Chat

The chat grew to interesting exhortations, perhaps with the clock ticking midnight and the other end being a fairer sex. Unlike my usual time of retiring to bed early, I was well awake punching the keypads going spunky with extra blessing of naughtiness. She was equally racy with words which hooked me further urging to explore her impropriety. She was a cool woman who could well set the limitations for any person to infringe her personal rights. Her knowledge on literature was extensive and when she started to talk on the realism of existence, I could only think she was a philosopher. I learned many things from her but to keep my mischievousness alert I frequently dared to cross over her private life. And as if she read my mind she was kind enough to satiate my mind though in a limited words.

Before I thought to bid goodbye she bid me first. Even after exchange of many farewell remarks we stayed back sharing opinions after opinions, answers after questions, annotates, gossips and pep talks. Interestingly both kept the private information to each other's side never letting the cat out of the bag.

When I finally said my eyes were drooping from sleep she said she had to take bath before retiring to bed. But that was not before she eliminated the faecal waste; it was an emergency, she sounded. I could not control to laugh, not for her going to toilet but from a thought to stop letting her go. I took it as a challenge and my sleep was gone. I had to type quick and typed that any woman in the toilet would look beautiful making her face while she forced her alimentary canal out. She shot me some humorous jokes which I could imagine she was not pleasant with my incongruous wit.

But I had to hold her back. I orbited my words within the walls of toilet with a constipation face and reminded her not to imagine a photographer in her front. I said I was not interested to look at the picture and fell prey to an unrequited love. I told her my symptoms of seeing a beautiful woman, going after her and never winning in my life. So I requested her to keep the photo to herself but tipped her like a professional photographer how to face the camera. She should not fake her facial expression even if she did not have the constipation. I neither advised her to smile for the background cistern flush would not suit her smile. Her elbows on the knees with palms supporting her jaws if she had an Indian water closet or her one hand supporting her jaw and another on the toilet paper holder if she sat on the European water closet was intelligibly suggested by me. The nerves in the neck region with hairs dangling any direction were not the final reminder. The final reminder was she must not attempt to smile and the male photographer would completely respect seeing her private parts.

I looked at my watch and found out that I took ten minutes to stop her from regular, diarrhea, constipation or any she had to visit the rest room.

When she did not reply my messages I had to think she dashed, flung the toilet door open, put on the light, opened the zip or whatever, pinky tiny silky cloth piece fell almost to floor cuffing her ankles and breathing a relief of pain. I waited anxiously to ask if she thought of photographer in her front.