Granted.

Every time you sit on a toilet it becomes Quagmire Toilet until you leave the room. At first it’s nothing worrying. You sit down and the cold edge of the toilet becomes like warm leather. You do your business. It comes with a bidet function. You press the button and a fleshy contraption sticks out from the depths of the toilet and dives deep into your anus. It’s the toilet’s tongue. It feels weird at first, but your ass is the cleanest it’s ever been. You grow accustomed to it and eventually kinda like it. One day you accidentally press the button twice. At first it does the usual cleanup, deep well into the rectum, leaving it as clean as a week’s worth of enemas and deep washing. But then it doesn’t stop cleaning but rather finds your anal g spot and thus it begins pressing down ever so softly… Your hairs stand on tip, your heart pounds, your breathing quickens as that oh so deliciously experienced tongue kneads your knot in such a way your toes curl and your eyes roll back as the feeling comes closer and closer until in one moment the wave of release washes upon you. You stand and pull up your pants and…

Your heart skips a beat.

Those beady glass eyes seem soulful. Those round lips… that greasy hair… hell, even the strong odor of your own faeces is somehow endearing. You flush. Business done. And leave the room.

The next day you do the same, and again, the toilet awakens pleasures very rarely unearthed by man. You do the next day. And the next, and the next…

Leaving the room begins to feel guilty, knowing every time you do so your newfound lover ceases to exist on this earth. You soon begin extending your sessions, ass-to-mouth you try to make conversation, telling the creature your secrets, finding emotional release in it’s quiet, odorous understanding. You find yourself caressing its chin, your fingers massaging the tough leather-lile surface. You can’t help it, you are in love with your toilet. And so you stand up, and stare at it’s face. Oh Quagtoilet, how much of a heartache you provoque. It feels wrong, even the air smells off. But you kneel in front of it, your heart aching, your arms embrace the toilet, your heels against your naked arse. You close your eyes and stick out your tongue, your heart pumping as soon after you find connection with the love of your life… and French kiss it.

That day you become a coprophile.

Eat shit Redditor.