“My legs were shaking,” Efron says. “The pool started to look out of focus. It would get closer, then further away. So I sat down for a minute, but everyone was egging me on to jump. ‘Jump! Jump! Jump!’ I’d never seen anyone go off this jump. So I was like, ‘I gotta do this. I brought everyone here. We made it through the poison-oak forest. I gotta at least do this jump.’ ” He leaped. And the second before he hit the freezing water, he felt an ever-so-slight whoosh tickling his back and hands as the Poison Oak bush branches transferred enough of the dread oil to eventually spread over every part of his body—even his dick. “That was it,” he says of the leap.
“The moment I got it - The poison oak.” “Oh…my…God,” Efron says with a gasp. “It’s like the best…orgasm…ever! And I just keep coming!” Efron and I are in the Soho House bathroom after a pee, and he’s lingering at the sink, letting the water pour over the poison oak on his wrists. When he got up to head to the john, I noticed that his pants were fully unbuttoned and unzipped. “I’m just airing it out,” he’d said. “It just itches too much.” Discipline and doctor’s orders had kept the impulse to scratch at bay.’
