Toilet Titans

Posted: December 7, 2010 in Short Stories

Toilet Titans


During sleep the physical need to piss registers first as an impulse in the sympathetic nervous system before travelling up the microscopic red sewers to the cerebellum where, on getting no response from the sleeper, it sends the request down to the sub-conscious to be interpreted through the medium of dreaming. Inception: the idea to urinate is introduced into the dream as a cipher by the great and secret Sandman scriptwriter. Once understood and we wake, it  takes real willpower to pull back the warm duvet and begin the midnight creep like Marley’s Ghost with the chains of our dream rattling behind us.

When my message hits round 4am it translates to my imagining I’m in a bath full of raw, warm egg yolks, they envelope me like amniotic fluid, mucus membranes, gelatinous and strangely familiar. When the urge gets too strong and I throw back the duvet with the grunt of millennia I literally feel like I’m being born again from the goo.

I stand over the toilet bowl, a Colossus of Rhodes waiting to sink ships with my yellow thunderbolts. As any man can attest to there is up to a ten second delay, depending on the audience, between the time it takes for the mind to release the kegel muscle and for the stream to flow, like an avalanche building up a head of steam. Caught in the spider’s web of half-sleep I feel the warm liquid travel internally down the shaft (for ‘tis a long journey) double checking my surroundings to make sure I am in reality and not about to piss the bed.  A splashing sound snaps me into focus: I know I haven’t hit the bowl yet. It is an animalistic focus, a wolf sniffing the breeze for a scent heavy with primeval danger. I look into the bowl and see something staring back at me. I blink, wiping the sleep and bright light from my jellied eyes. It blinks back at me.

The piss is in the post and cannot be diverted, exploding like it does as a targeted laser beam square between the rat’s eyes. For a second a look of disbelief crosses both our faces and his mouth falls open in shock, only to receive the full force of the noxious drinking fountain. The power of the jet knocks the shocked vermin onto its back where for a moment in the splashing bubbles it looks like it’s having a rare old time in a Jacuzzi. Bring on the strippers!

Neither of us break gaze, the two Titans of the Toilet, Colossus and Pissiedon locked in an eternal battle for the bathroom. With a flip of its fingertail which seemed to linger too long it retreats back down the waste pipe, leaving me standing over the toilet at 4am, naked and bewildered with my cock in hand as the most ineffectual weapon I could have defended myself with.


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