the next person that wipes his behind

Pressure builds. At some point, pressure becomes more than one could bear and demands release. At the proper place, such release can be ecstatic on the order of biblical joy. Such euphoria often stimulates the mind, giving clarity of thought not attributed to normal everyday life.

It is at such a moment, sitting on the toilet at work, I had such a thought.

I glanced to my left and noticed the toilet paper, swaying harmlessly in a slight breeze caused by the ventilation systems desperate attempt to eliminate the gaseous equivalent of last night's brocoli-cheddar-beef. It had a crinkle where the last person tore it off. Staring at the crinkle, I began to wonder.

The last person must have used his hand to grab a wad of toilet paper and tear it off. He (there is no chance of that person being a she) then used that paper to make a last application, thus ensuring the orifice is clean. In other words, one can say that where the crinkle occurred is where the last guy has come in contact with his anus, through his hand.

So when I reach over to the same roll of toilet paper, I essentially use that edge of paper and apply to the dirtiest physical part of my body. In an indirect manner, it's my fecal lined ass rubbing on the last guys just cleanse rectum.

Whatever momentary feeling of eroticism quickly passed as the next wave built, and exploded in to the bowl.

I wonder what will the next person who sit here think?