He had his Boy Part (BP) out above his shorts and he was playing with it, much like one would play with a small cat. A child, I didn’t understand what he was doing, but was fascinated by his choice in swimwear instead, for he was wearing matched baby blue turban (a la Seikh variety, not Arab – although am certain there are many wankers there, too) and baby blue shorts, serving as sharp contrast to the darkness of his body. While trying not to drown, I wondered if his mama had sewn them for him, so they would match.
In my early teen years, I was out for a run through the Experimental Farm. Running toward me was a hairy fat man without a shirt on. Some ways away from me, he stopped running and pulled his BP out of his shorts and declared “Tu-DUH!” While sprinting past, I made a mental note to ask the same of my husband as I do believe the “Tu-DUH!” a funny and worthwhile conversation starter behind closed doors.
In my later teen years, two things happened. First was during a crisp Fall evening while Natasha and I were walking down Elgin Street. We approached the platform of one building and looked up to see a man with his pants and underwear around his ankles and his shirt completely undone, blowing in the wind. With his BP released into the fresh air, he too was wanking. I feared that at my normal pace, the wind would carry the items soon to shoot from the BP and hit me directly in the head. So I ran, while Natasha stood back to take notes on technique. JUST KIDDING, TASH!! I’LL CALL YOU!!
The following summer, I was walking down Bank Street when I looked into a car and saw a convulsing man, eyes rolled back in head, seizing. I would save him and be a real-life Heroine. With terror gripping my heart, I edged over to the window contemplating whether I would break the window with a punch or a kick, and how I would pose for the photo accompanying the story of my heroine ways. Sadly, it was only when I was standing with face pressed against the window that I noticed he had his BP in hand, having just had a go at himself.
There is no punchline to this entry. Rather, it is Movember, and if you know a man growing a stache for his prostate, better you support this month’s endeavor than leaving him to his own devices. Literally.