Dump Companion Service

The soft hum of the city filtered through the thin curtains of my modest Tokyo apartment as I unpacked the last box, the faint scent of fresh paint still lingering from the recent move-in. At 20, I was striking out on my own with this unconventional gig—the Dump Companion Service—a niche idea born from late-night forums and a surprising demand for non-judgmental company during life's most private moments. I cleared a spot on the low coffee table in the living room, the tatami mats cool under my socks, and set up my laptop with a simple webcam, the screen glowing to life as I logged into the discreet app I'd built for bookings. Notifications were silent for now, but I knew they wouldn't stay that way; word had spread quietly among stressed housewives and lonely divorcees in their 30s, seeking that mix of youthful energy and silent support while they handled their business on the toilet.

I adjusted the angle of the camera, making sure the background looked inviting—a few plants on the shelf, soft lighting from a lamp, nothing too flashy—and hit "available" on my profile. Sinking into the couch with a cup of green tea, I waited, scrolling through potential client bios: a 32-year-old married accountant with constipation woes, a 35-year-old divorcee craving conversation mid-relief. The first ping came sooner than expected—a soft chime echoing in the quiet space—signaling my inaugural call. Heart racing a bit, I straightened up, ready to offer encouragement, a listening ear, or whatever they needed in that vulnerable space. Who would it be, and what story would unfold behind their bathroom door?

The phone buzzed on my nightstand, jolting me from a half-asleep scroll through job listings. It was late—past midnight in my cramped Tokyo apartment—and the caller ID showed an unknown number. I hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. In my line of work, late calls weren't unusual. I'd started the "Dump Companion Service" a few months back as a discreet side gig, born from a weird online forum thread about women's unspoken needs. Word had spread in underground circles: a young guy offering non-judgmental company during those intimate, vulnerable moments on the toilet—emotional support, gentle encouragement, or even hands-on help for constipation. Most clients were married or divorced women in their 30s, craving a bit of youthful attention amid their daily strains. It paid well, and strangely, it felt... fulfilling.

I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. "Hello? This is—"

BRRRRRRRPT!

The sound blasted through the speaker like a foghorn in a storm—loud, rumbling, and deafening, vibrating the phone in my hand. It was a fart, no doubt about it: deep, wet, and prolonged, echoing with such force that it drowned out everything else. I pulled the phone away instinctively, wincing as the noise continued, a thunderous wave that made my eardrums throb. Faintly, buried under the onslaught, I could make out a woman's voice—mature, breathless, trying to speak: "H-Hello? I... PFFFFFFFT! ...need your... TOOOOOOOT! ...services... oh god, it's... BRRRRRRPT-BRRP!"

Each word was interrupted by another explosive release, the farts overlapping like a chaotic symphony—booming, hissing, and unrelenting. The smells weren't there, of course, but my imagination filled in the blanks from past sessions: earthy, pungent waves that could fill a room. She sounded desperate, her voice straining to be heard over her own body's betrayal, but the deafening blasts made it impossible to catch more than fragments. "BRRRRRRRPT! ...constipated... PFFFFFFFT! ...lonely... please come... TOOOOOOOT!"

The call cut off abruptly after one final, earth-shaking BRRRRRRRRPT!, leaving only silence and a text popping up: "Choose where: Cozy Tokyo apt? Lux Kyoto hotel? Secluded Osaka onsen? Discreet Yokohama office? Quiet Nagoya house? Upscale Fukuoka ryokan? Hidden Sapporo love hotel? Reply with location."

No name, no details—just a plea buried in gas, and now the choice of venue.

What to do? Reply with a location? Call back for clarification? Or ignore it as too weird, even for me?