Posts Tagged ‘standing on sink’

There is something truly uplifting about disposing of excrement in the most inappropriate of places. I believe it all goes back to those camping trips where I learned a simple fact about life.
Men are disgusting oafs. Pigs, if you wish. Yep that fits… pigs.

No doubt about it, if a young boy learns nothing else in life about manhood he will learn this truth. When you got to go… you got to go, no matter what and no matter where.

A tree, a street corner hidden from view, a cornfield in the middle of an august afternoon… just whip it out and go. So long as you aren’t seen by the cops, it’s perfectly legal.

We’ll whip out our best pal even if there is a fully functional bathroom not 30 feet away.
In a way it is kind of liberating to the human spirit.
Giving back to nature from the very fruits of the bounty you have received.

God, I love nature.

The soft loamy smell of a meadow
The sounds of a campfire consuming wood with snaps, crackles and pops (like rice crispies)
The night time chorus of crickets and frogs
The stale smell of freedom wafting through the air from the gnarled old tree that everyone at your campsite has pissed on for the past four days

The first thought of many ladies reading this may think is “How disgusting!”
On the contrary, this is neither vile nor putrid; it is freedom in its purest and simplest form.
A freedom you are not entitled to nor even designed to comprehend. Finally something we men can claim for ourselves. A universal bond between all men. No matter our race, sexual preference or religion, we are all brothers as we pee standing upright.

Before any female gets it in her mind to say they also can stand upright and pee; I simply respond with this word… Hogwash. I’ve seen what you call urinating while standing upright, and frankly I am unimpressed.

As all men know there are times when we are unable to leave our encampments (i.e. the city), yet nature fervently beckons us to give back to the land as our fathers and forefathers have done for countless generations. In these desperate moments, a man with a true understanding of the balance of nature will understand that at these times a man has to pee in the sink.

Peeing in the sink is not without its evolutionary necessity; after all we were using and sharing public facilities as far back as the Stone Age folk. As we evolved I am sure that somewhere along the way (long before we developed language) we probably developed a sense of modesty which demanded privacy while taking care of our business. This probably led to a need of men to go forth and mark new territory as our communal territory was occupied with women folk tying bones in their hair and smearing rancid animal fat over areas of their bodies to look more appealing.

Hand in hand with peeing in the sink, must also be knowledge of how to do it secretly. Little did I realize that it was not only a counterpart, it was a prerequisite.

I remember the first and last time I was caught.

“What in the name of god are you doing?” Shrieked my mother.
There I stood on the edge of the sink. My white Y-fronts with an artful skid-mark were scooted down my legs a bit past my thigh, and a strong stream of piss gently cascading into the porcelain sink.

“Nothing,” was my most plausible excuse.

With terror she stared at me as I continued peeing.

“Stop that right now, stop it this instant!!” She bellowed, as I continued peeing.

You could hear my dad’s footsteps echoing through the hallway of our old A-frame house as he charged down the hall to our bathroom.

He came into the bathroom with anger in his eyes, and saw me perched there on the edge of the sink… still peeing, mind you. Without missing a beat he laughed so hard my ears began to hurt, but I kept on peeing.

“This is not funny,” stated my mother through gritted teeth.

He was about to disagree with her, then he snickered and said.

“You’re absolutely correct… I’ll have a talk with the boy.”

My father picked me up off the sink when I was finished, pulled my shorts up and carried me back to my bedroom as quickly as he could, all the while trying (and failing) to restrain his laughter.

As we entered my room, the he quickly shut the door behind us. When I looked up into my father’s eyes I could only see the huge grin on his face. He pulled a finger to his lips to silence me and then whispered.

“If you are going to do that, turn on the faucet first so you drown out the noise and wash away the smell.”

Still he had no other choice than to ground me for the night, due to mom not understanding my masculine urges. In the middle of the night after my mom had gone to bed, My Dad took it upon himself to rescue me from my captivity.

As the night progressed with at least five beers for Dad and two cans of Coke for me, we went out into the backyard to pay homage to nature and together we peed on the chain link fence where the honey suckle vines were lush and overgrown with flowers of white and orange trumpets.

I’ve never felt closer to my Dad before that moment in my life.
In the soft moonlight as our piss hit the fence in streaming unison; we were truly brothers.