From the Vault: No Explanation

 

Last night, after getting out of work at 4:00am, I went to brush my teeth. I exited my bedroom, walked down the hall, and entered the bathroom. It’s a small half-bath – the kind where all the fixtures are small – small toilet, sink about waist high, tiny mirror.

As I put toothpaste on my toothbrush, I realized I had to take a piss. So the toothbrush went into my mouth, and I took one step to the toilet. Biting down on my toothbrush enabled me to use both hands to pull my penis out and begin the urination process – as any man knows, this is always step one. Upon commencement of said stream, I redirected my right hand to the brushing process.

Brush, brush, brush.

Brush, brush, brush.

I was tired and half asleep, and I didn’t notice the longer-than-normal stream. Due to this extended time lapse, the froth in my mouth had risen to “need-to-spit” proportions. I figured that I could contain the large amount of paste in my mouth. It will only be a few more seconds, I thought. So, I continued to brush and piss simultaneously.

Normally I would have just spit the excess paste-foam into the toilet, but I knew that if I did this, I wouldn’t be able to continue brushing – once back at the sink – with a depleted reservoir of foam. Like I said, I thought my mouth could contain the paste levels for a few more seconds.

I looked down at the toilet, and as I did a large stream of toothpaste exited my mouth and landed directly on the shaft of my penis.

Well, that’s a first, I thought. Looking down at, what could only be described as, my now plaque-free penis, I decided that my next move would be to rinse it off in the sink.

Wiping it down may leave residue, I said to myself. Plus, can’t toothpaste kill you if ingested? Certainly, it can’t be very good for such a sensitive organ.

So, finally done pissing, with shorts around my ankles and toothbrush in my mouth, I stepped back to the sink.

I stared at the sink for a couple of seconds. Figuring out the logistics of how this operation was going to unfold.

I settled on: Flop in, rinse off, dry.

It was important, in my mind, that I handle this penis situation before finishing to brush my teeth. Prioritize, I said thought.

So, I flopped in.

The cool, somewhat mildew-y porcelain was an interesting sensation on the ventral side of my penis. As I reached my cupped hand towards the water, biting down on my toothbrush, I heard a noise.

A very distinct noise.

One that only happens when entering in and out of rooms, rooms with doors, doors with knobs, knobs that turn.

My roommate opened the door.

There I stood, hand reaching towards water, toothbrush in mouth, and my cock in the sink.

I just stared at her, and, bless her little heart, she just stared right back.

She walked back to her bedroom, I guess, forgetting that she needed to use the bathroom in the first place.

This morning was strange. She asked me how long I had been cock-sinking

I told her that there was an explanation.

Shaking her head she said, “No, there is no explanation.”

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