Bex was desperately trying not to fart.

 

The boy started kissing her neck, leaving a gobby spit trail that made her feel cold. He had decided to stay for another night. It was a Sunday night, the night after the drunk night before; the night you washout the dry shampoo and clean your face. Bex hadn't been able to do that as he had decided to stay…for another night. He pulled her breast and twisted her chafed nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue. This also made her feel cold.

 

Bex was no gassier than the average girl her age, but the average girl her age was rather gassy, they just hid it well. She had been unable to dispose of her vodka shits due to this lingering boy. Everything in her stomach was starting to brew. Five hours earlier she made the boy beans on toast and laid it out on the kitchen table, the plan being she could ‘unload’ with him out of earshot downstairs. All was going well until she heard him dragging his feet back up the stairs, across the landing, holding his plate of beans. She froze on the toilet, hoping to recoil the half dangling dump before it made its splash. She failed, chopping it in half and tensing up when the back-splash hit her cheeks. We don’t think the boy heard it, despite sitting in her bedroom, the room adjoining the bathroom, separated by wafer thin plasterboard. We don’t think he heard it.

 

He placed his arm under her waist, hoisting her up the bed a few inches before straddling her like a girl. The act itself caused Bex to clench her bum cheeks so not to leak any gas. The bedroom room was held ajar by a dropped hairbrush, allowing in the hallway light.  She turned her face away from the light and the boy bit her lip. She turned her face back, the brightness stinging her clotted mascara eyes. She could hear her housemates downstairs shouting abuse at the only decent singer on The Voice. She wished she could join the exploitation. Why was this boy was still at her house? The smell of their Domino’s pizza wafted upstairs, driving everything in her stomach downwards. She strongly exhaled, trying to push the smell away. The boy slowly lifted her baggy Fresher’s t-shirt, she pushed it back down, telling him it was cold. He tutted.

 

Bex felt the boy’s index finger tickling her palm before passionately linking his fingers with hers, an act she felt too intimate for a prolonged one-night stand. He started kissing her lips, nicely this time, no biting. She welcomed the change in pace, glad to have his head away from her buttock, the firing line. He leant back and started sucking her fingers and for a moment Bex thought she might love him. His tongue ran up and down her thumb and then he coughed up some phlegmy spit, spat into her hand and clasped it around his hard shaft. He sat up and nodded, giving the go ahead. Bex obliged, grateful there would be no penetrating, everything was still sore from the night before.

 

She altered her position, getting a better grip when suddenly a tiny squeaky fart escaped her. She froze. She felt a rush of warm blood sweep through her body, her hands becoming sweaty, conveniently working as a form of lube. She wondered if had felt her whole body tighten, or worse, he’d heard the fart? She coughed, too late she knew, but none the less she coughed attempting too impersonate the noise and make him believe there are crazy noises coming from somewhere and she doesn’t know anything about it.

 

She sat cross legged, the room silent but for the slapping of skin. From downstairs her housemates screamed in laughter, Bex sighed and swapped hands. The boy opened his eyes, perhaps confused by the momentary pause in Bex’s hand swopage. They made eye contact and Bex gave a childish grin. He took this as a green light and softly touched her aching hand before flipping her on her back and aggressively biting her arse. Bex’s teeth gritted, a little harder and she would have told him to calm down.

 

She concentrated on her bowels, telling herself it would only be quick as he’d already had a bit of a seeing to. He penetrated her and she took a sharp breath in. Another waft of Domino’s pizza floated by. Submissively she dropped her head forward and groaned. She felt beads of his sweat drop onto her lower back and she farted. She froze. He hadn’t noticed. Then she farted again, another little one. She knew if she moved they would flow like musical bullets. He slapped her bum and she wondered if this was his way of telling her to stop blowing off. Out of nowhere, he grabbed her side boob, it made her jump so she farted, this time louder, she whined to cover up the sound. She wondered how things were smelling his end.

 

Suddenly, she felt something moist around the rim of her bum hole and prayed it wasn’t a bodily fluid escaping her. She attempted looking round but the boy shoved her face back, now pulling on her hair, using it like a horse rein. She felt the wet thing back rimming her bum and managed to fight the boy’s grasp to glance round. His wet finger was making advances, in and out, in and out. Bex whined then threw her head back, unable to consume the bubbling gale inside her. The boy whipped out his finger fast, too fast and with it came shit. Vodka shit. And it couldn't be taken back.

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The end

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