What Have I Become?!

What Have I Become?!

               I farted.  Then I farted again and needed to fart some more.  There was a pressure inside my asshole and I figured I needed to shit.  I went in the bathroom and sat down on the John.  I looked at my shoes, at my shorts and my socks above and inside my shorts and waited.

               I wondered to myself if my shorts were touching the bathroom floor and if it mattered.  I thought about molecules of piss just laying there, maybe not even visible.  Maybe there were microscopic atoms – protons and neutrons and electrons whizzing all up and on my shorts.  And if the piss molecules weren’t on my shorts they were probably on my shoes.  We probably all go walking around everywhere with piss and shit all over our shoes.  That’s why I always tell women to take their shoes off before they get in my bed.  That shit’s fucking nasty.

               Finally the shit started to come.  It passed, and I looked down beneath my balls to examine it.  It was slightly watery, as can be expected when you drink a lot of coffee and booze, but I was pleasantly surprised with the consistency.  The degree to which the shit was solid was encouraging; it told me I hadn’t been drinking too much in recent days.

               Then the smell came.  It smelled of canned chili and coffee, which reminded me how slow my metabolism had become.  I had eaten chili two days prior.  The smell got me wondering if I hadn’t taken a shit the day before, the day after chili day.

               I had and still have a chili problem.  They sell that shit for 99 cents a pop when they get desperate.  Even the yuppie grocery store sells them at that rate every once in awhile.  They know I’ll pack it in, that I’ll buy as many as I can.  I can cook, but I’m too lazy to do it.  And with no future girlfriend in sight within any reasonable scope of reality, no lover in any prediction of the future with even the slightest humility, I joke to myself and laugh about how I’m prepping for the collapse of society.  You know those guys – the “Preppers.”  They stock up on canned goods and bags and bags of seeds.  They learn how to convert piss, mud and ocean water into drinkable fluid.  And they buy guns.  Lots and lots of guns.  I’m not a true “Prepper.”  I just like getting a meal for 99 cents and I can’t help but buy and hoard canned meals when I see them for a decent price.

               More shit wanted to come but stuck.  I got frustrated but tried to wait patiently.  Then there was pressure.

               Was that my prostate?  The pressure increased and suddenly I was thinking about the black haired checker from the drug store and I started to feel confused.  What the fuck was going on?

               I started to get hard and visions of her black hair came to me and all the sudden I had to yank my dick out of the toilet because I was getting hard, fast.  The pressure got worse.  I watched, wide-eyed as I reached a full erection.

               I looked up at the ceiling.  The pressure was becoming unbearable.  Then it wasn’t just her hair I was seeing.  It was her perfect, cute little tummy.

               I have a tummy fetish.  There’s something about a chick with a perfect sized tummy that drives me crazy.  It always makes you wonder – is she pregnant?  Has some guy gotten to her first?  Am I too late?  Then you start doing the math in your head.  If she’s not pregnant, it’s hot because in case of hunger (you know, as in the collapse of society), she has a couple weeks in case you’re too incompetent to find food.  It’s also hot because it indicates she has a food stash of her own, it means you don’t have to be her sole provider.  But it also drives you mad because maybe she has some other dude providing for her and does that mean that her tummy is an indication of early pregnancy?

               And as the pressure increased and visions of her perfect tummy came into my head, tears started to involuntarily flow down my cheeks and I looked down in horror as my ejaculate shot across the bathroom and hit the door in front of me, the linoleum beneath me, and finally, finally - the rest dribbled on my shorts, my shoes and my socks.

               I gasped for air, over and over.  I was hyperventilating.  My head collapsed into my hands and I cried some more.

Finally, I looked at the come slowly drooling down the bathroom door and I cried out in despair, tears streaming down my face, “What have I become?!”