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 The Number ThreePosted 11.20.2002 by Rev Dan (72)
I wasn't shitting, period. For a week I had expelled nothing, and it troubled me. I was eating a lot: steak, potatoes, beans, pies... you name it, I was eating it. I'm a growing boy. But it had been five days and I still hadn't had a dump.
I knew I had a load or two or ten in me, but I didn't have the desire to relieve nor the pressure necessary to do so. I even tried forcing some out, but all I got was a lot of sweat on my brow and some burst blood vessels. I could still fart, which I did quite often, but towards the end of the week, I was even farting less and less. By Friday I had given up waiting, and decided I would try to force it out using natural remedies from the two colon-helping food groups: the beer and alcohol family; and the kebab and Thai curry family. Uniting these two families, I hoped to dislodge my giant. And so off I went. Some damn hot Thai curry, some beer, a lot of tequila, and a nightcap of kebab. And yet somehow I felt fine the next morning -- no desire for any bowel movement. Just a long piss and a bit of a headache. The day wore on and still nothing, only a few pathetic little girly farts. Now I was worried. A week without shitting is one thing, but a morning without shitting after a night with the company of my two favorite families is cause for concern. Finally, in the evening, a huge sigh of relief: I need to shit. So I ran to the toilet-- like a man, I may add, unlike my previous stories, in which I've run like a girl, a camp man, a gay man and a lesbian. But joy and anticipation soon turned into fear and apprehension. After a week in Limbo, the poo had compacted. And by compacted, I mean it was dense. And by dense, I mean I've seen diamonds that were easier to break apart than the log I had in my lower colon. There was just no moving my behemoth. I tried every technique I knew to dislodge it: rocking; standing up then sitting down really quick to surprise it (you don't know how many times that has worked); even squatting on the seat. No results. As I worked, a fart was brewing just above my log. Don't ask how I could feel it... I just could. I had a hypersensitive colon at this point. The problem was that my beast was so big, it blocked off access to the outside. And the pressure started to build. Slowly and surely, my colon began to inflate with this toxic curry beer gas. The pressure was excruciating. You know how if you shake up a can of Coke and when you open it, it sprays everywhere? I felt like my colon was about to do something like that. And since the methane in my fart is quite combustible, I knew I was a shitting time bomb. I think it must have exploded. I don't know what caused it -- was it some tiny spark? Spontaneous combustion from heat? All I know is that something happened and my bulbous log, which needed more effort to shove out than my butt muscles could possibly provide, suddenly shot from its home. The sound that came out of my ass was like a boiling kettle, a high-pitched whistle of gas escaping my anus. And then... "Admiral, they've opened fire at us!" A fucking solid load of cannonball flying out of my ass... "Admiral, they've hit our starboard hull!" The sound may have been a fart, or an explosion, or the sound barrier breaking, or the porcelain shattering. But it was the sound of relief -- I felt lightheaded, and a few pounds lighter. But that feeling soon disappeared. I had gotten rid of a week's backlog, but I still had last night's adventures to go through. In the period I had been 'holding' the curry, it had been maturing; like a fine wine, getting stronger, hotter, and more potent with age. Fuck subtlety -- this bad boy meant business. My anus was already battered into submission, and was not happy with the molten red curry coming around the next bend. Pure boiling liquid melted my molested ass. My rectum was baffling doctors and mathematicians alike --sending something the consistency of a Number One through the Number Two hole, somehow adding 2 and 2 and getting Number Three: a bodily function that transcends all known form of excrement and consists of little more than pure, searing, bubbling pain. Eventually, it passed. Fortunately, I've gotten in the habit of keeping a large supply of Huggies Wet Wipes by my toilet. But before I deposited the evidence, I turned, as I always do, to admire my creation. It was beautiful. I don't know whether it was the emotion or the smell which brought tears to my eyes, but I was definitely starting to cry. It was something I had never seen before -- the water was brown, a reddish brown, like clay, and my log looked like a column of French toast, only browner and with more swirls. I sat back down and finish wiping my bruised poo defender. Needless to say, it took many flushes before my colossal birth went down. Once it was, I had to take a long shower and go straight to bed. Like everyone who experiences the Number Three, I was pooped. Post new comment
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