Cream one’s jeans: (v) to experience emission of a small amount of semen 

I was twenty-five years old and just smart enough that I seemed like a genius among my peers.

It is a very dangerous supposition—because possessing premature gravitas does not mean you have adequate “salt and pepper” in your philosophy. But my friends—and their friends—trusted me explicitly.

So when a young woman came to me for counseling, I was more than willing to help her through her hour of need. She was very attractive—but I felt that I was mature enough to handle it in a clinical fashion, and would not allow my animal to slink out of the jungle.

It went along pretty well. Unfortunately, the problems she was experiencing were of a sexual nature, with her fiancé. She was very willing to be honest—dare I say, even blatant. I tried not to become emotionally involved in her situation, but she was so doggone pretty that I found myself siding with her rather than actually helping her find the key to her solution.

I thought I was doing more good than harm until after the third session—for when she left, I went into the bathroom, pulled down my underwear to urinate, and there it was: a little deposit of fresh cream in my shorts from my body’s excitement.

I felt stupid.

Aside from being a little bit yucky, it was a piece of evidence which could not be denied. It proved that my mind was moving sexually instead of heavenly.

I was so pissed.

I continued a few more sessions but at the end of each one I found the same surprise. Yes—I was creaming my jeans over a young woman I was supposed to be enriching.

She didn’t know, and she would never know unless I told her or tried to act out my body’s wishes.

At this point I had to decide whether I was just clever or really caring. There is a major difference. People who are just clever don’t really care if it hurts anyone or not, and people who are really caring sometimes have to walk away from their need to appear clever so as to actually be caring.

I explained to the young lady that I was going to send her off to someone who was more suited to her problem, and that she could counsel her better in these matters than I. The young woman was disappointed, but not crestfallen. After all, she was there for help…not foreplay.

I learned that day the difference between just loving yourself and really loving your neighbor just as much.

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