Blood Clot

I reached in deep and pulled out her bloody tampon.

Who was she? I don't know. I never even saw her -- she was long gone. But I'm keeping the evidence for DNA testing to find out who she is, because it was her bloody tampon that made my weekend a living hell.

The blood clot began a week earlier (while I was fucking an 11-toed Latin man in a Florida swamp). It was at a lesbian S&M party. Not my thing -- women. I hate them now. Is that misogynistic? Who cares? Let them spend two days trying to clean up the mess they created and see how they feel about themselves!

A word to the ladies: learn how to dispose of your tampons properly as the signs indicate.
But someone ignored those signs and her bloody tampon didn't wreak its havoc until a week later, when I casually entered the basement party space the Saturday afternoon before my own party began.

Immediately I noticed a River Running Through It (the basement). Was there a flood from the roof? Rain water? I went to the bathroom area and noticed the sewage was coming up through the drain pipes adjacent to the toilets. I flushed them. And more came up through the drain hole.

FUCK! It was my nightmare. Again! I checked the front sewer trap to see if the clog was there (I won't make the mistake again of not checking that first). It was clear at that point: the clog/clot was further up inside. I'd have to rent a snake from Home Depot (again) and clear it out before that evening's party. Otherwise I'd have to cancel the event.
I called the lesbian promoter to assist. Not available? Fuck you! It's your lady/ladies who plugged it up -- it's your responsibility to UNplug it.

But she couldn't.
So I found help elsewhere. Someone was willing to go with me to Home Depot to rent the industrial sized snake and get out whatever was in there. Was it even a tampon? The promoter said it likely wasn't -- that she had been at the space throughout the week and used the bathroom and there was never a backup.
(But I know these things can take a while to percolate -- it's not always instant.)

So we did it.
I cleared it.
But the only thing I was able to pull out was one piece of paper toweling! Was that it? It didn't matter -- the water was running smoothly from the toilets and sinks without backup and that was the important thing. I probably loosened up whatever was in there.
Crisis averted.

We had to rush to get the place clean and smelling good (burning Sage again!) But the party started on time and everyone was happy!

For about two hours.

At the height of the party, someone came up and said "There's some water coming up..."
"Oh shit." Literally.
And my nightmare quadrupled.
I got the wet vac and sucked out the drain (not too helpful) and got squeegees to move the water from one area to the drain at the other end of the space. (We couldn't get it to stop.)
Just then my current favorite 21 year old showed up to play. "Sorry -- I have raw sewage running through my party space. Can't play right now!" -- is what I thought. All that came out was "I'm busy."

We put caution tape around the drainage area of the club to keep people away from the Lesbian Crime Scene. No need to be around that hole -- it didn't look particularly inviting, with the toilet paper, dirty water and perhaps a few indistinguishable chunks-of-whatever around it.

But it didn't smell! Thank god!
Truth be told, it was really more water than anything else. Toilet water, yes, but maybe 5% urine and that's substantially less than we get at the Piss Parties and no one complains about the wet floors there! As long as no one defecated, we were in the clear. So to speak.

The DJ made an announcement that people try to avoid "the puddles being created by a water leak." No one seemed to care. They tracked the "water" through much of the club, especially in the maze area, but the back play areas were dry and fresh!

We also diverted their attention by throwing someone a spontaneous birthday party with two Entenmann's cakes and 5 candles, with paper plates and forks. It was a last minute purchase, but once we all sang "Happy Birthday" and he blew out the candles, the chocolate confection provided the perfect distraction from the raw sewage flowing around our feet.

The remainder of the evening was spent squeegeeing the water through the maze area, past the DJ and the precut slices of chocolate cake on paper plates and into the drain at the front.
The only mishap I witnessed was someone in footie socks trying to avoid the puddle by jumping across it, missing the dry edge by 20 inches and slipping back into the river.
But he was young and athletic and recovered quickly. I suggested he take a shower, not really explaining why.

Someone even asked where all the water was "leaking from." I just pointing in the direction of the bathrooms/plumbing and said "over there."

Three hours later, the final people departed and our small group of friends went out to eat at a local diner. I had no intention of dealing with the clog that night or cleaning up anything. I was too exhausted.

After only four hours of sleep I hit the ground running Sunday for a Piss Party starting at 5pm. The promoters would be there at 4pm to set things up so my time was incredibly limited to get to Home Depot, clear the clog and clean up all the condoms and lube and yes, even some big chunks of poop that erupted out of the drain -- before they arrived for their own version of fun. And raw sewage is not part of their aesthetic. We had to cancel one of their parties before for exactly the same reason. I just needed to find someone willing and able to help me transport the snake. Again.

I called up the lesbian promoter again to inform her that last night's party was a disaster, the pipes were still clogged and that it was essential I get her assistance this time.
But she was "At a Pride event in New Jersey... sorry..."
Are you kidding me? I'm cleaning out your shit while you party?
I was livid -- my head ready to explode. Who was going to help me this time?

And then along came my Knight in Shining Armor, a masculine top man with a deep voice, incredible smile and the dick of death who lives in the neighborhood and had the afternoon available. (He's also an occasional fuck buddy -- a rare good top!)
Score!

I got access to a friend's SUV and talked to the (now familiar) folk at Home Depot about the best way to clear a clog. Different tools can attached to the end of the snake to ensnare whatever's in there, as long as you know what might be clogging it. The day before I had apparently used the wrong tool -- and pulled it out in reverse mode.

So I tried it again, with my top man behind me as I was bent over. He pushed on the power pad that made the snake spin as I fed it into the hole. (Home Depot said to always keep it spinning in a foward direction, otherwise you might not retrieve the clog). Eventually I couldn't feed it in anymore, so I pulled it out, but again, only found a paper towel.

In again it went, as far deep as the snake could be pushed. I could feel the power coming from the man behind me. I was equal parts exhausted and exhilarated as I pushed myself to my physical limits.

When it was impossible to continue any further, the snake was pulled out. Again.

Only this time unusual farting noises could be heard as air attempted to escape. Something was happening. Something big. Something substantially greater than the previous day's attempt to clear out the hole.

Just as the snake's tip was pulled out, the final fart pushed out a plethora of sewage as brown liquid erupted into the trap, allowing the fresh water from the sinks to make its way through the system. It was clear!

So what was inside the trap that had been clogging my constipated pipes for the last two days?
Yes, the aforemention bloody tampon: I picked it up with my gloved hand and rested it on the cement edge of the trap where it still sits, waiting to be returned to its rightful owner, once we take the hair samples of all woman who enter the premises and the DNA results come back.

And there was something else. Completely unexpected.
The landlord has a new Female Dog that they let run around on their roof top. She chewed up a white plastic drain cover, that subsequently flowed down the drain pipe and wreaked havoc of its own.

Several pieces of that plastic drain cover were mixed in with the bloody tampon. It was the perfect storm, inside our pipes.

Once that clot passed, everything flowed smoothly from that point on. My TopMan generously helped us set up and we opened the doors only 5 minutes late. Not bad considering the non-stop work that took place prior to the first person walking through the doors of a freshly cleaned basement - only to get covered in piss minutes later.

I went into the backroom and sucked my Knight's big dick.
Thank you, Universe, I could finally relax!

Still, when it comes to bloody tampons and chewed drainage covers, I have to admit I really hate that Bitch!

And the lesbian promoter? I still love her.
She wasn't the one who put the tampon down the toilet, which most woman do anyway.

But is it really necessary that I tell her about the plastic drain cover that was probably the bigger culprit in the clot?
No, let her feel bad for a while since she wasn't there to help out when I needed her!

NOW who's the bitch?