It's a thing, you know.
Once upon a time, I took a shit while I was having sex.
Yes, that's a thing that can happen.
No, we weren't doing anal. It was just regular old vaginal sex.
Here's what went down:
I hadn't been dating Chris long, but I was totally into him and we were already pros in bed together. You know those kinds of relationships, the ones where you connect and basically skip over the "bad at sex" phase, and tear each others clothes off and have tons of orgasms? That was us. Instantly together.
As we got to know each other better, the sex became more consistent, less crazy, and better overall.
We'd been out drinking and it was probably 3 a.m. by the time we got to my apartment. Chris got that look in his eye, and even though I was tired, I jumped him.
It was sweet sex, the kind where you touch each other's faces and really relax.
Maybe I was too relaxed. Maybe I was still a little drunk.
Regardless, I had one orgasm pretty fast.
By the time he was ready to finish, I started to feel like I needed to go to the bathroom, but I figured we'd be done soon and I could sneak away to go.
Then out of nowhere he did some sort of fancy sex move that hit me right in my g-spot and BAM I was having another orgasm ... a big one.
Then I felt something weird that INSTANTLY sobered me up.
I had shit myself having an orgasm.
Now, while you absorb the horror — and I do mean HORROR — of what had happened to me, I want to tell you about Chris.
I really liked him.
In fact, I was starting to think that he was going to be "the one". He was funny, but not in that way that demands the spotlight. He was funny in an under-the-breath kind of way. He was smart, understated, had a totally bizarre sense of style (which I LOVED) and had a pretty good sized penis. More importantly, he knew how to use it.
He was also nice to my parents, the owner of a mangled rescue cat who was missing a leg (and had six toes on one of her other feet), and knew how to change the oil on his own car.
This was literally the LAST guy I wanted to take a shit on during sex. Not that I'd thought that much about it, of course.
Anyway, so as I lay there, I formulated a plan. It was my apartment, so I could tell him to leave. I would lie down in my own little mess (it wasn't bad, it just a little bit, really) and then tell him I had an early morning. When he left, I'd jump up, change the bed and shower.
But it didn't work. See, the other thing about Chris was that he was really sensitive. So when I implied that I wanted him to leave, he looked hurt.
But I knew I had to be tough. I had to be like the kid in Old Yeller and sacrifice the one I liked the most. It was for his own good.
"Yeah, you just gotta leave," I told him.
He looked crushed. There's no better way to describe it.
"Do you have another guy coming over or something?" he tried to joke, but I could tell he was sort of serious.
"No, just ... I want to be alone," I said.
"Well, that sucks," he said, and started to get dressed.
That's when I started crying. I was tired, still a little drunk, and I could see that I was about to risk losing the guy I really liked.
All because I'd shit myself during sex.
There was no way out. I had to tell him.
"CHRIS!" I yelled, as he was about to hit the door, still covering my mess with my own butt.
He peered around the corner.
"I have to tell you something disgusting and you're going to hate me and never get a boner for me again," I said, all in one really fast breath.
He sat down warily, and I told him. All of it.
And he laughed.
And like a gentleman, he left. At least he knew I still liked him.