I casually stroll into the mens restroom of Harkins Theatre, a place that invites the filled bladders of movie goers who have over-indulged themselves into carbonated sodas. As if on que, the elevator music washes over my head as I inspect the scene of the public hangout for mens penises. There, I spot the urinals, all six and a half of them, one child size. I spot a lone gentleman urinating within the middle urinal, amongst the surprisingly clean piss-pot stalls. Immediately, I scurry over next to the unsuspecting stranger, violating the every other urinal rule of thumb. Im a rebel, what can I say. I unbuckle my cheap $10 pair of loosely fit jeans and pull my pants and Hanes under-panties all the way down to my ankles. My bear ass is showing as the lip of the back of my shirt could be felt caressing the top of my vertical smile aka buttcrack. The alarmed man next to me is caught completely off-guard. I can sense his uneasy shuffling, to and fro, as I violate all manner of manly procedure of the restroom.

As I began to allow the urine to stream out from my manhood, with my pants and underpants down around my ankles, bare ass hanging out; I make damn sure to engage full-on eye contact with this stranger. I stare at him as if he were a car accident and I were a rubbernecking passerby. I never release him from my gaze, despite the fact that hes now attempting to finish up as if there were a fire in his pants. I intently add to his distress by forcing my gaze downwards as if I were checking out every mole or blemish that had ever existed upon his sausage stand. We are almost interrupted by a guest as another male begins entering the washroom, to which he immediately departs after sensing the unusual scene unraveling between myself and the innocent bystander next to me. Suffice to say, my fellow brother-in-arms left without a remark or even washing his own hands.

This is my form of creativity. This story, based on true events by yours truly, is where my creativity stems from. Not from the aforementioned writing, but the scene itself: the situation that was brought upon said innocent civilian due to my creative energies. My wife views my creativity as if it derives from a place of sexuality. I disagree. My creativity comes from a place that produces a reaction, whether its favorable, unfavorable, or discomfort. I wasnt being homosexual or even sexual in that time and place. Quite the contrary, I was merely being creative. I wanted my creativity to elicit emotion from the stranger. Mission accomplished. Forms of creativity are unique to the individual person, as well as is its purpose.

Note: My own creativity backfired on me once. In one instance of several, a stranger actually reached around and grabbed my bare ass as I was basking in this particular creative process. The process backfired, and instead of eliciting an emotion out of the stranger that day, he reversed the entire situation and was able to elicit a state of shock from myself. Bravo to him. I still have nightmares...