Squirts

Through the eye of a needle
(a severe case of the raging s**ts)

I remember the time at University when I had a severe case of the bottom squirts

Gary was in the toilet and I desperately needed to go.
I held on and held on. I even considered using the sink in my bedroom as well as a nearby carrier bag, but decided against it.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. Gary must have been reading the newspaper, or something.
The two toilets were separated by a partition with a gap at the bottom and the top, and certainly not sound proof.
I'm sure you know the type I mean, the one's where you hear every sound that the other person makes.
I walked in. It was deadly silent. I knew that Gary could not help but hear every sound I made.

I opened the cubicle door. "Swishhh", 'shuffle, shuffle', as I lowered my trousers and sat down.

Honest, I did try my very best to let it out slowly, but there was just no holding back.
PHLAT ! WHOOSH ! Oh my God, the entire world emptied out of my bottom.
I sat for a minute to recover, but by now it was becoming a little difficult to stay (phooee...).
'Flush... rub, rub, shuffle, shuffle' I did the necessary, fastened up my trousers and walked out without uttering a single word.

A couple of minutes later Vincent went into the toilet just as Gary was walking out.
Soon afterwards Vincent joined me in the kitchen and whispered; "I'd give the toilet a miss for a little while if I were you, Gary has left it smelling like something has died in there". I thanked him without laughing - I just couldn't bring myself to say anything else.

Sorry Garry.

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