Fart story one-shots 2!

MY PRIVATE BATHROOM

My name is Emily. I'm an anxious, awkward person who has trouble making friends.

(Story archiver here, if your confused just try to imagine a different person but same name "Emily")

In my mid-20s, I finally moved out of my parents' place. I ended up in a cheap, roach-infested apartment on the outskirts of New Rochelle. Two other girls were already living there.

I paid more rent than my roommates, but I got a major perk in return: my room had a private bathroom. The other girls shared a bathroom in the hallway.

The apartment had constant maintenance problems. The air conditioning barely worked, and the landlord never returned our calls.

...And, for three weeks one summer, the hallway toilet wasn't flushing right. You could pee in it, since the water was always running a little, but nothing larger than a square of toilet paper would go down. The only place you could safely poop was my private bathroom.

This was an interesting chapter of my life.

***

I've always had hangups around bodily functions. When I was young, somebody must've told me that girls don't poop; I feel ashamed whenever I use the toilet, like I'm committing a crime. I can't stand the thought of anyone hearing me in the bathroom - or smelling me - so I always wait until I have complete privacy.

I'm also pretty kinky, though, and all my hangups eventually turn into sexual fetishes. Even though I'm straight, I get turned on by hearing other women use the toilet. Men don't interest me when they poop, but for a woman it feels dangerous... like she's revealing a terrible secret.

At 9pm on the first day, I got a knock on my bedroom door.

My roommate Michaela was a tanned, dark-haired 29-year-old. She was a marathon runner, with powerful leg muscles and no body fat, and she wore tank tops and short shorts. The two of us were friendly, but we didn't know each other very well.

"Hey Emily," she said in a tight voice, "can I use your bathroom?"

"Oh, sure." I stepped aside for her.

"Thanks." She glanced at the floor, embarrassed. "I have to, um..."

My face grew hot. "Oh. That's totally fine," I said.

"Sorry. I'll try to be fast." She was blushing as she walked to my private bathroom.

The door was thinner than I'd realized. Even when Michaela closed it, I could hear everything.

Fabric rustled as she pulled her shorts down. The toilet seat creaked as she settled onto it. She sighed.

I stood, heart racing, and stared at the door. Was I really about to hear...?

Michaela farted softly into the bowl - two or three small releases in a row. She peed a little. Then silence.

A minute passed.

I sat down at my desk, holding my breath, and continued staring at the bathroom door. Waves of guilt and desire washed over me.

At last, I heard two quiet plops, along with another, messier-sounding fart. Michaela sighed again.

"...Hey, Emily?" she called through the door. "You there?"

I steadied my breath. "Yeah?"

"Do you have any candles?"

"No. Sorry."

"Okay." She laughed softly. "I'm a little embarrassed. You know, stinking up your bathroom..."