Quote:
Originally posted by Shape Shifter
This reminds me of a story a coworker told me last night over drinks. He grew up on a farm in South Texas. The story involves an outhouse and puppies, and was one of the most disturbing things I have ever heard. Unless I receive breasticle pictures from 3 separate FBetties by 5pm (central time) Monday, I will repeat the story on this board.
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I love outhouse stories. And corn shits. Tres liberating. Please do tell the story.
Speaking of stories, I have one. In addition to beershits, cornshits, single malted whiskey beverages, Rue McLahanan and Nancy Grace, I have had a lifelong obsession with the women’s room.
Why, I know not, but I am fascinated by what potential mysteries are locked behind the portal marked “ladies”. Also, what mysteries lie hidden beneath their skirts. Point of fact is I find it incredibly arousing to sneak into a ladies room, unobserved and do my business in such a hallowed hall.
On Wednesday I had the opportunity. I was in Philadelphia for depositions, which ran late. At one point in a break in the action, I had to “go” and managed to sneak out and onto another floor in the firm I was at where, it appeared, there was no activity. Coast clear I snuck into the ladies facilities for a quick and erotic constitutional. Actually, I only had to pass some H20,, but of course, in a women’s room, one uses the stall for that. So I did my biz and then sat for a spell, soaking in the ambiance and to be frank, obtaining a “personal” in the process, when all of sudden, the door opens and I hear the “click click click” of high heels proceed into the room and directly into the stall next to mine. I quietly lifted my feet to avoid any hint of my man shoes. Quickly there followed the pssssssssssss tinkling of her urine splashing into the water. Not too much, perhaps she wasn’t hydrated well. Then silence. I assumed she was done but all of a sudden the silence was broken a soft groan and then a huge kerplunking splash!
From the sounds of the displaced eau d’toilet this was a BM to write home about. I then heard the sounds of some rapid wiping, a flush and she was out there so quickly that the scent of her perfume (Chanel, by the by) mixed with a hint of poop, did not waft into my stall until the door to the restroom was shutting from her exit.
I have to admit more than a little arousal by that point, but I was late to rejoin my depo and there was no time to “you know what” until later that night in my room back at the Rittenhouse. All in all quite the turn-on.
Cheese grits
