The patter that followed my every step as I rapidly paced through rain-painted cement held a consistent rhythm that enlaced my entire focus. Like ears to a metronome, the sound of my steps kept my thoughts on beat, or more rather in a singular stream as I tried not to think of the steaming, sienna-shaded waste sausage held prisoner by the overworked muscles and nerves at the ins and ends of my tight, rotund anal sphincter. Doe-eyed and clenched from head to gelatinous cheeks like a full-body closed fist, I darted into the public restrooms.

I walk past the sinks and urinals and straight into the third stall, undoing my pants with one hand, the other sliding a latch and block to lock the small-yet-tall stall door. My legs bend at the knee into 90 degrees and I begin to release the tension I’ve stockpiled when I realize I didn’t place down a seat cover.

With the last of my strength and finesse, I manage to reel the brown eel a couple inches back in as I place protection on this public rim.

I think to myself about how I almost compromised my entire lower intestine’s microbiome by letting the bacteria of some inferior male “Trojan horse” its way into this body, my…my sacred synagogue.

After the first wave of brownstorming the toilet basin, I reach downwards towards the pockets of my crinkled and deflated pants, grabbing my phone.

I begin the cycle of juggling between a handful of the same apps, allowing the sound of the exhaust ventilation system on the ceiling to seamlessly segue from a sharp hiss of suction to a muffled vibration millimeters away from my ear drum.

My shit was dropping at the speed of three intestine grooves per quarter-hour, the tips of my index fingers sliding slightly against the edges of my phone, and I was shifting my weight from the right to the left to give the thighs some circulation (the brain doesn’t like when its transportation vehicle is faulty and not well maintained…the brain hates this).

I was watching an anti-drug PSA on Vimeo; my eyes were trained on the southern hemisphere of my vision staring at the screen and tracing the path of a few cracks.

It’s only been a couple minutes since the soft creek of the restroom’s only door let out a sound. A few footsteps followed the sound of the door, but just about three or four. They’d have to be only a few feet from the sinks, nowhere near the urinals and stalls. I continued to mess with my phone as I tried to brush it off, but I could see the anxiety building up in my face whenever I saw my reflection on the screen. A single stall door was my only division from whoever was just standing in the middle of the restroom.

The stalls themselves were made of plastic laminate, glossed in a deep indigo color. The shadows that bordered the edges branched further in depth and colder in tone. The lights didn’t seem to dim, but the way it scattered across the floor seemed more dull than before. My fingers began to fidget with my phone as the atmosphere in the restroom drained through cracks in the floor. Skin and hair only met with absence of the room; my body began to compact on its own.

My shoes grazed one another and my knees meet. My shoulders and arms fixed themselves in a concave position. I heard water drops timed a few seconds apart. I sheathe my face behind my phone, failing to notice I instinctively was holding in my shit; being that it was more a liquid than a solid at this point, it began to leak through the knot of my ass. I could hear as sips of shit kissed the water. It traced behind the sound of the water drop that echoed throughout the restroom.

My eyes glazing across my lock screen, I started to transition between all the different possibilities. I continued to sift through thoughts hoping to find the remnants of any logical answer.

Why did I never hear anyone out there continue to move or exit

What could the dripping sound be?

It was also raining very heavily.

The building was aged and weathered; it’d be no surprise to find a leak.

That had to be it; a simple leak. My heart rate began to decrease and enthusiasm lit in the crest of my eyes as I faced the ceiling to look for a leak. As my head began to face upward, I jumped back startled and confused, but not before I caught a load of cum to the face. His face wasn’t horrifying; just stale and an average amount of creep. I was also impressed at his level of stealth. I watched as he made his way down and out of the restroom. The whole interaction ended with a plop as the final log dropped, ready to be flushed away.