WARNING: Adult language and themes

Sagramore stared at the menu with some trepidation. He didn’t really know what went into Thai food in even the upper echelon establishments, and shuddered to think what was used in mall food courts. The lady behind the cash register, who looked Hispanic, stared at our hero impatiently. Sagramore, in turn, was confused as there was no one else in line, and he had no idea what the rush was about. Eventually, he decided on menu combo 2, which he dared not pronounce as it seemed to possess too many vowels.

The kind lady asked Sagramore what kind of meat he desired.

“What, like beef or chicken?”

She sighed with the patience of someone tending kindergarteners and responded, “beef, chicken, pork, or tofu.”

“Wow. SAT time. One of those is not like the others.”

She stared at him dumbly.

“I just mean, tofu isn’t meat.”


“I’ll have the chicken.”

She clicked something on the cash register.

“How spicy? We have levels 1  to 5.”

Sagramore was fresh off the boat, back in the USA. He had spent four years in Japan, where the popular pallet had no tolerance for spices. He assumed American Thai establishments where as parsimonious with their spice supply as Japanese ones. He ordered a level four.

Five minutes later his mouth was on fire and his shiny, new Hugo Boss dress shirt was covered in sweat stains large enough to be seen from orbit. The portions were large, as well. But our proud hero is a trooper, so he finished his meal and drank two sprites. After a quick visit to the bathroom to freshen up, he darted out of the mall and headed to the theater.

Sagramore’s uncle Westinghouse was starring in the US premiere of a famous British playwright’s play. Apparently, the cast’s perks included comped tickets on opening night, so Sagramore had two seats. Our proud hero wasn’t much of a theater goer; not enough explosions, but why have rules if there aren’t any exceptions? He camped outside the building, waiting for his date to arrive.

He had originally invited this chick he knew through work, but she had Gary Wilsoned* (*Gary Wilson= to flake at the last minute) on him earlier that morning. No joke, she texted him the day of. Being new in town, Sagramore didn’t know too many people, so he had to fall back on inviting his friend Dolce Daniels. Dolce was a gay music producer. He was gay, not the music. He was a good guy, so whatever, but Sagramore was in a bit of a pissy mood anyway, because instead of a cool night out with a chick he was at the theater with a gay music producer.

The play was fun. It was a comedy, and there were laughs. The famous English playwright Sir Mooringhouse Bedivere himself had been flown in from across the pond to direct in person. It only had a cast of five, and was about two sisters sharing a London apartment together, which they referred to as a “flat.” One of the two sisters was pretty hot. Not gorgeous, really, but firmly above average. Plus, she was onstage, so the appeal was magnified. In one of the scenes she was doing some stretching, and, bear in mind, this was a theater in the round, Sagramore and Dolce had front row seats, and therefore a great view of actresses bending over. So she was bending over, and our proud hero leaned in close to his friend, and whispered:

“Dat ass.”

Dolce giggled and responded with, “Yea, this angle really does nothing for me.”

The pair shared a laugh, but Sagramore heard a strange noise behind him. He turned around, and caught sight of an old lady shooting him a disapproving glare. He turned back around watched the rest of the play quietly, respectfully.

The show ended, and Sagramore’s uncle Westinghouse extended an invitation to the premiere after party, which was being held up on the balcony of the theater building. Our proud hero sniffed the possibility of an open bar, and decided to attend. He and Dolce got into a crowded elevator. At the last minute, and elderly gentleman with a cane and his wife hopped into the gillory. I assume English people call elevators something else, and gillory sounds like a likely candidate. Everyone in the elevator recognized the gentleman as none other than Sir Mooringhouse Bedivere. After all, his bio and photo were in the evening’s program. An awkward silence gripped the elevator riders as they ascended into the night. Everyone seemed frozen by the famed playwright’s presence. He, in turn, looked around the elevator equally awkwardly, not sure how to interact with these starry-eyed serfs. Oh, the curse of fame! How to tell these unimportant sycophants that He was really not so different from them? Sagramore empathized with the embattled knight. Our hero leaned in close to Sir Moornighouse, and said,

“You look like the man in the picture.”

Sir Mooringhouse guffawed, and the elevator erupted in laughter. Sagramore felt pretty proud of himself because he had made a knight of England laugh out loud inside a gillory.


Sagramore found his uncle Westinghouse and aunt Ludmilla. He congratulated them on a play well acted, and then he and Dolce started mingling with other party goers. As time went by, Sagramore fell back into a pissy mood because he felt like people were assuming he and Dolce were gay together. Dolce used to be a theater actor himself, so he knew many people there, and was introducing our proud hero as “my friend Sagramore,” and then the people would give Sagramore this look. Sure, in a vacuum it was no big deal. It’s 2013 and we’re all new century people. But Sagramore was already in the pissy zone, and he felt the beginnings of a huge s$$t coming on from all the Thai food earlier in the evening.

Anyway, Sagramore saw Sir Mooringhouse sitting at a table with the hot sister from the play. He told Dolce he would be right back, and Dolce looked over and then said:

“Ah, OK.” <wink wink> “You want me to come with you? I can, you know..wing fo–”

Sagramore recoiled, “You stay away!”

Dolce laughed and said “Right, right. Go get her, tiger.”

Sagramore approached the English gentleman and the hot sister. He name dropped uncle Westinghouse and introduced himself. He told them the play was great, and they were great. And that uncle Westinghouse had talked about what a wonderful experience it had been to work with the director, etc. Smallish talk. He sort of got the vibe the young lady was interested in him, but he wasn’t sure. We all know our proud hero, and we all know he doesn’t like to jump to conclusions. He excused himself, as he didn’t want to annoy the cast.

Sagramore and Dolce continued to drink and talk to people, until Sagramore noticed his uncle Westinghouse talking to a cute girl. He ditched Dolce again and walked over. He told Westinghouse he had name dropped him to Sir Mooringhouse, and his uncle got a kick out of it. He introduced Sagramore to the attractive young lady. They talked again, and our proud hero caught a whiff of the vibe she was interested. Unfortunately, by then he really needed to take a s$$t from the Thai, so he excused himself and went to the bathroom.

When he got back to the party, Dolce had already left. Seriously, without even saying goodbye. Sagramore felt spurned. He found his aunt and uncle again, and hung out in their group for a bit. But then he had to s$$t again, so he returned to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he received a text from uncle Westinghouse saying he and Ludmilla were leaving the party. Sagramore was knee-deep in post-curry s$$tting, so he just told them to leave sans-him, and he would take a cab or a bus home. About twenty minutes later Sagramore finished his business, and exited the bathroom.

As he turned into the hallway, our proud hero almost bumped into the hot girl from the party, who was on her way out, leaving the theater. She lifted an eyebrow in confusion, and said,

“You OK? Have you been in there this whole time?”

Sagramore realized he had excused himself from their conversation the first time he had used the bathroom, about an hour earlier.

“Oh, heavens no. This was a separate occasion.”

What followed was the most awkward pause Sagramore had ever experienced…up to that point. The record would be broken several more times that evening. Inexplicably he was feeling bold. She turned to leave, but our proud hero swooped in, and placed his hand on the small of her back, and said:

“Excuse me, but are you up for a drink?”

They went out to a nearby bar and had a few cocktails. She was really nice and the pair just kind of talked and got to know each other, as people do. Eventually, she asked Sagramore where he lived. Now, our proud hero lived with his aunt and uncle, which made bringing chicks there weird, so instead he told her he lived in Avonshireford, a faraway suburb, assuming her place would be closer and she would offer to go there, instead. Which would of course happen later. First though, he had to go take another s$$t.

So he took another s$$t, and by this point Sagramore was getting nervous. Sex would probably prove to be tough if were he s$$tting every two minutes. He looked into the bathroom mirror and said,

“I will not s$$t anymore. I will not s$$t anymore. I will not s$$t anymore.”

Sagramore glanced to the right and saw a confused dude at the urinal, looking at him.

The pair had one more drink and then headed out. As they waited on the curb, the hot girl from the party said she’d need to take a cab. Sagramore nodded and added that he would take one, as well. After a few seconds she said,

“You know Avonshireford is pretty far away, and a cab might cost a lot, why don’t you just crash at my place which is in the city.”

Of course, our proud hero assented.

They hailed the next cab and rode it back to her place. As soon as they entered the taxi, Sagramore felt the need to s$$t again. The damn cab driver hit every single red light within the city limits along the way. He came to full, three-second stops at every STOP sign. Sagramore wriggled around in his seat like there were hot coals in his pants. He wasn’t sure if the hot sister from the play had noticed anything, but she didn’t say anything. Sagramore tried to make smallish talk with the cab driver, who turned out to be Eritrean. Our proud hero found this interesting, as he had never met someone from Eritrea before.

They finally arrived at her apartment, which would be a “flat” in England. Sagramore of course offered to pay for the full cab fare, since he is a gentleman of the consummate variety. He handed the cabbie his card, but it turned out they didn’t accept American Express. Sagramore gave the man his debit card. The man swiped it, but it didn’t work. Sagramore started sweating and wriggling in place even more violently. The man tried again, but nothing happened, and then noticed the card reader was unplugged from the power source because he had his f$$king iPad plugged in. He hooked the card reader back in, which took several minutes to boot up. In the meantime, Sagramore had s$$t packed to the brim in him. Imagine flash flood footage where the water is piling up against the rice bags faster than they can be piled on. Finally, Sagramore was able to pay and got out of the taxi.

As they entered the building, the hot girl from the party said she lived on the 8th floor, the top one. Sagramore didn’t care if her apartment was a janitor’s closet in the basement. He just needed a toilet.

“Oh, great. The penthouse. That’s great for you.”

She responded with, “Oh yea, there’s a huge balcony with an amazing view. The only downside is the building’s old and there’s no elevator.”


The pair finally made it to the summit of Mt. Everest, and got to her floor. Her apartment was quite nice. It was sort of old utility wise, but it had an original vibe. The hot girl from the party offered out proud hero a drink, and he found no reason to decline. She had bourbon, so he asked for some of that on the rocks. While she was pouring the drink, Sagramore said,

“Well, I had a lot to the drink at the bar, I guess. Where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed him to it, and he went.

Thirty four minutes later he came back out, feeling relieved but dreading what more was to come. His bourbon sat on the kitchen counter; the ice was all melted looking like apple juice in a whiskey glass. The hot girl from the party was on the couch just being there silently; there was music playing on some phantom stereo somewhere. She looked at Sagramore with concern.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Oh, yeah. You know. It’s just…sometimes…the things…you know.”

She nodded confusedly. Our proud hero sat down next to her and they talked and she got more into it because Sagramore is a fascinating human being and talking to him is interesting. Eventually, the pair started making out, and there was some horseplay involved, and then she got up and took him to the bedroom.

The tomfoolery continued in the boudoir; layers of clothes started coming off. She unbuttoned his pants, and to get them totally off he rolled onto his back and brought his legs up. Sagramore let out an audible fart. He couldn’t even look at her, he felt so embarrassed. He counted to ten, and then slipped the pants off and got back into the making out. The hot girl from the party was a real class act, and didn’t mention anything about the awkward pre-coital flatulence. They were soon completely naked. Hands started reaching places, as is wont to happen. She was touching his d$$k, and working it a bit in advance of what Sagramore hoped was a blow job, and then he had to s$$t.

He was so panicked with the need to s$$t, he couldn’t even come up with an excuse.  He just said, “I’m so sorry” and ran to the bathroom. That s$$t felt so good for those two and half minutes it was pouring out of him he didn’t even care anymore about anything. The aborted hook up, what she thought of him, the pain of having held it all in, the federal government shutdown. Nothing mattered anymore.

Sagramore finished his business; he cleaned up, and then he got to thinking. Obviously, the current paradigm was untenable. Sagramore couldn’t very well f$$k for two minutes, then s$$t for five minutes, then f$$k for another two, then shit for five and so on and so forth. But what choice did he have? He had no way to know when the diarrhea would stop, but he really wanted to have sex. Certainly, he couldn’t very well bring her into the bathroom and f$$k her while on the toilet…wait, couldn’t he? He’d had enough drinks by then to try.

Sagramore called her over.

“What, why?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not using the bathroom. Just come here a sec.”

The hot girl from the party hesitantly entered the bathroom, and then leaned back on the wash basin, still fully naked. Sagramore was, of course, also fully naked, standing near the toilet. He dared not venture far. Now, the difficult aspect of all this was our proud hero still had no idea what to say to get her to have sex with him on the toilet. This was the best he could come up with.

“You know how people have fetishes? Like S&M or furries and stuff?”

She drew in a huge breath and looked not so happy, but she humored him.

“Yea. Sure. We’ve all  tried some things…”

Sagramore took a deep breath, and threw the hail Mary.

“Well, my thing is I like having sex in bathrooms. I don’t know why, and I don’t do any weird stuff, really. I just like making love in bathrooms. Like, normal sex, but inside bathrooms. I think it’s a huge turn on and frankly I can’t even get erections without large, porcelain bowls in the vicinity.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Really? Because you certainly had an erection earlier in th-”

Damn! The gamble hadn’t worked, so Sagramore just leaned over and kissed her. hey transitioned to making out heavily, and he touched her boobs and vagina. She touched his penis, that whole kit. Eventually she worked her way down, and started blowing Sagramore. Which was great, by the way. This girl was a class act, a real pro. About a minute into it, our hero felt the need rise again, so he shifted over and sat on the toilet. She readjusted herself and went at it. And it felt great, so he just kind of relaxed…

Imagine putting chunky beef soup in a Ziploc bag, and then emptying it into a bucket. That’s the sound.

She jumped back in horror, like something was on fire.

“Oh my God!”

The jig was obviously up here. He knew there was really no way to swing this PR-wise. In a panic, he just said:

“I had Thai food for dinner!”


” Thai food. They use Asian spices! I just…I’m sorry, I just really wanted to…have sex with you, but then…”

“Jesus! did it not occur to you to finish here, and then have sex? That’s what normal people do!”

“I don’t know…I….didn’t know when it would end, but I really wanted to…do things with you. I just…no. It didn’t occur to me.”

The hot girl from the party theatrically stomped out of the bathroom. Sagramore continued to s$$t. Exactly forty seven minutes later, he kept count, it was done. Hopefully, it was the end, but who knew.

All the lights were off in the apartment. Sagramore found his way to the bedroom, and got in bed. Now, the hot sister from the play had said, as a general rule, people would usually s$$t first, and then f$$k. Unfortunately, Sagramore was pretty drunk and thought she had specifically told him to finish s$$tting, and then go have sex with her.

However, she was now asleep. He slid under the sheets behind her, and kissed her shoulders and stuff. She wouldn’t wake up. Sagramore shook her more violently, and she darted awake, as if from a nightmare. Her wide eyes finally focused on our hero.

“WHAT. THE. F$$K?”

Sagramore wasn’t sure why she was so unhappy.

“Well, you said once I finished we could, umm, you know.”

“Come on! Not now. Just go away.”

Sagramore retreated into the living room like a scolded puppy. He passed out on her couch.

Our proud hero woke up at about ten AM, to the sound of kitchen movement. He peeked sheepishly over the edge of the couch. The hot girl from the party was in there making breakfast or something. Sagramore had been pretty drunk the night before, but he still remembered what had happened, and was justifiably embarrassed. If there had been some way to sneak out of the apartment on a fire escape or something he would have taken that lifeline.

Instead, he went into her room and put his clothes back on. Next, he went to the bathroom and took another s$$t. This one felt solid and final though. He went back into the living room and said:

“Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

Pretty weak stuff considering what had happened, but he had no idea what would be appropriate to say. She seemed somewhat mellowed out, though out hero was confused as to why. Weed is legal in certain states.

“Hope you’re feeling better this morning. You want coffee?”

Sagramore accepted the coffee. They both sat down on her couch. Eventually she said:

“So it was Thai food, huh?”

Our proud hero was at a loss for words.


The hot girl from the party burst out laughing, for a solid minute. Sagramore would have laughed, too, but he felt like such a piece of s$$t, he just sat there quietly. Her laughter died down, and they both drank their coffees in silence. Eventually, Sagramore admitted:

“I feel better now.”







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