I'm the kind of man... (586 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.8 on 11 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by awj002 (View user info) at 2006-12-08 02:39:08 EST
MY DEAREST LOVE:
It is essential that you know this about me: I'm the kind of man who likes to remove his shirt before taking a dump.
Now I'm not trying to be crude, I am trying to paint a certain picture of my character. Not a picture with my actual dump, of course: an honest-to-god writer would never slap shit all over a page, the way those "muck-raking" journalists do. What's essential to understand about my defecation preparation is that I am never content simply to loosen my tie first, as might a person of general civility who, in the course of his day, is subject to a great deal of stress. My day is often quite devoid of stress and yet as I use my right hand to open the bathroom door—and as an aside, I've already unzipped and unfastened my pants before entering the bathroom—I am crushing my left fist around the half-Windsor knot and pulling the tie over my head, which I am likely to stuff in my pocket. If it is not a public restroom then I may drape it over a doorknob or toss it onto the vanity. I like the way a silk tie conforms to the sweep of a sink, like a sleeping kitten, and later I chuckle as I peel it from there and wear it again, still dripping. At times like that I forget to wash my hands.
After I have abandoned my tie and before I sit on the toilet I lean against the nearest wall and use the thumb and forefinger of both hands to gently but quickly open every button on my shirt, of which there are approximately nine. The buttonholes are stretched and ragged from several repetitions of this routine and they go easily. Finally I take my shirt off and drape it over the door: the idea being that someone important will notice. Like the president of this prestigious University that I attend, or a favorite bespectacled professor, and find me shocking yet captivating. Here again I find freakish parallel between the motivation for my bathroom habits and the motivation for my writing, although in both instances when my social phobia is at its peak then I do my best work in the privacy of my own home.
As I drop my pants and underwear—all the way to the ground, you imagine—I now find myself seated and nude in most respects. We have begun the first 'movement' of my performance, you see. I should mention that many toilet seats in this area carry the brand name 'Church'—I'm not making that up, either. It takes me a full minute to slowly and silently unroll an arm's length of toilet paper, which I drape over my naked legs and tear off one square at a time. If there's an air vent in the vicinity, then I'm shivering now. Surely I have goose-pimplies everywhere, and, pardon me for saying so, but everything is standing on end. My ears remain cocked, so to speak.
I may or may not have an erection.
I've decided it would be in bad taste to mention for certain whether I have an erection, as it's not relevant whatsoever to the picture I'm painting. Ah, but here's a secret—If I have an erection I am probably ashamed of it, as I am when the whiff of a certain perfume arouses me, the perfume that every and all strippers wear at strip clubs. I have been to three in my lifetime, these between the ages of 18 and 19, so years before we met. One was in Illinois, one in Iowa, and one in Texas, and everywhere there was the same stink, which is similar to that of a shirt sprayed repeatedly with Febreze. When I take a mouthful of that stuff I can feel the unerotic press of phantom breasts against either of my cheekbones.
Excuse me if I am revealing too much about myself. At the risk of sounding hypocritical after all this, I insist that we all have secrets that should never see the light of day.
So we're well into the second 'movement' by now, but I'm still tangle of stimulations. Things like rusty drains and speckled wall designs become aesthetically pleasing, and I begin to read everything that's written in pencil. A great deal has been written elsewhere on the psychology of one who reads wall literature, so I will spare you this, but other details remain previously unexplored; such as how, when one's visual depth of field is limited so drastically by a shitter, everything becomes so colorful. The eye wanders and probes, while the mind goes into hibernation. The naked man gazing at meaningless wall shapes—it's Plato's goddamn cave, isn't it?
And when I have seen everything the full-body experience resumes. I like to lightly backhand myself on the thighs and slap dancebeats on my belly and nipples. My nipples are a source of pleasure when I touch them, but when others caress them it tickles and I inevitably slip out of the moment. Remember that about me, OK? Then sometimes I take my shoes and socks off and wiggle my toes around inside my pantlegs. I use my toenails to dredge calcium buildups from between the floor tiles. I crack my knuckles, crack my knuckles, crack my knuckles. Perhaps it annoys you when I do that? Then surely we do not belong together, my love.
At any rate this is another essential point: I am the kind of guy who likes to finish a dump at his own pace, and leave immediately thereafter. That is perhaps the greatest freedom allowed to a man in his lifetime. Whereas one who dines with friends may have finished his meal but still be required to wait ten, fifteen extra minutes, or even an hour for everyone to stuff their faces before he can ethically leave the table, the lone shitter can blast one out in five minutes or stretch it over the length of a game of cricket. As I've heard, a game of cricket can last many hours, adjourn for the evening, then resume the next day. I wonder what you think of my definition of freedom: having someone take note of my shirt but leave me the fuck alone.
Also, I have hemorrhoids.
So, to answer your question, the answer is a very tentative yes. By now, I hope, you have decided whether or not the offer still stands. If all is the same, then give me a few days to prepare—mentally, physically, and metaphysically (do you get into that?)—and we should be good to go by Saturday evening. Don't forget that we have Youth Group and Bible Study together that afternoon.
With all my heart and soul,
awj002
User Reviews
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2006-12-10 08:42:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm a little speachless.......
I imagined Anthony Hopkins Voice as I read this........I dont know why........"the lambs Clarice".........*shivers*
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-12-08 23:31:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by The_taste_of_Monkeys (user info) at 2006-12-08 09:21:08 (#)
Ranking: 2
Well I never!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-12-08 19:36:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Don't forget that we have Youth Group and Bible Study together that afternoon.
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I like to shit off the side of buildings
Submitted by Abbey (user info) at 2006-12-08 13:55:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I don't know why, but I'm somewhat disturbed by this post. Oh, wait...you're describing my husband!!
Submitted by combatwombat (user info) at 2006-12-08 12:06:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by beauxjizzle (user info) at 2006-12-08 11:51:00 (#)
Ranking: 2
i take it further. i hang my shirt and pants on the hook of the stall in the office bathroom. and when i'm home:
100% naked. i even take off my socks. i dont even take off my socks when i fuck, but i do when i shit.
don't know why just always have.
but i use like half a roll per session.
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half a roll when you fuck or when you shit?? :-)
Submitted by beauxjizzle (user info) at 2006-12-08 11:51:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i take it further. i hang my shirt and pants on the hook of the stall in the office bathroom. and when i'm home:
100% naked. i even take off my socks. i dont even take off my socks when i fuck, but i do when i shit.
don't know why just always have.
but i use like half a roll per session.
Submitted by combatwombat (user info) at 2006-12-08 11:16:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know what I find most disturbing:
A)You felt it necessary to describe this habit
B)You only need an arms length of toilet paper (by the way, do you look?)<-you know what I mean
C)You wear a button-shirt to your classes (unless this is a uniform or required by your university, in which case I don't find it disturbing just dorky.)
What I do know for certain, however, is that at some point in time in your life, you got shit on the back of your shirt and did not know it until after a half-day (presuming you, like I, reserve the middle portion of the day for shitting) of receiving multiple looks of disgust from passers-by and finally being told in a hushed tone about the skid mark; explaining why you now completely remove the shirt... I know... um... I've been there.
Submitted by The_taste_of_Monkeys (user info) at 2006-12-08 09:21:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well I never!
Submitted by Gunslinger (user info) at 2006-12-08 06:51:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fantastic :D
The weird thing is I made a mental note to take a dump after this...before I started.
I will of course take my shirt off.
Submitted by CHR15 (user info) at 2006-12-08 05:27:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-12-08 02:55:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I am crushing my left fist around the half-Windsor knot and pulling the tie over my head, which I am likely to stuff in my pocket.
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So, your head fits in your pocket?