From Dreams to Deeds

I sat down on the ring, the unexpected coldness of which against my bare buttocks forced a comical yelp from my throat. I had a couple of thought’s lengths to feel face-reddening embarrassment, but when Kristiina turned to grin and wink at me from the door, I knew this having happened to her as well. After my mind relaxing, I relaxed the sphincters of my urethra and rectum and let things proceed by their own weight.

Feces thick and only a little softer than stone avalanched from my bowels into the bowl and felt to massage every nerve ending of my body on its way, breaking me out all over with gooseflesh. Urea rushed from my mons to the water with frenzied pressure, and the stinging of my too-full bladder softened gradually into miniature climaxes of relief that ran bursts of hot shivers from the root of my spine up to between my shoulder blades. I leaned my head back to the wall, closed my eyes, and urinated and defecated for several purling and splashing minutes.

After emptying, I opened my eyes, wiped my backside and pubic hair, got up from the seat, pressed its flush button, and yanked up and belted fast my faithful party pants – Nobody’s sienna brown Cult Skinny jeans, which, if and when worn without underpants, fit me like a second skin. After additionally washing my hands, I turned towards the door and Kristiina, who instantly blasted out a stomachfelt laughter, whistled one long note, and said, “That was quite some kind of a load. How long exactly had you been holding it?”

A small laugh escaped me involuntarily, and I shrugged. “I lost my sense of time.”

Kristiina burst into a new laughter as she hurried past me to the bowl and turned her rear to it. After lifting the hem of her dress from her knees to her waist to take her turn in manifesting the gospel of underpantfreedom and dropping down on the seat, she asked over the starting rush and purl, “Might there have been something – or rather someone – specific causing this cerebral lapse?”

For a person I’d met twenty minutes ago in toilet queue, Kristiina read me noteworthily well. “A certain Jukka,” I answered truthfully, for even though the thing being still on the stage of (strong) crush had made me want to squirm, in the company of this woman it didn’t feel possible. Against all my expectations, I didn’t feel blushing. Kristiina’s apparent shamefreedom seemed to be stirring up in me something equivalent.

Kristiina whistled a note lower and shorter than the previous. Then she asked over a long, loud fart immediately following the stop of the flow of urine, “Might he be here today?”

“He might,” I answered and went on. “And I may have gotten caught up in dreaming about going into his pants for so long that eventually I was about to go into mine.”

Kristiina started laughing, doubling over, which was followed in a few seconds by a massive splash. “Uhh” escaped Kristiina. Then she straightened herself, looked again at me, and said, “My sweet Gabi, that was a sign of it being time for you to move from dreams to deeds.”

“Wholly undoubtably,” I replied, and we smiled at each other like friends of old.

Jukka Köyhälinen was, in addition to the host of the party, Jarno Kuusela, the only attendee with whom I’d exchanged more than three words. So far, I truly didn’t have a bad thing to say about him. The visibly heartfeeling, intense and humorous individual, who, as the only person I knew, shared my interest in Swahili outsider art and possessed the ability to hover noodles by blowing with his nose, even felt like a potential boyfriend, which, considering my inherent excessive realism, said much.

“Do you mind if I do it straight away?” I asked Kristiina, who was beginning the wiping of her posterior.

“Not at all. Go, do, and let us adhere to Wednesday.”

“Yep!”

“Have good anal sex.”

“Thank you.”

From what and at what point Kristiina had deduced my preference of sexual interaction, I didn’t even dare guessing, but thanks to her, I now headed towards the center point of the party equipped with a new layer of self-confidence.

When arriving into the living to room, I immediately noticed Jukka having left the Alias group and sitting now in an armchair in the other end of the room with a bottle of long drink in his hand. I walked through the room, looking around for somewhere to sit – preferably close to Jukka – only to perceive that during my visit to the sanitary facilities all the room’s sittable surfaces, including the floor and the table standing in the middle of it, had been put to use.

The situation didn’t offer a chance for any particularly subtle strategy, and then again, despite my increased self-confidence, I wasn’t here and now at all as verbally loaded as characteristic to me, so I decided to proffer my ass in a way that would blend in with its surroundings. I stopped in front of Jukka, looked him into his deep green eyes, and opened the dialogue.

”Is this free? I mean… oh hell.”

I had started making an idiot of myself from the first word I’d said. I covered my face with my hand, felt blushing, and a laugh escaped me. Then I gathered myself and went on.

”Obviously it’s not free, as you’re sitting there. But could I come, say… on your lap? Shows to be a common practice here.”

Jukka shot a quickish glance around the room. As his eyes were directed at the sofa on the other side of the room, the corners of his mouth involuntary-lookingly rose a notch, which made me look in the same direction.

On the middle cushion of the sofa, between two young men badly acting watching television, a woman topless and crammed into jeans several numbers too small was wholebreastedly enjoying the interest of a likewise shirtless and notably younger man straddling her lap manifesting as intense sucking of neck and heated kneading of mammary glands. The both-sided sheer joy of life shining out of the activity forced my face to a smile as well.

I turned my gaze back to Jukka and shook my head. “Those two are running wild,” I said and uttered a half-involuntary laughter. This was followed by a moment of sheer silence, and I pondered if I should repeat my question.