I had learned in playground banter that the definition of the word ‘scum’ was the product produced from the penis after extreme pleasure. At this time I only knew what it meant—I wasn’t manufacturing any of my own.
One day after a leisurely bath, my mother comes out of the bathroom and says, “What’s all the scum in the bath tub?”
I was mortified. She thinks I whacked off in the tub. I probably didn’t even know what whacked off meant. This was absolutely terrible. This was bad– gone bad. Maybe if it was true, it would at least be bad– gone good. Bad that she found it, but good that I made it.
After wanting to go hide and die, I realized she was referring to ‘soap scum’ not ‘boy scum’. Damn ivory soap.