SNRIs

“You like that?” he said, as one of his silicone-lubricated fingers slipped its way into my anus. I think he was trying to sound suggestive. I shivered, and involuntarily arched my back, rubbing against the soft white sheets. I hoped his fingernails were well-trimmed.

I clenched involuntarily against the one finger as he slipped it in deeper, in and out, perhaps a little more forcefully than I would have liked. “Yeah… keep doing that…” I said. I thought that maybe I should moan a little, but I decided against it.

“Yeah you like that I can tell. I’m gonna stick another one in.” Oh god. I could tell he was really getting into it, going faster and faster. He forced his index and middle finger all the way in at once and I winced, trying as hard as I could to contain my groan of discomfort. This was sadly misinterpreted as a moan of pleasure and he continued, faster and faster. “I can’t wait to fuck this hole,” he said, stroking my thighs. This is kinda hot, I thought to myself. I was praying for this awkward prep phase to end quickly so that he would just stick it inside me already. I don’t know why we even bothered with this finger-foreplay.

Suddenly, he stopped, his fingers still inside me. I looked at him, fearing the worst.

He pulled his fingers right out.

“You need to go to the toilet.”

Shit. Literally. I thought I had prepped properly.

Fuck.

The way tops said it was always the same – always with a trace of disgust in their voice. Fuck you man, we all have to shit… My face turned bright red and I turned away.

“Also, you need to eat more fibre. I thought I hit a rock in there.”

I curled up into a ball and turned onto my side. How mortifying. I’m disgusting. What is wrong with me? I could hear him shifting at the edge of the bed. I was completely soft, and the mood was dead.

I stood up and walked to the toilet, closed the door behind me and sat on the toilet bowl. I knew it was a waste of time. The shit was never going to come out on its own. Even a tablespoon of Metamucil 3 times a day, and 2 coloxyl pills before going to bed every night couldn’t clear this blockage.

Fucking SNRIs.

I reached over to the tap and turned it on, not bothering to wait for it to warm up. I reached under the sink and grabbed the douche, pulling off the hard plastic nozzle in a practised motion. I filled the rubber bulb with the cold water until it was overflowing and pressed the nozzle back on. Luckily my asshole was already lubed up. Thank you Mr Top.

I lifted my right foot up onto the rim of the toilet seat in a half-squat and slipped the douche under me. The nozzle eased in without much resistance. I squeezed the bulb, and the residual volume of air that was in the nozzle pushed up into rectum, like a reverse fart. I hated that feeling.

I shivered and kept going, forcing the water deeper and deeper into my body, in the hope of dislodging the rock-hard lumps of shit the antidepressants had cemented within my rectum. It was like some sort of sick joke from God.

I let the water sit inside me for a minute or so, as though I was mulling some shit-wine, before squeezing it all out, wanting to purge it all out with as much force as my muscles could muster, but also gently, the fear of haemorrhoids in the forefront of my mind.

Nothing. Nothing but slightly tinged water.

Again.

Fill. Squeeze. Push. Fill. Squeeze. Push. Slowly, but surely stripping away the protective mucosal layers of my rectum. At least the water was beginning to warm-up.

After the third time with no success, I reached in with the middle finger of my left hand (the longest finger) and dug around looking for any offending pieces of shit – “digital disimpaction” the doctors like to call it. I reached it quickly, touching the same poop Mr Top had probably touched in his misguided attempt to ease me open. I circled my fingers around its edges, trying to ease it out, dislodging it kindly, squeezing my kegels, and with the gentle force of the built-up douche-water behind, it slowly slipped out, along the line of my fingers, almost slipping into my palm before dropping into the water below, leaving behind it a wonderful trail of slime.

I went into the shower quickly, rinsed off my asshole and my legs in case anything had dripped downwards without me noticing. I grabbed a towel and pat my body dry. Then I washed my hands with anti-bacterial soap and scalding-hot water, finished off with rubbing alcohol and spraying deodorant all over my fingers.

I really hoped he wouldn’t smell shit.

I walked out of the toilet, and saw him against the headboard of my bed, playing with his phone and fondling his still very erect penis.

“Finally! Get over here.” He grabbed me and pushed me on all fours with my ass up in the air. He put a condom on, and slowly eased his penis inside me, moaning as it went in.

I turned my head to one side and rest it on my arms, my body jerking forward with every thrust.

I looked at the wall.

I wish it was cleaner.

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