with Barry Dingle
Every so often, the stars align and something truly great happens. Sometimes two strangers meet in a deserted field and make love for hours, sometimes one chubby little boy gets the last frozen pizza at the market, and sometimes two grown white men urinate in synch and create a melodious African rhythm-jam with their small white penises.
I knew something was aloof when we both entered the bathroom at the same time. Our footsteps echoed as we walked at the same pace. Then it got weird.
I stopped. He stopped. He huffed. I huffed. Except it was more like "we" huffed. Both of our zippers slammed down in thunderous harmony. Then the rain sticks came into play. I'm talking about our piss. It started at the same time. It came out with the same velocity, the same splashing. I started to think, "This is weird. I wonder if we have the same size penis." Then I started feeling bad for him.
While we shook together, I wondered if this marked my first gay experience. I mean, here we are, two men shaking our wieners at the same time a mere foot or two away from one another. I wonder if he was thinking the same thing.
We stopped together. I couldn't believe it. In unison, we returned our zippers to the full upright position. Then he really threw me for a loop. He turned with me and we washed our hands together, utilizing the same amount of time. We dried and exited the bathroom, splitting off into separate directions, probably never to see one another again.
What did he look like? No idea. We stayed true to the Men's Public Restroom Code and made absolutely no eye contact the entire time. For all I know, it was a shemale (pronounce like tamale). Although I never saw it, I will miss it.
Either this was the single most synchronized coincidence of my life or I had met my soulmate. Or I was hallucinating that my reflection was real again. That would explain why I entertained the idea of a shemale. Hmm.