Lucas felt the sunlight fall on his face and woke up suddenly. As he stared at the ceiling, he immediately noticed a heaviness in his belly; his stomach felt full, as if he had swallowed a rock the night before. Lucas placed one hand on his stomach and knew what it was: it was last night’s greasy roast, now fermenting in his gut like a volcano on the verge of eruption. His stomach growled and twisted, producing a deep gurgling sound that echoed through the sheets in the silent room. Lucas wondered if anyone could have heard his stomach and checked to see if his wife was still asleep—and she was. That brief sense of relief was abruptly interrupted by relentless pressure in his rectum—a dense, foul-smelling gas struggling to escape. Lucas didn’t want to fight the forces of nature, so he let himself go, took a deep breath, and released it through both his nose and his ass. The fart vibrated against the bed and made itself heard above the blankets. Lucas’s legs were enveloped by a warmer shift in temperature that spread down to his feet and faded away between the mattress and the blankets. Lucas was grateful his wife wasn’t awake to hear or smell it, and with a triumphant yawn, he headed to the bathroom, since the fart was just a prelude to the shit he had in his anus.
Staggering and with weak legs, Lucas made his way to the living room and then to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He opened the door without paying much attention, only to be hit by a strong stench—a thick, acrid, fecal odor that filled the small room. There sat his father-in-law, Ramiro—a burly sixty-year-old man—staring at his cell phone, sitting on the toilet with his briefs pulled down to his ankles. He had just let one rip; the sound was unmistakable—a wet “prrrt” followed by a stream of liquid that fell heavily into the water, clattering against the porcelain. Ramiro was startled and quickly hunched forward to cover himself, crossing his legs to prevent Lucas from seeing his crotch. His cell phone slipped from his fingers and almost fell to the floor, but he managed to catch it just in the nick of time before furrowing his brow completely and bellowing:
“It’s busy, damn it!” the old man barked without straightening up, as another fart escaped with a heavy splash.
Lucas recoiled in horror, slamming the door shut. He was so shaken by the embarrassing scene that he could only stammer out a brief apology. The silver lining was that his butt had clenched up from the shock, and he no longer felt the urge to take a dump—at least not for the moment.
Once again, his relief didn’t last long, because his mother-in-law appeared right away and politely asked if he could help her with the baby. That day was the christening of his three-month-old son, Liam. The house was in disarray from last night’s barbecue, so the morning boiled down to his wife shouting orders, his mother-in-law running around like a headless chicken with the baby’s things, and his father-in-law talking on his cell phone while shouting everything he said. Long story short, Lucas was the last one to go into the bathroom to get ready, and as a result, he ran out of time, so he had to do just the bare minimum—which meant he didn’t even have time to take a shit. His stomach began to swell; it was as tight as a drum. Lucas wondered how long it was humanly possible to hold in a shit and prayed that the limit would be around the duration of a christening—maybe five hours. He put his trust in God, and the family got in the car and headed straight to church.
In the car, the situation got worse. Lucas, who was behind the wheel, gripped the steering wheel with one hand while pressing his other hand against his abdomen; he had to keep an eye not only on the road but also on the cramps in his stomach and sphincter. He felt like a balloon, and just like one, he was about to burst. The curves in the road jolted his stomach, causing a series of quite audible and embarrassing gurgling sounds. His father-in-law asked him if he hadn’t had time for breakfast. Lucas pretended everything was fine and started talking about the baby to divert attention away from himself. This went on until they got stuck in a bit of traffic. Beads of sweat began to form on Lucas’s forehead, and he started to panic. It was getting hot, and his stomach growled again. A sharp pain shot down from the upper part of his abdomen to his anus, and gas began to move through his intestines.
Lucas knew what was coming and decided to open the window so that, if he couldn’t mask the sound, he could at least mask the smell. He clenched his buttocks as discreetly as he could and prayed he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of his wife’s parents. His clenched buttocks prevented anything from coming out, however, Lucas was so nervous about farting involuntarily that he was shaking; his butt was jiggling so much that it was impossible for him to keep clenching. Think of a camera shutter opening and closing—it was during one of those spasms that a small amount of gas escaped, fortunately, God took pity on him, and a small, silent fart slowly escaped from Lucas’s anus; it trickled between his buttocks and forced its way out even though the “entrance” was completely closed—like a whistle, one impossible to notice. Lucas’s butt blew air out just the way one blows out the candles on a birthday cake; a “ssssss” cut through the middle of his conversation with his in-laws, but no one noticed. Instead of waiting for the fart to stop, Lucas got overconfident and relaxed his sphincter—a huge mistake, of course. the gas that had once carefully escaped from his not-so-tight butt cheeks would be violently expelled by the sudden opening of Lucas’s ass, ending the stealthy fart with a loud “frrraaap”—even though his boxers and pants would have muffled the sound— it reverberated off the leather of the seat and amplified enough to bring the conversation to an abrupt hal. A smell of chorizo and rotten meat spread through the small car, and everyone scrunched up or covered their noses.
“Good Lord, what a stench! Honey, check to see if the baby has pooped,” said the mother-in-law, opening the window in disgust.
“It couldn’t have been the baby—it smells like last night’s barbecue,” said the father-in-law, covering his nose.
“For heaven’s sake, Dad, we don’t wanna know what it smells like!” said Lucas’s wife, who picked up her baby and began checking him from head to toe.
Lucas blushed and turned to look at his father-in-law, who was standing next to him, but found him with his face pressed against the window, just like a dog. He wasn’t sure whether his father-in-law knew what was inside him or not, but he got the impression it was just an unfortunate coincidence. He decided not to dwell on it and continued with his act, sticking his head out to get some fresh air—he needed it.
Eventually, the traffic cleared, and they arrived at the church without any major delays. Unfortunately, the priest, Father Anselmo, still hadn’t shown up; it seemed the traffic had caught up with him, too. Lucas was about to shit himself and couldn’t wait for the priest, so he took the opportunity to excuse himself to the church restroom, but as soon as he turned around, a firm hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him; it was his father-in-law.
“What do you mean bathroom? The priest just arrived; you can take a piss after the baptism.”
Marcos swallowed hard, feeling the stool pressing against his sphincter, threatening to escape. His father-in-law led him back to the altar, where the priest finally appeared—a skinny old man who walked with exasperating slowness; he seemed to have absolutely no sense of urgency. The ceremony began; Father Anselmo spoke in a monotonous, drawling voice, blessing the water, the baby, those present… all with endless pauses to look at the ceiling or adjust his glasses. It seemed as though he himself was stretching time like a piece of gum; each prayer lasted an eternity, even when he did everything at a normal pace. For Lucas, it felt like centuries standing still.
Lucas was standing next to the baptismal font, holding Liam in his arms, but his mind was focused solely on the hell burning in his gut. Sweat was running down his back; every second, his stomach sent sharp jabs of urgency that made him break out in a cold sweat, and he could feel the shit pushing against his rectum, desperate to get out. He clenched his buttocks with all his might, to the point where his two cheeks were touching, so that the shit would retreat and give him a little more time. The almost cartoonish way he was clenching his buttocks was truly hilarious. Lucas succeeded and felt the shit recede a little from his anus; he remained motionless as the ordeal came to an end. In exchange for that small victory, another silent but lethal fart escaped him; luckily, there was no one behind him who could smell it or see his sweaty, clenched ass.
The baptism finally ended, and the priest sprinkled water on the baby’s little head with precise but slow-as-fuck movements. Now everyone had scattered and was focused on their own business. Lucas felt a momentary sense of relief when he thought he could slip away to the bathroom, but just as he got there, he heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing and then saw Father Anselmo come out of the bathroom. Lucas was taken aback, but the priest didn’t bat an eye.
“Oh! Were you looking for me, son? Don’t worry, I’m all set to preserve the memory of this holy day.”
He took him by the arm and literally dragged him toward the atrium, where flashes and expensive cameras surrounded those present. Lucas did everything as quickly as possible, posing stiffly, his face pale and contorted, giving the most genuine-looking fake smile he could manage, while his intestines contracted in painful spasms and, once again, as the weight shifted downward, the tip of the lump peeked out slightly. If anyone had dared to look at his ass, they would have seen a strange stain; it was hard to tell exactly what it was. Some child might have thought it was piss, some adult might have thought it was some strange oversight involving a seat wet from the rain, and some might have thought it was sweat coming from his anus.
Once the photo shoot was over, Lucas said he was going to the bathroom. The priest told him he couldn’t get in unless he unlocked the door for him, so he decided to go with him. The priest walked gently and patiently, since he wasn’t the one farting constantly due to the urgent need to take a shit. Lucas decided to stop being polite and ran to the bathroom—a futile effort, since he’d have to wait for the priest anyway. He bumped into the old, rusty iron door and put both hands on his butt, squeezing his cheeks together, since he was still farting, but little by little the farts began to make noise and were no longer discreet. Lucas feared that one of those farts might bring shit with it and that he’d lose the battle when he was so close to winning. The priest finally arrived at the bathroom, like a ghost; he seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings, noticing neither his companion’s urgency nor the smell of shit that was beginning to waft out.
The priest used his key without any hurry while Lucas began to unbutton his pants, and with a metallic squeak, the door finally opened. The bathroom was tiny—a dark, damp cubicle with a worm-eaten wooden door, a stained toilet, a cracked sink, and the smell of mold and stale piss. Father Anselmo stepped aside and stood there at the entrance, smiling blissfully.
“Go ahead, son. I’ll keep watch so no one disturbs you.”
Lucas couldn’t hold back any longer and charged forward as if in an animal stampede; if the priest had stood in his way, he probably would have run him over. As he ran past the priest, he let out a loud, resonant fart—and this time there was no doubt that the priest had heard it. The priest smiled slightly; he was about to make a funny comment about what had happened, but was cut off by Lucas, who pulled his pants down with trembling hands, halfway, letting the priest see his light blue boxers with a faint brown stain on the back—the result of all the farts he’d let out that day— his sweaty butt, which glistened when the light fell on it, and his penis, which peeked out between his legs and twitched as Lucas plopped down hard onto the toilet seat.
Only a second had passed when Lucas let out a long, loud fart that was amplified first by the toilet bowl and then again by the acoustics of the bathroom. Just as had happened in the car, the fart started out one way and ended up another—this time in liquid form. A solid, thick, long, and knotty log was forcefully expelled from Lucas’s anus, splashing the water violently. Lucas was hyperventilating desperately until, after two seconds, he started farting again. You could think of it like fireworks: first there’s one, and then there are several. The farts came out rapidly and crossed paths with one another; one hadn’t even finished coming out before the next one was already out. They quickly went from being gaseous to liquid, and Lucas let it all out: plop, plop, spluuurt. It was a horrendous, explosive, and liberating shit. After the log—which we can assume was the result of the barbecue—came a stream of liquid, burning like brown lava, likely the result of stress, breakfast, and having held it in all day. The shit filled the air with a thick, sulfurous stench of rotting meat. The relief was so intense that Lucas moaned aloud, sweating profusely, while the priest stood there, finally having managed to be disturbed.
“Bless you, my son, free your body and… I’ll be right out here!” murmured the priest, his voice trembling, before immediately walking away without waiting for any kind of response.
Lucas kept shitting, releasing wet farts in between—semisolid chunks that fell heavily and splashed; his stomach was deflating, but shame was consuming him. The priest could only listen in horror, as if he was witnessing an exorcism. After a while, the liquid shit stopped coming out of Lucas’s ass, then the solid shit, and finally a few farts. When the last fart finally came out, Lucas knew it was over. Exhausted and trembling, he wiped himself with rough toilet paper that tore at his sensitive skin, stood up, pulled up his sweaty boxers and pants, and walked out, his legs weak and his stomach empty. He said goodbye to the priest, who commended him to God, and rejoined his family, who were waiting for him.
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