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7:45 p.m. - 2009-04-19
Peeing Off.

I'm back three days later at home with enough energy to give the blog a go.

It's been a sporty week for me. I played tennis three nights in a row which felt good in a bendy stretchy way but with sore knees. I hate running and have very "heavy" legs. I'm just not jaunty.

I was glad to get out those nights as Lyra was off of school and we were all ready for a planned weekend break with our friends from Florida.

We went to a beach resort. I guess it was akin to being at Wisconsin Dells without the water park (this time). Thursday I went golfing with Jim managing nine holes with beers. We used a twofer coupon saving a mitt full of dirham.

I usually wait for my game to falter before cracking one open. That's at least four or five holes into a round. This time, it was different.

We started getting sillier as the half round got to number six. I started making up songs. Jim asked if we should go to the concession stand (nice to be able to get a beer while playing!) and toilets before teeing off on number six.

I said I was ok but I was wrong.

I teed off, screwing up a par three by hitting a 'worm burner' about 40 yards out and quickly walked after it with my legs together trying to get it onto the green.

I KNEW it wasn't a good idea to lace the inner draw string of the cargo shorts I chose to wear that day. I'd never done that previously. Also, I've never quite gotten used to the boxer briefs purchased last Summer; they, the underwear chosen third to last out of my dresser; regular boxers and thongs, purchased accidentally, being the lonely pants in my collection

So by the time I double bogeyed, the musculature needed to hold urine were rather weary to say the least and I rushed in to unzip and whip.

The following approximated my thoughts at that moment:

Damn! Rotten drawstrings! Oh no! These underwear ride up to nearly my navel! Aw shit! I can't .... hold ... it ... any ... longer!

Right then; the dam burst! I could not get my Wisconsin Whitesnake out in time! Most of my 'water' eventually made it into the toilet but there was quite a bit on the floor surrounding the commode. There I was, balancing on my 'good' left leg to prevent piss from going into my sock while hurting myself getting it out.

Pee flowing over boxer briefs but under cargo shorts flows smoothly. There was no 'wet spot' to show my embarrassment at that given moment but I shared my adventure with Jim and now, as promised, I blogged about it.

We shot another eighteen two days later and, though I brought of sixer of Beck's along, we didn't crack into those until number 17. It was still morning and I know when to say when.


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