Keeping it up

I'm having trouble. It's a bloke sort of thing, although I suppose
it does affect the girlies in a way. A lot of blokes have experienced
it, it's just that we don't like to talk about it in public. But it
happened again last night, and I've just got to tell someone.

It just wouldn't stay up. That's the nub of it. I'm O.K. back at my
place, no problem. But sometimes when I'm out with somebody it just
happens. And of course the embarrassment is awful. I suppose the worst
situation is when you're with someone that you have only just met. You
try to explain that it only happens occasionally, but they look you
straight in the trousers with that air of total disbelief.

If you've got one that stays up there's no problem, obviously. And if
you've got one that keels over every time, well you know what to
expect, and you can usually get away with using your left hand for
support. But when it's an occasional, or a one-off, it can be a total
disaster. And so messy.

There you are, back at her place, after a pleasant meal and a few
glasses. You feel the urge. You tell her, she smiles. You get up and
move to the next room. Zip down, tackle out, release. Then crash, the
seat comes down in mid stream. You jerk back, sphincter contracting
like a misers hand round a penny, urinatus interruptus.

And it's everywhere: seat, floor, shoes, pink fluffy bathmat. You
desperately unravel thirty yards of toilet roll to clean up the mess,
wondering how to explain six flushes. Then you catch sight of your
trousers in the bathroom mirror, and you realise that all is lost. You
just don't get that many splashes from over zealous hand washing. So
you make your excuses and leave, the flame of passion extinguished by
your own hose. If only they sold Viagra for lids.