10:42am Home toilet

It was a time of desperation, I ransacked every corner of the flat in the vain search for toilet paper. The wolves were at the door – a watery turtle was moments from forcing its terrible head out of my naked anus.

There was no roll, no baby wipes, not even a slice of bread or ham – I was on my own. I contemplated the Malaysian method – left hand wipe, right hand eat. (At least that way I could still enjoy my salami mid-poo).

Resigned to it I sat down and closed my eyes, when suddenly I remembered – Surely, the secret stash, I pursed my anus, scrambled to my feet and sure enough; kitchen drawers, third one down, behind the pastry… there it was, the dusty old roll of paper normally reserved for an anal emergency. I could have cried.

Back on the hotseat , skin had barely met porcelain when the sodden manure began to sputter uncontrollably from my body. With the gelatinous consistency of old gravy, the poo dripped from both my cheeks and the underside of the seat. As if fully prehensile, my anus had delivered an even coat across the entire spectrum of the bowl. The brush of Monet himself could not have so eloquently painted such a scene – No lily, no golden sunflower as heartachingly beautiful as this.

And after the initial paper scare it had come out so clean, so watery that my anus was actually cleaner for having laid it. It seemed a shame to wipe, but out of habit I did just that.

19:22pm Work, Middle cubicle (3rd of 5)

I had gone mostly out of boredom…
There was a slight twinge, so I knew there was poo to be deposited, but it was never going to be a particularly impressive log. As I sat there waiting for it to arrive, sheepishly playing with my nipples and pulling out small tufts of pubic hair I realised it had all been in vain.

I was still effectively empty. Out of politeness I teased out a few small chunks, but, really, there was as much on the paper as in the bowl, and the strain on my sphincter just wasn’t worth the rewards.