Sunday before finals week.
A football player's muscled back pushed into my shoulder. A short Asian girl's elbow dug into my right flank. Two separate people stepped on each of my feet. My thigh pressed into a tall blonde girl's buttcrack, resisted by her tight skinny jeans, her shoulder-length hair tickling my arm. I was jammed into these five adjacent bodies so tightly that I thought we'd fuse like pieces of metal in the cold vacuum of space.
The elevator's floor display slowly changed from 5 to 4, its cable creaking and groaning, about to snap under the weight of nineteen American college students. I should have realized that the library elevator would be packed the Sunday night before finals week, should have taken the stairs instead—
My self-recriminations were interrupted by the feeling of heat against my thigh. My leg warmed as if it was being blown by a hairdryer on its "high" setting, a long jet of hot air shooting into my chinos, puffing through the tightly-woven fabric, wiggling my leg hair. Then the smell hit me. It was unmistakably a fart, a thick rotten-egg smell, strong enough that it'd make you choose a different Porta Potty if you smelled it at an outdoor music festival, nearly unbearable in the crowded and airless elevator.
No doubt about it—the tall blonde girl in front of me had passed a toxic SBD into my leg.
"WHO THE FUCK FARTED?" screamed the football player. His voice wavered as if he was about to cry. The short Asian girl beside me had pulled up her T-shirt to cover her mouth and nose, exposing a pierced belly button and the lacy hem of her risque underwear.
I couldn't see the face of the blonde girl in front of me, but her whole body was trembling, the tips of her ears turning cherry red. I felt awful for her—a cute girl holding in her farts for a whole study session, her stomach gurgling and rumbling with hot gas too smelly to sneak out in the study corrals or even to pass in a bathroom stall. She'd endured her farts through hours of study, waiting to fart in her dorm room toilet when all her roommates were asleep. And then she'd let one slip in the elevator in front of eighteen of her classmates! She must be incredibly embarrassed.
"Sorry," I said, gallantly, as if I were Walter Raleigh laying down my cloak for Queen Elizabeth I . "It was me. My bad."
"There are TWENTY FUCKING PEOPLE ON THIS ELEVATOR, BRO! What is WRONG with you?" As the football player chewed me out, I smiled, contented with the knowledge that I had done a good deed.
I left the library, stepping out into the cool night, taking a much needed breath of fresh air. Cicadas were buzzing. The full moon shone on the quad's elm trees, casting leafy shadows. Just one more week until summer break—
A tug on my full backpack. "Hey," said a female voice.
I turned around. It was the blonde girl from the elevator, her face strikingly attractive, steely blue eyes, dark eyebrows, a thin up-turned nose, thick red lips, a slender, athletic body, tanned skin, a toned body, small pert breasts—
She slapped me across the face, hard.
A few passers-by turned to look at us. Did they mistake us for an arguing couple? More likely, they thought I'd made a pass at a girl way out of my league.
I put my hand on my stinging cheek. "What was that for?" I hadn't been staring that hard!
"Why'd you say that in the elevator?"
"I was trying to help you! I thought you were embarrassed—"
"You owe me."
"Owe you? Why would I owe you?" My cheek was starting to swell up.
YOU ARE READING
Fart story one-shots 2!
أدب الهواةStory archivist: Hi! its been a while and i.. its been a long month from making this book, I know and there and there has been in my head lately that... what if I expand the one-shots into, like 50-100 books I know it's ambitious but. think about i...
