A few weeks ago, I started sleeping with this guy, Kody. He’s a nice fella. Good in bed, makes me laugh and sometimes picks me up after my night classes. Unfortunately we’ve only been boning for the last three weeks so he’s yet to understand some of my contradictions. Dude, gets that I’m weird, but he doesn’t quite get fully how weird I can be. Or how set in my ways. He’s 24 and I’m 25 and well, I’m old and happen to have habits that I have no plans of changing anytime soon…like liking to poop alone. I’m a nervous pooper. I simply just don’t shit in public or with people too nearby. Which means that in my tiny basement suite, I never poop when people are visiting. Sadly Kody didn’t have to work today so he figured he’d stay longer than his usual up and gone by 5am thing.
And I’m a fairly regular shitter. I usually wake up around 9am and have to kind of poop, but I always go back to sleep until my alarm clock goes off at 9:30am when I have to actually poop. That’s when I get up and go do my morning business. Except this morning. Because I had a 5 foot 11 inch, 265 pound man laying in bed with me. So I held it, thinking that he would leave once he figured out I was going to the college early to do homework. Except that he didn’t so I just kept on holding it through my morning routine.
But 10:45 rolled around and I felt like I was going to explode. I mean I was in so much pain from not taking a poop that I was sitting, doubled over on my bed with him rubbing my back and asking me what was wrong. Was there anything he could do for me?
Me: Yes, leave. Now. I need to poop.
Him: You’re kidding right?
Me: No. Leave now. Or at least go outside for 10 minuets.
Him: Babe, I’ve seen you naked and I’ve seen you pick your nose and flick it into your bathroom. Just go poop.
Me: NO! I can’t poop with you around!
Him: Are you seriously choosing now to get a sense of modesty?
Me: I’M A NERVOUS FUCKING POOPER! LEAVE NOW!
Him: I could just sit here until you go take a shit. That would help fix your nervous pooperness.
At that point I got up and hobbled into the kitchen. I felt like if I unclenched my ass that I would explode everywhere and I happen to be against pooping myself for any reason whatsoever. My momma and baby-sitter and other family members took the time to potty train me so I will control my bowels and keep them from evacuating in my drawers.
Him: Why are you going into the kitchen?
Me: To get a knife to stab your face off.
Him: You know I won’t let you do that, I’m stronger and you can’t even shoot a deer so how could you stab my face off?
Me: I kill fish don’t I? JUST GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!
At this point I was leaning against the wall and was in such much pain from holding this poop in that I was ready to cry. I also had a knife in my hand, because apparently I’m bat shit fucking insane and like to take the green pills instead of the blue ones. Though in my defense I really needed to poop and my usually gone before the sun comes up booty call had over stayed his welcome.
I’m not going to lie though. The next thing that happened was really kind of sweet. He was naked and standing in my bedroom door way while I was leaning against my wall and almost crying to the point that I had tears in my eyes. With a knife in my hand. I think it was at that point that he realized that I was bat shit crazy and took pity on the fact that I couldn’t poop with him in my tiny basement suite. So he came up to me and ever so gently picked me up (I’m not a tiny girl either, I got the thickness so this was a pretty amazing thing for him to do) and carried me into the bathroom. Then he walked into my bedroom, pulled on his sweats, picked up his cell phone and said the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a while…
Him: I’ll be in the backyard or out front. Text me when you’re done.
And then I took the most prodigious poop ever and it felt amazing.