When Dilf and I first met and started dating, he shared an apartment with his younger brother.One evening, my friend Miss Amanda and I were going out drinking, dancing and causing trouble; of course Dilf wanted to come along with us. So, we met at his apartment to begin our night of carousing.
Miss Amanda and I took a seat on a couch in a living room while Dilf finished getting dressed. His room was at the far north end of the apartment; the apartment was a quite linear top floor of a two-flat. The layout of the apartment is germaine to my story.
So, Dilf's room was at the far end; then came the bathroom, then the kitchen and Dilf's brother's room across the hall from one another, then the vestibule, then the living room. As I stated, Dilf was in his bedroom, and Miss Amanda and I were sitting on the couch in the living room. Dilf's brother was taking a shower in the bathroom.
What happens next is a debated subject. Miss Amanda's and my version is this:
Little Brother turns off the water in the bathroom and hears female voices. He dons a towel, and emerges from the bathroom. A rather skimpy towel. He travels down the hallway, PAST his bedroom, and makes a triumphant entrance into the living room. Feigning modesty, he exclaims, "Oh, I didn't know anyone was here!" And commences to preening and prancing around the living room.
Okay, the preening and prancing is a bit of an exaggeration, but he was a 21-year-old construction worker at the time, and quite proud of his physique. It was about all he had going for him at the time. (I kid. I kid because I love.)
This exhibition did not have the expected effect. I'm not sure of the response he wanted to elicit from us, but I'm sure it wasn't the hoots of laughter and the cries of "Put some clothes on, towel boy!" that came from the ladies on the couch.
He bore the unfortunate moniker of TowelBoy among my friends for a long time.
