Bored one afternoon (as usual) thought I’d have some fun on Yahoo Answers!
Completely made up of course :)
Friend masturbated in cinema. Do I say anything?
I went to watch Black Swan a few days ago with four friends (all male). During one of the raunchy scenes I saw one of my friends unmistakably rubbing his crotch. This was pretty out of character but we had a few drinks beforehand.
Then he did the whole thing, like got it out and stuff. I was really shocked of course but i didn’t know what I should say! So I just stared straight at the screen for the rest of the film without moving.
Upon exiting the cinema into the light I noticed what was definitely semen on the outside of the thigh section on my trousers. I ran to the toilet and rubbed it off with some tissue but the smell made me gag and I was sick in the basin.
He’s not gay so I know it’s not like that. I am really embarrassed by it and i think he would be too, I find it really sickening and can’t believe it happened.
I’m not sure if any of my other friends saw it, we’re uncomfortable about talking about this kind of thing. But I just need some advice. Do I bring it up and question him? Do I tell him it’s unacceptable or should I at least discuss it with my other friends first?
Best Answer - Chosen by Asker
Well, its certainly not normal to be masturbating in a cinema, drunk or not…its not socially acceptable. In fact if my mate was doing this next to me i would have told them to stop. Maybe he should stop drinking in public places if he cant control his sexual urges….sex is plastered everywhere, so when does he start controlling himself sexually.
I would discuss it with the other friends first as long as they arent gonna be mean to him and give him grief about it….We all do stupid things sometimes and we usually learn from it.
You are gonna have to play it by ear and see what your mates say first………………….there is no rule book for this dilemma.
http://uk.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20110408083448AACZ7n
I may not be old but I’ve seen the rain pour
Bone idle, sat sucking cigarettes’ with bones stripped raw
.
I’ve seen summers lost to watery smoke and lagers fall
Watched the kids scrape knees and hit concrete walls
.
Hiding above the city, the retail sprawl
Is curled up in a ball like on a barren gusting shore
.
You see out this window, on my house on the hill
I saw the rain pour, till the gutters overflowed
‘Till the kids went home, as I sat alone
‘Till washing machines fell silent and the rats roamed
Day upon day the repeating grieving drone
.
But despite it all,
I was always the first see, with my house on the hill
The clouds break open,
With the sun stepping in.
Anarchy.
When i think about it I’ve been anxious for the past ten years. I can hear something but i don’t know weather it’s a new world growing or our world dying.
Something is going to have to shift and I’m getting nervous waiting for what it is.
Of vandals
Stories grow Tied to the hands Serendipity Our future Will come. . Four steps, outside. Blossom Breaks the old stone walls. A world Not uniformed Sweet uninformed Perfectly formed, New born.
Picture in Reflection
TV’s tiresome on Saturday mornings,
So I sit and destroy ants crawling out of cracks in the doorway.
There’s something about the tricks played on a child’s mind,
Silently listening to tales of a botch divorce.
.
Trains pass by on cold Saturday afternoons.
Carried through the walls,
Beige emotions from the old house.
Blurred memories,
Balanced on the kerb.
.
Saturday night
I wait by the door,
Wait for her warmth
For her soothing talk,
To find out
If she’s coming back.
Driving through the rain to San Sebastian, we found this place.
A tattooed carcass of industry.
Tin Walls
The tall lies we tell ourselves, to make day to day move apparently smoother. The impending sense of unspoken, irrational doom.
Sometimes I think we have nothing in common.
Tin Walls
You think how I move is wrong
Yet I think it’s completely right
I claim you’re my lover
Yet were on opposite sides
You taught me all the things that fill your mind
Yet you’ve never seen mine
Maybe if you just touched my books
You would find a seat in my eyes
A Series of (Very) Short Stories
VI.
The winds shredding the street, Sonic Youth are ripping up my ears. Dry leaves rise from the kerb, Thurston’s teeth crunch waves.
I light a cigarette, head up heading through the terrace, sky; fluffy bronze white.
I’ve got nettle stings on my ankles.
Never mind.
Got Hill leading me on.
Get on. Put on,
Tough Gloves
Tear them up.
Go home.
Make soup.
A Series of (Very) Short Stories
III.
I spend most of the days in most weeks drawing lines on a computer. It isn’t abnormal for me to make mistakes; in fact it happens quite often. When it does happen I hit control and Z simultaneously until I’m at the point before I made the mistake, I then attempt to draw the object correctly.
This method has become instinct.
Sometimes as I go about my dry life I also make mistakes. More or less instantly I think, “It’s okay; I’ll just hit control Z!”
Then I remember: I’m not a computer.
I chuckle on the outside but inside this inability deeply troubles me.
A Series of (Very) Short Stories
V.
Lying on my bed, high up in my room, I see the toxic orange light play games with the rain.
I watch them touch each other through the window, rolling over the dirty glass when the wind decides to join. The light grips the droplets giving curves and contours to something dreadfully small.
Heads down, umbrellas up, the people in the street below miss a spectacle whose insignificance even precedes mine, and yet for five minutes, has taken charge of my mind.
A Series of (Very) Short Stories
I.
It’s Saturday and I’m stood still in an art gallery placed somewhere in the big city. To the left of me is a red and white mess; to my right is a thin figure. The people around me stand and nod accordingly to the pieces on the wall. I nod too, but in truth, I don’t understand.
In time I run out of the gallery and hide in the corner of the cafeteria with a cup of tea.
Head down.
Sullen.
