Yesterday about mid-morning as I was filling out my TPS reports, I was suddenly smitten with the strong urge to take a dump. I headed for the office bathroom on my floor, seated myself on the middle of three crappers, dropped my drawers and got ready for the onslaught.
My poop and my writing style are very similar: normally the shit just spills out of me. However, yesterday, I dropped a couple of turdlets in advance of the big show, which started about a minute later. When it's time came, the monster grogan slipped half way from my butt and, horrors upon horrors, got stuck. Yes, I had a turd hanging from my ass, half in and half out.
This is a disturbing sensation because the natural state of my asshole is closed. It is only open when something is transitioning outwards. My asshole does not usually stay in a pried open position, but it's not as if I haven't experienced this before while crapping. Still, it is disturbing when it happens. The only things to do are to either bear down and hope that I can convince it to move on or to wait it out, which is what I prefer to do. So, I assumed my Thinker position and settled in for the duration.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, however, my nemesis entered the bathroom. He's this rather large, lumbering hulk from another division that has offices on our floor. A skunk must have crawled all the way up his ass and died where it got stuck because he has stunk up the bathroom for as long as I've been on this job site. His stench, on more than one occasion, has repelled me from my floor's crapper. But that has always happened before my ass hit the seat.
The lumbering hulk made his way to the handicrapper, which is probably the only crapper large enough to accommodate his frame. He pulled some TP off the roll, wiped the seat, dropped trou, and sat down - I know all of this because I was sitting there, listening in mute horror. While I was hoping that my stuck turd would start to move soon, the lumbering hulk let out a series of three loud, wet farts in short succession. Brap. Brap. Brap-pp-pp. From the muffled echo, I could tell that that he was firmly planted on the seat, which meant that some of the damage would be contained. Or so I thought.
Within seconds, his stench managed to escape from the toilet, climbed either over or under the barrier separating us and started to waft around my nostrils. It was absolutely repulsive. It smelled like somebody had pissed into a malt liquor bottle, capped it and buried it for twenty years. Literally, my eyes were watering, my nostrils were on fire, and I was doing my damnedest to fight back the gag reflex. As my senses started to return from this initial wave, I thought about saying something witty like "Hey, can we get a courtesy flush please?" I decided, though, that complaining would do no good because this was aerosolized, weapons-grade shit, the vanguard of the main assault still to come.
Not wanting to die a slow death of asphyxiation with my pants around my ankles, I decided right then and there that something must be done and quickly. I tried bearing down on the turd, but that only caused a very slight movement which was lost when I relaxed from The Push. I tried a second time to no avail. It was then that I admitted the awful truth of the only real alternative available to me.
I collected myself for a couple of seconds and then, with all of my strength, cinched my asshole down as tightly as ever I could. There was some progress on pinching off the turd followed by a slowing. Finally, the turd yielded. I heard the exposed half of the turd hit the water; sadly, I could also feel the unexposed half crawl back into my bowels.
Now unencumbered by my turdage, I snatched my pants up, flushed and escaped the confines of the crapper. However, the air out in the open area of the bathroom was just as foul. Since I had already foregone the wiping, I figured that I was safe for the moment without washing my hands. As quickly as I could without running, I shuffled out of the bathroom and, once clear of the door, gasped for the relatively fresh, re-circulated air by the elevator bank.
At this juncture, the reality of the recent events hit me. I had been chased from the crapper in mid-turd. I was so embarrassed that I hung my head in shame. I pressed the call button for the elevator so I could find sanctuary for my sorry ass on another floor.
No sooner had I posted this in the forums than I set out for the bathroom in order to take a piss. Guess who was washing his hands at the far sink?
As I walked to the urinal, I figured that he had managed to tame his ass for that day. No such luck. As I stood there at the urinal, he shuffled into the handicrapper, dropped trou and let out an absolutely ginormous fart. It sounded just like the crescendo at the end of Ravel's Bolero. The entire orchestra of his ass blared away in a prolonged cacophony of sound and was followed by a deafening quiet. If I hadn't been so repulsed and had my hands occupied, I might have clapped.