Being Violated by My ToiletSubmitted by ridiculous at 2010-08-21 06:54:27 EDT
Rating: 1.42 on 29 ratings (29 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I was sitting at my desk, looking through the latest Uber Bandwagon. There may have been a laugh, there may have been a smile but nothing memorable, nothing worthwhile. I was having my third cup of mud (coffee), or maybe my fourth? I don’t really know but I am aware that my assistant finds my coffee consumption both awing and amusing. Subsequently she has made it her personal mission to ensure my cup is always full (Note: I have never asked her to make me coffee, I think that is a lazy, dick move.). It could have been my seventh cup for all I know.
I felt a familiar rumbling in my stomach, not like hunger, not painful, more the general repositioning of my guts in preparation for the inevitable. I am a little surprised by this as I have already had my morning constitutional but I dismiss it (”When you gotta go, you gotta go.). I stand up from my desk, already well aware of the building pressure in my bowels. I immediately discover that there is a darkness growing within that dwarfs my paltry morning duty. That was not the typical rumble that warns. This time… that was the stirrings of a sleeping beast… The Golgothan.
I think there must be a certain subsonic frequency that emits from an individual about to have a diarrhea explosion that people subconsciously pick up. It seems to say: “Ask questions, make a joke, engage this person and prevent them from getting where they need to go, at all costs!” Before traveling a mere ten steps closer to the bathroom I am accosted with at least five questions pertaining to various work related and in my present mindset, completely inconsequential, garbage. As always, I listen, I review, I respond. Simple enough, but consuming of precious seconds.
I manage to disengage and make my way through the hall, I pass through the construction department and luckily no one says anything or hinders me in the least. Quickening my step I begin to reassure myself that everything will be all right. I turn the corner and reach for the knob and stop mid step. The little red paddle on the door mocks me: “Occupied”.
I have several decisions to make immediately… Do I attempt to run outside, up stairs and pray the little paddle on that door is green? Do I stand stock still and clench with all my might and wait to hear the flush? Try to pace a bit and hope it creeps back up granting me some additional time? Thankfully my decision making skills are not tested as I hear the metallic tinkle of a belt buckle and a flush. I allow myself a sigh of relief but continue to shift my weight back and forth between eager legs.
Agonizing seconds pass. The hiss of the toilet refilling its tank, the squeak of the faucet handle and roar of water pouring over hands being washed. Finally the sound I’ve been most eager for. The quiet click that says the door has been unlocked. The knob twists and a Pakistani fellow walks out. The sonofabitch had the balls to smile at me and say “Good morning, boss.” I could have killed him. I step into the tiny bathroom and slam the door behind me, locking it.
I didn’t even perform a TP check, I just turn, open my belt, unbutton my pants and unzip in one deft motion that ends with my buns on a plastic seat. I birth the deamon with an earth shattering cacophony and I know that the immediate danger has passed.
I exhale, you know the one. The one that says you are at peace with the world and everything from now on is going to be all right. My head rolls to the side as I am enjoying this brief relaxing moment with my pants around my ankles and not a care in the world. Then it happens.
There is a grumbling in the pipes and then a terrific belch from the toilet. The fluid burp splashes all over my exposed balloon knot, twig and berries. My scrotum immediately seeks refuge in my abdomen my cock sees my soaking sac flee and screams “What about me?!” and my anus puckers and drips… The smile from my face is replaced with despair. My eyes sink, my mouth frowns and a cold chill races up my spine. The toilet just spat my shit all over me.
I sit there feeling alone and despondent. I can feel the icy water and fecal mixture running down my tante over my now shrunken sack. I can hear each drip returning to the toilet. Tears come unbidden to my eyes and I nearly leak one. I am suddenly uncertain what I am supposed to do. The agony and ecstasy of taking a shit has just forever, been tainted.
I finish my business, grateful to find that despite my lack of a TP check there is a roll. I wipe excessively, refasten my pants, flush, wash my hands and leave, a changed and scarred man. I know I will have to go back there again, possibly this evening, possibly tomorrow. I just don’t know if I can do it.
I think it just happened to her too.jpg