I am one sip into my morning coffee when I get that feeling.
Something is up.
I hate having my morning coffee interrupted, but I hate to miss something.
I begin to look the Starbucks over.
Not the front tables.
Not the line.
Barrista and cashier seem to be fine.
Right outside the bathroom, a surfer in a Mexican poncho seems to be convulsing.
Better, he is laughing.
He looks up and sees me watching, immediately he waves me over and I believe he mouths the word “dude”.
I should find out whats up.
I walk over.
I raise my eyebrows in a “what the hell” move as I walk up.
The surfer begins trying to talk in a whisper, but I can’t make out what he is saying for a minute because he is laughing too hard.
“Dude!” I can make that out.
“There’s sex going on in the bathroom!”
I wave him quiet.
Sure enough, there is unmistakable sound of a man groaning in ecstasy.
I’ll be damned.
I begin racking my brain for who it can be.
I spend an inordinate amount of time in this Starbucks. If two patrons have decided to hook up in the bathroom, there is an excellent chance that I will be at least nodding acquaintances with them.
Plus, I love odd situations happening in my Starbucks.
And this is dirty too.
I am almost giddy.
So, we wait.
The surfer guy is alternating between keeping it together and losing it.
Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long.
A long groan of orgasm is totally audible.
Even the old lady at the cream and sugar kiosk is staring at the bathroom.
I snap my head to the door as the lock clicks.
The guy that walks out is a regular, I have talked with him a few times.
He turns bright red as he sees us standing there.
The convulsing surfer doesn’t help.
The guy just kind of hot foots it out, eager to be gone. I don’t think he expected a reception.
The surfer guy and I turn from him and look into the bathroom at the same time.
There is no one else.
Like a sudden migraine it hits me. How stupidly dense am I?
He was masturbating.
The surfer beats me to it.
“Dude! Thats nasty!”
The surfer, who has been waiting to go, is reluctant to enter the bathroom now.
I went and sat down, somewhat dejected.
What had started out kind of cool and naughty had taken a creepy turn.
I can hear the surfer yelling from the bathroom. He is freaking out about having to have a BM on the “Pleasure toilet”.
I can’t blame him.
It finally occurs to me that the part of this that bothers me is that the guy was so loud.
Young boys discover masturbation at the beginning of puberty. It is a hobby that all men have thru out their whole life.
Silence during the act is instinctive.
And thats when it hits me.
He was trying to get caught.
I am creeped out to the point that even my coffee tastes off.
And what the hell do I say the next time I see that freak?