For those of you who have been asking about the author (@drpablopistola), here is a link with my story: https://51shadesofbrown.wordpress.com/about/
“Don’t hate the player. Hate the coconut oil.”
51 Shades of Brown, (BONUS) Excerpt #23 [Chapter 93]
Gwendolyn Mary-Katherine Elizabeth Oldershaw Nightingale Honeybun Robertson-Phillips-Beckingsdale Piddlebury knew that she would have to step outside her own personal boundaries on this voyage. But even with these expectations, she felt so alone and…scared. She felt as though she had prepared herself for this moment by voraciously reading textbook after textbook about colonial India while she still remained in her native Isle of Great Britain.
Yet here she was, nearly suffocating in an Indian outhouse, utterly confused about how to use the potty.
Nobody had warned her. Nobody had offered her reassuring guidance. Nobody had cared to look at things from her perspective.
Panic overwhelmed Gwendolyn Mary-Katherine Elizabeth Oldershaw Nightingale Honeybun Robertson-Phillips-Beckingsdale Piddlebury as she scanned the latrine. No toilet paper to be found anywhere. The wetness. The lack of air circulation.
Oh, what she would have given to be back in Staines-Upon-Thames England at high tea spreading splendid marmite on delightful buttered toast at this very moment!
She searched for a manual with instructions but came up empty-handed. Nothing.
Paralyzing fear caused every muscle fiber in her body to tense up, as sweat dripped off her body. She had no other choice. The only nuclear option left for her to attempt was to bellow a primal scream to the heavens above for redemption, as she became consumed with dread that she would perish in this primitive bathroom, and that her virgin womb would never experience the pleasure of fertilization.
“OH DEAR! OH, BOLLOCKS! OH DEAR! HELP ME! PLEASE, HELP ME! AS A SINGLE WOMAN OF OPTIMAL AGE FOR PROCREATION AND ACTIVELY OVULATING AT THIS VERY MOMENT, I FEAR CERTAIN DEATH IN THIS BLOODY LATRINE!”shrieked Gwendolyn Mary-Katherine Elizabeth Oldershaw Nightingale Honeybun Robertson-Phillips-Beckingsdale Piddlebury.
Her life force seemed to fading from her body…
And then suddenly, at the moment of greatest despair, a masculine voice projected from behind the locked outhouse door, like a beacon of hope.
“May I offer my guidance, sweet Madam?” whispered Sri-Sheshadariprativadibayankaram.
“What ho! Pip pip!” yelled the relieved Gwendolyn Mary-Katherine Elizabeth Oldershaw Nightingale Honeybun Robertson-Phillips-Beckingsdale Piddlebury, now spared from imminent doom. “Kind Sir, I shan’t ask for another favor evermore should you guide me through this treacherous process of cleaning up after my explosive diarrhea which afflicts every visitor to this Great Nation of India!”
Sri-Sheshadariprativadibayankaram whispered “Use….the dipper…..and your left hand.”
The Brown Knight was her northern star.
Of course! Use the small cup with a handle, the tepid water in the bucket next to where she squatted, and her left hand to clean up this mess! Why didn’t she think of this practical methodology earlier?!
Sri-Sheshadariprativadibayankaram maintained his lifeline by instructing her on the sterile Indian way of hygienically cleaning the nether-regions after use of the facilities. She would remain eternally grateful to this ambassador, as he continued to guide her through the fail-safe hand-cleansing process of using stagnant water and the same sandalwood soap bar that had been used beforehand by the entire village.
As she completed this unforgettable experience and eagerly anticipated facing her hero who stood only a few feet away from her outside the latrine, Gwendolyn Mary-Katherine Elizabeth Oldershaw Nightingale Honeybun Robertson-Phillips-Beckingsdale Piddlebury became concerned about making a first impression.
Timidly, she said “Good Sir, I’m afraid that my breath smells worse than a herd of a thousand pikeys who haven’t bathed in well over a year!”
The Brown Knight whispered “Unlock the door and pry it ajar, and I will be your salvation…”
Timidly, Gwendolyn Mary-Katherine Elizabeth Oldershaw Nightingale Honeybun Robertson-Phillips-Beckingsdale Piddlebury cracked open the door, as the blistering Indian sunlight rushed into the damp latrine. A shadow slowly cast on her face, as Sri-Sheshadariprativadibayankaram extended his pointer finger, covered in tooth powder, into the outhouse towards his damsel in distress, as the throbbing member then seductively penetrated her mouth to brush against her teeth…
I would like to take this opportunity to thank two people for inspiring and assisting with this chapter in my book:
1) My dear, dear family member (who requests to maintain anonymity) who hails from Harlton, England, and acted as a consultant for this offering
2) NPR correspondent extraordinaire Wilbur Sargunaraj (follow him on Twitter: @wilburworldwide) for inspiring this romance excerpt. He is my personal hero. His exhaustive explanation of proper Indian latrine use can be seen at the following YouTube link: