V is for Victoryless

I have a love/hate relationship with automatic flushing toilets. They’re fantastic because of the obvious– no physical contact with the toilet flusher. In a perfect world I go in the stall, do my business, and as I’m pulling up my pants the evidence that I was there immediately vanishes into the depths of the universe. But the world is not perfect, and most of the time when I visit the stall the automatic flusher is over sensitive and emotional.

I like to cover the seat with an absurd amount of toilet paper and protective lining. It’s not a quick and easy task. The average time I spend meticulously placing the seat cover and layers of toilet paper down is 25 seconds. If you go too fast, the paper responds to the slightest breeze of movement and ends up in the toilet or on the floor. When there is no more visible toilet seat surface area and my bladder is about to explode, the automatic sensor decides that’s when it will flush– pulling the seat lining and all my neatly folded toilet paper on top into the bowl and down the drain. I’m doing the pee pee dance by now. I skip the seat lining this time and slap down several layers of toilet paper. I’m about to urinate in my pants. The damn sensor laughs at me and flushes again. The gust of the industrial strength flush produces gale force winds and blows my toilet paper on the floor. I have to pee so badly I can feel it in my teeth. I want to cry and just sit, but my stubbornness and germaphobic tendencies grab more toilet paper. To minimize my movement, my pants are already pulled down at my ankles before I repeat the seat armor. I slowly and sensually creep up on the toilet and caress my buttocks on the layers of paper. The toilet is silent, there is no flushing. Victory is orgasmic. I pee so hard that I sigh in euphoric pleasure. I just want to sit there and reflect on the first world problems I momentarily experienced when all of a sudden the toilet flushes, spitting pee water and spewing billions of toilet germs all over my bare ass. *whimper* I hate you, automatic flusher.


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