15:28pm Bradford Impressions Gallery

Mercifully only one of the three galleries was open, but this was more than enough to tease the sleeping logs from my still jittery bowels. I hadn’t needed one on the way in, but the magic had happened, and there I was again.

Yesterday’s hideous toilet experience had left me scarred, and it was tentatively that I rested my bottom on the cold, council funded seat.

Any pre-dump nerves were quickly dispelled though as I peppered the art gallery toilet with another bout of scalding, lumpy diarrhoea. My rectum felt as if it were red raw, the acidic faecal soup that had passed through in the past 24 hours had burned on its way out, and required considerable wiping, which in itself weighs heavy on the structural integrity of even the healthiest anus.

The clean up was brisk and relatively pain free, but as I pulled my underpants back up I knew that serious anal chafing was not far away. Vaseline was now priority one.
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