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I'm very glad I have a very close group of gay friends.

Stanley the sex bunny and Carl the dense one.

I'm also very glad that in our near-30 years of friendship, there's no judgement of one another and there's nothing we can't talk about.

And this is one of those moments.

Spread across Stanley's dinning table in his bright and airy Queen's Close home was a variety of hawker fare: Char Kway Teow, carrot cake (black), rojak and, at Carl's insistence, MacDonald's nuggets and fries. 

The chilled wine is cheap but good Fat Bastard Chardonnay.

So far, a very pleasant Saturday afternoon but the topic du jour was far from it.

"Boys... I have a problem with my penile function," Stanley said. 

Carl, who was about to devour a large piece of nugget, instantly regretted his life choices.

He deftly switched from eating to drinking, and reached for his Chardonnay. 

"I've been leaking urine these days," Stanley said without shame, filter nor diapers. 

Carl gave up on life and simply focused on listening instead of the dangerous act of eating and drinking in Stanley’s presence. 

Apparently, these days, it's a case of the glass is half full situation for Stanley.

"I'd pee, and then I will always feel like the bladder is never really empty," Stanley said, taking a swig of his wine.

Carl pushed his wine glass farther away. 

"The other day, I was at the urinal and when I thought I was done with my pee, I zipped up," Stanley said. "And trust me, when I am at the urinal and I zip up, it means I am done." 

La Carl waited, knowing the worst isn't over.

"And then, just as I was about to walk to the sink, I peed in my pants. It wasn't done! I had to clean up myself in the cubicle! And trust me, this is the first time I'm drying up after myself in the toilet cubicle and the substance is urine."

It wasn't funny. It wasn't meant to be funny. There was no punchline. The only punch delivered was to our gut. 

But Carl and I roared with laughter on cue and didn’t stop until after three minutes, as Stanley waited expressionless, his arms folded.

Ok. This is a serious problem -- and it's not unique to Stanley.

"Actually," Carl put up his hand and said meekly, "I am also like that. I find myself standing at the toilet bowl for prolonged periods because I keep feeling like my pee is not over."

Both Stanley and Carl looked to me for my contribution.

"Okay, fine," I said, caving in to peer pressure.

"I've had the same situation as Stan -- I peed in my pants too but JUST A BIT," I said, trying to save my pride.

Stanley jumped up from his seat and did a group hug with me and Carl.

"You know this is nothing to celebrate about right, Stan?" I said, squeezing my words out between Stanley's shoulder and Carl's python-size biceps. 

"Phew, this feels good," Stanley said.

"We just talked about peeing in our pants. I am not sure this should feel this good," I remarked.

Carl seemed relieved too that he wasn't the only one who had leaking issues.

In fact, all three of us were on a roll that afternoon -- we were all leaking a lot of intimate details.

"How long have you been peeing in your pants," Stanley asked the group.

"Well, technically, we are not peeing in our pants," I argued. "It's the same issue -- that we pee a bit more even after we think we're done. Please frame your arguments accurately," I said, trying to give the group some form of dignity. 

"It's been more and more common," Carl admitted. 

"It started a few years ago too -- and mostly at night," I confessed.

"Fuck," Stanley said, almost dropping his phone.

"Google tells us this means we have enlarged prostates!"

Carl, chaser of all things big especially when it came to muscle, wasn't sure how to react since Stanley the size queen freaked out over something "enlarged".

"But that's perfectly normal right?" I tried not to panic. "I mean, we are old. So our prostates would be enlarged? No?"

Nobody had any answer. 

Desperate to change the topic, Carl leaked further. 

"Have you guys shat in your pants before? Because I have."

Stanley raised his hand. 

Again, both looked to me for my contribution.

"This is bullying," I complained. "Fine. Yes. But not always," I had to add, folding my arms.

Apparently, Carl shat in his pants the other day, after a particularly heavy set at the gym.

Stanley, not surprisingly, shat during one of his sexual escapades. His reasoning was, it was an unplanned encounter so he couldn't make sure he had cleansed himself thoroughly.

"We've spilled," Stanley said. "Now spill, Adam," he added, using very appropriate word choices.

"I shat in my pants during a long distance run. Are you happy now?" I said, reaching for a nugget to dip in curry sauce. 

Carl was on a roll.

"Has anyone eaten his own booger before?" he asked excitedly, emboldened by our sharing.

Stanley and I immediately reacted.

"Eww! YUCK! NO!"

"Who the FUCK would do that?" Stanley screamed accusingly at Carl.

"Ya! Right?" Carl replied smoothly. "Who would want to eat his own booger! It's so salty!" he said, extremely pleased with himself that he had bought himself some dignity.

 

 

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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people