I placed headphones on my boyfriend's ears with a sheepish grin, picked the most beat-heavy tune I could find and cranked up the volume. I’m not talking about novelty, shared adventure or lifelong memories -- although, yes, those things are important. From that point on during the rest of our stay in those tight quarters, we developed a code: “I’m gonna go take a fake shower now,” he would tell me.
Then I went into the bathroom of our rented Hawaiian cottage and yelled, “Babe! Or I would ask with a knowing look, “Could you go somewhere far, far away?
He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. ” How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart? As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door.
I've taken the same slow, tortured path in every relationship of mine: Total fart denial, enforced ear-plugging and then -- boom -- Windy City.
That said, I would be remiss in not mentioning the genre of fart-fetishizing porn: So, that exists.
Such sexual sentiments are not a modern development, though -- a fact colorfully preserved in a love letter James Joyce sent to his wife Nora, which read, in part: You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. #importantworldnews." In response, Aaron Green, a 32-year-old newlywed told me he hasn't farted in front of his wife of two months and he plans to maintain the ruse "as long as possible! I want her to be turned on by me." Green says he dreads the idea of his wife one day looking at him and thinking, "Oh boy, the paunchy fart machine wants to bone." Another Twitter follower told me, "Married 10 yrs and have never intentionally farted in front of her.
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home. “Seriously, you need to hurry - I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip.
However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it.