I've asked Heather to tell you something embarrassing that happened to her and boy, did she deliver...
Once upon a time, I ran away to a tropical island with a man I barely knew. He was big and beefy and totally got my lady engine hot and revving.
I’ll never forget the day my love walked through the doors of my office building and changed my life as I knew it. Hardcore butterflies erupted, and my natural sassy mouth gave him a hard time while applying. There were sparks and rainbows and fireworks galore and after dating just a few short months he was offered a once in a lifetime opportunity to work on the island of St Marteen. So obviously being crazy, adventurous, and madly in love, we packed a bag and flew off on a jet plane.
Late that night we landed, the airport staff greeted us with a shot of rum and we thought for sure this was our kind of place. We then journey to the resort where he would start working and where we were told we would be living until we found a home of our own.
Upon arrival, we met his boss, a tiny little man with Napoleon Syndrome, and his “date for hire”. He bought us a drink at the resort bar and explained in his thick Sicilian accent that we were staying at his friend’s condo and basically everything that we were promised before venturing to the island is going to be just a little different.
Free car rental is a rust-brown two-door car that is so old you felt every bump on the unpaved roads of the island. The fancy suit promised, is now a studio room on the French side of St Marteen, which is governed by both the French and Dutch. What does this change you ask? So basically, no television, no internet, and a washer and dryer in one with instruction in a language I didn’t understand. I had no clue how to use the beast and ended up hanging all of our soapy clothes over random surfaces which made them starch stiff and hard as a rock. Another fun fact they did not mention upon moving into the condo was that the only water we had was from a cistern.
Talk about a culture shock, there we were ignorantly enjoying our day together with lots of banging, eating junk food in bed, and relaxing to the maximum when the worst thing imaginable happened.
I had to poop. “Brand new hot boyfriend, don’t you want to go for a walk and check out the beach on such a beautiful day?” I asked in not so many words.
“Sure babe let’s go.” He said, ruining my plan to get our very small living space to myself.
“Oh, yeah, okay, I’ll go get ready then.” I make my way into the bathroom and no longer able to hold it I do my business… or duty if you will.
Then shit really gets real.
The toilet wouldn’t flush.
Upon further examination, there was no water in the small pink toilet either. I slightly panic at this point and try to think of a plan of discretion. I love this man. I want to have this man’s head between my legs again in the near future but how can I still be sexy to him if he knows I poop. That literal shit is top secret.
Too much time passes and he knocks checking to see if I’m ok. I break down and tell him there is no water in the bowl because the sink and shower don’t work either, I tried in a sad attempt to fill the toilet tank. Spoiled American here I admit it.
So what does this amazing man do? He finds the cistern, then grabs a big bowl from the condo where he proceeds to steal water from the nearby pool and saves the day…or poop in this case.
I’m overjoyed and so turned on by the fact that he was so sweet and caring without a single joke at my experience that I was all ready for him, but he turns me down. I’m worried now. Did the secret knowledge of my poop turn him off me?
“No of course not, my love; but I have to take a shit now.” He says sweetly with a kiss to my forehead, then heads back to the pool for another bowl of water.