Tales from the Scat Club (2) Dinner is Served

“Just act normal,” said Jeff, “Paul is alright.”  “I AM normal,” protested Patrick, “Its you guys that are…well, different.” Jeff led the way to Paul’s house with some trepidation. Two’s company, three’s….probably illegal, he thought. But he had made up his mind. He wanted Paul and Patrick to meet. Patrick was right, of course, it was nice to have a straight guy in the club.

Ah – the club. I should explain. After the first poop in the forest, Paul had invited Jeff back to his house to show him what he could do – not with a great deal of confidence but it proved to be a fun time. Paul was effete and very nervous but that really gave Jeff the hots. They had a pizza and a glass of wine to fortify them. Paul set about doing his shit with studied practise as if it was something new he had not tried before and had to think to get it right. Jeff had almost to stifle a laugh. But his heart went out to him, Paul had been a bit brave.

He was right, his poop WAS different. First he dropped his trousers and pants and didn’t squat down but carefully bent just enough to poop on the floor and clear his trousers. It took a while, with a lot of pushing, after his fairly big bum cheeks tightened and relaxed a few times. Eventually a hard one started to emerge. Jeff forgot the kidding and crept in closer silently with a serious gaze to witness a big shit slowly squeeze open Paul’s butt hole. After forcing it wider and wider, it slid out slowly and with a push, six inches of lumpy shit dropped onto the floor with a dull plop as Paul gave a sigh of relief. Magic.

This had been the first of several visits now and was set to be a regular thing. It was a blessing that Paul had bought his own house. Not only that, it was quiet in the conservatory at the back. This was where most of the trysts took place. The blinds were drawn and there was  plenty of room to poop on the slate floor without any damage. After, they could fling open windows and breathe in the scent of lavender from the garden. If the truth were told, Jeff really like to see a guy pull down his pants and trousers and squat down there on the floor as if he was in the loo. There was something superbly intimate to see a secret side of a guy that never got public.

Patrick worked in the same timber yard as Jeff. It was a macho place mostly with several heavily-muscled guys around. Jeff pulled his weight and got by with being ‘straight-acting’. Patrick drove the forklift truck and never lifted more than his hard hat and jacket. The loo was a portakabin with very little sound-proofing. It was here they had met one day. Jeff was taking a piss and Patrick was in the cubicle making heavy weather of doing a shit. When Patrick emerged, Jeff thought it the perfect opportunity to try a little flirting –

“Oh, that really smells, Patrick. Couldn’t you have waited till I’d gone?” Patrick caught the implication and replied as he had several times in the past – “Yea, that’s what my girlfriend says, but my bathroom has better insulation.” This was said in a cheery manner that, while repulsing the obvious flirt, moved Jeff to try a different tack – “Well, mine isn’t as smelly as that,” Jeff tried to tease. There was a moment’s silence as Jeff’s heart leapt a notch. “Don’t believe you,” replied Patrick. Jeff needed no more encouragement. He went into the stall cubicle and as noisily as he could, performed the loudest, biggest shit he could with lots of grunts and plops. When he emerged, Patrick was laughing and Jeff pushed him in.

“Mmm, big one,” said Patrick as he looked into the pan and caught the stale aroma. “Maybe you’re right.” Patrick smiled and walked out. They met there sometimes and the conversation drifted to one subject until the day he agreed to come along to Paul’s house. Patrick, against type, looked Bohemian, being only 5 foot 7 with a kind of gothic look in black and a moustache that made him appear older than his 23 years. Still, he was slim and healthy and despite the fact that he was heterosexual, Jeff couldn’t wait to get him into that conservatory with a nice Margherita pizza inside him ringing a few bells in his groin.

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