The Price of Gas

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The hardest part of a new relationship is the stress of wondering what she’ll do the first time I pass gas while we’re in bed together.

It’s one thing to fart when I’m out with friends at a bar, where it’s not just acceptable… but encouraged. It’s a slightly different thing when I’m out with my girlfriend or a client and the moment presents itself with enough audible distraction to allow me to subtly let one pass. If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one around, does it make a sound? It happens, I fart and it goes unnoticed. I feel like a god.

It’s completely different when I’m at home though. That’s where the true weight of a fart exposes itself. There is something about it being just the girl and I that escalates the situation. It’s unnerving when she is in the other room and I let one rip, vibrato like a tenor… it shakes the chandelier. I immediately look around… expecting her to pop her head around the corner and yell, “I heard you do that, you’re nasty!” But she never pokes her head out of the other room, she never acknowledges that she heard me soil myself.

And that doesn’t even prepare me for the situation when we’re both in bed, half-awake and silently celebrating mutual climax. This is the most intimidating of moments because I do not want to disturb the delicate balance of the ambiance…

I’m lying there and I’m relaxed. I’m feeling good, holding her in my arms, and soaking in the beauty… thinking that there is no way anyone has shared something more splendid than what I am right now. Then the urge hits me, most likely because I’m thinking like a woman and I need to stop. It doesn’t literally hit me, rather it just creates this slight convulsion, like a nervous twitch, but it’s violent enough that I nudge her. She murmurs, a sign that she is almost asleep, and I tense up—my ass cheeks clinch, my sphincter tightens with a strength comparable to the process that creates a diamond, and my mind is ripped away from a beautiful moment to one of complete and utter fear.

There is no way around it, I have no choice. I commit to the fart for two reasons; the first is because I’m a relationship risk taker and it’s time to test her… to see what she is made of, the second involves the simple fact that getting out of bed will cause the warm spot to cool… and the only thing that is going to pull me away from this warm spot is if this fart has more substance than I’m prepared for.

Poot—I’m not talking about anything obnoxiously loud, nothing that would clear a room, but a standard fart. A noticeable sound that cannot be mistaken for anything but what it is.

Will she laugh? Will she be mad? Will she pretend that she’s fully-asleep? Will she get up and leave the room? If she does… will she ever come back? Will she simply let one loose in retaliation? Tit for tat, it’s a fart war! Can I stifle my own laughter because I have never got over my elementary infatuation with farts?

This is the shit that I worry about. It goes beyond the embarrassment factor. If she giggles at me, does it mean she’ll tolerate everything about me? Are her limits higher than mine? Will she ask me to pee on her?

I’ve found that these thoughts fade, eventually. The inner anguish creeps back every time I have the urge, though. It’s a circumstance where I have no idea how to gauge the response. That’s what frightens me—anything where I’m not quite sure how to decipher all of the potential outcomes. I hate surprises.

All of this stress from just a little gas.

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[A special thank you to Neil Tull. This article is derived from a conversation he and I had a few months back, when he was helping me with material for the forthcoming follow-up to Memoirs of a Serial Bachelor. Also, the embedded photo is courtesy of www.sneezl.com and whoever came up with it.]

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6 thoughts on “The Price of Gas”

  1. Everyone farts – even the Queen of England. Your girlfriend might think it’s cute or “how nice – he trusts me enough to emit his gas in my presence.” HA HA. Honestly, I don’t know why, but I think it’s worse for a woman. I think it’s the old-fashioned idea that women just don’t do that.

    1. It’s a common courtesy in our relationship… I try to excuse myself to another room or state. As far as I know, she doesn’t have bodily functions that rival mine and I would like to keep things that way. It’s not often that I side with tradition or old-fashioned-nees, but I thoroughly enjoy a woman who can act like a lady. I’m quite fortunate to have the girl I do.

      This topic, article, whatever, stemmed from a conversation (between a friend and I) on what worries men the most during the beginning of a new relationship. The first time a man expels gas in front of the new girl, whether it’s intentional or accidental, sort of just stops the entire world for a moment.

      1. All kidding aside,I do appreciate when both sexes can refrain from it in front of each other. Obviously it needs to be done. Hey, I hate when men spit. It grosses me out to no end. I know men do it a lot in sports and okay, but it’s still not pleasant to see. Just me.

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