An Encounter With Molesto-Man

Inquiring reader wants to know about my encounter with molesto-man, so here goes.

It was a dark and stormy night...

Actually, it was a hot and sunny day in Houston, TX where my good friend Seth now lives.

But at the time, he was a PK (Pastor's Kid) in Springfield, MO and I was a 14-year-old freshman at Taft High School in San Antonio. I played Tenor Saxophone in the high school band and it was because of a band trip that I was in Houston.

One of our stops (besides Six Flags, where I would later loose my glasses on the Raptor ride) was this ginormous (see def. 4 in the Urban Dictionary) mall complete with a built-in hotel, ice rink, the works.

Even the bathrooms were huge. We're talking well over a dozen stalls.

But there was one thing about those bathrooms I will never understand: the stalls only had walls about 4 ft. high...and there was no door. So you could look down toward the back of the bathroom and see a row of a dozen men sitting on the john, taking a dump.

Well, I had to take a dump, too. And I couldn't wait for a more private opportunity. So despite my ambivalence, I joined the row of shitters.

So there I was taking care of some private business when this dude (I don't know, maybe he was about 30ish) stands RIGHT in front of me and just stares at me while I'm busy. (Keep in mind I'm 14 years old at the time.)

Well, I don't want this guy staring at me while I wipe myself, so I wait. And while I'm waiting, the stalls on either side of me become available. But this guy doesn't move in to take one of those stalls, he just keeps standing there, staring at me.

Finally, I decided to just get it over with and get the hell out of there because the place is suddenly starting to look a lot less populated than when I walked in and I sure as hell didn't want to be in there alone with this guy.

So I finish up my business and before I'm even out of the stall completely, this guy starts toward the toilet. I just keep walking past him and up to the sink to wash my hands. As I'm drying my hands, I look back down the row of stalls when I see this man looking straight at me.

Then he gives me this nod that says "Come over here." But I jet out of there and try my best to get lost in the crowded mall.

Fortunately, I never saw the guy again. And fortunately, I was never molested. But in my opinion, men who molest boys (or very young girls, for that matter) are the worst kind of sicko sexual offenders.

Those kind of offenders should never be allowed to roam free in society. Imagine what this man could have been capable of in a different setting. If he was so bold in a crowded restroom, what would have happened in a more private setting? Think God I never had to find out.

So the moral of the story is, my ass is still a virgin and I intend to keep it that way.

The Stan