Getting The Bum's Rush

The date was going pretty well thus far. My partner had not yet screamed at the sight of me and run off into the night (always a good first indicator) and here we were, moving on to our second venue of the evening.

I had one problem: this girl was a Christian. The reason this was a problem was twofold. One, she was highly unlikely to let me get my hands on her sumptuously gigantic breasts at the end of the evening, no matter how well I thought the situation was progressing; and two, she didn’t drink alcohol.

That meant that I was consigned to drinking coffee all evening in the stead of quaffing pints of real ale, and this was having a decidedly detrimental effect on both my nervous and digestive systems.

As we walked through the door of the second café, my stomach lurched and gurgled. I politely ignored it, but it would not be quiet.

I just about managed to make it through the first mug of coffee, my third of the evening, but then my bowels went into ‘auto-eject’ mode. I made my excuses and gratefully hopped off to the toilets, in some pain.

I was rather bemused to note that there was only one, unisex, toilet for the entire café, despite there being seating space for at least forty people, but at this stage I couldn’t care less. I initially tried to relieve my digestive discomfort with a bit of farting, but even the slightest push from my abdominal muscles told me that I was going to have to empty my trunk, there and then, with no regard for the consequences of leaving my date sitting idly.

I whipped my trousers down as if they were on fire and did what I had to do. It was not pleasant. As I was cleaning up, I gave myself a reproachful look in the mirror, as if to say, ‘why couldn’t you just have drunk mineral water?’

Even though I wiped up in record time, I easily surpassed the unspoken time limit that will have signalled to my companion that, yes, her date had broken off a conversation to go and have a shit.

The smell was unholy in the cubicle, and I noticed that there were no extractor fans to alleviate the situation. I washed my hands, steeled myself for the inevitable embarrassment that I would shortly be suffering, and walked out to face the poor girl.

As soon as I sat down, she stood up, smiled and said, ‘I’m going to the toilet’.

I wished the ground would swallow me up.