The next morning, I woke up with a woody. This, of course, wasn’t
really unusual. After all, I was 13 years old. Any morning following any
night that I didn’t have a wet dream — and even some when I did — I could
count on having a rager in my underwear as I rolled out of bed. The usual
result of this was that I’d have to stand over the toilet for at least five
minutes, waiting for my erection to die down, so that I could take my first
leak of the day.