I rarely ever get diarrhea, even if I have the flu. One particular day last week though, diarrhea decided to rear its ugly, uhhm...color.
I was at the mall with my husband; he was looking at new cell phones at the local AT&T store. I had been sick the night before and had shit twice, but both times it was very solid. These first few ass torpedoes didn’t show any warning as to what was to happen next.
My husband was hooked on a new phone he had wanted to buy, and so I looked at accessories for the one that I owned. I felt a fart coming on and walked to the other side of the room to let it off. It wasn't loud, but it was a mile long. It was like my ass had exhaled, and man, did the ass have bad breath!
I quickly trotted over to the other side of the store, trying to look as if nothing had happened. Husband had begun to play with the cell phone display, checking out all the features. By this time, I felt another fart coming on and proceeded to try and rip, but stopped - this one felt a little different. Nothing came out, so I must have brought down the gates at the right time. Everybody knows the feeling when a fart is a little more than what is expected.
Within the next few minutes, my ass was screaming for salvation (silently of course). My husband and I were newlyweds, so we still had a few nervous moments when the other was present in the house during a long and obvious shit. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, to which he replied, "Well I'm coming too, I have to piss anyways."
Well there went my hope of him never knowing I was about to let loose the chocolate chute.
oh why did this have to be the one day I wear a belt
but nevertheless I made it.
As soon as, or maybe even seconds before, my bunghole approached the cold seat of the toilet, it opened fire. Warm, loud as hell, and absolutely horrifying to the olfactory sensors, whatever it was that my body had not had a chance to digest was now filling the restroom; and anyone within earshot was probably going to leave the bathroom with a story to tell. As I continued to explode endlessly, I wondered... how long before the toilet filled up? Would it run out of room soon, or would the excess shit force itself down the pipes?
I only hoped - for the sake of others - that I would be able to flush without causing a chocolate flood in the bathroom, from which I would have to run in horror.
Finally, it seemed that I had cleared out what I couldn't have physically had room for in my body, and I cleaned my shit chute thoroughly. I flushed and my prayers came through; my dirty deed swirled away into a land where it would join other human waste, and it was gone.
Exiting the stall, I trundled over to the sink to clean my hands and saw standing there the restroom attendant. She glared at me as if I had just committed a murder in a church.
"Sorry," I said, and hurried out. By the time I got past the doorway, I was laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face. My husband stood in the hallway watching and asked what was so funny. I thought about telling him my whole ordeal, but then I simply lied and said, "It was only a fart."
