(Originally written: January 28, 2019)
We called him Tommy Two-Streams because when he peed, two separate arcs of urine would spout from him. He would tell us that he sometimes had three streams but since we had never seen it, we didn’t believe him. You have to have evidence to believe a tale like that. Psh. Three streams. What a weirdo.
Greg had lots of stories like that and he’d share them with the gang while we watered the flowers. We all like to keep ourselves hydrated so our sessions usually last at least a minute long. That’s enough time to get a story from him.
The story he told the most was the story of how he met his wife. Being a sucker for love stories, I always stood by him to make sure I could hear him over the sound of the splashing. We aren’t pressure washers by any means. But even the lightest trickle can distract a man from listening. It’s pretty dangerous though. If I don’t pay attention to the sound, I might end up being the first one done. Nobody wants to be the first one done and resign themselves to either staying like some sort of pervert or leaving and missing out on Greg’s story. By paying attention to each other’s streams, we can slow our own down so we don’t finish first. I negated the risk by doing kegels. Now I’m always the second to last done, with Greg being the winner. The man really likes his water.
He calls his wife his favorite pain in the ass because when they met he was just a man going to his doctor to treat a UTI. He told her how many times he was undoing his flap and that concerned her enough to give him a rectal exam. I have no idea what his behind has to do with his fronthind but it ended up being worth it. Greg was cured and he got a woman that he could trust to be vulnerable around. That was a scary time for us flower boys. What if we lost our bard and had to talk to each other instead? Fortunately she cured him of his problem and became our hero. She hasn’t had to pay for coffee in my shop ever since. She does have to pay for the coffee cakes though. She saved our pastime, not his life.
Greg would finish and we would all delay the goodbyes for a minute by ragging on whichever guy finished first but stayed to listen. Then we’d nod our heads at each other a few times instead of shaking hands. We’re men. Not unsanitary. At least I know I’m not. I’ve got about a gallon of Purell in my office and that, if you didn’t know, kills 99.99% of common germs.
I Am Saha 