INTRODUCTION, DISCLAIMER & TRIGGER WARNING – At her Virginia Beach high school in early 2001, 18-year-old theatre kid Janelle Jepson is a real drama queen, her head in the clouds as she dreams of becoming a famous cinema, TV or theatre actress. Young Janelle often appears on the verge of breaking into song when she gets over-excited, but she does have a secret – a crush on the janitor Wayne, a brooding young heavy metal fan whose origins are in a trailer park across the border in rural Kentucky. Janelle’s comfortable middle-class life is far removed from Wayne’s life, but the attraction is there regardless. So will Janelle continue to be a goody-two shoes and not do anything about it, or will she give into her desires and lose her virginity to Wayne the janitor? One thing appears certain as Janelle arrives for school one Thursday soon after spring break – nothing interesting will happen this day as it is Janelle’s time of the month and she has got her period with all the associated girls’ problems. Or will things take a most unexpected turn?
All characters and events in this story are entirely fictional and any similarity to persons living or dead are coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 and over engage in sexual activity. Please note that there are very graphic scenes and discussions about periods in this story, which will definitely not be to everyone’s taste. If menstruation is not your thing, please consider whether or not this story is for you before reading it. Otherwise, please enjoy ‘Janelle & the Janitor’ and rate and comment.
If a search was done for the kid who most accurately fit the theatre kid stereo type at high school, that person would be a certain Miss Janelle Jepson of Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA, aka myself.
When I arrived into the world in November 1982, I don’t think my parents knew what the innocent little baby girl asleep in her crib would turn into as she grew up. Mom, a mild-mannered bookkeeper, was always a quiet and conservative woman who loved gardening as a hobby, and Daddy a regular guy who worked in insurance and loved relaxing by working in the garden with Mom and watching sports on the weekends. My older brother Luke and my younger brother Adam were both average kids who liked sports. And then there was me.
From the time I could walk and talk I loved to be the center of attention, and I loved the performing arts and movies, musicals my favorite. I loved drama, both on the screen and off it, and when my brothers bought me a pink tee-shirt with ‘Drama Queen’ on the front for my sweet sixteen, it could not have been more accurate. I was in all the productions at school, usually playing the over-the-top dramatic characters that got most of the attention, and drama extended into my personal life outside of school. Running late for school, misplacing a pen, catching a cold, or getting a B as a grade would set off the most dramatic reactions imaginable in me.
I had friends in the drama club at school, but wasn’t very popular outside of it. With the benefit of hindsight I wasn’t a kid to invite popularity from my peers. I was a goody-two shoes teacher’s pet type, who lived in a fantasy world half the time dreaming of becoming a popular Hollywood actress or a successful Broadway performer and couldn’t get enough attention. I had a pretty big ego, but had enough self-awareness to never describe myself as pretty although I knew I was with my long dark brown hair, big brown eyes, flawless skin and slim figure with perfectly shaped C-cup breasts.
Mom and Daddy must have wondered how they came to have a dramatic daughter who loved singing, dancing and acting so much given nobody else in the immediate or extended family was into these hobbies. Mom loved me obviously but would often lecture me about modesty and how acting was a high-risk career with limited career prospects.
As for my Daddy, his favorite joke was always, “Now Janelle, you aren’t going to break into song, are you?” whenever when I was in one of my melodramatic moods. Some of my other male relatives had also made this joke, as had some of my teachers over the years.
As for my sports loving brothers, I don’t think they knew how they came to have a dramatic sister who went around the house and singing show tunes while doing chores and lived her life for the next production at school and would bring other theatre kids – some of whom were gay males – back to the house to learn their lines.
My senior year of high school in 2000-2001 was a busy time for me, with me being elected president of the drama club with a number of productions that year. I had a heavy study load and a part time job out of school with my aunt, and often sat up late at night high on black coffee and energy drinks studying to make sure I kept getting all A’s and not end up in tears when I got a rare B for a test or assignment. But there was something else distracting me in my senior year. And that something was a young man.
At the casino şirketleri age of 18, I had had a boyfriend in the past, but my home state Virginia suited me perfectly, I was a total virgin. The only guy to see my private female areas was my gynecologist, and the only things to have entered my vagina was tampons, but not even those very often. I only used tampons for gym class, otherwise I wore napkins to manage my periods. But with regards to guys, despite my promise to myself to concentrate on school and school productions, as soon as this guy came onto the scene my concentration levels wavered.
So who was this guy? A handsome football jock who caught my eye? I good looking male student who decided to join the drama group for his senior year? Perhaps a nice-looking young male teacher? No, the guy who had to distract me was the new janitor.
Prior to this, I don’t think any girls would have had a crush on our previous two janitors. In my first year of high school, the janitor was an old guy who retired at the end of that year after doing the job for decades, and he was a bit of an old fusspot. Then came the second janitor, an overweight middle-aged African American man who was constantly scowling, growling, complaining and grumbling about everyone and everything. If there had been a drama queen award at the school for these two years, I would have gotten nowhere near it, the janitor would have beaten me easily. This grouchy janitor transferred schools at the end of two years, and we got a third janitor in the form of Wayne.
Wayne was much younger than his predecessors, I would have guessed about 23 or 24. He looked like a cross between a redneck and a metal head, often wearing black heavy metal shirts or ragged check shirts with jeans on his tall and fit frame. His light brown hair was relatively long and poorly kept, and he never said much, mainly going about his work and often answering questions asked of him in a cryptic way. I had never spoken to him directly and he had never spoken to me, but the drawl in his voice gave away his Southern origins.
I was very much attracted to his brooding good looks and would try and imagine what was going on his head as he went about his work. Sometimes my panties would get damp on the saddle as my clitoris responded to my fantasies about Wayne, and I would look out the windows of my classroom, watching Wayne at work pruning a bush or collecting trash. One time my distraction proved embarrassing. I was driving Mom’s car and stopped at a red light and was thinking about Wayne so much that I wondered why all these cars were sounding their horns. Then I realized that I was the problem, I was so busy thinking about Wayne that I hadn’t seen the light turn green, and could only wave an embarrassed apology to the angry drivers behind me.
Of course I never told any of my drama club friends about my feelings for Wayne. We had talked about him, but the other girls described him as ‘a bit creepy’, ‘untrustworthy’ and ‘a bad guy’. And I especially never told my parents or brothers! If I did, I think that Mom would have ended up catatonic in a psych ward and Daddy would have fallen down dead with a fatal heart attack at the thought of their teenage daughter being anywhere near a guy like Wayne.
Shortly after school resumed following spring break 2001, we were rehearsing heavily for the upcoming musical theatre production and one Thursday afternoon after classes ended for the day we were in the school theatre going through our lines. It certainly wasn’t going great this afternoon. None of us could remember our lines and we couldn’t inject any life into the characters we had to put to stage in several weeks’ time. I was especially frustrated at myself as I was in the lead role (what else?) and I was worst of the lot.
However, in my defense I did have two excuses. One, Wayne was in the drama center cleaning some blinds and I was distracted by the brooding redneck metal head, as dressed in his tight black jeans, black heavy metal tee-shirt, loose check-pattern shirt and boots he went about his work and I was most distracted by his brooding masculinity. The second reason was more personal. I was on my period.
My family proved that genetics can be strange. Apart from the usual womanly inconveniences every 28 days Mom had never really had any period problems. She had never had PMS, bloating, cramps or a heavy flow and it was the same for her sister and my maternal grandmother. I must have picked up the genes for girls’ problems from Daddy’s side of the family (where such things were never discussed), because I had all these things from the time I started having my periods, and then some.
Possessing a dramatic personality at the best of times, PMS made me even more so three or so days before I was due to start menstruating. I would turn into one hormonal, precious and cranky young lady who would burst into tears at the drop of a hat, and my brothers were terrified of me and would always casino firmaları say ‘Don’t go near Janelle.’ My periods always took six days, and on the first three days my menstrual flow was always really heavy, my vagina expelling copious amounts of sticky dark red menstrual blood that smelled somewhere between expired tuna fish and ammonia into my panty pads. The first day of my period was obviously the worst, days two and three were really bad until on the fourth day of my cycle it lessened somewhat until it petered out completely on day six.
During my monthly visits from Aunt Flo I always felt so bloated it was like I had drunk half of the water in Chesapeake Bay, and the cramps from my uterus so bad that I would often curl up on my bed with a hot water bottle on my abdomen and cry, my hormones making me so much more emotional. I of course took painkillers but they only did so much and wore off sooner rather than later.
However, as if I didn’t have enough to worry about with my uterus and my vagina, my digestive system also caused me issues on the first three days of my period. Sometimes it would affect the upper part of my digestive system, and I would throw up while cramping, usually on the first day of my cycle when it was the worst. I didn’t vomit during every period, in fact sometimes I went several months without it happening, but regardless it did happen. However the problems with my lower digestive system happened without fail each month and were far worse and more embarrassing.
This Thursday was the second day of my period, so I was feeling like crap and also needed to take a crap as things finished up and we left the drama/music center. Normally, I visited the toilet and emptied my bowels three times a day, however when I was on my period I usually pooped six or seven times a day in the first three days of my cycle, often suffering from diarrhea that always smelled atrocious, which was made even worse given that I was always gassy when menstruating.
Everyone from the drama club made their way out towards the spring afternoon, as usual talking over the top of each other and I could see that Wayne was trying to concentrate on his work, and becoming quite irritated by the incessant mindless chatter of the drama kids as they went by.
My friend Kelly, a slim and pretty redhead, turned to me and asked, “Are you coming with us Janelle?”
I shook my head. “No, I need to go to the bathroom and then I’m going to go to the library across the street and study. My Dad said he’d pick me up from there later, he needs to return some books.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow then Janelle,” said Kelly.
“See you then,” I said as Kelly and the others departed.
Everyone else was now out, and it was just Wayne and I left in the drama and music center, Wayne seemingly glad to be rid of the incessantly talking teenagers and being able to get on with his work in quiet, and me making haste for the girls’ bathroom. I really needed to pee, and the urgency in my back passage was growing worse by the second.
As I reached the door of the girls’ bathroom, I stole a glance over my shoulder and couldn’t help noticing that Wayne wasn’t working on the blinds any more. He seemed to be looking through his bag of supplies, but in reality he seemed to be discretely checking me out in that way guys do when they think girls don’t notice.
In the past I had overheard boys say ‘Janelle looks pretty hot,’ and other more sexually explicit comments about the clothes I was wearing today – a white sweater, a navy blue pleated skirt that came down to just above my knees, white socks that came to just below my knees and white sneakers. Did Wayne think I looked hot too? I hoped so, but I didn’t have time to stand around speculating on it or preening at the attention of my secret crush. I needed to be sitting on the toilet sooner rather than later, otherwise the most terrible disaster imaginable in the year 2001 would take place in my panties.
I pushed open the door to the girls’ bathroom and went inside, closing the door behind myself. The drama/music center female bathroom was built with four shower cubicles and four changing cubicles to the left side, and four toilet stalls to the right side, and it was obviously to the right hand side that I headed.
On my way to the toilet, I clutched my tummy and winced as an almighty period cramp went through my uterus. I could feel in my rectum that my problems with wind were getting worse. Obviously I never passed gas in front of other people because it was unladylike, but I was alone in the ladies’ room so relaxed the muscles in my rectum and farted hard into my period pad. One of the grossest thing about being a girl was having a period fart when wearing a pad. Between my legs, I felt my fart travel along the cover of my napkin to my pussy, and make a bubbling noise as it mixed with my menstrual blood and was expelled from my vulva.
If any guy had seen, heard or smelled this they would have güvenilir casino been horrified as it would have confirmed that pretty girls do fart. Farting as hard as I did increased the urgency in my rectum, and the terrible smell of my wind told me that I needed to sit on the toilet and fast.
Walking quickly, I entered the first toilet stall and was about to close and lock the door behind myself, but noticed right away that there was an empty cardboard tube with no toilet paper on the roll holder. I moved to the second stall, again no toilet paper. I entered the third stall, and again was greeted by an empty toilet roll. The fourth toilet cubicle was at right angles to the other three stalls, but it had one thing in common with the others – no toilet paper.
“Damn it,” I muttered. I had a quick look around to see if there were any spare rolls of toilet paper, but saw nothing. I was carrying a small backpack and in that was my period supplies kit. I always kept tissues in there in case I encountered just this sort of situation, but when I looked inside the tissues were running low in supply. I had had a cold about six weeks earlier and dug into my emergency supply, but with me being Janelle my brain was more on theatre rehearsals and I had forgotten to buy more to replenish them. In any case, it was the school’s responsibility to supply their students with adequate toilet paper, so why should I use my own tissues that I paid for to wipe my bottom when there should have been toilet tissue available for me to use? There were plenty of paper hand towels, but these were way too hard and scratchy for my delicate little asshole and in any case there was the danger of blocking the toilet if I flushed them.
The drama and music center toilets were of course not the only toilets in the school, and I thought about heading over to the main girls’ toilet block or the toilets in the science center or gym, but then thought about inconvenient it was for me to have found these toilets with no paper. I wouldn’t want the next girl to come in here to have the same problem, so decided I had better take care of it myself.
And of course, the person I would need to assist me with this problem – the janitor – was right outside. Despite having been crushing on the handsome but brooding and mysterious Wayne for months we had never spoken once, and now was obviously my chance. I wished it was about something less embarrassing than toilet paper or to be precise the lack thereof, but in my fertile imagination I thought about how I was the damsel in distress and Wayne the handsome knight who would come to my rescue.
Inside my panties I could feel myself getting wetter as I thought about Wayne rescuing me, but I couldn’t be sure if it because I was turned on or whether the stay dry cover of my sanitary pad wasn’t quite living up to its marketing which promised that it would draw the dampness away from my body, and keep me feeling dry and fresh even on my heaviest days.
Exiting the girls’ bathroom, I saw Wayne still hard at work and approached him. “Hi,” I said, the handsome young man turning to look at me. “Wayne, isn’t it?” I pretended like I wasn’t sure of his name, even though I knew it very well.
Wayne didn’t say anything, just nodded and looked me up and down for a few seconds, then turned back to his vertical blinds. “Wayne, the girls’ bathroom is out of toilet paper,” I said.
“Good to know that,” said Wayne, whose attention remained on the vertical blinds. “I’ll take care of it.”
To my dismay Wayne did nothing more, just continued to work on his vertical blinds, and I clenched my butt cheeks together, feeling the urgency as in my rectum my feces pressed against my anal sphincter.
“Um Wayne, do you think you could please get me some more toilet paper?” I enquired.
Wayne looked at me with his brooding brown eyes. “You need to go to the bathroom?”
“Yeah, I need to go to the bathroom. I really, really have to go. Right now. And I need some toilet tissue fast.”
Wayne again looked at me, probably thinking I was being a drama queen and exaggerating. “Theatre kids,” he mumbled under his breath, before putting down his cleaning materials and walking away, leaving me standing there most dismayed and increasingly desperate.
Having gone a few paces, Wayne turned back to me and asked. “Well, do you still want some toilet paper or not?”
“Sorry?” I asked.
“You said you needed toilet paper, I’m just gonna get you some out of that closet.”
I felt most relieved. “Oh Wayne, thank you so much!” I gushed, rushing over to him.
Wayne looked directly at me. “Just promise me one thing?”
“And what’s that?”
“That you won’t go breaking into song about the girls’ room being out of toilet paper.”
I giggled and blushed, and couldn’t believe that Wayne had made the same joke my Daddy always made about me breaking into song, or looking like I was about to break into song whenever anything good or not so good happened.
Wayne unlocked the closet and I held out my hands, Wayne retrieving eight rolls of white toilet paper and handing them to me. “Again, thank you so much,” I said, turning to head back to the girls’ bathroom.