Dipping my junk in another man's pee

I was at a movie theater on Wednesday night. (Actually, I’ve been at a movie theater every night for the last three weeks, because of the Seattle film festival, but that’s only tangentially related to dipping my junk in another man’s pee.)

I secure my seat in the auditorium, and head upstairs to take a dump. I go into the bathroom, find an unoccupied stall, and shut the door. I notice that the bowl is lemon colored though pretty far from lemon fresh; the previous user has neglected to press the handle and flush away his business. I am not excessively fastidious in these matters, though; I have no problem with shitting into urine-fouled water. I mean, I’ll be shitting in it, after all.

So I go through the routine: check the toilet paper dispenser to make sure I’m not going to find myself without necessary supplies, slip my festival pass into my breast pocket, unbutton my jeans, push them down along with my underwear, turn around, lower myself onto the toilet seat, settle in, and realize that I have dunked my junk.

I will spare you the complex mathematics and geometry, but the basic deal is this: The toilet seat is wide, the opening is wide, the bowl is flat and shallow, the water level is high, and my dangling bits are now submerged. In, as I believe I have already mentioned, water that is fouled with urine. From somebody else, not that it matters.

As I recall, what I said was this: “Hngurgh!” And then I stood up.

Actually, I stood only partway up, because I had the presence of mind to realize that if I stood all the way up, my dripping-wet junk would drip into the clothing around my ankles. So I shot to a sort of leaning-back crouch, one hand on the back of the toilet.

Thinking: Okay, now what do I do?

What could I do? It’s not like I could take a shower. And it’s not like it was really all that big a deal, in the final analysis. It’s just pee.

But still: hngurgh.

So I grabbed a wad of toilet paper (good thing I checked, remember), sopped myself as dry as I could, squatted down gingerly, and finished what I had gone in to do. Then I returned to the auditorium, resumed my place, and watched my movie.

I cannot honestly now remember what I watched, because I couldn’t get the repeating thought out of my head: “Dipping my junk? Or dunking my junk? Dipping my junk? Or dunking my junk?”

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

You should have flushed before, only to avoid “the splash” on your o-ring.

I think "Dunking yer Junk"has a special quality to it; you didn’t just dip it like a dipshit, just got your junk dunked, and, therefore, skunked.

I’m femme, so take it for what you will, but I’d think I would head my bits(imagining having external bits) unto the washroom sink and have a rinse in that situation, then a paper towel dry. I dunno the current stats of men’s washrooms though.

Nasty situation, but, what was the film, and did the Funky Junky Dunk affect your view on the film?

There’s really very few sensations that are nastier than that. Which is impressive, because on a simply tactile level, it’s fairly prosaic. It’s the mental associations that send a legion of spiders up and down your spine.

You couldn’t wash your junk in the sink?

I cannot believe you didn’t flush the toilet immediately before using the stall. hngurgh. Your junk will now be tainted forever.

This Friday last, dire need, a pressure below threatened.
And from my seat did I burst, legs aflame as I ran.
Thence, a glance, a quick look to spot only yellowed tint…
Paper a’plenty, throne unsmeared, I verify my plan.
Following, dunked my junk. To it, how now to attend?
But I act, cleansing, drying. To none, displayed a hint.

To none tell this vile tale.

Is his untainted taint now a tainted taint too? :eek:

CMC fnord!

I’m walkin’ in sunshine, oo-oooh…

I could see the screen just fine ;), but my attention was centered elsewhere, so I don’t know what to say about the movie.

Sounds like you’ve had experience with this before. It’s my first time, so, are you telling me that this is not an uncommon event, and that it’s possible it’ll happen to me again? … Hngurgh.

There was a bit of a line.

It’s probably worth mentioning that, the following morning, in the shower, I was rather more… let’s say enthusiastic about soaping and lathering my business than is usual. I drew the line at Clorox, but it did cross my mind.

Now that’s what I call a thread title.

This is why we women “hover”. Although we don’t have dangly bits that may hit the water; just the thought of someone else’s bodily secretions touching us prevents us from just flopping onto any ol’ strange toilet seat.

See, if you would have hovered, this wouldn’t have happened to you.

Is this what’s known a ‘pee-bagging’?

Mind putting up the seat before doing that, then? Otherwise if you hover and then don’t wipe down the seat after, you risk nailing other women with your secretions.

Women do this where I work, and we even have ass gaskets (paper seat covers) available all the time. I just don’t understand it - but I do wipe the seat if I see anything questionable, before sitting down.

The following morning???/

See, I don’t get this. How can you do that and comfortably read a newspaper?

You can hover to poop?! My hat’s off to you and your thighs of iron, madam! My mother used to make me hover to pee, but once I was old enough to go into the stall alone, that nonsense stopped. I think hoverers are the problem, not the solution. Hovering causes splashes. If y’all didn’t hover and formed a nice seal with your ass, we wouldn’t have a problem.

Thank you!

Just… thank you.

We have a new ad campaign:

**Dunkin’ Gonads. **

America Runs from Dunkin’


I’d like to say that’s almost as bad as Happy Lendervedder’s diarrhea in the jaccuzi incident, but that still pales in comparison. Even so…shudder

Okay, for those of you who made allusions to splashing when hovering. It’s all about control, baby.

But, to be honest, I ALWAYS check when I’m done. I don’t want to leave anything behind. That’s just gross. I check before I get anywhere near the toilet for previous splashers too.

As to the hovering when doing something other than tinkling. I learned to do that REAL quick when I went out on the road with my husband. He’s a truck driver. Some of the bathrooms/rest stops we had to use for potty breaks were beyond words when it came to filth. No WAY was I gonna let any of that get near my skin!

I work in a hospital. Although I don’t provide patient care, or have anything to do with patients, I’m all about the cleanliness thing in the bathroom. I’m around sick people all day; I do not want to become sick because of some stupid little germ.