Play with it while you have hands

Years ago, when I was working at a warehouse, a coworker of mine named Nick did something that still makes me queasy when I think of it. Before I go into that, though,allow me to introduce you to Nick.

Nick was a big guy with a jolly, droopy-eyed disposition. His love of food that was nowhere near nutritional was reflected in his enormous gut. He was in his early thirties when I met him, but had the mindset of someone much younger; he still watched cartoons, played with toys, etc. He was a good guy overall, but he had his moments when he could be a real son of a bitch.

One afternoon at work I really needed to use the bathroom and made my way to the only one on the floor. To my dismay, I discovered it was occupied, so I sat on a nearby box and waited my turn.

A few minutes later, Nick came out and said "it's all yours", and hurriedly went on his way. Three things were odd about that:

1. Nick was notorious for making crime scenes out of bathrooms and in most cases would have laughed and said "Dude, I wouldn't go in there without a gas mask", or something to that effect. On this occasion no wisecracks were forthcoming.

2. He was sweating profusely. Though Nick could raze the sturdiest of toilets (he once quipped that after one explosive session, the porcelain on his toilet cracked), he did so effortlessly. Rare was the time when he'd come out of the bathroom looking winded; quite the opposite: he'd come out looking invigorated, triumphant. Everywhere else he was a sweaty guy, but not in his office.

3. Nick never hurried his way through anything.

I entered the bathroom, ready to bury my nose in my sleeve, but there was no stench. I didn't think much of it until I noticed a quarter sized puddle of spunk on the front of the toilet seat. Then it hit me: "There's no stench because the fucker didn't take a shit. He was rubbing one out! And that explains the sweating."

Grossed out, I left the bathroom in a huff and went looking for Nick. I didn't want to embarrass him; all I wanted him to do was clean up his mess. When I found him, I said " I just came from the bathroom and it looks like you missed a spot when you were cleaning up---if you catch my drift---so if you could take care of that, I'd appreciate it." Nick wasn't in a compliant mood.

"I didn't leave any mess. I don't even know what you're talking about. It's probably your mess, anyway."

I confess I didn't see that coming.

"Why would I be trying to get you to clean up my mess?", I asked. "You're not making any sense."

" No, you're not making sense."

I couldn't believe how difficult he was being. I was making this as easy as I could for him and he was being combative. That, coupled with the fact that I needed to use the bathroom more than ever,influenced the way I subsequently handled the conversation. It was time to dispense with tact.

"Nick, I know you were jerking off in there. I'm not looking for a confession and I'm not going to spread this around, just go clean up the mess", I demanded.

"You were the one jerking off in there. You go clean up YOUR mess!" he exclaimed.

An urge to hose-whip him in the eyes and throat surged through me, but I kept it under control. I realized then that there was no getting through to him and that if the matter was going to be resolved, I was going to have to tell our boss. I didn't want to have to do that, so I continued in my attempts to resolve this with Nick.

"Listen, I'm going to go downstairs to use the bathroom. When I come back, I'm going to check this one and it better be clean."

"Well, I'm not going to clean it", he said.

The urge to horse-whip him in the eyes and throat and the knees and spine, which were new additions to the repertoire,welled up in me again.

"Don't clean it, then. I'll just approach everyone who works here and ask them if they'd like to wipe your cum off the toilet seat, because you refuse to do it. I'm sure I'll find a taker."

"Whatever, dude."

Nick didn't look as self assured as he did earlier in the conversation. Needing to pee, I left him and went to the floor below us to use the bathroom. Upon my return, Nick was nowhere to be seen. I walked to the bathroom, hoping he wised up and cleaned up his orgasm. I wasn't thrilled about returning to the scene of the crime, but I wanted to put the baby in the crib and be done with this farce. Despite his earlier childish behavior, I wanted to spare Nick the kind of torment he'd be the recipient of if I ratted him out; so when I saw that the toilet seat was once again unadorned, I let out a sigh of relief.

When I saw Nick a while later, I thanked him for what he did. He frowned and said "I don't know what you're talking about, dude."

That was good enough for me;the issue was resolved, at least for the time being, and peace was restored. Nick would once again go to town on himself and leave his calling card on the toilet seat about a month later, but that's another story for another time.