Gregg, 42, moved to Long Beach from Tampa three years ago. Working for Verizon for the last seven years, he was able to relocate to Southern California, staying with the company.
When he started researching, everything he had heard and read was verified: Los Angeles was insanely expensive. At first, he wanted a place in the Westside, but was soon disabused of that notion. Santa Monica? Sky-high.
It became obvious that he would have to set his sites on some of the less expensive areas of LA County (if there were such places).
He finally settled on Long Beach, where Verizon has a presence. Even such, he would still need a roommate to rent an apartment within his budget. He used a service that used an extensive questionaire to pair "compatible" people. When he met Stephen, it seemed like a good match.
Stephen was 36, and, like Gregg, a corporate drone. Not being a clubgoer—Gregg was not a kid anymore—it was important that any prospective roommate be like-minded. Meals cooked at home. Quiet evenings with Netflix. He had moved up the ladder with Verizon and wanted to keep his reputation as a valued, productive member of the team.
Gregg had a few vices, among them, drinking, but only on weekends. He didn't drink Sunday through Thursday, because he had to get up early to go to work. Friday and Saturday nights were spent cooking and drinking. Stephen appreciated Gregg's kitchen skills and looked forward to his scratch cooking.
They were able to find a one-bedroom, one-bath apartment in a decent part of town that was within their budget. Space was tight, so they drew up "house rules" to keep things running smoothly. If one of them was anticipating having sex, he notified the other. Thankfully, there was a door that separated the living room from a hallway that led to the two bedrooms and the small bathroom.
On this fall night, Gregg's dinner menu included chicken-fried chicken, with gravy and real mashed potatoes, with a salad on the side. Gregg had always liked to drink while he cooked. He had a 1.75L bottle of vodka in the freezer. Stephen liked bourbon.
Gregg began drinking around 6:30 p.m. that Friday. He started cooking at 7 p.m. After a few quick, stiff drinks, he prepped the ingredients. He'd prepared this meal before for Stephen, who, in fact, had requested he make it again. The dinner was a success. Stephen even mentioned that it was even better than last time.
After cleaning up, Gregg was ready to get his drink on. He finally quit around midnight, and fell into bed. He took a gummy to help him sleep.
Gregg woke up around 9:00 a.m. the next morning. Thankfully, the gummy had done the trick. He had a slight hangover, but it wasn't too bad. He popped a few Advil, then made coffee. Stephen was still asleep.
It was only a matter of minutes before he needed to poop. He entered the bathroom, sat on the toilet, then pushed one out. Even though it was substantial, he still had a feeling that the process was incomplete. There was more poop. He finished up and started his day.
Gregg knew from past experience that drinking heavily sometimes led to diarrhea the next day. Sometimes multiple bouts of it.
He needed to run errands, so he told Stephen, now awake, that he would be back in a couple of hours. He planned to grab a bite to eat on the road.
He was ready to walk out the door when he felt pressure in his stomach. He didn't dare fart. He entered the bathroom and sat on the toilet, realizing that the decision not to fart was a good one. Poop water flew out of his ass for almost five seconds. He'd been in this spot before.
He didn't have to check the toilet to know the status of the bowl: brown water, with shit stains everywhere, even on the rim. He flushed it, then used the toilet brush to make things presentable for Stephen. That was one of the house rules, which also included adding a new roll of paper on the toilet-paper holder when the previous roll was empty.
Saying good-bye to Stephen, he headed for his car and set off.
In-N-Out didn't open until 10:30, so he picked up a few items on his list that weren't perishable. Ralphs would be his last stop. He had a standard order at In-N-Out. He even had a preferred table. He was glad that more fast-food restaurants were reopening their dining rooms, due to Covid being under control in LA County. He liked his food hot and fresh.
His final stop was Ralph's. He didn't have a lot of items on his list, so it looked to be a quick trip.
As he pushed the cart around the aisles, he started to feel pressure in his gut. "Damn it," he thought. Diarrhea Saturday! He didn't want to poop in the store, so he hurriedly finished shopping, paid, then sped off to the apartment with a sense of urgency.
He hadn't shit his pants in years. He still remembered the episode. He was in a branch library in Tampa, sitting on a stool, when he felt what he thought was a fart. When he lifted his butt off the stool and pushed, it wasn't a fart. Thankfully, he was able to stop in time. He headed for the men's room. Yup, there was a shit stain in his underwear. He cleaned up what he could, then got the hell out of there.
When he arrived at the apartment, he grabbed a few shopping bags, then sprinted for the door. He placed the bags on the kitchen counter, then bounded for the bathroom.
The bathroom door was closed! He could hear the shower running. Stephen was taking a shower!
He and Stephen had agreed to a "closed-door arrangement," respecting each other's privacy in the bathroom, but this was an emergency.
He knocked forcefully on the door, then opened it. Stephen, hearing the knocks, looked around the shower curtain and said, "What's up, Gregg? You all right?"
"Hey, Stephen, I'm in a fucking bind here. I apologize, but I need to use the toilet."
"No problem, man, I'm finishing up here." He turned off the shower, pulling back the curtain about halfway, and began drying himself.
"I can't wait, dude. I have to go now."
"Go ahead. If you gotta go, you gotta go."
All this happened in the space of thirty seconds.
Gregg unbuckled his belt, pulled down his pants, and planted his ass on the toilet seat, immediately pushing out a torrent of poop water, with Stephen just a few feet away. After a few seconds, the last of the brown water was expelled. Then, there was the best fart of all, that deep one that goes on for a few seconds, the hole vibrating, until it ends.
That fart signals that the bowels are empty.
"I hope you don't mind if I don't hang around for the wiping, Gregg," Stephen said, laughing.
"That's OK. You were here for the performance," Gregg said, smiling.
Stephen exited the bathroom, towel around his waist, thinking that their relationship had just entered a new phase. He decided to bring Gregg a cold Ozarka from the refrigerator.
As he entered the bathroom, he saw Gregg wiping his ass. "Whoops." He handed him the water.
"No worries, man. Thanks for taking care of me. You're a lifesaver!"
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