck. I saw the driver showed me the middle finger.

I was shocked and then understood his sign.

I shook my head.

The driver hooked his finger like how Dr. Hook felt when he lost his hand.

“Okay…that’s a hard ball.” The driver then turned on the radio. It was playing some blues number. I shifted my seating and felt the warmth from the lady. I felt her body snuggled closer and her right hand landed on my left thigh.

Geez, was I still …. loaded? I moved my thigh and the hand moved too.

I trembled a little and then I felt the locomotive engine started. I can assure you they don’t make locomotive now like those days… it was like the old locomotives from the days of Petticoat Junction. It needed woods to burn before you could pull the gears. And mine was ready for the gears to move.

First gear was on then. And I had to admit the image of the three daughters of Mama Bradley taking their bath in the water trough hit my image banks. There was Betty-Jo, Bobbie-Jo and Bille-Jo.

The locomotive shuddered.

I tried to shift my image to Count Dracula or was it Vincent Price impression but I was getting sticky there.

Second gear shifted on. I can’t help it.  Her fingers had snapped shut there like the bear trap.

“Here we are now. Trip end here.” I was relieved that the journey was to end. I pushed her off and told her that I need to get off.

“You can ride on. I will pat …. No, I will pay the driver.” I stepped out of the drive and paid the driver. I stood there with a hard on watching the night faded into nothing. If I only known.

“Okay, Sue. Your share is here.” The driver pays the lady.

And I was not to know I was hustled.  

Maybe not so. I had Betty-Jo, Bobbie-Jo and Bille-Jo in the tub of warm water that night. I had them wrapped in my right hand.