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This is another girl whose shit I've eaten. Her photos show someone living a completely different life from mine, someone who probably doesn't even notice guys like me when she walks down the street. She's got that confident look, perfectly done hair, wearing clothes that cost more than my weekly paycheck. I bought her shit online for $150. Opening that package felt surreal every time. Inside was this Ziploc bag containing what came out of her body. The weight of it in my hand, knowing this substance traveled through her intestines before ending up with me. Looking at her pictures now creates this bizarre disconnect between what she presents to the world and what I know intimately about her body. She posts smiling selfies not knowing a stranger has tasted her shit, has had that private substance in his mouth. That moment when I put it in my mouth is burned into my memory, the temperature, the texture, the unmistakable taste of another person's crap. My eyes were locked on her photo while I swallowed, trying to connect this beautiful face with what was happening in my mouth. The reality is she'll never know me, never choose to use me as her toilet personally. But for $150 I got to close that gap slightly. Now when I see new photos of her living her life, on vacation somewhere tropical, there's this secret knowledge between us even if she doesn't share it. Her shit has been inside my body, and that changes how I see every picture she posts forever.