Our Home Smell of Roses

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

The moment I had dreaded since I took that dump, but that wasn't how it was supposed to go down. There wasn't supposed to be a horrendous aroma. Instead, the odor followed me into the family gathering room. Ugh. It hung to me like an Incel baby locked on his Stacy-mother's milky nipple, knowing that's the only titty he'll ever get. I held my head high and coped with the magnitude of the reeky situation.

I didn't know how to deal with this incident, unable to rid myself of the hard-boiled spoiled egg stench as I tried fanning it away. The heaviness of the odor clouded my ability to blame it on someone else. But only I visited that lavatory, and these people knew it was me. They had to know!

What do they think? I promised Tammy Lil Mama Diamond Denver I wouldn't embarrass her. My stomach churned—as if nature wasn't done with me yet. No way could I go back in there. Especially now, everyone is enjoying the chips, cheesy spinach, and bean dip—snapper crappers. The aches in my intestines deepened as the possibility weighed heavily on my mind that I must go back there. Finish the job! Like a roofer nailing the last of the shingles.

"You son bitch. You had to do that," Lil Mama contested quietly.

She should understand. What else could I've done? Went next store to our home to did it in our bathroom? Shiet, nigga, that's not how I roll. For real. I needed to get out. I needed to leave this disgusting-smelling home. These people should be ashamed of themselves. Ugh. I still call my family, these people—those people. Shaking my head. My poor fuckhole apparatus, she must be embarrassed, knowing these people will see her as the smelly slut. I am not usually the one that handles that shame.

I hear footsteps behind and look to see grandmappy headed to the bathroom. Ah, yes. Perfect! She'll get the blame. Suddenly, she stopped and hollered, "Whoa!" My gad. The gig is up.

"Gotta go," I whispered.

"You son bitch," Lil mama recoiled.

Hurrying to the exit, grandmappy insisted everyone know. "Jimmy pooed in your bathroom, knowing he could've gone to his house!"

Those people began expressing rancor as Mama Jewed Me Good shouted, "You son bitch! I told you never to use my home for your toilet!" I make it to the exit, and poof! I was gone.

 

[Tony]

indeed

 

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

indeed

Why stink up your living quarters when you can do it elsewhere. Perhaps that's why stalls in public restrooms are constantly in use. Besides the occasional needle junkie, that is.

 

[Vermilioncore]

Let me finish it for you, Kimbo Le Jimbo! Let’s give the people what they want, the truth. The whole truth, nothing but the truth! So, sit back, DO NOT relax your sphincter, though. And read,


Those people began expressing rancor as Mama Jewed Me Good shouted, "You son bitch! I told you never to use my home for your toilet!" I make it to the exit, and poof! I was gone.

The journey to my house thus began. Somehow, my asshole wasn’t done projectile vomiting last night’s La Mexicana Casserole. So, tunnel vision encompassed whatever was left that lingered in my temporary panic.

“Jim! You might as well just finish shitting in this bathroom, they already know it’s you. Now you’re gonna go stink up another bathroom?”

I ignored Lil Mama Denver Diamond Doris Dollface the Third and ran into my house, locking the door behind me and rushing into the shitter as if Satan himself was on the prowl in search of bowels full of shit, ready to kill the beholder of such bowels.

Flap! Slam! Chlmnap! (Whatever have you) the toilet’s seat slammed down, and my ass slammed atop the seat. You can say the toilet seat was the meat between the porcelain toilet bowl and my red-flushed asscheeks.

And there. There. There!

Ah, my bowels are like the trenches of some shitty barren desert without rain — empty.

 

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

Let me finish it for you, Kimbo Le Jimbo! Let’s give the people what they want, the truth. The whole truth, nothing but the truth! So, sit back, DO NOT relax your sphincter, though. And read,


Those people began expressing rancor as Mama Jewed Me Good shouted, "You son bitch! I told you never to use my home for your toilet!" I make it to the exit, and poof! I was gone.

The journey to my house thus began. Somehow, my asshole wasn’t done projectile vomiting last night’s La Mexicana Casserole. So, tunnel vision encompassed whatever was left that lingered in my temporary panic.

“Jim! You might as well just finish shitting in this bathroom, they already know it’s you. Now you’re gonna go stink up another bathroom?”

I ignored Lil Mama Denver Diamond Doris Dollface the Third and ran into my house, locking the door behind me and rushing into the shitter as if Satan himself was on the prowl in search of bowels full of shit, ready to kill the beholder of such bowels.

Flap! Slam! Chlmnap! (Whatever have you) the toilet’s seat slammed down, and my ass slammed atop the seat. You can say the toilet seat was the meat between the porcelain toilet bowl and my red-flushed asscheeks.

And there. There. There!

Ah, my bowels are like the trenches of some shitty barren desert without rain — empty.

 

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

Let me finish it for you, Kimbo Le Jimbo! Let’s give the people what they want, the truth. The whole truth, nothing but the truth! So, sit back, DO NOT relax your sphincter, though. And read,


Those people began expressing rancor as Mama Jewed Me Good shouted, "You son bitch! I told you never to use my home for your toilet!" I make it to the exit, and poof! I was gone.

The journey to my house thus began. Somehow, my asshole wasn’t done projectile vomiting last night’s La Mexicana Casserole. So, tunnel vision encompassed whatever was left that lingered in my temporary panic.

“Jim! You might as well just finish shitting in this bathroom, they already know it’s you. Now you’re gonna go stink up another bathroom?”

I ignored Lil Mama Denver Diamond Doris Dollface the Third and ran into my house, locking the door behind me and rushing into the shitter as if Satan himself was on the prowl in search of bowels full of shit, ready to kill the beholder of such bowels.

Flap! Slam! Chlmnap! (Whatever have you) the toilet’s seat slammed down, and my ass slammed atop the seat. You can say the toilet seat was the meat between the porcelain toilet bowl and my red-flushed asscheeks.

And there. There. There!

Ah, my bowels are like the trenches of some shitty barren desert without rain — empty.

And there. There. There!

Ah, my bowels are like the trenches of some shitty barren desert without rain — empty.

I reach behind for a feminine wipe. Ugh. Gotta keep my asshole smelling as fresh as my dick and balls. I pull one from its container and get busy polishing the rim, but suddenly a memory grasped me into its storage—Boy's Town.

Outside the border of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, and Laredo, Texas, rests a whore town wrapped with a dilapidated brick wall. One of the few places with legal prostitution. Well, back then, anyway. It's a shithole that houses a range of fuckhole establishments, bars, gift shops, shitty food stands, and even has its own police station. The latter accepts cash gifts in exchange for not beating your ass and tossing you to the cartel. Only cool guys have the best fun. Assholes end up missing. Enter at your own risk—a sign posted on the wall adjacent to the patrol booth.

Anyway, I'd visited the place a few times in the past, but the one that's jackhammering my remembrance was a nasty pickle that changed the way I trolled lust. I considered myself an explorer of erotica and sexual passion back then. And there was one rare orchid only found in Boy's Town.

It was a Thursday night, or as Mexicans call it, No one gives a fuck night. So I'm sitting inside the Casino drinking turd liquor—a thick brown tequila; everyone gets a worm. A classy-dressed skank in a glittery one-piece skirt strolls near. She was a good hundred pounds of slam. She'd hazel eyes and a rock-hard ass. She didn't interest me, though. I turned away. The bartender noticed. He's the pimp. Of course. Wouldn't you wish to bartend if you had access to all that pussy? Exactly. I swigged the last of the bug piss and gulped the worm. I head to the bar for another round of threes. "You no like that sexy girl? She 18!" He said, then winked. I knew what that meant. She was younger. Ugh, I wanted to smash his fucking face open! But I'm not stupid. The place was reeking of outlaws and cartels.

I expressed another desire. "Not interested, but where are the special commodities fresh off the boat? If you know what I mean." I then double-winked at him.

He looked puzzled and changed into resentment with one raised brow. Finally, he said, "You looking for younger than that?" He gestures to her with a nod and wide eyes.

The name, I would then say, triggered a swift reaction. "Cunswaylo."

"Uh-huh." As he swiped a post-it note from a stack and drew a map, he said. "You here." He pointed to a circle and drew a line and then an x. "She here." I snatch the yellow slip from him. He extends his hand out.

I slap it and reply, "Thanks." He didn't care for the gratitude I expressed.

I leave the shithole and follow the line he drew to the shithole x. It was dark with few lights from the destitute structures, and I attended to a variety of melodic harmonies. I trek for a block and pivot into a shady rundown village complex between a restaurant and a Donkey Exhibit. I followed its gloomy pathway to a shack, and there she was! I knew right away it was Cunswaylo—The Spinner.

She was sitting at the height of three feet from the ground, including that metal four-wheeler resting near a cracked door. Long flourishing brunette hair and deep dark brown eyes, I likey. Perhaps, in her late 30s. I pondered to myself. She was wearing only a shirt. Her nubs screamed, Spin me!

"Ugh. Cunswaylo, correct?" Saying as I approached.

"Sí, ¿quieres un poco de coño?" She replied in poppycock.

"I don't know gibberish, but do you know this," I reached into my pants pocket and pulled a wad of cash. I peel a Franklin and dangle it. She beamed broad and nodded me to follow as she pushed that door open. And so I did.

I find myself inside a hoarder's den. Junk was everywhere, and the walls were covered in pictures of people. There was a twin mattress bed in the corner of that room she headed to. I step with her and watch her remove her shirt—braless and underwearless. Her breasts hung like exotic cucumbers as I watched one peep from her side collapse on the seat. Finally, she mantles to the ledge of the bed and pulls herself up. The cucumbers came in last.

Not much later, my back against the stained mattress, she spun on top of me while performing the fiddle with a titty. Impressive, she was.

Unfortunately, a week thereafter, a cartel would use her as a smuggler and catapult her across the border. She didn't survive. Ugh. Like everything in her life must've been, she came up shorthanded and missed the air mattress that was supposed to catch her by a couple of yards. I asked the messenger whether it was necessary to slingshot a living being and not just their drugs? He said, "She wanted to be with you, Amigo."

I finished polishing my ass and then flushed those memories away.