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A true #HookupHorrorStory doesn’t always have to involve another person, sometimes, the horror is entirely self-inflicted.
Let me explain —
I recently have taken a liking to a certain psychedelic experience, one that is fungal in nature, and definitely worth the trip. I had just come home from an evening of working, dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed on the couch. I sat there in an exhausted daze, not really knowing what I wanted to do for the rest of the evening, when I looked over at my dresser and saw the little baggy of mushrooms I had leftover from my trip to San Francisco.
That was it. It was exactly the cap to a perfect day that I needed. So I opened the bag and popped in about 4 or 5 little dried shrooms and chewed and swallowed. It was a little like chewing on tree bark, but the flavor wasn’t bad. I sat back, relaxed and waited for the spaceship to take off.
About 45 minutes later, my body had become one with the universe as waves of colors washed over my vision and into my very being. My music was enhancing the experience and I bagan dancing around my room to some house music, having a blast. My dog just looked at me out of his side eye with a look that could only be taken as “what the hell is my human doing?”
I don’t normally feel sexual on psychedelics but a little while into it I started feeling myself a little extra. I suddenly felt the urge to play with my dildo. I grabbed my trusty old — we’ll call him Scott — as well as some Vaseline and some old poppers I had lying around (they still worked!), threw on some smooth jams to vibe out to and ran the hot shower.
The session was amazing, I felt my body rattle with every stroke as I played with “Scott.” I definitely came a bit too, which was a nice plus. But I soon realized there was a puddle starting to appear at my feet but I was too in the zone to care. That is until I pulled Scott out with one, very dramatic thrust, and realized that Scott and I may have been a little too ambitious. Yep, an old familiar stench filled my nostrils and I knew playtime was over.
I washed Scott off as well as myself and remembered, wait a minute, the water still isn’t going down and there was poop floating around in the miniature lake surrounding my feet. Uh-oh. I’m in trouble.
I hastily stepped out and grabbed the plunger next to the toilet and proceeded to plunge the ever loving daylights out of my shower drain. I plunged and I plunged for what seemed like forever, the pool of water and shit still not going down. Horrified at myself and cackling with laughter at the ridiculous situation I found myself in, (the shrooms were still hitting hard at that point) and realized my efforts were futile. It was no use trying anymore, tomorrow I’ll have to call a plumber.
So I dried off, crawled into bed, and jerked off until I fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke up and went to check the shower for any signs of change. The water had gone down overnight, and all that was left on the floor was all the dried pieces of poop that had solidified. Jesus Christ, what a mess.
I grabbed a scrub brush, took down the shower curtain, and cleaned up the shitty mess thinking to myself the entire time that this would happen to me. After I finished cleaning I threw out everything that was in the shower, grabbed my belongings and made a trip to Target to purchase some Drano, and a new shower curtain.
I came back home and dumped that whole bottle down the drain and prayed to gay God to please let this work. I didn’t have the mental capacity to explain to my landlord or a plumber that I was masturbating and caused a literal shitstorm in my shower to appear.
I waited a few hours (the bottle said to leave it for one, but I wanted to be extra sure the Drano did it’s work, so I left it for three.) I anxiously turned on the shower water and sat staring at the drain, hoping for a miracle to take place. Low and behold — the water went down! Thank the baby Lord Jesus and all that is high in heaven, I did it! No awkward calls to my landlord had to be placed, and no even more awkward conversation with a stranger as he snaked my shower drain, caked in fecal matter.
I hung my new shower curtain with an eased conscience, and knowing that I avoided a small disaster in the pursuit of some psychedelic pleasure. Moral of the story is: always be sure your plumbing is up to snuff when you choose to masturbate with a dildo in your own shower. The shrooms were still fun, though.