I awake early that morning, rays of bright sunshine slanting through the blinds' parsed divisions, pressing invadingly against my closed eyelids. I stir and yawn languidly, reaching out with a probing hand beside me, expecting to encounter your sleeping form, yet, my fingers meet nothing but empty space, grazing almost regretfully across the cool sheets.
I slowly open my eyes, squinting, adjusting my vision to the relentless assault of the sun's glare. I turn my head, only to confirm what my hand first discovered. That the space beside me is empty, devoid of your familiar form, the only indication that you were even here, being the slight imprint of your head on the pillow, as well as the rumpled sheets where your body recently slumbered.
I lay still, listening for any telltale sounds which would give me a hint of your whereabouts, but alas, there is nothing but silence. My thoughts drift to the previous night, the intimacy that we shared, and suddenly, I yearn once again for your presence.
This desire propels me out of our warm bed, exposing me to the cool chill of the room. Nude, I quickly envelop myself with my terrycloth robe and set off to investigate. I shuffle soundlessly across the hall, when I notice the light spilling out from the bathroom. The door is partly open and immediately, I get a teasing glimpse of you.
Your bare feet peek out from the door frame, as does your head. From my vantage point, it is obvious that you are seated on the toilet, slightly hunched forward, your face, a mask of concentration, as you stare fixedly down at the tiled floor before you. I can see that your hands are clasped together in front of you, propped against your knees, your arms resting across your lap.
Just then, I wonder if I should retreat unseen, back to our bedroom, or if I should continue forward. Surely, you would not want to be intruded upon during such a private moment, but why then would you leave the door slightly ajar, almost as though extending an invitation?
As though being led by an invisible magnetic force, I continue forward until I have reached the threshold of the doorway. You still seem oblivious to my presence, as you shift slightly atop the toilet, the plastic seat creaking protestingly under your weight. You emit a subtle sigh, and clear your throat. Tentatively, I push open the door, and you look up at me. You seem startled, an awkward expression fleetingly crosses your features, but yet, you express no other signs of protest.
I take in the splendid sight of your revealed nude form atop the toilet, similar to that of a God seated on his throne. Your legs are slightly parted, yet, even from my sideways view, your dark mass of pubic hair is starkly visible, the limp cock it adorns now hanging suspended between your legs, disappearing beyond the bowl's rim. I had never before consciously admitted it to myself, but I then realized that watching you take a shit was always an ever-present fantasy lingering on the borders of my imagination, yet, it always remained repressed, as proper girls weren't supposed to entertain the thought of such distasteful, taboo matters, or so I'd always been told.
Feigning innocence, I apologize hastily and reluctantly begin closing the door but surprisingly, you call out, stilling me in my actions.
"If you need to come in here, go ahead. I don't mind," you announce, your voice slightly strained and breathless, from what I only assume to be an effortful attempt to get your bowels moving.
I can feel my heart accelerating with anticipation and I cautiously push open the door, as you continue to look up at me with a sheepish look on your face. I shyly enter the bathroom, noting that the distinguishable odor of fresh shit is still absent from the room, indicating that you have not yet been here long.
"Sorry, I didn't know where you were and..." I stammer, forcing myself to not look at you, as tempting as it is.
