I'm clutching my cell phone, sitting on the toilet and listening to the shallow echo of the plumbing gurgle and hiss. There's a tiny insect bugging me, buzzing and flirting with my eyes as I try to focus on the thumbs and glowing screen. I'm halfway happy in anticipation of a good, solid shit, but I already know it's not in the cards and my grip on the slice of tech undulates and turns into a surrendering caress. I'm fondling the fucking thing.
Awash in my tides of potentials, the possibilities I've created and the odds I worship seethe and break against me. I'm pushing, pushing, I want the shit out and I want a sensation of satisfaction and completion. The cell is silent and I'm half raptured by every instant of anticipation and fear. I don't want to fuck tonight. I do want to fuck tonight. I am so alone. I am so crowded. Give it to me, let me take it. Stay the fuck away, leave me alone.
The pressure and the intimacy of the moment sweeps through me and I'm awash in that cloud, that current of potentials. I have no idea not only what is going to happen (am I going to shit? am I going to die? am I mad? Is the phone going to ring? Who is the murderer?) but I surrender my sense of identity and allow the moment to rape and rape and rape.
The cell bleeps. I'm hammered back into realtime in an instant and I reflexively hit the 'read' button. It's a flirting, loving note about something meaningfully ephemeral. I feel like grabbing her hair and consuming her mouth. Her body is referenced and reflected on me and I am compelled more deeply than my body can appreciate.
I see her, and I see her, and I see her, and I see him, and I see it, and the objects are blended not as a mosaic, but as a scent. The clumsy and crude and cobbled together me, beautiful and unique as it is, recoils from the sheer complexity and depth of the experience and I am no more.
It's the breathing that helps me shit, and I'm happy to find the expulsion to be unexpectedly complete. When I look down I can see my hairy gut pulse with the echo of the effort, and the humble twist of my cock shrunken in a tangle of hair. I instantly wonder what the allure is. It is suddenly so quiet, such silence as this.