Few things are more intoxicating than defecation.

Sitting on the toilet. The rumble of the bowels. The unstoppable force of defecation. The crackle of the s*** as it ejects through the a*** sphincter. The sudden stench that almost calls out like an air-raid siren. The deep inhalations. The standing to inspect what your body produced. The 6-13 logs in the toilet. The burnt ochre hue of the feces. The oily streaks in the water. The hard-wired feeling of immense satisfaction. The soiled toilet paper. The aggressive wiping. The blood stains. The sniffing of the soiled toilet paper. The majesty. The spontaneous kneading of the g*******. The increased s***** excitement. The opportune m***********. The spitting on your hand for lube as some splashes into the filthy stew in the commode. The pumping. The mind projection of Winona Judd. The delayed e********** because your frenulum is not lubed enough. The final, dry, skin-irritating strokes. The o*****, dribbling pathetically onto the white tile floor. The fist pump. The deep knee bends. The return of attention to the s***. The adoring. The photography. The kissing of the toilet bowl. The rea