Now here’s the twist, folks:
I was about to answer nature’s call when I noticed glossy a magazine placed neatly beside the sink. A young Jack Nicholson was on the cover and because he was my favorite Hollywood actor, I started leafing through. I put the paper on top of the basin and began reading the article on Mr. Nicholson while unzipping my pants.
Unfortunately, it was also at that very moment that mum decided to use the restroom as well. You see, in my haste to escape Rogers and Hammerstein’s show, I forgot to lock the john. So you can just imagine what my mother thought when she flung the door open and found her eldest son standing with his pants down while staring at Mr. Nicholson’s legendary grin. Jesus H. Christ!
She simply asked, "What the hell are you doing?" and for the first time, I didn’t really have anything to say. Usually, I have a return remark for every question or comment but even my wits failed me. Mum looked embarrassed and closed the door.
I’ll tell you what I think. She probably thought I was gay and was about to whack-off to Jack’s picture. Susmaryosep! And what really bugged me was the fact that it was the farthest thing from the truth. Perhaps I would have felt a lot less bitter if she had caught me looking at a Donita Rose snapshot instead. I was so upset at the time that I did not pee.
And although it was never ever mentioned again, I felt obligated to prove to her that I had quite a healthy interest towards the opposite sex. And I made sure that there was a steady stream of girly mags scattered around my bed. Now you might say that I was trying too hard but I couldn’t help it. So even though my mother berated me for being such a "disgusting pig" when she saw the magazines, I felt that my manhood (or boyhood) was eventually vindicated. Woof!
My friend Jags once told me that his elder sister actually caught him "doing it alone," and that their relationship was never the same after that. An acquaintance was also caught by his father in the middle of solitary sex and just like George Costanza’s mother, asked him to go see a psychiatrist! Oh, for the love of God! If anybody who whacked-off had to go see a shrink...
Sinful or not, and for better or for worse, 95 percent of all adolescents have "spanked the monkey" at one time or another. And as one cynical psychologist has phrased it, the other five percent lie.
So what do most people do when a loved one catches them playing with Mr. Happy? Okay, okay, perish the bloody thought. And this column is rapidly losing its class already (did it ever have any to begin with?). But then again, it all goes back to reality and nothingness. You see, I’ve always tried to be honest with what I do here and with what I’m trying to say right now. So let’s try to shelve the hypocritical reactions for later, shall we?
The bottom line may be that the act itself is a normal instinct and characteristic of man (or woman). A former colleague even told me that it is a healthy release of both pleasure and energy. But that really isn’t the point I’m trying to put across. And as I’m battling real hard to make this sensitive topic readable, I’m sure a lot of you have more interesting and explicit things to say than this level-headed goof-off.
Getting caught in an individual feat of passion is probably the most embarrassing thing one will ever get to experience in life (I know the whole lot of you, idiots!). And while I know too that words of "You’re not the only one" will never make you forget an incident like that, let’s all try to be contented with the fact that even those who caught us do it themselves.
Ugh! That didn’t sound quite right, did it now?