The anticipation shakes my whole body, my vision slips from blurred to straight with every second. The synapses of my brain explode with delight at the thought of reversing the natural order of things, making what goes down come back up.
I ready myself, positioning my head over the bowl; sleeves rolled up.
I make my hand into a gun, two fingers for the barrel. I slip it past my lips, brushing the different zones of my tongue, right to the back. "This one is going to take some reaching", I think. I strike gold, stroking my tonsils.
I convulse, once, twice, three times. "Here it comes..."
torrents of chunder spew forth from my mouth and nose, this afternoon's soup filling the bowl, with the odd rebellious cornflake catching in my throat. I grip the seat 'til my knuckles pale and wait for the inevitable second bout. It comes again, longer and faster. I think i'm going to Hendrix myself, make like Mama Cass and asphyxiate right here, cooking a pavement pizza and choking on the topping. Then it ends, i hawk up the blockage in my nose, and gag as the sour bile hits the back of my throat. Spit or swallow? Better spit.
My legs creak and knees crack as I stand up and pull the handle, draining the toilet. I wipe my mouth on some toilet roll, and chuck it in the bin. Now for the really good part.
With one shaking hand I pull out a lighter, the other removes a smoke from the packet. I insert, light, inhale, exhale, and feel every quivering nerve relax and slacken. I slump down on the toilet seat to maximise the pleasure.
Beats SlimFast any day.