A focus on sanitaryware

Charlie decided to clear both his bowel and his bladder, he always thought presentations through better with a void inside and voiding was comforting in its own right. A full stomach for creative, insightful, lateral thought and a gnawing emptiness for organisational, structuring thought. He grabbed his pad and pencil and padded off to the toilet. Halfway to the door he turned and returned to collect his cigarettes and lighter.

Across the capital Alex had just finished shaving, he dried his face and rubbed in a handful of the nasty after shave that he habitually wore - a cheap counterfeit of Tabac - he had become accustomed to its astringent scent - before he came over it was the best an operative could get. It stung and he winced. He combed his blonde hair to one side and applied a little more pomade. He washed his hands again - the hot water was running out again - he must get that boiler looked at. While shaving he had mentally selected the suit that he would wear - he had dismissed the idea of casual wear before getting out of bed - surely even in these relaxed times one could not eat in a Piccadilly restaurant in slacks and a knock off Polo shirt. He lifted the toilet seat, dropped his navy blue silk pyjama trousers and sat. Best to empty out - just to be on the safe side ... he would be out for some time and his phobia about public toilets could make life difficult.

Back in Tooting Boris shook his dick and buttoned up his fly. He wiped around the seat with a sheet of toilet paper, balled it up, and put it in his pocket. At the front door he grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. He double locked the door behind him and threw the balled up toilet paper at the stinking ginger tom that regularly hung around on the landing. It hit him behind the ear and he swiftly swallowed it. "Choke on it, you little bastard!" He took the stairs two at a time - it was good to be getting out. It was better still to having a job to do - he loved his work.

Just up the road Sonia washed her hands - the water was very hot - steaming - she washed them again - she washed them until they were red and throbbing. She had changed her tampon and that usually triggered her fetish. She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet bowl and vomited - or tried to - instead she just dry heaved. She groped behind the bowl and pulled out a green scrubber. She flushed the smattering of bile away and as the flush finished she began to scrub around and under the rim. She poured bleach onto the scrubber and began over. This could take all day - she was like an old fashioned vinyl record that was stuck in a groove. So what if it took all day? She wasn't going anywhere.

George was pissing freehand in the office urinal and fiddling with his beard. Inquisitively he peered into the next urinal just to see what the new boy was packing. The boy looked up alarmed, caught George's lascivous glance and cocked his arm. His fist clenched and he smacked George smack on the nose.



(TBC)