Nothing worse than sitting in a public crapper whilst the neighboring trap is occupied by a foul fellow depositing copious quantities of waste materials then standing and turning around to hose it all down with horse like gushing of urine.
All this would be an acceptable horror of public self evacuations; however when one is forced to listen to his whispered mumbles of encouragement one wonders if one can escape without being seen by dread beast.
“Yes!” he exhorts via coarse whispers
“oh that’s good.” I imagined little John Thomas getting a pat on the head or a comforting finger whipped around the sphincter.
I am saddened though as the sound of his trousers being pulled up prelude the curtain call of his zip eliciting a final “So good” He beats a hasty retreat and I am left bereft of dreams with just a rectal blistering fart. “Not soooo good” I groan.