True pain

It is a widely known fact that when it comes to needing to hold it, that men are vastly superior to women.  I have a belief that men are always capable of assessing their need to urinate based on a scale of one through ten.  We tend to really only seek the need when it begins to encroach at five or so; unless we’re bored, antsy, and feeling the need to move about, pretty much anything underneath five can typically be ignored and held in.  Once past five, it would be a good idea to seek out the nearest commode.

On my way home from Virginia this past weekend, I found out what true pain was.  Nothing was more difficult in my entire life than pushing my body beyond conventional limits.  I couldn’t think straight, I was completely incapable of conversation with a friendly neighbor on the plane.  Writing became an afterthought while vainly attempting to take my mind off of the pain by doing the in-flight magazine’s crossword puzzle.  For the first time in ages, I bothered to push the call flight attendant button, to futilly ask if I could use the lavatory despite taxi-ing, to which they sadistically refused.

On the man-scale of 1-10 of needing to piss, I was at a TWELVE.

Naturally, everything that could go wrong in a time of duress, did go wrong.  There was an aircraft already sitting in gate that my plane was supposed to be at.  The ramp was not on time.  I had two handicapped people in front of me who got preferential treatment over someone who was ready to drown the entire plane at the slightest agitation.  I couldn’t even stand and do the pee-pee dance in front of everyone, because standing was far too painful at this point.

When I did get off the plane finally, naturally, it was about a quarter mile away from the nearest men’s room.  I walked like a retard, as clenched as Andy Dufrensne, amazed at my resolve to keep holding on, for additional seconds as necessary.  When I entered the men’s room, I almost bowled some old guy over in my haste.  Naturally, every single urinal was occupied, but I noticed a slightly ajar toilet stall.  Like Chris Redfield, I slammed that door open, and surprised even myself at my ability to take the six extra seconds to secure the door shut even in my desperation.

A story I often tell when I’m talking about pissing is of this 68-year old beefcake I remember seeing a long time ago at a Bally’s gym back in Virginia.  While urinating through his aged, senior-citizen urethra, he had his left forearm propped up against the wall with his forehead pressed up against it, with the most ecstatic, euphoric look on his face as he relieved his bladder.  I told myself, and everyone I’ve ever told the story to, that nobody, NOBODY would ever, EVER enjoy a piss more in their lives than this guy did.

Well, that story is now obsolete.  Old and busted.  Completely debunked.  I don’t think I breathed as hard as I did the first time I ran the Peachtree Road Race while I pissed like no man, no human being, had ever pissed in their entire life.  Sanity, comfort, relief, and about seven types and degrees of euphoria washed over my body in an awesome wave.  I seriously wonder if anything ever in my entire life will be as satisfying ever again.

And then I flushed the toilet, and confidently, and comfortable, left the airport.

The worst part is, I knew something like this was coming.  I had missed my first flight out of Reagan National in the morning, and I was on the cusp of missing my second flight out.  But I was already resigning to the fact that I was going to whiff, because I was kind of at a four while at the gate.  I’d miss the flight, go to the bathroom, and then wait another 90 minutes for the next flight’s chance.  But nope, my luck changed, and I was the last person on the flight, and before I could really situate myself the plane was off and in the air.  Why I didn’t go mid-flight was completely beyond me, maybe it’s the fact that I was the window, and didn’t feel like getting up, but from the time of the initial descent into Atlanta, to where I had my mind-blowing moment of bliss, I had shot from a 6 to a 12 in about the span of 30 minutes.

Now if you’re still reading this, you’re probably thinking “my god, seriously?  an entire post dedicated to urine?” But deal with it, because it was seriously one of the top ten moments of my entire life.  By putting yourself into the worst pain possible, can you possibly hope to even feel the greatest pleasure in the world.

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