Riding the M104 up to Harlem because I couldn't control my John Thomas

I was thinking the other day about growing up and being a young unripe tomato in the streets of NY. One memory jumped into my mind suddenly and made me laugh out loud. It was something I hadn't considered in a long time, mainly because I no longer have to concern myself with the catalyst of this particular misadventure in my old age. The catalyst being the uninvited boner.

Any guy can tell you that part of growing up as a lad is dealing with an over anxious, under nourished one-eyed willy. A nasty creature who regularly decides that he wants to make his presence known to all who dare to be in the same vicinity as his mightiness. He cares not about the propriety of his arrival, not what the situation is, or who he will be introducing his boniness to. He just wants to dance.

So, among the many many sources of stress that a young boy has to cope with, like school, girls, friends, homework, the future, bio-nuclear warfare (it was a real source of stress in the 80's), puberty. it was yet another bomb that could go off at any second. a time bomb located right there between the legs. methinks mine was a particularly sensitive bomb that loved to blow at the most awkward moments, like right at the end of class, right as i was being subbed into a basketball game, or right as i had to get up for my bus stop.

This moment in time was the latter. I remember it very vividly. It was summer, I had a huge sony walkman with a broken rewind button and big fat dj headphones (headphones i was forced to defend more then once). I remember that I was listening to Janet Jackson on KISS Fm (of dj red alert fame). I believe the song was "Let's wait a while". It was 1986, back when buses were huge rounded exhaust spewing beasties. I was late and had to run to catch the bus before it drove to the next stop. I had to run while holding my sweatpants because they were very baggy and if i ran they would fall down around my ankles...yet another thing to worry about.

I managed to make the bus at 86th street and broadway. I walked to the back to see if there was anybody I knew on the same bus. Of course there was, but she was my teacher. That was awkward and disappointing (and only added to my impending boy humiliation). So I said "hi" and sat down in an aisle seat and turned the volume up to zone out and dig on the tunes.

The ride was uneventful and I don't think a single sexy thought crossed my mind the whole time. Until I perked up at 110th street noticing that my stop was next. It was as if my stupid penis got wind of my need to stand up and decided that it needed to stand up too. The fact that i had soft sexy feeling sweatpants didn't help my case either. So suddenly i popped a tent. And again, I can safely say that the tent popping had NOTHING to do with my thoughts at the time. I was most likely focusing on the street number and my projected path to the exit doors. But mr pee pee didn't care. He just woke up and went "Boing"..."Reporting for duty, sir!"

There I was, sitting near my teacher and turning red as a beet. I had to think fast and decide how I was going to play the situation. Did I just throw caution to the wind and try to stand up and possibly cover my bulging sweatpants with my bag or my huge walkman? Did I maybe try to hunch over while tucking the tip under my waistband and hope nobody noticed the obvious change in posture? Or did I just not get up and wait it out?

At the last possible second I went with my last option. I stayed in my seat and and decided to hope it subsided before I was in the bronx. I remember my teacher tapping my shoulder and pointing at the street sign. I mumbled something like "I wanna get something from the store on 113th street" and hoping she didn't mention that I would be late. Maybe she knew secretly what I might be going through because she nodded and got off the bus without a fuss. The bus closed the doors and started rolling uptown. 114th street came and went, 116th, 118th, 120th. the stops were coming so fast and nothing was changing. My little boy pecker wouldn't give me a break. It was armed for battle and refusing to stand down no matter how many baseball games i pictured in my mind.

I ended up getting off the bus in Harlem and then being so afraid that it might happen again that I just ran back to 112th street. I was late that day...And i probably popped another one in math class...fucking sweatpants.