Damn the Dark

7 Jul

It had been a great night. Alcohol had been consumed in vast quantities, cigarettes had been smoked in abundance, and rug had been cut on the dance floor. ‘What would really top this night off’, I thought to myself, my drunk thoughts tripping over themselves, ‘would be a shag. A sweaty, lust-filled, over-in-minutes, shag’.

 

Fortunately, I had made it to the relative safety of my home with two girls, Nancy and Lisa, who I had been with all night as part of a large group of friends. Unfortunately, they were only with me as they had travelled from Cardiff (I live in Bucks) and they needed somewhere to crash for the night, and they had made it perfectly clear that they were up for no naughtiness (especially with me). We’d been sat around on sofas in my front room for half an hour or so, the girls wrapped up in duvets whilst I ate a greasy kebab (fnarr!); and all the while I was trying to charm the two Welsh ladies into bed but they were having none of it.

 

They were both tired, and had started to sober up slightly so my chances of a quick fumble with either girl had all but vanished. Then talk turned to ghost stories. Lisa started off with a story about her local church being haunted and that she’d actually seen a ghost there. Nancy got scared by this, and pulled up her duvet around her neck.

 

“Please don’t talk about ghosts”, she said quietly, “I won’t be able to sleep, especially in the dark”.

 

Lisa and I laughed and carried on regardless, talking about various clips and stories we’d seen on the internet. As we went on, I could see Nancy literally start shaking with fear, her eyes filling up with tears.

 

“Guys, seriously, I’ll need the lights on now otherwise I won’t be able to sleep on my own” she said, pleadingly.

 

My drunken brain hatched a plan. I’d cut the electric, plunging the house into darkness, and Nancy would have to have someone in bed with her. That someone would be me. I excused myself and went to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the circuit breaker. Everything went dark; lights went out, the TV went off and the kettle stopped boiling. The only thing that broke the tranquility of the dark was the screams emanating from the front room. Nancy and Lisa were shrieking.

 

“It’s ok, it’s just a power cut”, I shouted as I returned, feeling along the walls to aid me. “Happens all the time round here”, I lied. 

 

Lisa and Nancy lay side by side on the King size bed, with me on the outside next to Lisa, wearing just my underwear. Nancy had point-blankly refused to sleep in the room I had provided and Lisa was also too scared to be left alone. The dark has a habit of playing tricks with people’s minds, it amplifies the vulnerability of situations, and this had played to my advantage. All the talk of ghosts, and now the ‘power cut’ had scared the girls quite splendidly, and they wanted me around to ‘protect them’. As we lay in pitch black darkness, the only sounds I could hear was the soft breathing of the girls, and the clock ticking on my wall. I didn’t know if either Lisa or Nancy were awake, the conversation had died out 20 or so minutes earlier, but I did know that I was horny.

 

Their sweet, fruity perfume tickled my nostrils as I inhaled, and in moments my gristle truncheon was standing proud as I thought of undressing each girl slowly and having my wicked way with them. I tucked my bobbing member under the elastic of my boxers, keeping it flat against me so that Lisa would not bump into it. I would not have minded if she did, but I didn’t want her to think I was some sort of sexual pervert. I wanted to play it cool. I lay silently for what must have been about 10 minutes, fighting the urge to start kissing Lisa on the small of her back. I wanted her to roll over and feel my erection and get turned on, getting carried away with the situation, so we could hump like animals throughout the night.

 

‘Nancy would join in’, I thought. ‘Yeah, she definitely would. First she’d play with herself and then she’d join in’. We would wake in a sticky, sweaty mess, holding each other, and start all over again.

 

Then I farted.

 

It was a loud, reverberating fart, that if I hadn’t been in the company of two females, I would have been proud of. I would have laughed at it. It was a kebab-backed, deep, meaty fart; a hearty *pop*, like a shotgun. My guts twisted and churned and I placed my hands on my stomach as if to hold any further anal explosions in. Luckily, Nancy and Lisa didn’t say anything; their breathing remained constant – I hadn’t been heard.

 

My bowels felt like they were rolling over in my belly, as my sphincter clenched tightly. ‘Dodgy kebab’ I muttered and I got up out of bed to feel my way to the toilet. As it was a cold night, I reached down for my dressing gown, dressed and crept slowly and silently out of the bedroom, being careful not to stride too far in fear of fecal matter seeping from my anus. The relief as I sat on the porcelain throne was instant. Vile smelling, sticky fluid poured from my back passage, hitting the water with a great force causing splash-back. It tickled slightly. The stench was putrid. Once I was sure I was empty, I wiped and went back the bedroom, where the girls were still asleep, whimpering quietly to myself. The next thing I knew, it was morning. I had fallen asleep and missed my chance.

 

I woke to glorious sunlight seeping through the curtains. Nancy and Lisa were still in bed, talking about the night before.

 

“Morning ladies, fancy a cuppa? I should be able to find the emergency backup switch now there’s some light”.

 

Nancy wanted tea, Lisa an orange juice, so I felt down to the floor for my dressing gown. As I picked it up I span my legs out of the bed and onto the floor, and then lifted the dressing gown to cover my morning wood. With my back to the girls, I slipped it on.

 

“Erm, why are you wearing my dressing gown?” Lisa asked.

 

I looked at what I was wearing. A pink fluffy dressing gown. I looked over at the door and there hung my BHS blue dressing gown. I turned to look at Lisa and her face dropped –

 

“What the f*** is that on my dressing gown?” she shouted, pointing at me accusingly.

 

Dry, crusty poo clung to the dressing gown like a limpet. The splash-back had been powerful.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: