Dada: Chapter 18B

   I walk briskly down the hall, back to the men's room.  I've got to dry this spot on my pants.  I don't care what he says, it is far more likely I got it when I fell asleep rather than watching that movie.  Perfectly natural.  Happens all the time.
   I stop short when I reach the door.  Someone is walking out, and I don't want to bump into him.
   "Sam?  Why aren't you with the rest of the kids?"
   "Had to, you know." He pointed back at the door.  His voice is still quivering, broken.  "I was way older than anyone else there.  I was even taller than the woman they had watching us.  Like I needed watching.  So, I ducked out to, go."
    "Well, we're getting ready to leave.  Stay by the front.  No.  You better wait here.  I shouldn't be too long."
    I quickly duck in before Sam can notice the "dew drop" on my pants.  I can't believe that guy knew the term.  I thought we coined it back in high school.  First week of science class.  Bill, yeah him, had started to crush on Amanda Scott.  She had really developed over the summer.  She had gone to my grade school, so Bill hadn't known her before.  That day, after a basic introduction to the water cycle, he had gotten a huge one.  So bad, even a book couldn't cover him up.  Fortunately for him, it went down quickly.  Unfortunately, a big wet spot remained where it happened.  We dogged on him the rest of the day.
    And over the weekend, we started goofing on it ourselves.  Within a month, it became an in-joke as each of us started to get "dew drops" ourselves.   We even had contests about it.  You know, just one of those things adolescent boys do as they start developing.  We almost never used the term with the other guys, not even when they had similar incidents.  We kind of did when Lucas Johnson feel asleep in algebra that time and messed up his pants with a huge one, but we mostly let it slide.  Lucas was teased so much the rest of the semester.  By sophomore year, he had put on five inches and twenty pounds of muscle, so the teasing pretty much stopped.
    In fact, we pretty much stoped joking each other by junior year.  I guess we had developed enough control to stop having it become an issue.  Sure, it still happened, but not as bad.  Pete rarely had such incidents, but then we was almost definitely a year older than us.  Had to be, with him being so much more developed when he started school with us.  Held back, but he never mentioned it, so neither did we.
   I grab paper towel after paper towel to pat my pants dry.  There is no way to position myself directly under the air blower, so I won't even try it.  Besides, I will look like a fool if anyone caught me.  I won't try to use the urinal either.  One touch could bring on a ton of problems.  Just too sensitive at the moment.  I'm sure I can wait, even if it could help me out, but no.  The chance of getting more of my pants wet is too high.
    I take one last minute to make sure the spot isn't as noticeable, and then I take a few seconds to check myself in the mirror.  Nothing embarrassing in either place.  Sam might not realize what happened, but I don't want to run into anyone else either.  Not after what those men have doing.
   Wait.  Didn't they say they had more than one movie?  How can men at that age do that again so soon.  Okay, maybe some of them are young enough to do so, especially with "little blue helpers" providing the strength of the flesh when the will is already there.  I've got to get Sam out of here before something else happens.  He does not need to know that about his father.  Our father.
    I wash my hands, just to provide a cover for all the towels, and then walk out to meet up with Sam.
    "Can we go now and get something to eat?  I'm getting hungry."  Sam, my brother, the bottomless black hole for food.  He's going to be either seven feet tall or 400 pounds at the rate he's eating.  Maybe both.
    "Let's go.  There's nothing else to see here."

Dada: Chapter Eighteen

    I rush to the doorway, almost knocking into the man standing beside it.  I think he still had his pants on. I hope so, although if he didn't, that might actually be worse.  The hall isn't that much brighter than the room, but it is about twenty degrees cooler.  I guess they had the room heated because so many people were partially undressed.  I collapse against the wall a few yards away from the door.
    How could they show that to me?  No man wants to see his father, his dead father like that.  I don't care if it was a student art film, I should have been warned.  I'm just glad Sam wasn't in there.  No wonder they don't let kids in. I cover my face with my hands.  I don't know if I am going to cry or throw up.  Sweat is rolling down from, practically everywhere I guess.
   "Look, Chris is it.  There's nothing to be ashamed of."
    I look up.  There's that guy again.  Monroe, Madison?  Something presidential.  His shirt is unbuttoned so I can see his monstrously hairy chest and belly, but at least he has his pants on.  He must have finished early, although the fly on his pants is still down.
    "What do you mean by that?  'Nothing to be ashamed of.'  How should I feel when I saw my father naked on film while the rest of the audience was getting their jollies off?   What is going on?"
    Don't get me wrong.  I've seen my share of 'adult entertainment' over the years.  Possibly to effect a similar reaction.  Ever since I was fourteen, in fact. Most of the time, it was by myself, but I won't go into that.  But never with complete strangers, and rarely then.  If they want to do that with either themselves or others, okay, but not in front of me and definitely with my father.
   "Look son," I practically want to slap him.  But then I would have to stand up.  "What we do is perfectly natural.  There's no harm in what we do."
    "What about my dad?  What's to say that isn't harming him.  Wait.  You asked me about any other films.  Are you saying that there are . . ."
     "Your father made many movies when he was in art school.  Each of them has a certain 'quality' about them that turns some people on.  People like us."  I assume he doesn't include me in that.  "We see the, how can I say this, passion in these films, and it brings out the passions in us.  It happens to quite a few whenever they see one of your father's works.  To be honest, this is the only one that has full frontal nudity it in.  At least the ones that we know of.   All the others are more like the first part of this one.  Suggestions only, but strong suggestions.  Both men and women."
    He's practically groaning, as if he is remembering certain scenes.  I think he might be getting turned on, again.  I have to try and stop him.
    "So, this is the only one with him naked?  The only one with anyone completely naked."
    He seems to be coming back around.
   "Sorry.  Your father's films just bring on certain 'feelings' in almost everyone who sees them.  Their are dozens of us, and more join all the time.  There is just something that your father can capture in film that no one else can match."
    "The rest of his work doesn't look like that.  Pretty mild in fact."  I try not to let anger creep into my voice.
     "Well, yeah.  His professors were wanting to challenge him.  Get him out of that stupid folksy look of his.  They thought they were letting him explore, but they unleashed a passionate monster instead.  One that everyone can enjoy the way nature intended."
     I finally stand up.
     "Look, I don't care about what you think and what your little society does behind closed doors, but I do care about myself.  You should never have let me go in there, especially without some kind of warning.  Sure, the majority of the movie is strange, but I almost could have handled that.  But the ending.  Having me watch my father doing that.  It's just, I don't know."
    "He wasn't doing anything.  The film ends almost immediately after the point you left.  It's left to the viewer's imagination.  And, well, we have a lot of imagination."
    "What are you taking me for?  What makes you think seeing my father like that could turn me on, or something?"
     "Your mouth is saying one thing, but that fairly big dew drop on your pants suggests otherwise."
      A wet spot.  On my pants.  Just slightly left of my right front pocket.  Around a half inch diameter.  Could be sweat that dropped from my head.  Probably not.  Too wet for that.  Too big.  I didn't know others used the same term.  I thought that my friends and I coined it in high school.
     "I'm getting Sam and leaving."
      I turn on my heels and walk away.

Overview--Dada: Chapter 17

Chris is watching his father's art school movie.  It starts out with three men (including his father) waking up in a certain state common to men.  They get through their morning routine all but oblivious to their states.  They then go to their jobs (doctor, businessman, and art history instructor for Chris's dad).  All the people they meet are also oblivious to their continued state of "excitement."  Strangely enough, all the other people in the movie are women.  While the other two men just have a regular work day, Chris's father is conducting a lesson on the art movement known as Dada.  Chris is more familiar with the movement's literary side.  The combination of the familiarity to the subject and the intensive heat in the room cause Chris to fall asleep.  He wakes up a few minutes later, near the end of the movie.  He sees his father give a rousing finale to his speech, when the screen goes black.  A second later, a new scene starts at the apartment of the doctor.  He is giving a party with a large number of women, and the other two men.  All three are still in the same state.  Chris notices some strange sounds around him, a humming as well as familiar thrumming movements.  In the film, the party ends but the three men stay behind.  They begin disrobing, and their states are clearly evident.  As each man gets naked, a woman enters holding a ruler to measure him.  The woman for Chris's father is his mother, who looks uncomfortable being there.  Chris's father is the winner.  The men then look at each other and begin to mimic a certain action.  Chris suddenly looks away and discovers that most of the audience is in a state of nudity themselves.  All, both men and women, are performing actions similar actions to those on screen.  Chris can't take it anymore.  He yells "Stop!" and quickly leaves the room