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She put the phone up to her ear, still chewing the final mouthful of her dinner and waiting for the receiver on the other end to ring. Given the hour, she wasn’t even sure if someone would answer. After a single solid tone, she expected to hear a voicemail message, but the line simply went silent. She looked at the screen of her smartphone. “Call Ended.” “Oh well,” she thought. “It was all too good to be true anyway. They probably already found their candidates far earlier in the day.” Somewhat deflated that she’d be missing the opportunity to make some easy money, she reached into her green canvas satchel for her psych textbook and began to review her neuroscience material. She hoped that becoming a clinical psychologist would pay off one day, because school certainly wasn’t getting any cheaper.
As she lifted the heavy cover open to the proper page of the encyclopedic volume, she began to feel a slight churning in her tummy. Brushing it aside, she focused on the material. She would be busy this weekend. “Work now, play later,” she told herself. There was no time for drinking, or pot, and definitely not any for a boyfriend. “Single for life,” she teased herself, twirling a strand of her between her left thumb and forefinger. Neurons, synapses, amygdala…Her eyes rapidly scanned over the key words, soaking them all in. Just then, a deep gurgle sounded itself from within, and with a stronger churning than before. It felt like something awful was growing within her. “Ok then, I can do this on the toilet just as well. What the hell did I eat, anyway?”
She picked up the massive book, saving her page with her finger and began walking toward her bathroom just as the chipper, optimistic tune of her ringtone began to fill the tiny apartment. “Seriously? Now?” she thought. She was fully willing to ignore it so she could deal with the evil that was brewing within her thin frame, but just on the off chance it was important, she headed back to her work table. Sure enough, it was the number she had dialed before. The clinic. The phone slowly spun as it vibrated and she quickly snatched it up, swiping her thumb right across the screen to answer. Putting the phone up to her ear once again, she greeted the caller with a friendly “Hello.” The voice on the other end was deep. Resonant. Like the sound of a low home. It spoke soothingly, but with an air of authority. The kind of voice that was difficult to ignore and even more difficult to oppose. “Good evening. This is Doctor Marschand. I was just leaving the office. Is there something I can help you with?” he asked. She paused. “E-mail.” She stammered. “Excuse me?” questioned the doctor. “I’m sorry!” she giggled nervously, still very much aware of her need to use the toilet. “I received an email from your office about some sort of experiment? My name is Sarah…with an H.” “Ah, yes…Sarah, with an H, of course!” he acknowledged. “I am going to speak directly for the sake of brevity. As you may well know, there is a large taboo surrounding bathroom use for bowel movements. We are seeking to study a large enough sample group so that we can find out what drives the human mind to be so reticent about the subject of toileting. Also, we are testing a new incontinence drug. We are fully aware of the potential for embarrassment, which is why we compensate our subjects so handsomely for their time. Your only requirement will be to take a dose of the medication, provide a stool sample and then answer a questionnaire.”
The doctor’s words seemed to go on forever. Here he was, medically discussing exactly what she wanted to do most in the world: take a giant shit. She began to lose focus as the cramps became worse. She was crossing her legs and putting her free hand tightly against her bottom, hopefully preventing any unwanted escapes. She bobbed up and down in her kitchenette, struggling to sound as composed as possible. She wanted to hang up. She was deaf to the reverberating words. She wanted to throw the phone, tear her pants and panties down, and let loose with all she had. But she couldn’t risk that now. She needed a spot in this study and she was too shy to talk through it, so she waited. Once she checked back into the conversation, she heard the doctor’s voice question “Are you interested? Whatever she missed, she thought was likely inconsequential. Privacy agreements and what-not. All she needed to do was say “Yes!” Which she did emphatically and through somewhat gritted teeth. She was still standing in her kitchenette doing her little dance. She stupidly thought that trying to relieve the pressure through a small smart would have been a good idea. Slowly and with measured breath, she relaxed her hole ever so slightly. “I can do this,” she thought. Everything seemed to be fine, when suddenly, he felt a tiny hot squirt erupt between her butt cheeks. From the shock in her face it would be immediately apparent to anyone that she had just sharted, had anyone else been in the room with her, that is. While all of this horror was silently unfolding in Sarah’s little slice of heaven. The doctor’s voice was literally and figuratively miles away. Please come to our office downtown at 4:45 PM sharp on Monday. Please make every effort to have your bowel movements here or else we cannot pay you for research. Goodbye, Sarah. Click. The line went silent. She slammed her phone onto the table with nearly enough force to break it and bolted for the bathroom as quickly as she could with a strange wide-legged, clenched cheek side-to-side hop trying to keep her panties clean—that is, if they weren’t ruined already.
As she lifted the heavy cover open to the proper page of the encyclopedic volume, she began to feel a slight churning in her tummy. Brushing it aside, she focused on the material. She would be busy this weekend. “Work now, play later,” she told herself. There was no time for drinking, or pot, and definitely not any for a boyfriend. “Single for life,” she teased herself, twirling a strand of her between her left thumb and forefinger. Neurons, synapses, amygdala…Her eyes rapidly scanned over the key words, soaking them all in. Just then, a deep gurgle sounded itself from within, and with a stronger churning than before. It felt like something awful was growing within her. “Ok then, I can do this on the toilet just as well. What the hell did I eat, anyway?”
She picked up the massive book, saving her page with her finger and began walking toward her bathroom just as the chipper, optimistic tune of her ringtone began to fill the tiny apartment. “Seriously? Now?” she thought. She was fully willing to ignore it so she could deal with the evil that was brewing within her thin frame, but just on the off chance it was important, she headed back to her work table. Sure enough, it was the number she had dialed before. The clinic. The phone slowly spun as it vibrated and she quickly snatched it up, swiping her thumb right across the screen to answer. Putting the phone up to her ear once again, she greeted the caller with a friendly “Hello.” The voice on the other end was deep. Resonant. Like the sound of a low home. It spoke soothingly, but with an air of authority. The kind of voice that was difficult to ignore and even more difficult to oppose. “Good evening. This is Doctor Marschand. I was just leaving the office. Is there something I can help you with?” he asked. She paused. “E-mail.” She stammered. “Excuse me?” questioned the doctor. “I’m sorry!” she giggled nervously, still very much aware of her need to use the toilet. “I received an email from your office about some sort of experiment? My name is Sarah…with an H.” “Ah, yes…Sarah, with an H, of course!” he acknowledged. “I am going to speak directly for the sake of brevity. As you may well know, there is a large taboo surrounding bathroom use for bowel movements. We are seeking to study a large enough sample group so that we can find out what drives the human mind to be so reticent about the subject of toileting. Also, we are testing a new incontinence drug. We are fully aware of the potential for embarrassment, which is why we compensate our subjects so handsomely for their time. Your only requirement will be to take a dose of the medication, provide a stool sample and then answer a questionnaire.”
The doctor’s words seemed to go on forever. Here he was, medically discussing exactly what she wanted to do most in the world: take a giant shit. She began to lose focus as the cramps became worse. She was crossing her legs and putting her free hand tightly against her bottom, hopefully preventing any unwanted escapes. She bobbed up and down in her kitchenette, struggling to sound as composed as possible. She wanted to hang up. She was deaf to the reverberating words. She wanted to throw the phone, tear her pants and panties down, and let loose with all she had. But she couldn’t risk that now. She needed a spot in this study and she was too shy to talk through it, so she waited. Once she checked back into the conversation, she heard the doctor’s voice question “Are you interested? Whatever she missed, she thought was likely inconsequential. Privacy agreements and what-not. All she needed to do was say “Yes!” Which she did emphatically and through somewhat gritted teeth. She was still standing in her kitchenette doing her little dance. She stupidly thought that trying to relieve the pressure through a small smart would have been a good idea. Slowly and with measured breath, she relaxed her hole ever so slightly. “I can do this,” she thought. Everything seemed to be fine, when suddenly, he felt a tiny hot squirt erupt between her butt cheeks. From the shock in her face it would be immediately apparent to anyone that she had just sharted, had anyone else been in the room with her, that is. While all of this horror was silently unfolding in Sarah’s little slice of heaven. The doctor’s voice was literally and figuratively miles away. Please come to our office downtown at 4:45 PM sharp on Monday. Please make every effort to have your bowel movements here or else we cannot pay you for research. Goodbye, Sarah. Click. The line went silent. She slammed her phone onto the table with nearly enough force to break it and bolted for the bathroom as quickly as she could with a strange wide-legged, clenched cheek side-to-side hop trying to keep her panties clean—that is, if they weren’t ruined already.
Well written
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