Since Cincinnati, where we live, is such a conservative town, Larry Flynt has met some fierce competition which have kept him from selling movies within the city limits. Unfortunately, this means we have to drive 45 minutes north up I-75 to Monroe in order to get some porn. Still, you gotta love a woman who likes watching porn with her man.
We decided that Perkins sounded good for dinner. Since it was later in the evening, we knew it wouldn't take us long to get our bread bowl salads. The Grilled Lemon Pepper Chicken bread bowl salad sounded like a tasty idea for that evening. Toss in a raspberry iced tea, and I was set. Being so hungry, it didn't take long for me to scarf this meal down. Fully sated, we got in my truck to make the trek to Hustler Hollywood.
The ride up was filled with flirtations and dirty talk, and a short while later, we were there. We got inside, surrounded by shirts, dildos, movies, and lubes. We strolled past the 21 and up wall to scope out some video entertainment. It was great. Here we are, surrounded by Asia Carrera, Jenna Jameson, and other porn divas. So much porn. Where to begin?
That's when it began.
My gut started to rumble, but not in a "Oh my god, I'm gonna hurl" way. Instead, I began farting uncontrollably. The lemon pepper chicken was having its way with my intestines.
I can't tell you how bad things are when you're walking through aisles of porn with a store full of shoppers, and you can't stop leaving shit vapors in your wake. I couldn't stand in one place to bother with the movies on the shelf because every time I stopped to look at the videos, my stomach would churn and another fart would come out.
Even worse, Becky was following close behind me. Poor girl. Her only solace was when she wanted to check out the wall of vibrators. I have a feeling that wasn't her only reason for walking away from me. Of course I didn't mind. Not only would it give her room to breathe fresh air, but it was cool to think about watching Becky service herself with one of the dildos. Still, the farts wouldn't stop.
I was losing control. I know we had only been there for ten minutes or so, but I had to get out of there. The stench I left lingering in the movie section was causing Larry Flynt to lose business. I didn't want to leave empty handed, but my ass wouldn't allow me the time it takes to find a decent porn that Becky and I would enjoy. I decided a magazine would do for now. Hustler magazines are full of movies you can order, so I felt buying one was the least I could do before the shoppers figured out who was responsible for the wretched stench.
Slowly, my stomach began to quiet down. Finally the lemmon pepper chicken subsided. Now, we all know that a fart is not a far cry from an in-prisoned turd...
Suddenly, there was a rush of pressure on my colon. Oh my god, I'm in a porn shop full of people, including my girlfriend, and I've seriously gotta shit. I casually tried to tell my girlfriend that I had to use the bathroom, but I don't think they have one here. (Of course not, who puts a public bathroom in a porn shop? It would be jerk-off central.)
This was one of those shits that only got worse as you stood still, so I tried to walk it off. Didn't help. I walked my magazine up to the cashier, showed her my ID, and handed her my check card. Her next line killed me.
"You need to make at least a ten dollar purchase if you're using a card."
I wanted to die. The pressure of holding this shit back was causing sweat to bead on my forehead. There is a supernatural effect on the human psyche when you have to crap. Everything is so focused, and it almost seems to move in slow motion. All you care about is finding a toilet and filling it.
That's what was going through my head. I grabbed my card and ID and went back to the magazine rack for another magazine. Meanwhile, my girlfriend was checking out flavored condoms, massage oils and anal lubes. Myself, I was trying to hold back my own brand of anal lube.
I suffered through another trip to the magazine rack and the cashier, and we left. Usually if I have to shit, and I make it to my truck, sitting down helps subdue the anal rage. But this anal rage wasn't going to let a car seat get in it's way. I hit the highway and stomped the gas.
If you have never driven on it, it has to be said that I-75 is the worst strip of road to travel on at high speeds. The highway is chock-full of pot holes and bumpy bridges, and every bump and bounce was causing my brown eye to dialate. It was killing me. My gilfriend, all the while, was napping in the passenger seat. Little did she know of the anal fury I was suffering through.
After the longest drive of my life, we made it back to Becky's apartment. Someone was having a party on her street so I had to park halfway up the street. Great! Even more walking for pinched ass!
I managed to hold off from filling my khakis full of butt mudd, and we finally entered her apartment. I rushed politely to the bathroom to end the civil war between my intestines and my colon. And although shitting was the first thing on my mind, I managed to grab one of the Hustler magazines to sit down with. Finally, the battle was over. My ass was exhausted, I had a porn mag in hand, and after a much-needed shower, we made love.
Yes, I plan on marrying this woman.