Too Disgusting to Contemplate, Too Compelling to Ignore

Back in the day when I worked in a library we had an elderly man whose son would bring him in every two weeks like clockwork. This gentleman was a very voracious reader and an all around nice guy. He had been a very active individual until the early onset of Parkinson's disease which had caused him to shake very badly. But through it all, he kept a good sense of humor.

One day his son brought him for his twice monthly book search but this time he came to the desk and asked myself and the other librarian working, Annaliese, if we could keep an eye on his dad for about 45 minutes while he ran into work and picked up some papers he needed. She quickly agreed, much to my dismay. Anytime an old person is left in your care, it cannot end well.

This time was no exception.

The son had no longer left the library when the elderly man made his way up to the desk and asked where the restrooms were. Annaliese smiled and pointed around the corner.

"Young man...do you think you could help me get there? I'm a little shaky."

A little shaky was akin to saying Paris Hilton is a little slutty. But being the damn good guy that I am, I walked around the desk and took the old fellow by the arm and led him to the restroom. Upon entering, I ponied his ass up to one of the three waist to floor urinals we had and started out.

"Young man?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you wait until I am done?"

"Uh, sure." Guys, I'm sure you hear that from your wives and girlfriends all the time, so you can imagine how I felt.

So I stood there. And stood there. And stood there, waiting for the old guy to make lemonade and be done. But nothing.

Finally, he half turns and says, "Young man, I hate to ask...but I can't get my zipper undone. Could you help me?"

The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

"Please?"

Gathering up all my courage, I approached him and gingerly unzipped his pants, kind of pulling the fly to both sides to make a big opening for him.

"There you go," I mumbled.

"Young man?"

Oh shit. I knew where this was going.

"I hate to ask, but my son usually helps with this...could you take it out and hold it while I go?"

Okay, see this was like the SOPHIE'S CHOICE of customer service: do I let the poor old fart piss himself and sit in the library humiliated and risk angering his son, or do I reach in and hold his geriatric manwang while he relieves himself. All I could think was here was this poor old man who had probably fought in every battle since the Trojan War and his body was giving out on him to the point where the simple act of taking a whiz was a mighty effort.

I swallowed my revulsion, pulled his member out, and aimed. And that is where things REALLY got weird.

As I was holding his pretty ample flaccid unit, he got a serious case of the shakes. Particularly from the waist down. And I wasn't holding him tightly, so the shakes sort of made it wiggle back on forth between my fingers.

And he got excited. Real excited.

"I'm sorry, young man," he kept saying as the never ending stream of piss continued.

"Uh, it's alright...just finish peeing, okay?"

Finally he did. I did my best to tap off his unbelievably hearty piece of wood and put that rascal away. I was feeling so dirty and it must've shown on my face, because when I looked up, the gentleman was all teary-eyed.

"I'm really sorry about that, young man," he said in a low tone. "I just can't do for myself like I used to."

"It's okay," I replied and led him over to the sink where we both washed up and then I led him back to his table.

Getting old sucks ass.

Getting old and going through shit like that sucks even more.

The big four-oh is not going to be a good day here at TDtC, TCtI, kids.

Let the countdown begin.

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