The Sun King

His name was Louis and we lived together during my second and third year of university. We shared an apartment with one other guy from our soccer team. We called him King Louis, The Sun King. Not that he was particularly royal in any way, in fact quite the opposite, but his ego was boundless.
For three straight guys with similar schedules and almost identical classes we lived in almost perfect harmony. We drank heavily from Wednesday to Sunday but managed to hold it together well enough to perform adequately at school and on the field. The only minor tension in the apartment stemmed from The Sun King’s inability to control his bladder when he was drinking.
The very first night of our living arrangement, sitting in our cheap lawn furniture in the hot afternoon sun i noticed it. A small wet spot on the front of his shorts. I took it for a spill and put it out of my mind until he got up to get another six pack out of the cooler an hour or so later. The front and back of his beige cargo shorts were absolutely drenched. No one said a word to him about it. I think we were too embarrassed. After night fell and our other housemate had left to meet his girlfriend, Louis and I sat in the yard and smoked a joint. Near the end as Louis carefully handed me the tiny roach I heard what I thought was a lawn sprinkler, or a tiny rain squall and realized it was only raining under Louis’s chair.
“Dude are you pissing right now?” I said.
“Yeah.” He said with the biggest dumbest smile on his face.
I guess we just got used to it after a while. It didn’t matter if we were home or at a party or even a bar. After three drinks King Louis’s pants were a little wet. By six drinks they were wet to the ankles and you could hear his shoes sloshing. He showed no shame whatsoever.
The tension only started once the weather got cooler and the apartment started faintly smelling of dried pee. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with our other housemate Lee trying to come up with a game plan for dealing with the problem of our Good King Louis. In the end we bought him a bottle of fabreze and asked him point blank to either drink less or try using the bathroom every thirty minutes when he was drinking. It felt like a conversation you’d have with a four year old. He whole heartedly agreed, apologized with real emotion and seemed legitimately keen to alter his behavior. And it worked, for exactly four days.
The fabreze did help though, and even though his wetting continued, he was the one to clean up the puddles.
It came up again in March of that year when we were all laying in the athletic field tripping on mushrooms looking up at the stars. Louis was laying next to me, his outstretched arm under my neck. There was this incredible feeling of brotherhood among us. I heard a thick trickle coming from Louis, which lasted at least a minute. Louis sighed deeply. He had pissed himself again. I felt the warmth of it spreading on the ground underneath me.
“Kind King Louis, why do you always pee your pants?” I asked him, genuinely curious. Louis was quiet for a few seconds.
“I think because I can.” he said. And that was that

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