I mark you as mine!

When I was in LA…

“Hi, my name is ‘Joe’!”  (Not his real name.)  He was yelling. “I played college football.”

‘Joe’ seemed amicable.  Jovial.  A bit drunk.  I was, at the time, working as a server at one of LA’s most iconic bars.  It was one of those slammed Fridays when the floor was so crowded with people licking each other’s faces off, that I had to resort to yelling “Beer coming thru!” as I came between their hungry, slug-like, lapping tongues.  The music was thumping out The Pussycat Dolls “When I Grow Up” .  Maybe it was Flo Rida’s “In The Ayer”.  I don’t care.  All I know is that the room is lit in red and a man about 6’5 and 275+ lbs was staring down at me.

He was a friend of a co-worker, came to visit her at work, so he passed the “Maybe he’s a crazy stalker?” factor.  He looked more like a jolly, white giant version of Frankenstein, but plastered with a big, sloppy grin.  I’m a sucker for good teeth on a great smile.  Fine.  Okay.  So when he asked me out, I hurriedly wrote out my number, motioned him to call me over the din of Lil’ Wayne’s “Lollipop”, and was pulled back into the seething mass of USC frat boys demanding their pitchers of Bud Light.

We eventually met about a week later at one of my favorite downtown bars in Los Angeles, Bar 107.  (I dig the bar in the back that’s made out of the back end of a truck.  I’m a sucker for kitsch.)  Once again, that weird, eerie, red glow (maybe it’s just a bar thing?  Why don’t they choose yellow or orange?) and the smell of spilled Pabst Blue Ribbon.

He ordered me a drink.

As he takes a huge swig of his Tecate, he flashed me another glowing Frankenstein smile, and proudly announced, “I can pee on you.”

Excuse me?

“I dated this girl, she loved golden showers.  Would go off on them.  Begged me for it.  So one day, I laid down the Gladd trash bag, and went to town.  She was moaning and all.  Loved it.  Kinda got into it too.  It’s nice.”  Big swig.  ”How about you?”

I hesitated.  Well, sex is sex.  Some people really enjoy certain things, I should be open-minded, you never know. I’ve been complaining that the hot water’s been taking too long to warm up anyway…. I don’t own any Glad trash bags, I’ve been recycling old Safeway bags.  But I could use kitty litter, that clumps up nice and solid and it smells fresh….

… we never got to that point.  He hugged me goodnight and my skin crawled.  Sometimes sexual chemistry is summed up in that, “Do you make my skin crawl?”

I took a piss before I went to bed that night.  Before I flushed, I leaned over the bowl and inhaled deeply the aroma of my own urine.  Hmm.  Could I imagine this spattered all over my heaving breasts?  Does shampoo lather under urine conditions?  Maybe I AM missing out.  Maybe this is something I need to work out at next year’s Burning Man.  Man, I must have issues.  Maybe I should just flush this.

I’m glad we didn’t get together.  He was a big guy.  I’m sure he would’ve pissed like a race horse.