“Dude there’s some people having sex in the bathroom. I can hear ’em from the coat room.” The coat room shared a wall with the bathroom. “You should go in there.”
Aaron had a devilish look in his eye. He was daring me.
“Ok.” I took the dare.
Fifteen steps later I was at the door of the men’s room. I stood a moment listening … but couldn’t hear anything. It was too quiet, I pushed past the door and ambled around the corner.
The door to the bathroom stall I assumed they’d be in was wide open. The stall was large, luxurious by some standards, and had its own sink. Handicapped people get all the maneuvering room they need. It seemed like a no-brainer if you were going to choose a stall to have sex in.
The other thing I noticed was the Persian man asleep standing up at the urinal closest to the sinks. He had passed out mid-piss. His head was resting against the wall holding his body in place, keeping him from crumpling to the ground. There is no way I could fall asleep standing up even if I tried, let alone with my penis out mid piss stream.
It was an awkward thing I’d wandered into. So as to not seem too strange myself, I used the only other urinal in the place. The Persian man began snoring. I looked over at him. He had the peaceful calm face of a comfortable sleeper. Then he farted and squirted out a quick stream of piss. Still he didn’t wake up.
Then I heard them. The hushed whispers and giggles of a couple of kids goofing around. But they weren’t kids, they were adults, and they were in the only other stall which was right behind me.
I was dumbfounded a moment trying to figure out the logistics of intercourse in a stall I’d used before, and found so cramped it was hard to wipe myself afterward. It was the sudden moaning that broke me from my spell. ‘Best to wash my hands and get out’ I thought.
The water from the sink drowned them out a moment, but then she moaned again, this time loud enough to wake the sleep pisser from his slumber.
He yelled to his friend in the tiny stall, “You better be wearing a condom!”
There were more giggles. I was drying my hands on a towel when the Persian turned to me in solidarity, hitched his thumb toward the stall and said “Who knows what she’s got?”
A shrug was my only answer to him before I walked out.
The Persian was out next, stumbling down the few stairs that led to the bar. The couple walked out not long after. She was smoothing out her yellow dress and fixing her hair, the man with her had the look and satisfaction of a conqueror on his face.
For a moment I imagined Caesar’s triumphant return to Rome, but then remembered how it all ended up in the end. The woman went right back to eating the swordfish with which he had purchased her wares.