Miracle In A Men’s Room
One advantage of a religious education is a life-long obsession with sex. Eons later, I still remember Debbie Spinello.
A second-year girl, Debbie Spinello was secretly voted “Most Developed” at St J’s Junior College.
The school had separate entrances for males and females. Demerits were handed out, penances assigned, for being out of uniform. So I was surprised when I ran into Debbie in the Young Men’s room. She was smoking a forbidden cigarette, unfiltered.
“Wha-what’re you doing in here?” I gasped.
Debbie Spinello exhaled a Bikini Atoll cloud, puffed a fleck of tobacco off her unfrosted lip (Holy Regulation #31B: Thou shalt not apply lipstick, nor lip gloss!) and said, “Duh. What about you?”
“This is the Young Men’s Room. I need to urinate.
“Well, don’t mind me. I ain’t leavin’ till I finish this butt.”
But I couldn’t leave. I was about to piss my pants. I approached the urinal. My hands shook when I unzipped. My penis was hard as an iron bar.
Debbie heard the silence, came over to see what was wrong.
“C’mon,” she whispered smokily in my ear.
Mortified, I prayed for a quick, painless death.
“You’re pee-shy? That’s cute…Whoa! You got a fucking hard-on.”
She punched my arm. I thought she’d report me to the Sisters. Holy Regulation #3 was: Thou shalt not never have a hard-on.
“We could, uh, not waste it,” she said. “Know what I mean?”
Her cigarette sizzled when she flicked it into the urinal. Her slender fingers came together again, not in prayer. “Well I do, even if you don’t.”
“But…but…I gotta get back to class,” I said. “Father Hurley’s gonna send a patrol out for me in a minute if I don’t…”
“Don’t worry. This won’t take long. First, you get it wet.”
Debbie Spinello bent at the waist, and nearly hit her head on the cup of the urinal. The Fathers said that what she did was the worst thing that could ever happen, but it felt good.
When she stopped I didn’t want her to. But then she said, “Wanna fuck?”
I nodded dumbly. “Too bad,” she said.
My heart sank. The nuns had used Debbie as bait to trap a boy in his sinful lust.
“My folks have me checked once a week. Doc Snyder would report me for sure. He’s my Dad’s oldest buddy. Besides, I don’t want to get pregnant. So you have to do my ass, OK?”
This time I nodded furiously.
“Unbutton me. I got a surprise for you.”
She had to guide my hands. I fought the urge to rip and tear.
“Here silly, lemme show you how.”
A gold medallion hung on a delicate chain in the hollow of her neck. Below was a heavy-duty white cotton bra. I grabbed.
“Be gentle,” she whispered. “And warm your hands first. Ready for the surprise?”
Was Debbie Spinello really a boy? I’d heard stories from guys who’d been to Times Square. Was she an undercover cop? At that point, I didn’t even care.
She unsnapped her bra and showed me the most beautiful things in the world. I wanted to start crying. But all I could say was, “So what’s the surprise?”
That’s when she tweaked her nipples.
“You got milk! You’re lac…lactating! I thought you said you didn’t wanna get pregnant?”
“I’m not pregnant, silly. It just happens. I thought it was a miracle at first, but I was too embarrassed to tell the Sisters. Doc Snyder says it’s rare but normal. He said some Latin word, but I forgot. Mom has to buy me these special absorbent bras.”
She knelt down and took me in her mouth. It was all too much.
“Do you like…”
Way too much. I nearly exploded, fell over backwards. I thought she’d be angry.
“Wow,” she said. “You must really like me.”
“Oh Debbie,” I moaned. “I love you. I always have. Do you know how often I’ve dreamed…”
She stood up and turned around, pulled up her skirt, pulled down her panties and braced herself against the wall over the urinal.
“You gotta spit on it first.”
I went to clear my throat.
“Ew,” she said, “not like that! You’re supposed to, like, just drool on it a bit.”
I did as she instructed and she reached around, guiding me in.
“Ow! Go slow! Go slow!”
So I went slow, even though I wanted to root around in Debbie like a warthog. To help keep my cool, I recited the Lord’s Prayer backwards.
“Quiet,” she said. “This feels really good, but we don’t wanna get caught, do we?”
We did not.
“Milk me so I get off fast. But do it gently.”
I pretended I was back on Uncle Olaf’s farm in Wisconsin.
Debbie wrothe and squirmed. We fell against each other, crashed into the urinal. The thing flushed. We slid to the cold tile floor.
“Omigod,” Debbie whispered. “I can’t go back to class like this. You gotta help me out, OK?”
“Sure,” I said. “What’m I supposed to do?”
“Clean me up,” she hissed. “Come on, hurry.”
She got on all fours.
Debbie tasted evil. When I was done, she whipped around so we could kiss.
The memory of that kiss lingers on and on.
Debbie wiped her mouth on my shirt, walked out of the Men’s room and out of my life forever.
She got kicked out of school for smoking.