All things being equal I prefer not to move my bowels in a public restroom, but the bowels want what the bowels want. I had just finished tidying up afterwards when I looked up and saw Tim staring down at me with a perplexed look on his face.
“Can I help you?” I said, concealing my fear that he may have watched the entire performance.
“You wipe standing up?” Tim asked, as if he were inquiring about the time of day.
“Yeah. Why? You don’t?” I responded, playing along as if it were socially acceptable for an adult to watch another adult engaged in such a private activity.
“No way man. I just stay seated. I mean, first of all, I’m already sitting down. Secondly, my ass cheeks are nice and spread apart in that position, so I can get all up in there. You know what I mean?”
“Ummm, yyyyeah. I never thought about it before, to tell you the truth.” I said. “I’ve been standing up to wipe my entire life, and never thought to question the efficiency of my technique. Maybe I started standing up when I was being potty trained, like to show my Mom what a good job I had done, what a good boy I was to get my hynie so clean. The habit must’ve stuck. And what with butt wiping typically being a solitary pursuit, I’ve never seen anyone do it any differently. But explain this to me… How do you get at your asshole with your dick and balls just hanging there, in the way? Do you just lift them aside with one hand and wipe with the other?”
“What?” Tim asked, seemingly unable to generate a corresponding mental picture to what I had just described. “What are you talking about? You just reach back, from behind, and wipe up in the direction of your tailbone. No need to lay a finger on your twig and berries. You can use your other hand to spread your butt cheeks even wider apart, if the situation calls for it, but otherwise your other hand is free to hold a book, make a phone call, whatever you like.”
“Hmmm. Interesting.” I said. “I’m glad we had this talk. Remind me never to masturbate in here. I don’t think I can handle finding out that I’ve been doing that the wrong way too.”
“It’s not about right or wrong, dude.” Tim said. “This is America. Our forefathers laid down their lives so that we could be free to jerk off in whatever way the spirit moves us.”
And with that, Tim and I went about our business as if nothing unusual had transpired. The next time I had to take a dump I tried out Tim’s technique. I didn’t like the whole “reaching behind me” thing, but I had to acknowledge that it didn’t make a lick of sense to stand up until the entire procedure was complete. I never stood up to wipe again.
And that’s how I learned that change is always possible.