If you think about it, pooping is pretty gay. I don't know about you, but as a straight white male, I personally don't like the thought of anything being inside of my asshole at any time, much less a sizeable phallic object that just plops right down into the toilet bowl, slightly submerged in water and staring into my now-gaped rectum. Sure, yeah, it feels pretty good when it's sliding out of there, but that's what scares me. Sometimes I get these goosebumps when the ass-traffic plays rush hour through my colonic bypass, and I think to myself, "damn, if only it were a little smaller it would be perfect"... Of course, there's nothing gay about minimizing pain while maximizing benefit; you take life as it comes, right? But this was more than that.
Well, I was getting a little uncomfortable with the prospect overall, so I decided to start eating nothing but deep fried foods for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and even for a midnight snack. I thought that if I turned the bypass into more of a waterway, then I wouldn't feel a thing, and boom, no more faggotry. The problem is, I started getting irritated around my anal opening because of all the liquid (not-gay) diarrhea, and I thought some cream would help. But when I began applying it, I found that it felt pretty fucking good when I was rubbing my finger around my newly-tightened brown ring. I had to think of something else fast, or it wouldn't be too long before I was wearing leather and spikes and watching RuPaul.
My last ditch effort was to drop the fried foods altogether and go on an exclusive diet of American cheese slices. If I could gunk up my pistons enough, then perhaps I would only feel pain when passing a curiosity-invoking BM. Lo and behold, it worked. I didn't shit for two weeks, and never felt more straight. However, one day while I was watching Scared Straight, I was made aware of a tightening deep within me. Tightening is always good thing, or so I told myself. I knew the pain was coming, but it was better than ill-begotten pleasure.
I threw my pants around my ankles and sat down on the toilet, where I strainined for nearly 12 hours, to no avail. But finally, I could feel the fecal mass (seemingly the size of a softball, if my sphincter nerves were to make accurate calculations) slowly approaching my Sacred Rectal Chamber, which was clean as a whistle from the half-month of hard-earned abstinence. When said mass began knocking at my back door, something completely unexpected happened: it felt...good? How can this be! Yes, the agony was also present as expected, but I could feel stimulation coming from my brain's receptors, which could no longer be trusted or respected by me, a straight male.
I tried to suck the sin-inducing perpetrator back up into my colon, but it was too late. Every working part of my lower digestive started screaming in both agony and ecstasy as the brownstone slowly pushed itself through like an Overwatch payload. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and my musculoskeletal network backfired, sending me into a series of convulsions. My penis, now rock-hard, went straight as a board and commenced to firing 10ml shots of pale yellow nectar in every direction, covering my wall, sink, and shower door with a glaze of intense shame and self-betrayal. Finally, the wicked thing fell into its new aquatic porcelain home with a sound wave that rivaled the Chicxulub impact, which knocked me into a state of deep unconsciousness. The last thing I remembered was thinking, "it's too late for me". I awoke and cried on the floor for the next 24 hours.
Anyway, after the whole thing, I just decided to go to Spencer's and buy a dildo. Pooping is just too fucking gay for me.