A Duel

Goddamn, I had to piss. I raced to the bathroom and stood at the urinal, unzipping my pants, when I heard the door open. I felt another man's presence beside me. Our gaze never met. Direct eye contact was consciously avoided. But it was understood. It was I who issued the tacit challenge, putting our respective manhood's on the line. Both of us knew, without speaking, what was about to go down. A Duel.
"Ready. . . Set. . Piss!"
I began before he did to let him know right off the top I was not scared. Giving another man a head start in a duel of the piss is a bold move; one that should only be attempted by a true alpha male. About five seconds into my piss, he started. It was on. Sometimes, a piss can feel almost as good as busting a nut. That's about where I was at. I had recently consumed 32 ounces of purified water approximately 45 minutes prior to the contest. My bladder was bursting. I had parked far away, and after a five minute walk, this was the first opportunity I'd had to piss. The piss released endorphins which spawned a euphoria that washed over me in an awesome wave. This man stood no chance. Who the fuck does he think is to think he can piss longer than me? This was confirmed when I heard his flow winding down, but mine was still going strong. He finished, shook, zipped, and stepped away, defeated. My stream continued in triumph. He washed his hands and left, a loser. My flow began to slow up after my piss bitch left. He had come and gone in the span of my micturition. My eyes never left the wall in front of me. . . eyes of a champion.