I Farted in the Diner Bathroom and Came

Megan was someone you would never expect to have pornographic selfies and videos of herself on an uncensored hookup site, though she did, and you would never expect her to be an eproctophiliac, though she was. She was funny and friendly with coworkers, neighbors, and strangers, and she made a supportive friend and girlfriend if you were the lucky one in her life. In simple terms she got turned on by farting. Nothing aroused her as much as the joy of letting go, as she called it in joking reference to a 1976 porn movie. At home the perpetually gassy Megan farted to her heart’s content, and every session ended with her masturbating through multiple dripping, squirting, gushing, moaning, grunting, and growling orgasms. She would sprawl on her living room rug after a long shift, belly churning from the truck stop grease, and let the gas roll out in long, wet rumbles that made her clit throb. Her fingers would dive straight into her soaked pussy, pumping hard while the room filled with her earthy scent, and she would grind her ass against the carpet until the first orgasm hit like a freight train, juices squirting across her knuckles.

Hidden Fetish Grows

The first time she farted in public she kept it discreet. The squeak of her vinyl skirt against the diner booth covered the sound, and the food smells covered any stench. Her computer held plenty of pictures and videos of other women farting along with her own, plus saved links to sites devoted to the fetish. She used to tell herself the interest was weird and that she must be weird too. She could not recall when it started. The bisexual Megan once told a psychologist it might have begun when she heard the erotic-sounding moans and grunts of a female coworker she liked. The coworker had farted loudly several times on the toilet in the women’s restroom at the breakfast shop where they both worked, then released what had to be a large load. Megan had kept the fetish hidden and at most had only hinted at it. Attempts to suppress or overcome it had failed. Now she simply accepted it as part of who she was and told herself that at least this one was legal, unlike some others. If it made her weird, so be it. She figured everyone was weird in one way or another. Late at night she would scroll through her saved clips, legs spread wide on the couch, and finger herself to the wet sounds of strangers letting go, her own ass cheeks parting as she pushed out matching blasts that left her cunt dripping onto the cushions.

The friendly, cute, doable waitress with black-framed glasses, slightly gapped and buck front teeth, a curvy body, an ample ass, and thick curly dirty-blond hair moonlit at Jake’s 24-Hour Grill on I-95. The diner’s flickering neon sign cast her cream complexion a candy-pink hue when she leaned against the counter humming weird obscure songs. Tonight the air hung thick with grease and the usual clink of utensils and glasses. Megan balanced a tray of milkshakes, her thighs squeezing together just slightly because of a secret only she knew. She bent to slide a strawberry shake across the Formica counter and let out a faint gasp. Loud laughter from a booth by the jukebox and the music itself covered the sound. She adjusted her apron straps while biting her lip. Pressure mounted steadily in her belly like a tightly wound coil spring. The diner’s sticky vinyl seats and her clinging tights gave no relief. Coffee aroma around the counter mixed with her earthy emissions. Every shift left her gut bloated from tasting the onion rings and coffee, and the trapped gas pressed hard against her sphincter, making her pussy clench with forbidden heat.

Trucker Note Sparks

A trucker named Jake had left his usual tip, a folded dollar bill and a peppermint. As Megan reached into her pocket her fingers brushed the crinkled edge of a note hidden in her apron. It was a smudged love letter she wrote to herself and had reread many times. In her looping cursive it said “Let It Go,” in joking reference to the song from the Frozen musical she watched with her six-year-old niece while babysitting. The jukebox stuttered and stopped mid-song. In the sudden silence Megan exhaled through pursed lips. Her urge to fart grew as she eyed the flickering fluorescent light above the fryer. She crunched the peppermint candy while leaning against the counter, one hand under her apron pressing her belly. Chris, a shift leader with a stubbly face and brown hair under his hairnet, yelled “Order up” from the kitchen and slid a plate of onion rings across the pass-through. The popping grease made Megan flinch as she clenched her buns tighter, but not tight enough to stop a muffled squeak from escaping. A trucker at the counter turned his head after she had already dashed away, holding an empty tray against her hip like a shield. Her ass cheeks trembled with the effort, and a hot, wet ripple escaped anyway, sending a jolt straight to her swollen clit.

The bathroom key hung from a giant plastic spoon by the register. Megan palmed it without breaking stride, her tights whispering as she power-walked past the pie display. She entered the bathroom, the lock clicked behind her, and she leaned against the door still tasting the peppermint on her tongue. The mirror was fogged from the last customer’s shower, but she needed no mirror to know her eyes gleamed with lust and her skirt was already hiked. She unzipped and slid out of her skirt without removing her shoes, then planted one foot on the sink. She blasted a fart that sounded like a deflating balloon. She giggled with her head resting on one shoulder and her fingers buried in her pussy. “Fuck, that feels good,” she whispered, sliding two fingers deep into her slick cunt while another long, bubbling fart vibrated against the porcelain. Her juices coated her hand instantly.

Megan, you have such a noisy ass, she whispered to herself. With her fingers still probing, her sphincter puckered again and loudly sharted a rich-brown ball of poop onto the floor near the door. Her pussy spasmed at the same time and splashed the mirror, sink, and floor with juices. She returned to earth with her pussy still contracting and mouthed a breathless oops while eyeing the puddle and the poop ball. That was so nasty, but I like nasty. I’m a nasty bitch. She giggled again. She braced her free hand against the cold tiles that trembled under her palm as the diner’s ancient A/C kicked on. Gasping, she kept fingering her soaking pussy. Cream trickled down her perineum and onto the floor. The flickering bulb cast jagged shadows across the stalls while she focused on the returning slow pressure in her core. The pressure made her knees buckle and her thoughts hazy. She released a hissing fart. She moaned softly and bit her wrist amid the distant clatter of dishes beyond the door. The bathroom now smelled of her farts and pussy juices. Her breath still carried the peppermint. She closed her eyes and moaned while savoring the feeling of her fingers busy in her wet pussy. “Harder, you nasty slut,” she hissed at herself, ramming three fingers in and out with wet squelching sounds that echoed off the tiles.

Her belly stirred again. She gasped as her ass released another thunderous fart that made her shudder through an orgasm rippling through her body like a shockwave. She stayed oblivious to the muffled laugh from the other side of the door. Through gritted teeth she hissed that she was a fucking nasty slut while fingering her squelching pussy. She moaned and whimpered as another orgasm cascaded over her. She released another loud fart while curling her fingers inside and more juices squirted onto the mirror, sink, and floor. The bathroom filled with the earthy smell of her farts and the scent and sound of her dripping pussy. She inhaled the thick air deeply. Another orgasm overtook her. She threw her head back, rolled her eyes until only the whites showed, and opened her mouth in an O as each finger thrust coincided with loud farts and wet sounds from her pussy. A final thunderclap orgasm overtook and vanquished her. Her wet pussy clenched and squirted around her violently thrusting fingers as she came with a barely stifled whimper. She was left breathless, trembling, and limp as wet spaghetti while another fart escaped her ass in what sounded like a good-night whisper. Slumping and satisfied, she took a minute to gather herself before slipping her skirt back on and zipping it up. She cleared the floor of her juices and the poop ball, lifted the ball in folded toilet paper, flushed it, and washed her hands. Before leaving she paused to eye herself in the mirror. A reconnected Megan heard the din of the diner again, including Chris yelling to the fry cook. The jukebox restarted with a screech. She grinned at her reflection, a face aglow like her tingling body from self-induced post-orgasmic bliss. If only others knew what a nasty slut you are.

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