“Here, bite down on this buddy boy, we’ll make a man out of you yet.” A rough fist stuffed a wet urinal cake into my mouth as the first of what I assumed would be three spit-lubed cocks ripped into my ass.

I bit down as my head slammed against the back wall of the bathroom stall. Like an emery board the cake raked across my teeth. Saliva flooded my mouth. Swimming pools and lemon extract and the salt taste of urine (probably my own) came to mind with each grunting thrust. The two who were holding me stood on either side, one hand clamped onto my wrist, the other digging its fingers into the meat of my collarbone. My elbows were bent to near breaking as they forced my head down so I couldn’t turn to see who they were.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it, give it to him...”

All I’d wanted was to take a piss. I’d been driving for hours, saw the rest stop and, though a bit deserted, thought why not? I could splash my face with some water, wake up a little before getting back on the road. Eight urinals, four stalls, not a soul in sight. I should have looked under the stall doors. They grabbed me before I could even turn around. The rest is, as they say, history.

The second one was up to bat now. He didn’t need any spit. Between the blood and cum he slid right in like a well-lubricated thermometer.

Now, I don’t know what’s in urinal cakes but after a few minutes of biting down, cake juice running down the back of my throat, the bathroom tiles began to move, the intersecting caulk lines bending inward as if an invisible cock were fucking the wall. My ears were ringing and I willed the lines to stop but they kept on bending, the wall becoming soft and pliable until a slow-moving vortex had formed.

I was so entranced by the vortex and its deliberate, inevitable movements I barely noticed the third guy was now having his turn at me, making grunting noises the way a weightlifter might when performing an extra set.

An icy breeze began to breathe on my neck, and I realized it was the vortex sucking the air out of the stall. It had now grown to the size of a spinning black bowling ball, and I began to laugh. “C’mon,” I said, “bigger! Bigger!”

“The guy’s losin’ it,” a voice beside me chuckled.

I bit down harder on the urinal cake and it crumbled in my mouth. I watched twin kernels of white fly from my lips and enter the vortex where they disappeared down its long black throat. Pain electrified my mouth and I realized my front teeth had broken off. My jaw kept grinding away at the cake just the same, its hard gritty substance turning to mush, until I swallowed it all.

The vortex doubled tripled its dimensions. “Yes! Yes!” I yelled, as the room began to spin and the icy breeze picked up velocity, until first one pair of hands and then the other tore free from my arms and neck and I heard what sounded like two very large socks sucked into the end of a very large vacuum cleaner. I clung to the only thing that wasn’t moving. I hugged the toilet like a life raft.

The guy behind me must have been lost in a post-coital euphoria, his grip on my hips and his cock in my ass the only things keeping him anchored. But the vortex was no match for his size, and with a shriek and a sudden vacancy in my rectum, he tumbled headfirst over my back into the ever-growing dimensional rift.

The toilet beneath me began to shudder and the floor tiles began to crack with miniature fault lines. The world was literally coming apart around me, and I remembered the things I learned in grade school about safety. Drop and roll if you're on fire. Apply pressure to a bad cut. And if you happen to poison yourself induce vomiting.

As pieces of tile began to lift up off the floor and enter the vortex, I nosed the toilet seat open and stuck my head in.

The toilet had not been flushed recently and in it laid a week’s worth of loose bowel movements and brown piss. A damp reek hit my face like a wet dishrag but was quickly vacuumed away by the vortex. If I could have freed up a hand to jam my fingers into my mouth I would have, but I couldn’t let go of the toilet for fear of being sucked into the vortex as well. So I did what I needed to do. I closed my eyes and sank my face into the viscous pile.

I could taste every nuance of the filth on my tongue and at the back of my throat. I retched and disgorged a large volume of bile and saliva and, most importantly, undigested urinal cake.

The vortex shrunk immediately. I vomited several times more until I had nothing left to offer but internal organs—which felt like they were next if I continued to heave. Thankfully the vortex closed and the bathroom wall returned to its normal, flat, gridline pattern.

I don’t know how long I sat there, hugging the toilet, shit coating my face like a cosmetic peel, but eventually I got to my feet, pulled up my pants, and stumbled over to the sink where I washed my face, scrubbed my skin until even the memory of what I had done had been removed.

I stared at my own reflection in the mirror as if I expected it to change. But what I saw instead was just a tired young man who looked as if he’d gotten his head dunked in the toilet by a gang of high school bullies.

Footsteps.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

I nodded to the guy as he walked past me and pulled up to one of the urinals. He unzipped and I could hear his stream hitting the urinal cake with a steady splatter. My mouth suddenly flooded with the taste of swimming pools and lemon extract. Something opened up in my head and began spinning like a vortex. I stared at the man’s back and I knew he was mine.

Kurt Newton's fun fiction and poetry has appeared in Apocalypse Confidential, Punk Noir, Urban Pigs, and in multiple issues of God's Cruel Joke. His latest collection, Bruises, is available from Lycan Valley Press.