Editor's note: This story originally appeared on the PoopReport Forums.
The day after pooping on my old next door neighbor's porch out of spite, my
roommate and I were walking around Shoppingtown Mall and confessed to each other
that our asses were pretty raw from not wiping properly after the stealthy
night-turding.
We bought some Vaseline from the Eckerd and entered the mall restroom to poop some
more and to apply the lube to our burning cheeks. No one else was in the large
bathroom, so we naturally took the (only) 2 handi-stalls on the end of the array of
8 stalls.
We must have been in there 15 minutes or so, loudly talking to each other about all
sorts of things: the sneakiness of the previous night's activities, the mall, how
much our asses burned, etc.
Because we were both in the afforementioned handicapped-accessible stalls, we also
talked at length about how nice they were. Wide. Spacious. Clean. How kind it was
of the mall owners to consider their differently-abled shoppers and provide them
with the larger, more spacious, more hand-railed accomodations they would need to
relieve themselves.
We even talked about how the moment we heard anyone come in, any footsteps
approach, we would shut up and leave so others wouldn't discover what assholes we
were.
So after that fifteen or so minutes, we were both long done
ready to go to the food court and refill.
"Ready to go?"
"Yup."
I pushed the hydrolic knob thing on the toilet pipe and flushed the last of the
petroleum jelly- and dingleberry-covered toilet paper down the drain. I hopped off
the extra-tall toilet, opened the stall doors, and, nearly simultaneously, my
stomach dropped all the way down to the Hoyts Cinema 2 floors down.
THERE WAS A MAN IN A WHEELCHAIR, SITTING RIGHT OUTSIDE OF OUR STALLS!!
I have no idea how long he was there! How much had he heard?! Neither of us heard
him walk in because he DIDN'T! He silently glided in on his wheelchair!
I think I remember my roommate saying "Uhhh, sorry," but honestly, I don't know for
sure.
The two of us washed our hands and left the restroom without making eye contact
with our reflections, let alone each other.
Our ass cheeks felt the slippery, clean, soothing relief of the Vaseline. But our
consciences never felt dirtier.
Until we got to the escalators. Then we laughed.
-- Hairy Pooter
