Frankie, no!

Last week I was hanging out with a couple of friends after work and one guy was saying that his girlfriend caught him jerking off, and how embarrassing it was. We all told our most embarrassing dating stories, and I thought I would share mine.

About five years ago I met this girl from Texas at a wedding (we'll call her Dallas). I've mentioned her before, she was really hot but really into herself. Her favorite sexual position was any one where she could watch herself in the mirror.

Anyway, we met at a wedding, fooled around a bit back in my hotel room that night, but that was all. Dallas was 27 at the time and had just divorced her high-school sweetheart husband, so I guess I was a rebound. After the wedding we talked a few times on the phone, and she came to visit me for a weekend. About 2 months later I went down to Dallas to hang out with her for a long weekend.

I flew down on a Wednesday night and planned to stay until Sunday evening. We toured the city, had dinner with the couple from the wedding a few times, and it was just a chill weekend. The only problem with the weekend was that Dallas had just moved into this very chic loft that had almost no walls. The bathroom was semi-enclosed, so if you went into the bathroom and stunk the place up, it was going to be really obvious. Needless to say, I wasn't comfortable doing that at this early stage of the relationship, so I took a couple of quick dueces at restaurants.

That Saturday we slept in and had a late breakfast. At noon we made a pitcher of Margaritas and went to the pool in her building. As I said, the building was ultra-chic and had this great pool. It is true what they say, everything is bigger in Texas. I have never seen so many tall, blond, big breasted women in one spot in my whole life. Everyone who lived in that building must have been 6' tall with d-cups (Dallas was only 5'9"), and they were all at the pool.

By 1pm we were out of drinks and I really needed to take a crap. In the fastest talk I could muster I told Dallas that I was going to run upstairs and make us another pitcher. She started to say that she would do it, but I grabbed her keys and the pitcher before she could even finish her sentence and ran upstairs.

When I got to her apartment I locked the door, threw the pitcher in the sink, and brushed aside her little $3,000 dog, Frankie, that thought I had come upstairs to play with him. I ran into the bathroom and did unkind things to that toilet while Frankie ran in and out of the bathroom area. When I was done I flushed and washed my hands. While I was at the sink I looked over at the toilet and saw that it had clogged and the water was dangerously close to overflowing. A hot wave of panic flooded my body. I yelled out loud, "Oh shit! Quick, find a plunger!". I looked all over the house but there was no plunger. Out of logical solutions I talked to the toilet "Pleasepleaseplease go down. Go down!". A few minutes passed and the water level stayed put just a few inches from the top of the bowl. There's a time for talk and a time for action. I "gently" kicked the base of the toilet with my heel, hoping to dislodge the stubborn turd. Nothing. I kicked again, and the water splashed a bit. I kicked harder. More splashing, and more kicking. Nothing.

Time was wasting, Dallas was surely wondering where I was by now and I was afraid I might knock the toilet off the base. I decided to make the drinks then come back to the toilet issue later. They say drinking is only a temporary solution to your problems, but that would have been just fine for me at that point.

I made the drinks while little Frankie, who was a Brussels Griffon (like Verdell from As Good As It Gets), danced and yapped for affection. I really liked Frankie, but he was treading on my last nerve, so I gave him a gentle swat with my foot and said "Beat it, Frankie!"

With the drinks made I turned my attention back on the toilet. The water had receded a little, "Maybe the kicking worked!", I thought. I carefully studied the water level, I knew this was a critical moment. If it was still clogged, the next flush would send the water rushing everywhere. To flush or not to flush? If it was still clogged and I walked away, it was the equivalent of leaving a grenade with the pin pulled, the next person to touch that handle would cause a shit-filled flood. Without thinking I pushed the handle and watched in terror as the water crept up to the top of the bowl, then up and over! Fecal water went everywhere. With no walls and concrete floors in the damn apartment the water spread from the bathroom to the bedroom to the kitchen. I ran to the kitchen for a mop. I opened every closet, but no mop. I was now yelling "Frankie, get out of my way! No fucking plunger! No fucking MOP! Who lives like this?". I needed help.

I ran out of the apartment and into the hallway, all I needed to do was find one guy, any guy, and explain what had happened. It was in the man-code that he would have to help me. I stood in that hallway, in my bathing suit, for five minutes and only beautiful blond women passed. "You're fucking kidding me, right? How can there only be chicks in this place?", I thought, exasperated. I went back into the apartment to re-look for a mop and plunger, even though I had already checked three times. As I was going through the kitchen I heard splashing, "NOW WHAT?", I yelled. I followed the splashing into the bathroom. There, in the crap/urine water was Frankie, frolicking and splashing around. "Frankie, no!"

I grabbed a towel of the vanity and scooped up the filthy little bastard. I brought him into the kitchen and put him into the kitchen sink. Even on his hind legs he was 3 inches too short to get out. I squirted some Palmolive dish soap on him and turned on the faucet. After a quick rinse I dried him off then put him in his crate.

All this mayhem had taken only 25 minutes. I was in a frenzy, and out of ideas. I washed my hands again, grabbed the pitcher and walked down to the pool. When I got down there Dallas said "What took so long, everything OK?". I said "There is good news and bad news, which do you want to hear first?". "The good news", she said. "There was just enough tequila to make one more batch of drinks." she shrugged and said "Then what's the bad news?". I said "The bad news is that this place has very weak plumbing and your toilet is overflowing."

Dallas was pretty cool about it. I told her we had to go to Home Depot and pick up a few things. She tried to go upstairs to change but I told her there was no way that was happening. I had a t-shirt and my wallet, so I made her drive me to Home Depot in her bikini. She waited in the car while I bought a plunger, mop, and disinfectant. I then made her go back to the pool while I disinfected her apartment and dog.

I flew out that next day, and Dallas came to visit me one more time, but things didn't pan out after that.