Lavender Scented Tension
The supermarket lighting buzzed softly above the nearly empty hygiene aisle.
On the shelf: one solitary roll.
Lavender-scented. Heart-embossed. Extra-soft. Ultra-absorbent.
A limited-edition masterpiece of modern toilet paper engineering.
PhD spotted it from the left end of the aisle, holding his bubble tea with one hand and pushing his shopping cart with the other.
Michael came from the right, carrying only a small basket — mostly empty, except for a carton of milk and a bag of rice.
Their eyes met at the shelf.
Their arms extended.
Their fingers touched the packaging at the exact same moment.
They both froze.
Michael looked up. Calm. Steady.
PhD blinked. Then smiled politely. “Oh. You’re going for this one too?”
Michael replied, “Yes.”
They kept their fingers on the roll — not tugging, not fighting. Just holding.
PhD gave a friendly chuckle. “Funny thing. This is actually the only brand I use.”
Michael nodded. “Same.”
PhD raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
Michael answered flatly. “Yes. I’ve tried other brands. They don’t… work for me.”
PhD tilted his head. “Work?”
Michael lowered his voice slightly. “They interfere with my bowel movements.”
PhD blinked again.
Michael added, “If I use anything else, I get blocked up. Like, dangerously. This brand’s softness and scent help relax the lower abdominal pressure.”
A pause.
PhD gave a thoughtful nod. “Huh. Well, I respect that. For me, it’s more spiritual. This is the only brand that feels aligned with my lifestyle philosophy. I meditate with it in the room.”
Michael: “That’s… nice.”
PhD: “It has a calming field. Lavender and hearts. It resets the soul.”
Michael didn’t react.
They both stayed still. Still holding the roll.
Neither pulled. Neither backed off.
PhD eventually said, “Look, if there were another, I’d let you have this one.”
Michael: “Same.”
They looked around the shelf.
Empty.
Silence settled.
A toddler passed by in a shopping cart seat and pointed. “Mommy, why are those men touching toilet paper for so long?”
Neither of them moved.
PhD looked back down at the roll and let out a quiet sigh.
“You know… even with your situation, I just can’t let this go. I barely have time to go shopping these days. This is the one thing I absolutely have to get today. No matter what.”
Michael didn’t flinch. His voice stayed flat, but there was a quiet urgency behind it.
“I get it. But I really can’t hold it much longer. It’s been building up for three days. If I don’t use this roll today… things might get messy.”
More silence.
Their grips tightened.
Not aggressive. Just… protective.
The lavender-scented prize sat there, wrapped in foil and destiny, as two grown men stood frozen in complete, mutual, absurd sincerity.
It was still only about the toilet paper.
But that didn’t make it any less serious.
Toilet Paper Duel
Michael moved first.
Without a word, he tightened his grip on the lavender-scented toilet paper and slid it slightly toward his basket.
But before he could lift it—
Thwack!
A clean downward hand chop landed squarely on his wrist.
Michael’s fingers opened reflexively. The toilet paper slipped from his grasp and rolled gently back into its original resting spot on the shelf.
PhD, unfazed, reached for it with confident fingers.
But just as his hand got close—
Clack.
Michael’s hand latched onto PhD’s wrist like a bear trap, locking it in midair.
PhD narrowed his eyes. His fingers twitched.
With a subtle twist of the forearm and a gentle pivot of the wrist, PhD slipped free from Michael’s hold.
Then, suddenly—
Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.
The two men exchanged five hand chops at lightning speed. Their palms and knuckles struck each other in sharp, controlled bursts—clean and direct, almost like a schoolyard slap game. To a casual bystander, it might’ve looked like two grown men pretending to karate-chop each other like kids.
But the intensity was real.
Each strike was dead-on, calculated, and so precise that even the toilet paper inches away vibrated under the invisible shockwaves in the air.
After the fifth exchange, both men paused.
Breathing steady.
Eyes locked.
PhD tilted his head, impressed.
“…We could keep going like this all day,” he muttered. “But I’ll admit—it’s been a while since someone matched me like this.”
Michael gave a subtle nod. “Same to you.”
Then added, matter-of-fact:
“If we fight in here, we could easily, accidentally kill a few bystanders.”
PhD glanced around. Kids. Old folks. Couples.
“Too many people,” he agreed. “I’d rather not make a mess of this place.”
Michael’s gaze stayed fixed. “The parking lot out back?”
PhD gave a calm smile. “Lead the way.”
They stepped back in sync, quietly letting go of the precious roll.
And just as they turned—
A frail old lady shuffled past.
Snatched the toilet paper.
And walked off like nothing happened.
Neither of the men noticed.
They were already headed outside.
Parking Lot Showdown
They walked toward the parking lot outside the supermarket.
Michael led the way.
PhD followed behind at a steady pace.
As they reached the center of the lot, PhD suddenly spoke.
“Oh, I never asked your name.”
Michael replied flatly, “Michael. You?”
PhD grinned. “Stiffen Hawken. Most people just call me—”
He didn’t finish.
Michael spun around mid-step and launched a straight kick—driving the sole of his foot hard into PhD’s chest.
PhD shot backward nearly five meters, slamming into a steel billboard frame. The impact made a loud metallic boom.
He coughed up blood.
And yet, he smiled faintly.
With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood from his lips and said, “Nice ambush. That one hit hard.”
Michael was never one for fair fights.
He believed in strategy—deception, surprise, whatever worked.
Victory was all that mattered.
He turned and walked over to the nearby fruit stall, grabbing a full basket of durians.
Without warning, he began tossing them one by one at rapid speed—fast, sharp, unrelenting.
PhD raised both arms, shaping his hands into blades.
With surgical precision, he began slicing the flying fruit midair like a real-life Fruit Ninja.
Within ten seconds, he had cut apart more than thirty durians.
Still, his hands were showing signs of damage.
Small cuts opened across his fingers from the harsh impacts.
He turned his body and slipped behind the tall billboard, using its large frame as cover.
But Michael had already anticipated his position based on the angle of his dodge.
He threw a clean punch straight through the billboard sheet—his fist tore through the metal and landed flush on PhD’s face.
PhD spun twice in midair and crashed several meters away.
Slowly, he got up again.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his right cheek was visibly swollen.
Michael approached calmly, with a faint smile.
“Way too easy,” he said. “I thought you were supposed to be strong.”
It was clear—he had begun to underestimate PhD.
He suddenly lunged forward again with a fast straight-leg kick—
But the form was sloppy this time. Too casual. Too arrogant.
In that instant, PhD grabbed Michael’s leg.
His grip locked tight as he said,
“You’re overconfident. That’ll be your undoing. Don’t think a sneak attack means you’ve already won.”
Michael realized it too late.
PhD let out a breath, twisted his waist, and lifted Michael completely off the ground.
He spun him in the air several times, then hurled him straight into the billboard structure.
Michael’s body slammed through it like a cannonball.
The entire metal frame burst apart, pieces of twisted iron flying everywhere.
Bruised and battered, Michael slowly got back on his feet—still smiling.
The two of them locked eyes.
Now, for real this time—
The fight had officially begun.
Fists Don’t Stop
In the distance, the church bell rang.
Without a word, both Michael and PhD suddenly accelerated, charging toward each other into a close-range fist-and-kick battle.
They were still dead even—neither one giving an inch. From time to time, they landed clean hits to each other’s faces, chests, and limbs. Bruises began to bloom all over their bodies. Their clothes tore here and there from the intensity of impact.
But they didn’t back down. They remained rooted to the same ground, exchanging faster and faster attacks. In the blink of an eye, they had already been fighting for hours—two, maybe three.
To outsiders, it looked… ordinary. Just two guys punching and kicking, like a low-budget street fight. There were no flashy sound effects or cinematic shockwaves—just fists, sweat, and raw willpower. But the explosive force behind every move was monstrous.
A parking lot security guard, who had been watching for a while, finally couldn’t take it anymore. He stomped over and shouted for them to stop. When they didn’t respond, he boldly stepped in, trying to separate them.
It was a fatal mistake.
The moment he got too close, one stray punch—no one knew whose—smashed straight into his chest. His torso exploded on the spot.
Blood and flesh flew in every direction. His limbs and head blasted apart like a firework. One arm crashed through the window of a high-rise office. Another landed inside the church across the street. A foot spun through the air and landed in a nearby elementary school. The other flew straight into a police station.
His head? It shot directly into a crematory furnace inside a funeral home down the block. The flames were already roaring—his skull vaporized instantly.
Michael and PhD didn’t even flinch.
They had no time to mourn. Their battle raged on, fast, ruthless, and utterly relentless. Neither showed signs of stopping.
The Long-Lasting Fight
Fists kept flying. Kicks kept landing.
Before they knew it, the sky had turned dark. Another three hours had passed.
Their movements had slowed significantly. Their strength had dropped. It was clear they were both exhausted—yet neither was willing to give in. They kept trading blows out of sheer willpower.
PhD landed a kick to Michael’s stomach. Michael responded with a heavy punch to PhD’s jaw. Both men stumbled back several meters.
Then, a strange sound came from Michael’s gut.
A deep, wet gurgle.
Michael’s eyes widened. His face froze.
A low, shameful moan escaped his throat.
Then came the unmistakable sound—long, slushy, and horrifically audible.
Michael had lost control.
For nearly twenty seconds, the parking lot echoed with the sound of poop forcing its way out of him. And then… silence.
PhD slowly covered his nose. “Did you… soil your pants?”
Michael forced a weak smile. “I’m afraid I did.”
Turns out, that kick to the stomach had knocked loose three days’ worth of backed-up waste. He had shit himself right there—completely.
Strangely, the moment also brought relief. The tension in his gut disappeared. After days of suffering from constipation, Michael suddenly felt… free. It was disgusting—but somehow, miraculous.
PhD blinked, then asked, “Remind me… why are we even fighting?”
Michael looked down at the ground and shook his head.
They’d been at it for so long, they had completely forgotten what started the fight.
Without saying another word, both men turned and walked in opposite directions, away from the parking lot and toward home.
Their faces were swollen. Their bodies, bruised all over.
Michael’s upper-body clothing had been completely shredded—his muscular chest and abs exposed to the night air.
PhD’s lower-body clothing was obliterated, revealing his toned thighs and his… disproportionately large cock.
And so, the two of them casually walked down the street—battered, filthy, and utterly silent—on their separate ways home.
The Golden Dick
The next day, Michael returned to the office.
When Colin saw him, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of Michael’s swollen face.
“Who the hell managed to beat up our so-called formidable Michael like this? That guy must be a real monster.”
Michael nodded.
“Yeah… he was really strong. I realized he and I were evenly matched—same level of power. We fought so hard our clothes got shredded. My upper half was completely ripped apart… and his lower half was torn to shreds. That’s when I noticed… he had a giant cock.”
Colin paused, his expression shifting slightly.
“Did you catch his name?”
Michael replied, “He said it was Stiffen Hawken. Honestly… kind of a funny name. Stiffen—as in, stiffen like a cock?”
Colin didn’t laugh. Instead, his face turned completely serious.
“You’re saying… his lower clothes were torn off? And you saw a giant cock?”
Michael straightened up and answered, “Yes, sir.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed.
“Good thing he didn’t use his ultimate move… the Golden Dick.”
Michael blinked. “The what?”
Colin continued, his voice low and tense.
“It’s one of the forbidden Golden Techniques. Most people think it’s just a dirty joke. But it’s real. And he’s the user. He’s the rumored one… the man with the Golden Dick.”
Michael looked stunned.
“So… what does it do? Is it powerful?”
Colin leaned back, his tone suddenly grim.
“Anyone who sees the Golden Dick falls hopelessly in love with him. No resistance. No escape.”
Michael frowned.
“But I’m a guy. I don’t like guys.”
Colin shook his head slowly.
“That doesn’t matter. That’s the true terror of the Golden Dick. Even straight men can be bent.”
Michael felt a chill run through him.
Colin added quietly,
“I used to be his friend, you know. That’s why he now has a 99% success rate when it comes to seducing women… all thanks to that terrifying Golden Dick.”