Drunk Tank Blues

The guards put us in a drunk tank that was so overcrowded it looked like a grenade filled with losers exploded. The room was the size of a racquetball court and there was only one toilet right in the center of the room. They had given us dirty mattresses that looked like they had been used by back alley abortion doctors that never took the time to change the sheets. I had to piss the entire time they were processing us and by the time we got into the holding cell, I was convinced that my bladder was going to burst. It felt like a car’s airbag had gone off in my belly. I knew that if I didn’t piss soon, I would pop like a giant urine filled balloon.
I went to the center of the room and took my penis out. I would say “cock” but that implies an imposing member. My penis is average size but it does get hard enough to drill a hole in a still wall. At that moment however, my penis was as intimidating as a windsock.
As I tried to push the piss out, I could feel eyes watching me from every part of the room. The dam was sturdy; the piss was going to stay right where it was.
I’ve heard that men get stage fright while peeing because they know they are more vulnerable so the defense mechanism is to go on pee pee lock down. It was the worst possible moment for this to happen. I had already taken the penis out. The other men were waiting to hear the splash sound that was not coming. Seconds ticked by and panic starting tickling my nut sac.
Finally I pushed harder than a lady giving birth to sumo wrestler’s baby and a trickle dripped out like the first drop of rain after a devastating draught. The relief was so powerful that everything else relaxed and I let the loudest, wettest, butt cheek vibrating-est fart the world has ever been stained with. Normally this would probably impress people in jail, but it didn’t impress the giant skinhead who was sleeping right under my ass. The fart was so ferocious, I was sure that the shit-wind moved his nose hairs.
The skinhead, (I would come to know his name as Tiny,) jumped up and he was upset, which was understandable. But I knew that in jail you had to be tough and a general prick to get respect so I simply turned around, looked at him and shrugged as if to say, “shit happens.” Well shit did happen to his face and it came from my asshole.
Tiny snarled and paced back and forth behind me. I knew he could spring at any moment, but I also knew that since I had held my piss in for so long that now that it had started, it wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.
On and on the moment went, me peeing, and him getting madder and madder with each ounce of piss that came out of me. Finally I finished and took my mattress to a tiny clearing on the floor in a corner of the room right next to a pile of puke that some drunk had been nice enough to share with everyone.
I slept, or tried to sleep, with my back against the wall that night keeping an eye on Tiny. From time to time I would see him look over at me with the white eyes of a man bent on revenge. He would come for me at some point; it was prison law. That’s okay, I thought, I’ll be ready.