Angela Serrano is a Filipino-Australian nonfiction writer, art model, and circus beginner. Her work has appeared in The Lifted Brow, Overland, Kill Your Darlings, and elsewhere. She is writing a memoir called “How Not to Jog In Place.”

 
 

In Australia, it rotates counter-clockwise

 
Plok! And a galaxy of yellow brown muck splashed into being. No longer pristine, the water in the toilet bowl had become a kind of primordial soup. And my ass, that shrill sphinx of a sphincter, transformed into went into full-on telenovela. A million minutes later, a clean swipe was nowhere in sight. A full excavation had to commence. Johnson’s Baby Wipes clung to my digits like the memory of a fiancé at home while my point guard, lone infantryman, set out to do his duty. It slipped in so easily it almost felt like nothing had happened, even though the universe had changed; when your own finger deflowers your bumhole in a non-medical situation, that’s the sensation of a new galactic order taking shape in ways your mediocre consciousness can’t even begin to comprehend. In, out, in, out, it looks like fucking – and feels slightly better – except when you fuck, white should be the only colour you see on the wet stuff exiting your orifices.