Feeling like shit in a country retreat somewhere to the North of San Jose, Costa Rica surrounded by fellow volunteers from all corners of Europe as well as Tico’s,-Costa Ricans- our hosts for the next six months, I do my best to force the same bullshit conversations with each new friend I meet.
The people are nice enough, I really do like them, but a mixture of jet lag, hot weather and sitting around doing fuck all is getting the better of me. It’s still early, but I make my excuses and leave while everyone’s too drunk to care.
I find my dorm and I’m happy that no-one’s home. So happy that I really must take this opportunity to relieve some built up stress from these last four days. After all, who knows when I might next be alone. We are only here for a few days, but the family I live with in San Jose have three doors leading to their bathroom. None of them with a lock. Sometimes while taking a shit I’m unveiled to the world like the star prise in some fucking game show in mid wipe.
I sneak to the toilet like a man on a mission, feeling guilty already about the nature of the task, quite literally at hand. I’m trying to get this over with before anyone comes back and almost there when..BAM..I hear a voice outside the door and some fucker puts the light out.
I would have shouted at them to put it back on, but I’m out of breath and I reckon it’s pretty obvious what I’ve been up to. Putting my member away I open the door and reach for the light. The culprit is walking away, but turns to apologise not aware of the magnitude of his rude interruption. Or the horrendous conclusion of my cheeky quick one.
I close the bathroom door and look down in disgust at what I see. I’ve jizzed all over the inside of my pants. Not just a little bit, but a week’s worth all over the place without an inch left dry. All my other clothes are in the bedroom that I share with between four and six other people and I know I have company outside this door.
I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t know anyone that well and this is going to be their first introduction to the real Andy Ritchie. I hold my breath and make a quick dash, shuffling towards my bedroom door keeping my blotch of shame pointed towards the wall. Thankfully no-one’s in the room and I have time to push my pants into the side pouch of my small bag.
The next day someone asks for a cigarette and I tell them they can go into my bag and get them. Still don’t know if their search came to a sticky end.