Asda toilets

The force was within me. Cat Stevens 'I can't keep it in', a chart hit from the early 1970s was ringing round my head. I pulled up in the carpark and made for the entrance. Grabbing a basket I made for the toilets, a route behind the checkouts. My bowels were bursting. I saw a man gracefully exit, his pace slow and measured. The diabolical excretion he had lewft behind was masked by his innocence. Once through the main door I found the toilets empty. Normally I choose the cubical tight to the corner, back to both walls. Some second sense took me in to the first and after locking the door, dropping my greenpastic basket I dropped my trousers and pants and sat as the brown stuff exited me. After a thorough swiping of arsehole I came out, washed my hands and stared myelf in the face, the mirror just stared back. Within seconds Iwas out, mingling with shoppers, none aware of the foul mess I had left. By the time I hit the checkout all guilt was gone. Asda, I thank youfor this relief.