When I was in High School, I was dating this girl who thought of herself as a church-going goodie-goodie. Reasonable minds can differ about that honest self-appraisal, but she was relatively tame, but for a couple of things. The most prominent of those was that she gave just phenomenal hand-jobs. My apologies for those who I may offend for my crudeness. But this became pretty embarrassing, I think you will agree.
So she decides that we need to go see this Christian movie that had come out and was popular enough that it was playing in a handful of megaplexes (or whatever you called movie theaters that had 18 screens). The movie was "The Omega Code," and it had a handful of mainstream actors in it. We went in the middle of the day, and there may have been a handful of people in the theater.
So we sat in the way back of the theater. Partway into the movie, there her hand goes, dipping under waistline of my green "No Fear" shorts. They were a size too large, in that I had borrowed them from a step-brother who was a little bigger than me. Her little hand fit perfectly.
Am I painting the right picture here? Awkward teenager in the 90s getting sexual attention from a member of the opposite team? There's no refusing that. Not even in "The Omega Code." I think Jesus, himself, might have been rooting for me from the other side of the screen.
Of course, I had the stamina of said awkward teenager. It didn't take long before I had made a mess of things... in the middle of the theater. There was this conspicuous spot forming on the front of my green No Fear shorts, and this was beginning to cause me to have... no small amount of fear.
I ran out of the theater to go to the bathroom and clean myself off... and run into an ex-girlfriend with her boyfriend, a guy I was somewhat friendly with, who were out on a midday date.
In my head, this dude can see the fear painted large on my face, and the jizz-stain forming on my No Fear pants.
I finally manage to clean this thing off, kind of. But the evidence was right there. Maybe I spilled a smoothie onto my pants, or something, in the eyes of any potential spectators. But in my head, it was clear as day what had happened.
After the movie (my girlfriend pretended not to notice - she was that good), I drove her back to her house. My attempt to let her out and drive the hell home was rebuffed. Her mom invited me in for dinner. There I am, in her fancy friggin' home, having come home from the Omega Code like good little Christians (I'm Jewish, god help me, I would have gone anywhere with this girl), covering up the jizz stain on my No Fear shorts.
Typically, I don't remember details about a home's architecture or decor. But would you believe me if I told you, 15 years later, I still remember this girl's parents' glass dining room table?
TLDR: Jizzed myself in the Omega Code and ran into an ex-girlfriend and my girlfriend's mother before I was able to change out of the jizz-shorts.