Everybody Knows . . .

. . . that Babbles likes to go to the gym.

In addition to his workout regime, he maintains a diet composed primarily of whey protein, undercooked meat, and no starches. The major side-effect of such cuisine (aside from being ripped) are random digestive abnormalities. The most prominent is dryhole. With dryhole, the sphincter produces no lubricants, giving all evacuations the texture of 3M 220-grit sandpaper. For Babbles, the cost is worth the benefit.

On this particular Wednesday morning, Babbles had a lunch date. He was excited and had even taken to waking up early to press his shirt. At his office job in the loop (cause during the time this story takes place, Babbles is working in an office in the loop) he kept looking over at the clock, anxious for the noon-hour. At 11:25, while speaking with a client over the phone (in his office job, Babbles had clients and a phone), he felt what Winnie the Pooh would describe as a "rumblin' in his tummy." Thinking nothing of it, he relaxed his abdomen only to feel the seat of his pants grow warm and thick with mush. He hung up and fast-walked across the work floor to the facilities where his intuition was proven correct: Babbles had defecated himself.

Finding the restroom unoccupied, he took refuge in a stall and removed his pants and soiled briefs with surgical precision. Much like the old carnival game that asks the player to weave the metal ring around a coil wire without touching, so Babbles removed his clothing, dutifully sure to not let the soiled fabric streak across anything. The underwear was wrapped in toilet paper and tucked behind the bowl. (They're still there to this day.) He examined his shirt tail for any signs of shit. He held the seat of his pants to the light, cursing the obvious stains. He looked at his watch. 11:38. His lunch date would be waiting in the lobby of the building in 17-minutes. He could call her, tell her that he is swamped in the office and won't be taking a lunch today. "But," he thought, "I was really looking forward to this date."

Babbles made sure the coast was clear before leaving the stall, the head of his flaccid member peeking out from the bottom of his blue button down oxford. He ran the faucet and drenched the ass-fabric of his pin-stripped slacks. (Those of you who know him may be surprised to learn that Babbles wears, or even owns a pair of pin-stripped slacks. Well, he does. And he looks really good in them, too.) He kept his shoes on. When he heard the beep from the electronic keypad outside the bathroom door, he rushed back to his stall, and draped a pant leg over his own. When the door clicked shut, he went back to washing the stain with warm water and hand soap. He used his fingernails to "pick out" the grime that had settled between the weaves of fabric. He would run a wet hand through his crack to help cleanse the area.

At noon, he exited the elevator to find her waiting. They went to a noodle place up the street. Over her pad thai, she suggested they meet up after work. How could he refuse such an offer?

In her apartment, she poured him a glass of screw top merlot. With each sip, they moved in closer and closer. Soon, their legs were touching. Hands grazed the other's. She unbuttoned his blue oxford, and ran her fingers through his black hair (at this time in Babbles life, he had black hair). He winced when she undid his slacks. From where he was, even he could smell it. How bad would she notice? Given that her head was still closing in on the vicinity, maybe it was all in Babbles' head. Perhaps the area was fine. She bobbed three times before stopping. She threw a hand over her mouth and nose before rushing to the bathroom. Through the paper thin wall, Babbles could hear the gag, and the subsequent flushes of the toilet. He made her throw up. He finished his glass, and stood outside the door. "I think - I think I'm going to go now." She didn't respond. He threw on his cowboy hat and left.

And that was the best lunch date Babbles has ever been on.