Having a bowel moment with at least 10 other guys, for company, in the same bathroom took care of the delusion of even trying for privacy. Taking a shower with at least ten other bare ass naked guys was like taking a shower in your high school gym locker-room after a basket ball game or gym class. Was a great motivator for six pack abs.(Which never happened to me.)
Any retained desire for privacy went bye bye when it was time for 'short arm' inspection. Where you, with a gazillion other guys in attendance, dropped your pants and drawers and tugged on your schlong to prove to a doctor that you didn't have a venereal disease. A dripping schlong was bad news and reason for confinement and other goodies like being busted down to private.
Thank God an enlarged prostate is an older man's problem. At least we were young and didn't have to have a finger stuck up our asses by a doctor.
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Aboard ship the showers were salt water showers, which guaranteed feeling fucking slimy when you finished but it was better than smelling like shit. After finishing a shower one day, the First Sergeant stopped me and ate my ass out for taking a shower on the Black side of the ship.
Whites with Whites and Blacks with Blacks and never the twain shall meet was the absolute unwritten rule which I had ignored. The First Sergeant was Regular Army, a group virulent with hate and bigotry. Being around those mothers wasn't like spending a day at the beach.
'Regular Army' guys were guys who enlisted in the thirties when civilian jobs were hard to come by. Enlisting in the Army in the thirties was a way out of unemployment and poverty.
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Being drunk on an airplane in the sixties and early seventies always meant being loaded with creativity and feeling feeling fucking brilliant. That was a great part of being in the bag, sitting in a flying tube on a flight to somewhere, often to NY.
Ideas galore which I wrote down religiously. The bad part was that the next day, when sober, I couldn't read my drunken handwriting. So much for my brilliance under the influence.
But the flight attendants either loved me or didn't care how much booze I ingested as long as I didn't bother them, which didn't happen.Yeah, in spite of wonderful Alcoholics Anonymous my worst days sober have not been better than my best days in the bag.
I had some really great times in the bag. A lot of which, I don't remember but I'm sure they were great.
No matter how hard you try, if you close your eyes you don't disappear.
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