Bull Run

So I’m re-posting a slightly expanded version of what was one of my first stories. You supply the images that I seduce you into, in your head or post right here. Comments much appreciated – like what was that moment that really got hold of you and pushed you into blast off. Thanks, Bro’s.

Got no doubts that it was incidents like this one that got me shamelessly addicted to this stuff.

Caution: The following story contains graphic depictions of a smoldering teenage boy taking a monster of a dump.  For those in any way interested, go for it. 

I remember my cousin Vinnie. I remember the time he walked in on me, coming out of the shower.  This was right after I went to live with my cousins.

It was a hot humid morning in June. My uncle had already gone to work. My cousins Tony and Mike were still in bed. I had just turned off the water, and was going through the towels, sniffing for one that didn’t smell too bad. In our all-male household, things could get pretty raunchy. Through the open window, I heard tires squeal and bump the curb at the head of the driveway. Next, a car screeching to a halt. A car door slams. Then, trail boots running on pavement, pounding across the wooden porch deck. The screen door squeaked open. Keys jangling, crashing to the floor, then jangling again. The front door swings open and bangs against the hallway wall. Trail boots charging across the hallway. CRASH. Glass shattering. Something heavy hitting the floor. Trail boots, stomping up the stairs, two at a time. Then, I heard a pleading “Aah, fuuuck!” The bathroom door got a sharp kick and flew open. BAM. Vinnie burst in, both hands occupied with unbuckling his heavy belt, a look of painful desperation on his face. Trembling fingers fumbled to unzip. He groaned. We make eye-contact for a second, but he immediately looked away, lowering his head. He was in another world. Backing toward the bowl, he bent forward as he shoved down his jeans and jockey shorts – worn, torn, stained front and back – down below his knees. His massive piss hard popped up from his sweat-matted bush. Vinnie slammed the toilet seat down, as he squatted onto the bowl, his sweaty butt cheeks landing hard on the seat where I had plastered my ass to take my own monster shit – alone, and in privacy – not ten minutes before. I could still smell my flushed load, and saw the thick streak I smeared across the drain at the bottom of the bowl. 

His big hand pushes his hose down into the bowl between his spread thighs.

Enthroned three feet from my dripping naked bod, his unwashed stink already overpowered the deodorant soap stink in the swelteringly humid bathroom. He grunted hard – twice, his twisted face reddening from the strain. Thundering farts ripped out of his butt-hole, echoing into the bowl, filling the room with his wicked shit stink. Right then, he let go a loud groan of relief, and I could hear his fierce jet of piss shooting into the bowl, splattering like a fire hose. He squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a sharp breath, and grunted even harder. He was sweating heavy, a greasy sheen covering his stubbled face.

Now, I’ve got to admit, my 18-year-old cousin was a hot looking fucker, hunky bod, handsome face, and being right there while he was totally absorbed in unloading a volcanic crap well, I gotta admit, it really turned me on. His thick piss and shit stink just about knocked me over, and I tried clumsily to cover my sprouting boner with the towel, scared shitless he might notice. No way. He was too absorbed in his act of orgasmic relief.

He leaned forward, both hands thrust between his spread thighs, clamping a death-grip onto the front of the toilet seat, his body head to toes straining to the extreme, in a classic “bursting a blood vessel” state. He cut loose with a long, loud uhnnn-UHNNNnnn-aaAHHnnnnnn-AHHHH. His endless stream of piss shot out even stronger, and I heard a loud PLOPPP, the first massive torpedo turd exploding out of aching butthole. Then another PLOP, and another plop-plop, and he grunted and farted shamelessly. Intense long spurts of piss splattered into the bowl. He inhaled sharply, and an explosion of juicy crap blasted into the steaming brew of his horse-piss.

Finally, seeming exhausted, he collapsed and slumped back on the bowl. Regaining consciousness of his surroundings, he looked up at me sheepishly, suddenly and very obviously embarrassed, his face burning red. As he half stood up, grabbing a big wad of toilet paper, he said, quietly “Man, I almost shit my fuckin’ pants.” As he tried to wipe his shitty butt crack, he fumbled awkwardly to explain about who had driven him to such a gut-wrenching state of desperation. Vinnie and three of his buddies were driving back from a rock-climbing weekend. They had gotten a flat, and by the time they changed the tire, they were running late, and two of the guys got frantic about getting to their jobs on time, or getting canned. The last hundred miles, they burned rubber and avoided stopping at all costs. So then, Vinnie gets this powerful urge to take a dump. Actually, he had been plugged up since Friday. And then, all that fuckin’ black coffee. As his cramps got worse, he hoped that his buddies guts would overcome them and they’d beg for a pit stop, but no way. Soon, he was in hellish agony, having big problems concentrating on driving, particularly keeping anywhere close to the speed limits. He counted the miles, praying he wouldn’t shit himself in front of his friends. Drenched in sweat, shuddering each time a vice-like spasm stab, he just didn’t have the balls to admit his losing battle to his mates, and manfully struggled to control his exploding bowels. The thought of having to squat behind the fender, attacked by his buddies’ roaring ridicule, made him cringe worse than the torture of the knife-like rectal pressure that threatened to send him into orbit. In one small reprieve from mortifying embarrassment, his friend Sal was first to cut loose with a lethal fart, making him slightly less self-conscious when he finally could no longer hold back his own hissing stench.  BrrrrTHDDssssssssssssssSSSSS.   “Yoa, somebody crack a window fast.”

After making eye contact for a second, Vinnie abruptly looked away, his shitty fingers digging into his smeared crack with one more wad of paper.  Even though I could see it was still streaked brown, he dropped it into the bowl and stood up.  With his jeans and underpants bunched below his knees, he stood up, achingly stretched, and yawned, big, wide, and loud.  OOOHHHAAAHHHHUnnnnnn.  He started to strip, roughly pulling off his tee shirt plastered to the gorgeous flesh of his chest and back. When he clumsily bent over and forcefully shucked off his boots exposing his hot and smelly dirty sweat-socked big feet, I felt like I was gonna pass out or puke or both.  Yanking off his second sock, he stood totally raw in front of me and turned back to the bowl, reached down and whacked the flush handle, looking down for a second at his long thick pieces of shit and crap-coated butt wipes swirling around and down in foam-rimmed stink piss. When some of his shit and piss swirled back up he flushed hard again, this time emptying the permanently stained bowl except for the yellow-brownish water .  “Outta the way, kid”, his man-stink pushing past me and climbing into the shower.

Smothering shit stench hung thick in ever corner of that old bathroom.

Entranced by Vinnie’s recounting of his ordeal, I was light-headed from adolescent arousal. Ten minutes later, behind the shed, I beat my teen meat raw and splatter shot wicked wild, my whipping fist dripping globs of gluey jizz.  Those images dominated my thoughts through every class, at gym in particular, and when I got home from school that day, alone in the house, impaled with the pressure from doing what I did a lot back then, holding it all in all day ’til I got home to avoid the Boys Room Bullies who lay in wait for vulnerable victims forced into their lair, desperately needing to relieve themselves, I threw my pack of books on the floor, went straight into the bathroom and slammed the door shut,  reached down into the overflowing laundry bag and pulled out Vinnie’s ripe sweat socks and smelly jockey shorts and…

Whoa. I never admitted that before.

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