“Shoot out the pee-pee from my wee-wee hole, shoot out the pee-pee from my wee-wee hole, shoot out the pee-pee from my wee-wee hole.” Over and over Cecil repeated this in his head as he stood at the urinal. He had arrived just ahead of a co-worker, Damien. If Cecil had realized Damien was behind him, he would have pretended he just went in to wash his hands, then returned later when the bathroom would hopefully be empty, but at least Damien wouldn’t be in there.
Cecil had chosen the left-most receptacle. They were the urinals that have standing water in them, so you can hear every pitter patter of every drop of urine, especially in this cavern of a bathroom, which had no noise of any kind, not even a fan, and every sound amplified and echoed like in a church.
It was so still and quiet you could hear a pube drop.
Cecil wasn’t sure if Damien was messing with him or just clueless about urinal etiquette, but of the remaining three urinals, he chose the one directly next to Cecil, the only one of his three options that left no space between them. Of course there were no barriers between them, so it was hard to avoid seeing his neighbor’s unit out of the corner of his eye, and easy to see it if he wanted to. Cecil tried not to look, but he would have had to close his eyes not to see Damien extract his gigantic forearm of a cock from his zipper. It was bigger in its flaccid state than Cecil’s proudest erection. Cecil’s member shriveled as his pubococcygeus muscle flexed involuntarily. There was no way he was pissing anytime soon, even with his self-made mantra, “Shoot out the pee-pee from my wee-wee hole.” The mantra usually worked for him under normal circumstances, but it was not nearly powerful enough for this horrific situation.
Damien’s stream, more accurately described as a waterfall, which immediately erupted from his submarine dick, was so sudden and powerful that Cecil grunted, he hoped inaudibly. He felt a tiny particle of what he hoped was water on his right hand.
“Wussup ma dude?”
“Hi Damien.”
“You alright bro?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Just checkin’ man, seems like you’re havin’ some issues gettin’ that stream started know what I’m sayin’?”
Damien started whistling a tune as his firehose continued. At this point Cecil had given up and was just waiting for Damien to leave. Sweat formed on his now bright-red forehead. The elephant trunk continued spewing for what seemed like five minutes before it finally showed signs of abating.
Damien leaned his head back and groaned with pleasure, “God damn that’s some gooood sheeeit. Mmmmmmm fuck!” He shook off, if it can even be described as a shake. More like a wag, or a waggle. Then he carefully replaced his fleshy woolly mammoth tusk into his pants, which was no easy task. Cecil tried not to see, but he couldn’t avoid it. The Florida Python had to be bent in half, with the head inserted into the zipper, then slowly unfolded and guided down his right thigh.
“Good luck there bud,” as he patted Cecil on the back, causing him to take a step forward to maintain his balance.
Damien walked out without washing his hands, allowing Cecil’s pubococcygeus muscle to finally relax slightly. He was finally about to release his long-awaited stream when from one of the stalls behind him, a deafening sonic boom of a fart erupted, followed by a meteor shower of a diarrhea burst and a stifled laugh from the perpetrator.
Cecil had thought he was alone, so the explosion startled him so much that he actually squirted a stream of piss. But it was just a squirt. Now he was standing there again, unable to go.
“Shoot out the pee-pee from my wee-wee hole, shoot out the pee-pee from my wee-wee hole, shoot out the pee-pee from my wee-wee hole.”
Just as he was at long last about to achieve success, the bathroom door opened, and Cecil’s boss sauntered up to the same urinal Damien had violated.
“Sup Cecil my main man?”
“Fuck my life,” he sighed in defeat as his pubococcygeus muscle flexed harder than it had ever flexed in his entire pathetic life.