This happened about twenty-five years ago, when I'd been married only a few years. It was winter and the old farmhouse we rented didn't heat very well; in fact, we'd closed off all the rooms except the kitchen, the living room, and the crapper. We hauled a mattress into the living room and slept there during the coldest months.
I'd called in sick for work that morning with an upset stomach and fever that had me shivering like a dog caught shitting on the carpet. Out of desperation, I filled the tub with very warm water and climbed in up to my neck; I found a small measure of relief and promptly dozed off.
I must have been asleep for at least two hours when I awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing. Keep in mind that this was back when each house had but one phone, and before the advent of answering machines or telemarketers. So when the phone rang, you jumped to get it.
As my head cleared and registered the sound of the telephone I leapt from my watery nest -- which by then was no longer the warm sanctuary it had been when I first entered it -- and ran to the phone. I picked it up and heard my concerned wife calling from work, inquiring as to how I was feeling. I screamed into the phone, "I gotta puke!" and slammed the receiver back down.
Our bathroom had a toilet just past the entry door, followed by a separating wall between it and the tub, which now contained cold, sweaty water. As I raced back for the toilet I slipped on the floor -- which was wet from my hasty departure just seconds before -- and skidded to a stop in front of the tub just as the first wave of gastrointestinal glop spewed past my lips. It coated the wall above the tub, spattering in all directions before running down onto the soap holder and my wife's collection of shampoos.
I am a violent vomiter. The eruptions seemingly originate at my toes; I almost always break blood vessels in my face and eyes when barfing. So I quickly assumed a kneeling position between the first and second eruptions simply to keep from falling down. This accomplished, I was now on my knees, with my elbows on the edge of the tub. In case you forgot, I was also sick as hell, feverish, and dripping wet in a house that was somewhere around sixty degrees in the middle of the winter.
I guess the shock of the sudden awakening, coupled with the cool water and cold air, plus the quick rise from a supine position to upright, all must have conspired to start a chain reaction within me. As the second wave of barf shot across the now-chunky water in an apparent attempt to dispel all attackers coming at me from the front, my ass opened up with a barrage of even more forceful magnitude, blasting a raging torrent of dark brown gravy at anyone or anything foolish enough to think I was sufficiently incapacitated as to attempt an attack from the rear.
The successive forward and rearward volleys were perfectly timed with each other, and would have repelled all attackers with great effectiveness, had there actually been any. As the vomiting subsided, so did the shit squirting from my ass; and once I'd regained my breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, I was able to survey the carnage.
The tub now had a flotilla of semi-chunky submersibles crowding its docks, and the surrounding walls were covered in a gelatinous work of art that was slowly marching towards the gangplanks at the water's edge, to join its comrades in the sea. I reached into the tub and pulled the drain plug to begin the process of cleaning up this flotsam, and then, for the first time, looked behind me at the destruction my ass had wrought on the surrounding countryside.
Directly across the floor from the tub was the sink, sitting atop an intricately adorned louvered door cabinet. I'm not sure why the cabinet needed louvered doors, since it was too small to fit man or beast. But no matter, man nor beast would not be breathing in there anyway. The slots between the louvers were sealed with shit to a degree that gunite could not have bested. The brown goo had penetrated the louvers as well, coating each and every item under the sink before running down the inside of the doors to coat them, too. I had no idea that my ass wielded that much power!
Suffice it to say that during the gyrations and contortions my body was subjected to during my vomitus eruptis, my ass had been similarly laying down a broad suppressing fire. Nothing was left unscathed or defiled.
It took me five hours to clean up that mess -- no small feat in my condition. I learned that if I have to puke, naked anyway, I'll be better off just getting in the tub and at least containing the offal to the porcelain.
-- BHost
