this is oh so blue
                                            this is black shadow
            IN MY

Nov. 2004
***BIO*** Dave Clapper lives with his sons in the Pacific Northwest. Although he has been published in a number of places (NFG, 3am Magazine, Tryst, Pindeldyboz, etc.), he considers himself first and foremost an editor. He edits SmokeLong Quarterly, home to many writers far more talented than he.
2004 zygoteinmycoffee Ink.
She Came In...
by Dave Clapper
She came in through the bathroom window, which scared the shit out of me. Actually, that's not true. The shit was coming out just fine until she came in. Then, however, my bowels clenched up on me. I guess, more accurately, that it startled the shit into me. Semantics.

Anyway, there I was on the toilet with my trousers around my ankles when she appeared. She was very nice, didn't even comment on the smell, and it was bad, that something-died-in-my-colon smell I emit when I'm hung over. We had really tied one on the night before. I think we'd been celebrating Bastille Day, or maybe it was Tet. I don't know, some excuse to drink.

Perched on the windowsill, she looked to be feeling a hell of a lot better than I did. I was surprised. I'd spent my night in a bed. Okay, the bed was spinning, but it was a bed. She, on the other hand, had spent the night passed out face down under the neighbor's hedges. Other than some smudges of dirt on the tip of her nose and above her left eyebrow, however, she looked great.

"You know," she said. "They say that if you can watch someone taking a dump and not be grossed out, then it's true love."

"Really?" I said, crossing my legs, trying to act casual.

"Am I making you nervous?" she asked.

"Not at all." A lie.

"Mind if I take a shower?" she asked.

"Go right ahead." I'm sure my voice cracked.

She stripped off her clothes and hopped into the shower, leaving the door open, presumably so we could continue our conversation.

Perhaps I should mention here that we barely knew each other, certainly not well enough that I felt comfortable taking a shit while watching her lather her nubile, naked, supple young body--oh, shit. New problem. I was getting an erection while we talked. Or, more accurately, while she talked. I was too nervous to say a word. I sat, thinking thoughts of Ross Perot, praying for flaccidity. To no avail. I had a hard-on, my shit was stuck in my anus, and I couldn't move.

I was not at all up to the task of wiping my ass in front of this nymph. Until she'd shown up, it had been a pretty gooey number, and I knew it would take a lot of wiping to clean up. So there I sat, my flagpole waving in the breeze, waiting to be noticed. It didn't take long.

"You want me to close the door?" she asked.

"Oh, no. This is fine."

"Is that painful?" She pointed at my erection.

"A bit," I squeaked.

"Well, why don't you get rid of it?"

"Believe me, I'm trying."

"I don't mean by thinking about Ross Perot."

How'd she know that? "I mean masturbate. Jerk off. I don't think it'll go away otherwise."


"Well, I'd help you, but I don't know you that well. Don't know your history. Go ahead, I don't mind." She started shaving her legs.

"What the hell?" I thought. "Why not?" So I started the old, familiar motion.

"Why don't you take off your shirt?" she asked. "You don't want to mess it up."

"Thanks," I said, and whisked off my shirt. When I pulled my head out from under the cloth, I noticed that her hand was now between her legs.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, "but I was starting to get a little horny myself, watching you." I just nodded. I was getting incredibly turned on. We watched each other very closely, and it wasn't long before we both came, she in the shower, I all over my belly.

She stepped out of the shower, dried off, and put on her clothes. She gave me a kiss on the cheek. "You're very sweet," she said, and went back out the way she came in, leaving me sitting, shit in my rectum, cum in my navel, and my hang-over completely gone.