Sure enough, the cheese hits her in the guts before the kettle has time to boil. Clutching her belly, she has the sudden urge to rush to the bathroom, and yet the shapes in the steam have her captivated. She’s not religious—much to her mother’s eternal disappointment—but the imagery is biblical. It always is. From her dreams to her fantasies, the hand of God is the dominant force. Perhaps she has her mother to thank/blame for that, or maybe it’s some other doing. Either way, the imagery causes her to bite her lip, for although she shouldn’t, she can’t help but see sex in each and every smoky crevice that dances before her in the light coming through the kitchen window. There’s a slight tingle in her belly. Engaged in a tug of war with the need to empty her bowels, she’s caught in the middle of two opposing forces that have her at their mercy. Rushing into the bathroom, she locks the door behind her. Plonking herself onto the toilet, she pulls down her panties, so they rest around her ankles. The whistle of the kettle pierces the air, and then, deep into her brain like a probing tongue. Sliding two fingers into her pussy, she groans as the need to shit is almost overwhelming, and yet the need to come is greater. With her mouth open and her eyes rolling into her skull, the steam travels from the kitchen and pours through the keyhole opposite her. Unaware as it creeps towards her open legs, she sees in her mind the image of a giant moon. Beneath the moon is a forest. An ancient one, untouched by the hand of man. As the trees shake as if shook by the hand of God, she gasps as the steam tickles her bean. Like the excitable fingers of a geeky kid unlatching his first bra, the steam works her into a frenzy so much so that she lets her hands fall limply to her side. Mouth open with a bellyful of turds on the brink of dropping onto the water below her winking anus, the spark is ignited, and as her legs tingle with electricity, the second she opens her eyes, the tears roll down her pale cheeks.