The past 8 months had flown by, the rancid splatterings of alcohol and barbecue base pizza had coated the toilet bowl on a tri-daily basis. The porcelain was no longer visible through the hardened crust of excrement, now inches deep in parts. The curtains had themselves been used as anus fodder some months back, so sunlight poured into the once dark room and facilitated the baking and cementing of the brown paste onto the bowl. The crust was now so mountainously thick that it made the toilet water accessible to only the wateriest of stool. Luckily my horrible diet meant that only the sloppiest of excretions had passed my puckered anal lips, so until now this presented no problem to the eye of the needle that the toilet had become.
Unfortunately a persistent and infected bout of pink eye had led to hospitalisation, and thus none of the alcoholic elixir that had kept my bowels in check and the sluice gates open for so long. Constipation set in and when I returned home I was of course in for a brutal battle to be fought on two fronts- one through the express dilation of my ill-prepared sphincter, and two in the no doubt vain effort to chisel away enough hardened poo from the toilet in time to burst my engorged bowels into the water (and not overflow into my slippers and pajama bottoms).
Both battles seemed lost when the football sized bolus began to birth itself prematurely, with 3stops still to go on the bus home. I was not only touching cloth, but wearing through it, the crispy edges of the turd were boring a hole through my underpants and I could feel the familiar caress of anal blood dribbling down my trouser leg. It would be a race to the toilet, but it would still be a challenge to get the beast out.
Home, I grabbed a wooden spoon from the kitchen counter and ignoring the useless toilet, jumped into the bath and dropped to all fours. The lump would not be coming without a fight, instinctively I knew this, and I began to chip away at it’s now cold exterior with the spoon- some blows breaking off chunks, others mashing the turd into a supercompact state. I could tell that beneath the arid exoskeleton belied a soft, moist interior and if I could plunge the spoon into the turd I could erupt the liquid from within. I mashed away at it, sweat beginning to drip into the bath, instantly mixing with the turd’s dust to form a slippery paste which on a number of occasions sent me tumbling face down into the slime. I spat out the shat and carried on plumbing my anus. It took every ounce of strength but I chiseled my way inside the turd which was crowning and splaying my sphincter to a good 4 inches in diameter. It was instant relief and like a supermassive star it collapsed inward, shooting a jet of hot sludge that barely touched the sides of my stretched hole and plastered the bath taps and blocked the plughole. The rest simply fell out of my gaping anal wound and piled like half melted ice cream between my legs.
Exhausted and shattered I retired to bed, knowing that an extensive clean up operation would be necessary at some point in the coming month. Knowing it would be absorbed quicker I lay with my legs in the air and poured vodka straight into my welcoming anal tract, waited for it to be absorbed and fell into a well deserved natural sleep.