Poop transfer fantasy, or the night Mistress took control of my second brain

Content Warning…there is a discussion of poop and excreta in this post.  This post also mingles kink with health and wellness and the gut biome.  Read at your discretion.

My fitness trainer unwittingly planted a very kinky idea in my head and now it won’t go away.  She has a Masters in sports fitness, health, and nutrition.  Apart from being insanely fit and super attractive, she is really smart, fun, a great motivator, and knows her stuff about the body.

We got talking recently about gut health, and how we are just now learning about how important the gut microbiome is to our health and well-being.  Many diseases have been found to be directly linked to the health of our guts, many chronic illnesses, but also our immune resistance.  Our strength as people begins and ends with our guts.

Some other things she told me about were that there are more micro-organisms in our guts than there were cells in our entire body.  That there are more nerve endings in our gut than in any other part of our body.  That our gut was our original brain, before we developed the cerebral cortex, and that many refer to the gut as our second brain.

Indeed, our mood is shaped by our gut.  The way we digest nutrients and what we extract from the foods we eat, and our cravings, are shaped by our guts.  She was fascinating me with the things she was telling me.

“Trust your gut,” she said, “it knows.”  We talked about “gut feelings”, being able to make “gut decisions”, about knowing whether someone was good people or bad “in your gut”, all these connections.

I was fascinated.  Recently I had a colonoscopy, and it was a physically draining and somewhat traumatic experience.  A few days prior I began fasting, in fact, I was 72 hours without food before the procedure.  There is modesty, you know!

But they also give this solution you need to drink starting the evening before.  This stuff is nasty.  It tastes bad, chemical, evil-tasting, and it makes your insides wring themselves out like laundry you are twisting to squeeze out because your drier is broken.  I tried not to mess myself as I slept through the night, and indeed was rushing to the toilet in what seemed like 15-minute intervals.  I confess, I had more than one accident.  I should have worn diapers, but then I might have been tempted to use them, and that is not my kink.

Every hour or so I had to drink more of this solution and keep going until my movements were clear.  I was thankfully allowed to drink water, but I wanted to stop that at least 2-3 hours before the procedure, as I sure didn’t want anything warm and wet running down my legs as I waited to go in.

I was totally and utterly empty, not just in the way you would imagine above, but also exhausted empty.  I went into the clinic at 7:00.  I had elected to not have any anaesthesia, which engendered some discussion amongst the nurses, but the doctor was okay with it and so I became one of the very few patients who didn’t go under.  I have a thing about going under, and have never done it, even for surgery.  I like to know what’s going on but have to admit that I do go into shock I think from what happens.  That’s why it’s good I never became a doctor!  Too squeamish.

Because I was wide awake, I got to watch the whole thing on TV.  The procedure involves the insertion of about 3 metres of black rubber hose with a camera, water squirter, and surgical arm on the end.  It takes a good while to get it in, as you can imagine, and requires some real pushing on the doctor’s part, as well as the nurses.  They have to get it all the way in before they slowly come back out and film everything.

It was painful.  But my nurses were beyond sweet.  I felt like I got to know what it was like to give birth in that moment, and I was very grateful for the feeling.  One of the nurses came around and held my hand, caressing it and telling me to breathe, quick, shallow breaths.  Another stroked my head and told me what was going on and how I was doing such a good job, and the third caressed my leg and helped the doctor by pushing back against wherever the camera had gotten to, so as to help it “turn corners” as it snaked its way up my guts.

The breathing was necessary and intense, and very helpful, the emotion I picked up from the three nurses was palpable and very meaningful—they were fully in tune with my pain and helping me manage it, and yes, it was painful.  And the doctor, well he just chatted away and wanted me to chat back, because he never gets patients with the lights on.  

We shared our passion for chocolate ice cream, for the sorry state of political discourse, and the common threads in our respective educations.  And as we went, he also educated me about my colon.

It was beautiful and healthy.  Despite all of the fasting and wretched fluids, there were still a few bits of recognisable under-chewed foods from meals before this process began.  Apart from that, though, it was spotless.  You could see that it was like a tube of muscle, but with lots of places where things can get stuck.  I couldn’t help but think about the very low incidence of bowel cancer in Mexico due in part to the high level of consumption of hot pepper.  Hot pepper speeds up transit time, meaning foods don’t hang around and fester in the gut.

But I was also worried about all my beneficial gut bacteria.  Had I just decimated my gut biome?  Had that nasty chemical just wiped out the years of cultivation of a healthy gut that I had been investing in through Kombucha, Keffir, and a gut-conscious diet?

After the procedure I was a physical wreck.  I was judged a “fall risk” and given a hospital bracelet stating the same and was taken back to convalesce in a nice lounge with plenty of snacks.  I had this terrific craving for a green apple and the lady who came to wheel me back to the waiting area was good enough to go off to the cafeteria and get me one.  It took me as much as 4 hours to feel steady on my feet.  That was 4 hours of stuffing my face with energy bars, fresh fruit, and apple juice.  It was also 4 hours of napping.  I was convinced that the impact was related to the assault on my gut.  I felt as though all of my life force had been drained from me.  As I came back to life, I realised more than ever, how important my gut is to my well-being.

Back to my fitness instructor several weeks later.  I explained the procedure I had been through to her and asked her if she thought it had wiped out my gut biome.

“You’ll need a fecal transplant,” she said all matter-of-fact, but then blushed, giggled, and looked away, and in that moment, I wondered if this was her kink.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when they take my poop and put it inside you,” she said still obviously embarrassed by what she was saying.

“Oh.  How do you do that.”

“Well,” she said, and then blushed furiously, “they just do.”

“I had a friend in France who used to have to eat little tiny smooth stones to help her digestion.”

“Yeah,” she said, more relaxed, “they also have capsules that you can swallow that do the same thing.  They’re called ‘crapsules’,” and we both burst out laughing.

“Crapsules?!” I asked, I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“What if you bite it?”  We both laughed.  “I think I’d rather go in the other way.”

“Me too,” she agreed.  “Trans-poo-sion.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.  I mean you take a really health person, and you make sure there is nothing bad in their poo, and then make a slurry with it, and then…” with a rather dramatic gesture with her arm, she demonstrated what would happen.

“Hmmm.”

“I just want to know something,” I said, “given how your gut affects mood, instinct, health, disease, everything, do you think that two people with the same gut biome end up thinking the same things?”

“I don’t know, maybe.  Yeah, maybe, on an instinctual level, yes.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I eat super healthy.  My gut is strong and great.  But I also began to think about Mistress.  She said once in an interview that one of her subs likes to eat her excreta.  That is a red line for me, but I still can’t help but wonder if her gut bacteria survive his stomach and change him.

Mistress has the most wonderfully natural and healthy diet.  She is a plant-eating, organic-food loving temple to health.  I could imagine her having one of the healthiest gut biomes in the world.  I also began to fantasise about her power and control being inside of me, because the gut biome is part of who we are.

That night I had a dream, and my rational mind was trying to align with my emotional mind.  In my dream Mistress handed me a jar with her poop in it.  I went home and blended it up before giving myself an enema and letting it sit inside of me.  And then, for the next few days, I felt myself change.

The question is how? When I think back to the concept, “I knew it in my guts,” what we are talking about is the very root of self being linked to the way our gut biome works. If my gut biome was taken over by Mistress, would I begin to think or feel or react to things in my life as she would? Would my instinct be the same? Would it change the way I think or feel? These questions are not at all far-fetched. The effects of a poop transfer on many of the diseases for which it is indicated are well and truly profound, and often immediate. And the clinical evidence on patients who did it for true health reasons, not just speculative kink fantasy, do indeed experience a change in “personality” or at least in how they feel in their bodies. Interesting…no?

Disclaimer: please don’t actually do this at home.  It is fantasy.  Clinical conditions are required for doing this safely, and in the real world, poop transfers are done with screened samples.