Defecate Hard

The extreme sporting event of real men that make all others not so much pale, but more turn a shade of green in comparison. So imaginary, snow border, bungee jumping, danger man, you think your tough? Do you? If only you knew. If only you KNEW! All of your sporting events make your balls look like those of a bisected lab mouse compared to the rock hard balls of those engaging in what is portrayed here. Why do I insult you?
Because I am that man.
"What do you mean? What the fuck is going on?" I hear you asking.
I will explain the epic journey of me, the great and powerful Fortesque, which will set the standard for all extreme undertakings..

Extreme defecation.

If you haven't given up after reading the title of my invention. Congratulations, you are possibly a real man. You are also possibly a real woman. With balls.

Defecate Hard

It was an ordinary day in the big city. I went to university, I learned, I watched and I ate. I paid my daily penance by riding in public transport.

But something was different, today. The sounds were somehow distant, misty... The world was interacting with me with difficulty today and it did not realize why. The world did not know that I had, indeed, had enough.

I was worn out. Worn out by work, life and by my ex-girlfriend. The everyday life of the proletariat: to live but to not live. To feel, but to not feel. I had not drunk any alcohol for hours.

But halfway during the university classes something changed. My world turned upside down. My big chance to change the universe was about to make a call.

A pressure came in my guts, accompanied by a sonata of stomach rumbling. Pictures of porcelain objects flashed through my mind.
I did, without a doubt, need to drop some of Mr. Brown's belongings. Adrenaline hit with the first feeling.

It was a hostage situation and I was the hostage.

"So Mr. Fortesque you think you are a free man?" I heard a mysterious voice utter. I span around in the crowded hallway, as I sometimes do between classes. No one bothered paying attention.

“Who is that!?” I screamed.

The voice seemed quiet but was everywhere. People made to form a wide arc around me.

"What if I told you that you live in an illusion a dream world made up of fools? Fools who believe that they have the power of choice and the means to execute it.”

“Who are you?” My bowls wanted to empty themselves

“I am the voice of reason, wisdom and awesome, I am the strength of…”

I understood. With the strength of a bear-elephant hybrid’s penis it hit me. My subconscious was talking to me, again. Trying to justify my bowels being a pussy and force me to a toilet as it had on countless occasions.

But not today. Not today.

“Suck it up bitch,” I say.

“You will submit,” A flat disembodied voice utters in a whisper, “ you will submit”

It is what I had been waiting for all week. A chance to get back at the world, my subconscious, Mother Nature, God, Mankind and Friends, I was going to change my routine and combat my subconscious, because I could dammit.

“I’m not giving in to daily routine,” I tell myself. “I won’t shit on campus today! Or in a friends car.” I will show the world by going all the way back home to take a turd-break and take the rest of the day off to celebrate chaos and my own power.

“I will show you world!!!” I scream in defiance. The people in the halls have stopped to stare at me, as they sometimes do.

I was not distracted. Time was running out and I had a hostage situation on my hands.

I began with a brisk walk towards the bus station. A small crowd was gathered with me. Around me. As if I was on of them. I had long ago risen above them, both in terms of self-awareness and in terms of body mass. How dare they.

Pressure built within as the evil Horde met the Iron Will of my sphincter. A battle was going to occur, more epic than heaven and hell, more devious than any Machiavellian character had ever encountered, more naked than Tarzan. One of us was going to have to surrender and it was not going to be me.

The bus had come. I went aboard with the surrounding crowd.

Adrenaline built within me, my breathing quickened excitedly. Pressure was building. I decided to stand, as I could not risk any sense of relaxation from my lower body, especially from my buttocks. People pressed close. I wanted to warn them of the battle within me, but my mouth was clamped tight with my Herculean effort. My eyes were starting to go unnaturally wide. Was it just my imagination, or were people eyeballing me.

Men, women, children, dogs.

Old ladies directed condemning stares from the comfort of their seats, the nappy wearing hypocrites, I had to deal with their flatulence every morning, usually in mid yawn (These were no ordinary bouts of ass rasping, but gas that made the area behind my eyes burn). They would see. They would ALL see!

I held the turd-rolls in as I attempted to stealthily release some of the pressure. Turning my ass towards the old ladies who were sitting down in the overcrowded bus I positioned my behind in an attack position. An immense volume of Gas-Spirits became homeless as the pressure built up to near intolerable amounts. The windows vibrated with the low ultrasound throb and several ears popped with the increase in pressure.

Accusing stares were directed towards my pale-green face. These people were not important. They did not matter one iota. I had risen above them with my vital purpose. Mother Nature, God and Mankind had been challenged. What was these peoples’ every-day work compared to my duties?

“I am the only one that matters!” I inform the world as my bowls squirm excitedly.

The world was not excited or happy with my announcement and its truthfulness.

The bus stop before mine was approaching. An unhappy muttering rose from around me.

A hundred voices saying the same thing.

A hundred voices rose as one.

A hundred voices saying “Fuck you.”

The doors opened one bus stop before mine. I felt dozens of hands against my back, as I suddenly realized that the hordes of God and mankind had obviously decided to resort to Fowl Play to stop me.

I tried to direct myself towards my home, an entire fifteen minutes away, as fast as I could. My legs were taut and I had to walk in a very stiff manner. My face was a contorted hideous thing. Surely the possessed did not look any more terrifying. The Green hue of my face was punctuated with the occasional purple throbbing vein.

“Fifty meters at a time,” I tell myself, “fifty meters”

Time Slowed down, slower than Matrix slow. Seconds seemed to take hours. Hours, in which my body urged me to give in and poop apprehensively in my pants. A cold sweat covered my body.

“Now!” urged my subconscious, which had obviously sold itself to Mother Nature or God, the whore. “NOW!”

My answer was held back behind the monstrosity of my face. If I were going to answer to anything it would be in a scream.

People in the street were stopping to stare. Some drivers rolled down their windows as they passed by. I walked slower now with all the alacrity of a bear orgy on stilts. I was releasing an onslaught of gas with every rigid step.

Oh God. Oh God. I was approaching the liquor store. One hundred meters left. One hundred steps until home.

Toilet. Don’t think of toilets you betrayer of a mind. Don’t, just don’t! A freight truck pulled up in front of the liquor store and a burly man began unload a couple of beer kegs. Making the path between the road and store halve. Please God let no one exit the liquor store, fair play.

Suddenly a midget with wooden legs, crutches and cheap clothes exited the grocery store.

Dammit! God you scumbag, the local beggar! There Is No Time!

He looked up towards me slowly, instead of getting out of my way.

There Is No Time!

He reaches into his pocket retracting his begging bowl from a pocket ever so slowly.

NO TIME.

“Some money for those of lesser fortune,” He pleaded in a kind voice. If only he knew.

I did not answer, I could not answer in anything less than a scream.

“Toilets,” My subconscious added in a whisper. “White tiles surrounding you… elevator music.”

“THERE IS NO TIME!!!”

The scream ripped through my body in from my repressed bowls upwards in a thundering voice that the Gods would fear. My fist flew of it’s own accord from the sides of my stiff body. It caught the treacherous midget directly under the chin and lifted him high… higher than what your imagining… into the air. His crutches were left behind along with the begging bowl and they seemed to float in the air for an unnaturally long time, as the universe stopped to survey the event that would make it rub it’s eyes (or what passed for them) before rubbing the rest of itself in an excited manner.

The midget flew slowly, an expression of surprise spreading across his face as he entered a downward trajectory towards the freight truck in front of the liquor store and it’s beer keg payload.

The midget beggar struck the kegs that were mounted on the truck, face first, with a high pitched yelp more suited to a cocker spaniel than a man, before striking the ground. My ass trumpeted dramatically.

The beer keg, which he had struck, rocked treacherously for a second before falling down towards the midget. The midget looked towards the truck, his surprise turning to horror, as his favorite beverage seemed to descend fatally towards him. It fell down and a cracking noise, that was unimaginably loud emanated. Yet another pulsation sounded from my tense but-cheeks joining in the terrible crunching sound. Surely bones don’t break in such a crunchy manner?

No, I thought. All I wanted was to poop at home to prove myself, God. Why? Why make me a murderer?

“The green convertible, the soft, soft leather of your best friends car, the guilt; the sweet, sweet guilt…” My subconscious added helpfully.

“You asshole!” The beggar’s angry squeak came from the asphalt. Relief swept over me with a renewed fit of flatulence “You broke my fucking legs you duck dildo! Wooden legs cost a fortune!”

I was already sweeping past in a bowlegged manner. Ignoring the beggar and his curses. Ignoring the passing neighbors who were looking with traumatized expressions at me. The cold sweat was accompanied with shivering now. I would poop nowhere but home. I would tease the universe to my will. The gas I unconfined seemed to propel me.

Oh God.

I was in front of my front gate.

The key! The key? I fumbled at my pocket for an eternity.

“No, no, no…” I was muttering. “Not in my pants, not I”

The keys revolved in my hands dropping to the floor in slow motion.

“The slow sensation of release…” added my subconscious, as always helpful.

I picked up the keys and jammed the correct one home. The gate clicked open. I teased fate yet again by taking the time to close it behind me.

No time.

Another locked door, another eternity, yet more ass trumpeting.

The door opened. I began to laugh maniacally as I took the time to take off my jacket and close the door.

At last I faced the toilet. It was all I could do to not crap right there out of relief. I looked down at the belt and pants barring me from giving a horrendous “up yours” to the natural order of things.

I ripped them off with strength inflamed to inhuman levels by my inhuman need, leaving them in tatters on the floor.

I turned and sat down at the same time releasing my deadly payload into the safety of my One True Bowl. It was amazing. It was stupendous. I was every action hero, ever (albeit in the scenes taken away from the final cuts). I was James Bond, Gandhi, Jesus, G.I. Joe…I was… John McClane. The lost hours of every great man never portrayed on film.

Everything I had ever achieved was nothing. My life flashed before my eyes to the sound of –plop-plop-plop-plop-plop-plop…-

It was better than the most amazing sex imaginable. I received a cement-like boner in my pantless state

But something was wrong… Why won’t it stop? Why!

The sloshing sound of the chunky sacrifice at the white altar went on and on.

A burning feeling raged from my rectum as it became ravaged.

“Nooooo!” I screamed. How could something so pure and good, go so wrong. My subconscious had nothing more to add, and had long ago decided to try to get me to hang myself on some future occasion.

I felt as if I had three assholes torn. The turdfest did not want to end.

Finally the bathroom became quiet.

I was wounded, perhaps mortally, from my struggle. I lifted myself up somewhat to observe the damage.

I was indeed bleeding profusely. I realized that I needed to call for help. But whom could I call after taking such an abundant crap, having no pants and possessing an embarrassingly immense and strong boner.

There was only one answer…

I retrieved my mobile phone from the tatters of my pants and made a call in a desperate voice, which was becoming weaker and weaker from my ever-diminishing blood reserves.

“I’m bleeding please help me at my home… In the bathroom… Please. I’m die… ing…”

The ex-girlfriend opened my gate running. She was in a panic. He’s an idiot, but he can’t die, Shana thought helplessly. She had called an ambulance and told them that he was bleeding and dying. Shana entered the house in a terror.

Her imagination went into overdrive showing her pictures of my mutilated corpse.

A noxious smell assaulted her nose as she approached the bathroom. Please let him not have died. She could hear a distant siren of an ambulance. The smell was making her eyes water.

“Ex-girlfriend…” I said in a weak voice.

As she entered she stopped in shock. Whatever she had expected it was not this.

Steam was rising from the toilet, creating a misty picture around my crotch.

“…” the ex-girlfriend’s mouth moved, but made no sound. She could see, yet she refused to believe that a Man could undertake such a Herculean struggle.

“I’m bleeding…” I say weakly, “bad…”

“The ambulance will be here soon, why didn’t you call them?”

“I have a boner.”

“…”

“I need to get rid of it before the ambulance comes.”

“…”

“That’s where you come in…” I say hopefully.

The ambulance drivers pulled up in front of my house just in time to here the inhuman scream sounding much like a koala screaming.

My ex-girlfriend picked me up bodily and threw me into the hallway. The ambulance workers picked the perfect moment to burst in.

“Ow…” I choose to say.

The ex-girlfriend looked angrily from the accusing stares of the ambulance workers to my bleeding behind, then to my boner. She flees outstandingly fast.

One of the ambulance workers bows his head.

They picked me up and drag me like a wounded soldier outside towards the ambulance in my pantless state. My manhood flapped about heroically as it is wont to do. After an eternity, in which several neighbors appeared to watch, I was loaded into the ambulance.

“I am a Man,” I inform the world, “a Man”

My home exploded in a spectacular fireball for no logical reason whatsoever as the ambulance drove away.

The ambulance worker seemed lost for words, but managed to utter something perfunctory, “Everything’s going to be OK,”

“My ass,” I say, “Why?”

The other ambulance worker was sympathetic, “I was in an abusive relationship once, something like this happened. You should break it off…”

Everyone in the ambulance looked at him for a long, long time, including the ambulance driver.

“But what do I do with my boner?” I ask desperately.

“One step at a time… One step at a time…”

I recovered in the hospital bed. The hospitals psychologist and surgeon had interviewed me after being sewed up. They leave after being treated to an hour-long monolog about me having to deal with a boner, and how I was indeed a Man.

A nurse came in. Not an old wrinkled nurse, a hot supple nurse. Fate seems to be turning my way again. She reads the medical information at the foot of my bed. It reads: Condition: Three assholes, severe psychological trauma (obsession with erection), possible sexual assault (subject known/suspected)

Treatment: stitches of the anal sphincter, advise legal action.

I knew because I had read it after being left alone.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said after looking at me with here doe eyes.

“I know… It was so… Hard…”

She bowed her head and moved over to hold my hand. I obliged, carefully forming my face into a look of shame and pain as she held my hand firmly.

“Why? … Why is your hand? … Sticky?”

THE END