Shit Shag
by Lee Carrick
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: A trip to Hampi comes to a hot, sticky end.
_____________________________________________________________________
Hampi is a village in northern Karnataka state, India. It is located within the ruins of Vijayanagara, the former capital of the Vijayanagara Empire. Approximately a twelve hour bus journey from southern Goa, Hampi is a place like no other. The landscape is littered with huge boulders of various shapes that look like giant golden marbles left to the village after a Godly game of ringer.
The river that flows through the village splits it in half and is sacred, so no bridges are allowed to be built; the only way to cross is by boat for ten rupees a time.
Small mountains, alive with monkeys and eagles, frame Hampi and provide a fantastic view of the temples when climbed.
It’s a stunning place where travellers go to bathe in the river, smoke charas in cushioned hammocks, ride motorbikes through the fields and climb one thousand steps to reach the summit of the monkey temple. Hampi is a place where people come for a week and stay for a month.
However, all is not perfect in spiritual paradise. A large percentage of the visitors to Hampi get sick; once or twice and sometimes severely they are glued to their toilets while their bodies evacuate everything except organs. Unfortunately hygiene is not as prevalent in Indian society as it is in Europe and so restaurant kitchens use river water to clean plates and utensils; the same river they wash, bathe, defecate, urinate and pray in.
This was my third time in Hampi and the second time I had been sick, except this time I was so ill I struggled to walk the ten yards from the hammock to my toilet without feeling faint or vomiting and I was a little scared that I would have to go to a hospital.
I’d known Vicky for ten days. We met on a beach on the Karntakan coast and we were heading the same way; we decided to room together to save money as is common amongst travellers. Vicky was twenty-four; three years my younger, she was from Taipei, Taiwan and she was beautiful.
In the ten previous days the relationship had been platonic, she had an American boyfriend back in Taipei and I was happy just to have the company. When I got sick she became very caring and I began to develop feelings for her.
As the sun was going down over the hostel gardens and disappearing behind the hills we lay in embrace on the hammock, and I kissed her. She kissed back and we laughed childishly.
A few hours later we were in the room, kissing and fondling passionately. We were naked; she was a tiny woman with dark Asian skin, thick black hair, small firm breasts and a yoga flat stomach.
The pains in my gut and head insisted that I go no further and try to get some sleep. We got under the bed covers and went to sleep.
I awoke in the middle of the night, I was laying on a wet patch of sheet and I was horrified, I must have pissed myself in the night, I thought. How was I going to explain this? Panicked and without thinking I reached down to feel the wet patch, when I pulled my hands from beneath sheet it revealed a watery brown liquid. I hadn’t urinated, I’d shit myself on our first sexual night together.
From the previous ten nights of sharing a room I had learned that Vicky was a heavy sleeper and this gave me hope. The bed we were sleeping on was two single mattresses pushed together and so all I had to do was remove my sheet and flip the bed before she woke up and then she would never know.
I got up slowly and crept into the bathroom, took a quick shower and washed the liquid shit off my backside and legs, all with the light turned off so as not to disturb Vicky. Once I was clean and dry I went back into the bedroom and began to remove the bed sheet from the bed, but it gave me unexpected resistance. The two single mattresses had one double sheet covering them. Vicky was asleep on the soiled sheet.
I had no choice I had to wake her. I lifted up the mosquito net and shook her shoulder gently; she opened her eyes and looked at me like I was a stranger before muttering something in Mandarin.
“Vicky, Vicky I’ve had little accident, I need you get up for two minutes.”
She stood up and stood in the middle of the room, naked and cuddling herself against the cold Indian night. I quickly ripped the sheet off and threw it into the bathroom, turned both of the mattresses over and we got back into bed. She didn’t say anything so I hoped that she presumed I’d just urinated. We went back to sleep.
I awoke the next morning alone and paranoid. Vicky wasn’t in the bedroom or bathroom. I found her outside smoking a menthol cigarette and sitting on the hammock. She looked up at me and smiled.
“Nicky, you’re a shit fuck,” she said playfully.
Two hours later we were packed and checked out.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: A trip to Hampi comes to a hot, sticky end.
_____________________________________________________________________
Hampi is a village in northern Karnataka state, India. It is located within the ruins of Vijayanagara, the former capital of the Vijayanagara Empire. Approximately a twelve hour bus journey from southern Goa, Hampi is a place like no other. The landscape is littered with huge boulders of various shapes that look like giant golden marbles left to the village after a Godly game of ringer.
The river that flows through the village splits it in half and is sacred, so no bridges are allowed to be built; the only way to cross is by boat for ten rupees a time.
Small mountains, alive with monkeys and eagles, frame Hampi and provide a fantastic view of the temples when climbed.
It’s a stunning place where travellers go to bathe in the river, smoke charas in cushioned hammocks, ride motorbikes through the fields and climb one thousand steps to reach the summit of the monkey temple. Hampi is a place where people come for a week and stay for a month.
However, all is not perfect in spiritual paradise. A large percentage of the visitors to Hampi get sick; once or twice and sometimes severely they are glued to their toilets while their bodies evacuate everything except organs. Unfortunately hygiene is not as prevalent in Indian society as it is in Europe and so restaurant kitchens use river water to clean plates and utensils; the same river they wash, bathe, defecate, urinate and pray in.
This was my third time in Hampi and the second time I had been sick, except this time I was so ill I struggled to walk the ten yards from the hammock to my toilet without feeling faint or vomiting and I was a little scared that I would have to go to a hospital.
I’d known Vicky for ten days. We met on a beach on the Karntakan coast and we were heading the same way; we decided to room together to save money as is common amongst travellers. Vicky was twenty-four; three years my younger, she was from Taipei, Taiwan and she was beautiful.
In the ten previous days the relationship had been platonic, she had an American boyfriend back in Taipei and I was happy just to have the company. When I got sick she became very caring and I began to develop feelings for her.
As the sun was going down over the hostel gardens and disappearing behind the hills we lay in embrace on the hammock, and I kissed her. She kissed back and we laughed childishly.
A few hours later we were in the room, kissing and fondling passionately. We were naked; she was a tiny woman with dark Asian skin, thick black hair, small firm breasts and a yoga flat stomach.
The pains in my gut and head insisted that I go no further and try to get some sleep. We got under the bed covers and went to sleep.
I awoke in the middle of the night, I was laying on a wet patch of sheet and I was horrified, I must have pissed myself in the night, I thought. How was I going to explain this? Panicked and without thinking I reached down to feel the wet patch, when I pulled my hands from beneath sheet it revealed a watery brown liquid. I hadn’t urinated, I’d shit myself on our first sexual night together.
From the previous ten nights of sharing a room I had learned that Vicky was a heavy sleeper and this gave me hope. The bed we were sleeping on was two single mattresses pushed together and so all I had to do was remove my sheet and flip the bed before she woke up and then she would never know.
I got up slowly and crept into the bathroom, took a quick shower and washed the liquid shit off my backside and legs, all with the light turned off so as not to disturb Vicky. Once I was clean and dry I went back into the bedroom and began to remove the bed sheet from the bed, but it gave me unexpected resistance. The two single mattresses had one double sheet covering them. Vicky was asleep on the soiled sheet.
I had no choice I had to wake her. I lifted up the mosquito net and shook her shoulder gently; she opened her eyes and looked at me like I was a stranger before muttering something in Mandarin.
“Vicky, Vicky I’ve had little accident, I need you get up for two minutes.”
She stood up and stood in the middle of the room, naked and cuddling herself against the cold Indian night. I quickly ripped the sheet off and threw it into the bathroom, turned both of the mattresses over and we got back into bed. She didn’t say anything so I hoped that she presumed I’d just urinated. We went back to sleep.
I awoke the next morning alone and paranoid. Vicky wasn’t in the bedroom or bathroom. I found her outside smoking a menthol cigarette and sitting on the hammock. She looked up at me and smiled.
“Nicky, you’re a shit fuck,” she said playfully.
Two hours later we were packed and checked out.
About the Author
Originally from South Shields, Lee Carrick is a thirtysomething adopted Scot. His biggest passions in life are writing and travelling, and he likes to combine the two. He has been writing poetry since he was 15, but only recently began to write fiction. He was inspired to write by Ian Banks' The Wasp Factory and Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors. The Care Home, his first novella, is a McStorytellers publication.
Lee’s full profile can be read on McVoices.
Lee’s full profile can be read on McVoices.