Warm Toilet Seats

This one's a revisit to an oldie but goodie, also published (with sloppy editing - courtesy of Klaus) over at The Literary Brothel. Enjoy.

Teddy Nutmeg here, with another serious topic for discussion; the warm toilet seat, and toilet seats in general. I loathe warm toilet seats. In fact, there is perhaps nothing more physically repulsive in the world, to me, than a warm toilet seat. Now this may seem a strong comment, but lets just take a minute to seriously examine the phenomena of the warm toilet seat...

To get to the root of my hatred of warm toilet seats, to thoroughly understand the minutia of this abhorrence, we must narrow down our scope; I'm not sweepingly anti-toilet seat, by any means. Indeed, I love a nice bathroom respite, elbow on knee and light reading in hand. It's not the seat itself, or even the act, but the warmth, and specifically, the reason behind the warmth; how does any particular toilet seat get warm? To be blunt, another man's ass-warmth warms up the toilet seat. It's the only explanation, and a damn disturbing one. Another man came into the toilet stall, pulled down his pants, and sat his bare ass on the toilet seat. While he sat, his warm ass heated up the plastic of the toilet seat. Now, this happens in every public bathroom in the world, and this, alone, is not what I hate. What I do hate is that first shocking moment, that hellacious moment when I press my bare buttocks gently onto a toilet seat and feel the heat from another man's ass - on my ass.

But lets go even deeper; a warm toilet seat means more than just another man sat there and shat. It means that another man sat and shat RECENTLY, indeed, and not far enough in the past for the warmth to dissipate, and this is what makes me shudder in revulsion yea, even now. I mean, the toilet stall is perhaps the most private space one can imagine; you don't even share it with a lover like a bedroom or the backseat of a 65 Mustang. Its all you and its just you in there - like a confessional but more private. A warm toilet seat reminds me that there was another man with his pants down doing his business, in that same spot as I currently am with my pants down, doing my business. When you sit on a warm toilet seat, you can feel that man's physical warmth, those excited little electrons jumped from his ass to the seat to your ass, 1, 2, 3. And for me, gentle reader, this is akin to psychological rape; I don't want those excited electrons on my ass, but I'm powerless to stop them.

Now, I realize how this may sound to some readers, and I must say that I am not homophobic in the least. Trust me on this one. I lived, happily, in Hillcrest for two years. If you know San Diego, you know what I mean. If you don't know San Diego, Hillcrest is like West Hollywood. If you don't know LA, Hillcrest is like the Castro. If you don't know SF, Hillcrest is like Chelsea. If you're still in the dark, I can't help ya and frankly, you're probably beyond help. And anyway, I have the same aversion to a woman-ass-warmed toilet seat in my own house as I do to a warmed Men's room seat; I'll unwittingly sit down on my own toilet seat, realize its warm, and realize that the only other person who could've used it is my female roommate, and inevitably the nausea hits.

I must admit that there is one instance when I don't mind a warm toilet seat: when I visit my parents' house and use their toilets. My ass doesn't seem to mind familial warmth. I don't even have to know who specifically warmed the seat (although by the smell I can usually tell). Ironically, its kind of nice having a warm, friendly toilet seat, as opposed to a shockingly cold one, when I'm at my parents' house. Its not that I want to touch bare asses with any of my family members. Really. Maybe since we share genes I am somehow not repulsed by their bodies (asses), though it shames me to realize and admit that I am repulsed by the bodies (asses) of friends and fellow healthy humans.

And my aversion to warm toilet seats does not stem from worries over cleanliness, either. I do not use the "disposable cowboy hats" in public restrooms as I heard them referred to once in Dallas. I simply find them too much a hassle. I do, however, take a square of TP and wipe the seat off every time before I sit on it. But its not ass-germs that make the warm toilet seat so disgusting; if it were, I'd probably hate all public bathrooms. As I've said before, it's the idea of butt-kissing another human that the warm toilet seat represents which is, to me, so incomprehensibly vile.

And I do check toilet seats with the back of my hand before sitting on them, to avoid an uncomfortably warm surprise, and there are several levels of warmth. There's the slightly perceptible, "maybe I'm just imagining this" warm seat on which I do not hesitate to plop my bottom. No problem there. There's the "kind of warm, probably a solid 15 minutes ago" seat that I sit on while mentally note my opposition. Also bearable.

But the next step up is a drastic one; the "definitely warm and less than 10 minutes ago there was a bum here - how bad do I have to go?" seat which I make an effort to avoid, using other stalls or just holding it if at all possible. And then there's the dreaded hotseat, the "holy shit this seat is burning up, I can practically smell the fumes still dispersing and I don't think I'm just imagining that little droplet of ass sweat still on the seat." This last level of warmth is utterly unbearable and thankfully quite rare, and when I encounter this I invariably scan my memory for men coming out of the restroom as I was entering. Was it the guy with the black pinstriped suit and red silk tie who works in suite 304? Or was it Bob, the fat guy in claims?

Once or twice I've been in a rush and forgotten to check the seat and I have sat down on what felt like a moist hotplate and I almost threw up. Bile in the mouth, seriously. I'd sit there feeling my own body temperature starting to rise as a result of the extreme heat radiating upward through my buttocks, and beads of sweat would form on my brow. Maybe it was just the stress and utter repulsion at squishing my buttocks onto a warm seat. The only thing I can compare it to is when I was sitting in the grass at a park one day and I reached out my hand to support myself and it smooshed right into a soft pile of dog poo. Like, totally gross.

And so I urge you, gentle reader, please, please, check the seat with the back of your hand BEFORE you sit on it. And if its warm, think about a stranger's bare booty, contemplate the warmth of the toilet seat and the warmth of that bare booty, examine your gut reaction to it, and by all means, wash your dirty ass when you get home.

-tn

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