As you sit in the lonely mountain latrine, your pants rest at your ankles and you prepare to do your business. A breeze whips through the stall and you hear words on the wind.
"Paper—" it seems to say, but you brush it off.
You shiver at the thought of meeting a yokai or yurei while hiking in the mountains of Japan, but you know you're protected.
As you settle in, finally overcoming the nervousness you can't quite place, you feel it. Gentle and soft, the caress of a hand lightly brushes your left buttock.
You yelp, leaping from the seat. You look down the latrine with dread, but see only an inky blackness. The hum of fluorescent light is the only sound you hear. It must have been your imagination.
You sit down again, but as soon as your cheeks hit the seat, you feel it again; the gentle caress of fingertips on your right buttock this time.
You leap again, pants still at your ankles as you turn around. With sinking horror, you remember your protection charm is on your backpack, outside the stall.
You watch in horror, as a long, slender, pale blue hand rises from out of the toilet before you.
"Paper..." the feminine voice moans, echoing from below. "Give me paper!"
In a panic you look to the toilet paper dispenser and see it's completely empty!
"I—I," you stammer. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"What?" the voice calls back, clearly confused at your sudden lack of fear.
"You saved me," you explain. "If you hadn't come along, I'd have found myself in quite a sticky situation."
"What do you mean?" the voice asks.
"The dispenser is out. If I had done my business just now, I'd have had quite a mess on my hands."
The hand wavers, clearly thrown off of its usual script. You decide to hammer onward while the ghost is on its metaphorical back-foot.
"It was very rude of you to interrupt me!" you say sternly. "You'll have to do something nice for me to make up for it."
"Yes..." the hand says quietly, awaiting your demand.
"Jerk me off!" you say, pointing at your exposed member.