Photo by Michael Coghlan / CC by 2.0
19 hours ago
The bathrooms in DRL, though nothing glamorous, are a place I spend lots of my time. It’s not by choice but by necessity. Although some people around me in adjacent stalls may be receiving head from gentlemen they matched with on Tinder or Grindr, they do not spend as much time staring at the tiled floor or desperate flyers for psychological test subjects as I do.
Unfortunately, I am not receiving fellatio from a moderately attractive stranger. I have hemorrhoids.
As I sit, shitting my brains out, I am sometimes accompanied by lovers who make the mistake of choosing the stalls immediately to my right or left. Quickly, they realize their mistake as my bowels explode, sometimes close to the orgastic relief offered by giving head in a bathroom stall. I want to apologize, but also don’t want to interrupt the intimate moment I am next to, so I stay quiet. My chafing anus speaks for me.
I want to issue a formal apology to anyone came at the same time as a crescendo of farts escaped my rectum. I am glad the stall hides my face, as I am ashamed, not of my inflamed bowels, but of my defilement of young love. I believe in all of you suckling goblins squeezed into those stalls. When my medication kicks in, your time to blossom will come.