The 💩 Incidents


Empty Toilet Paper Roll

Caption: Photo by Jasmin Sessler on Unsplash


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Trigger Warning: 💩 grossness

When The Water In The Toilet Mug Danced On A Sunday #

6th grade. It had been 6 months that I had moved from Majra to Nahan, both an hour apart. Father had transferred, and I had to switch schools. On a lazy Sunday, with mother, father and brother not at home, I was in the house with my grandmother. I woke up late, went to the toilet on wobbly feet, sleep drunk. I sat on the toilet seat, afraid that mother would suddenly come home and find that I've slept on the seat again. Lately it had become a frequent affair, leading to missing the school bus.

I jolted back to wakefulness and pushed. It was one of the moments where trying to relieve bowel movements at a time off the usual, results in extra effort. I was accustomed to 6 in the morning. This Sunday it was 11am, and it was just not happening. Tired of all the pushing, I rested for a breath and happened to see the water mug on the right side.

For westerners reading this, you might not understand what a water mug was doing beside a toilet seat. We Indians also use water to clean off 💩 butt properly and wash hands afterwards.

The water inside the mug suddenly started shaking and throbbing, creating tiny ripples. I crunched my eyes and blinked them fast, thinking I might be dreaming. I started swaying left and right. I remember thinking,

Either I'm still half asleep or I've gone berserk.

I ruled out the chances that my mind might not be functioning properly having just woken up, by looking down at the pit of the toilet. The 💩 pieces were shaking as well.

That's when my grandmother screamed at the top of her voice,

Arihant! EarthQuake! Come out now!

I got up without thinking, put my shorts up and rushed out.

Grandmother pushed me to a wall corner under one of the dining table corners. After the tremors finished, I had to do more than the regular state of 🚽 affairs – wash my shorts and take a bath before brushing.

When I Danced In The School Bus Coming Back Home. #

In 5th grade, I had a friend in 6th grade. His name was Shivam. You know how all people have different quotients of different feminine traits in them? He was sensitive, caring and kind, unlike my hooligan classmates and carefree friends.

Both of us lived in Majra. The school was in Paonta Sahib, 15 km away. At the end of the day, the buses first used to take rounds of the city, and then come back to pick us students who lived far. Just like any other day after the last class, we waited in the waiting room alloted to us for the year. My stomach rumbled and gurgled. I had read that when it made sounds, it wasn't a sign of hunger. I took it lightly.

The bus came after about half an hour. We boarded. I sat at the last seat which accomodated at least 6 people if not more. The stomach rumbles had reached near the anal sphincter. It was difficult to control, and I didn't know what to do. As soon as the bus alighted some of the students, I stood up and held onto the hand rail atop me. I started moving my feet around to try to feel in control. On some stretches of the road it seemed to work, on some it didn't.

Shivam was confused. He kept asking what was up. I kept telling I was tired of sitting. Other people threw a what the heck are you doing look.

I got down the bus at my stop and rushed home. Opened the door, flung the school bag on the floor, avoiding any concerned follow ups from the family members shouting,

Ari, what happened?!

My mum followed me to the toilet. I lowered my school pants, then lowered the seat. Just when I was about to sit, I couldn't control it any longer. The anal sphincter sprayed liquid 💩 on the 🚽 and I sat on it.

Happy Valentine's Day

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