Paul Tanner

waiting for girlfriend’s bus

I needed a piss, so 
I went into the men’s, stood to a urinal, took it out and started 
doing my business …
someone stands next to me.
our elbows touch.  
there’s three other shanks and a cubicle, 
but this guy has to piss next to me? 
whatever. I finish pissing, zip up and turn – 
he’s looking right at me. 
up for it? he says. 
up for what? 
come on, he says. you’re Jim forty-five, aren’t you?
no, I tell him.
oh come on, don’t chicken out now. is it cos you don’t like what you see?
I looked at him: he was little and skinny. kinda feminine. 
and I hadn’t done anal in ages …
show me your arse, I said. 
he undid his belt, pulled his jeans and boxers down and bent over the urinal. 
spread ‘em, I said. 
he did. 
nah, sorry, I said. too hairy. 
you said you didn’t mind hair, he said. you fucking said! 
look, I’m sorry, I said. but I’m not Jim forty-five. 
fuck you aren’t! he turned around, his pants hanging around his knees. 
coward! get off on humiliating me like this, do you? he said
as his stiffy waved around. 
I went to the mirror and washed my hands. 
I checked my reflection,
buffed my quiff up, 
went back out
and waited.

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