Fetish Problems #16: Potting the Pink.

Fetish Problems #16: Potting the Pink.

from Recon News

19 April 2019

Another tale of fetish misfortune from a Recon member

I've lived in a fair few house shares in London over the years, and like all flatmate experiences, some have been good and some not so good. I like to think that I'm a good, respectful flatmate so haven't had too many awkward encounters with flatmates.

A few years ago, in order to save some money I moved into a warehouse with a few other young 20 somethings. Warehouse life is great if you don't mind living with a lot more people than your average flat/house share and it's a practical way to offset the costs of London living.

Another great thing about living in a warehouse is the open space, that is often filled with furniture. We had somehow acquired a snooker table which we all agreed to get rid of to free up more space for one flatmate who was wanting to use the communal area for a photoshoot.

We left it outside for collection and I kept the snooker balls to one side, so that I may repurpose them and give them a new lease of life, adding them into my adult play box. A few nights later I was in my room stretching and having some alone time and decided to insert a few, this then became a game of how many I could fit in my arse and after a few hours stopped playing and went to bed.

I woke up in the early hours with a cramp, which I put down to being heavy handed earlier but after an hour or so the feeling didn't go away, so I decided to go and use the toilet and crept downstairs to use the bathroom.

I sat there, letting nature and unfortunately gravity do its work and felt something pass through me and drop down into the toilet bowel, with a splash and the sound of a crack.

I had managed to accidently leave a snooker ball inside me which had now dropped down into the toilet, cracking the porcelain. I Look down, praying it sounds worse then it is, hoping is a small hairline crack that no one will notice, only to find a large crack and piece of porcelain that's chipped away.

I then have to reach down to pick up the ball, clean it and in a panic look up how to fix the toilet. I spend about an hour frantically skipping through boring tutorials to any part that may be of benefit. It became apparent that although youtube can be very helpful, the scale of the problem would not be fixed with a porcelain enamel glaze so decided to leave a note, not fully explaining what had happened, but admitting I was responsible and ensuring that I would fix it first thing in the morning.

I woke up to four pissed off flatmates demanding to know how I had managed to break the toilet. I decide to tell them the truth thinking that honesty really is the best policy, another misjudgement on my part, which lead to more questions and overall feelings of disgust from my flatmates. Paying with my own humiliation wasn't enough however and to rub salt into the wounds I then spent the day dipping into the little savings I had, extending my overdraft and arranging for an overpriced plumber to come and install a whole new toilet system.

Another fun fact about warehouse living is there are lots of people who do it, everyone knows each other and everyone knew what had happened within a week. I moved out about a month later, my parting gift from one flatmate being a novelty sized 8 ball, Which I now only use for decoration.

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