By Maya Comer

Editor’s Note: this “Op-Ed” slipped under my doorstep at a crisp 4AM. Despite the lack of meaningful opinion, we have decided to publish this piece as a reflection of the Grinnellian drive for literary excellence, our quintessential ability to be horny literally anywhere, and the desire to vandalize dorm property. Enjoy.

I’m breaking my silence. I have to. I must share my story with the world, put a name behind my YikYak infamy. I promise that I speak with full humility when I describe my tale as inspiring. You see, friends, this is a tale of love and longing in the most unexpected places, of the transcendence of the human experience, of the power of memory and desire. Hear me, for this is my story.

It began like any other Saturday: a late-night drinner run to Taco Juan’s. I had barely made it back to Gardner before I feared that my drinner would run, run in sable diarrheal tendrils down my cute little legs. But hark! From afar, in the remotest reaches of the South Loggia, an angelic light beckoned me to Loose Hall. A Loose dorm for my loose stool? A match made in heaven. Although my lustful nose was bewitched by the infatuous aromas of grilled cheese, my failing sphincters propelled me onward, through the door, up the stairs, and into the third floor bathroom.

Oh, sweet release! Nobody, not even Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids or Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber, can imagine the throes of anguished pleasure that tore through my body like a riptide. I may have moaned. I definitely groaned. I emptied myself until I could not be emptied anymore. And then, suddenly, it was over. I was shaky, pale, sweaty, weak. “Oh, mother. Oh, mother, why?” I murmured, rocking back and forth. I began to cry.

“Are you okay in there?” sounded the loveliest voice I’d ever heard, coming from the stall next door. “Uurgh,” I said. 

“Rough night, huh?” I could feel compassion radiating from her, hardly stymied by the plastic stall barrier. It was love at first sight–or first sound, or whatever.

“Aaargh,” I said romantically, a hint of smolder in my voice.

“Take this.” A hand, manicured and charming, reached under the stall, proffering a roll of plush Sharmin. Our fingers lightly grazed as I accepted the toilet paper, and I tingled with electricity. Before I knew it, I had dropped the roll and interlaced her fingers with mine.

“Who are you?” she said.

“Who are you?” I breathed in soft reply.

“Um, sorry, this is getting weird. I think I should leave.” I could hear her fumbling to leave the stall. I struggled to pull my pants back up over my sweaty, trembling, still-crusty ass. “I think you should STAY!” I cried, pants buttoned triumphantly, throwing open the stall door, eager to confess my love. She stood shellshocked in front of me, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Honestly? You.”

“I’m good with that,” she smiled knowingly. Before I knew what was happening, she kissed me deeply, passionately, seductively. Without her lips parting from mine, she locked the door with one hand, pushed me onto the toilet seat and climbed atop my lap. “Wanna see what the bidet can do?” she smirked. 

I don’t know what we did in that bathroom stall, but I’m at least 95% sure it was sex. Underneath my unbridled lust, I could feel the stirrings of true love. 

Now, 1.5 days later, my heart overflows with adoration for my wonderful girlfriend. I detached that toilet seat with poop splatter, vaginal secretion and all, from the Loose 3rd bathroom and took it home with me to hang on the wall, a forever token of our relationship. If only everyone in the world could experience a love such as ours!

Editor’s Note #2: shortly before publication, YikYak discovered that the author and her girlfriend have since broke up. They have returned the toilet seat to its rightful place in the Loose 3rd bathroom.