Earlier in the year I was on holiday, and on one of those days I went to the beach to relax, swim, suntan and just enjoy myself outside in nature.
After about an hour I started getting that unmistakable feeling in the lower part of my gut that told me that I needed to find a bathroom without delay. This was no surprise as I hadn’t been for three days, so I looked around to see if I could see any facilities anywhere. Lo and behold, nothing, so I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. If I attempted to make the journey to the closest bathroom, I probably would have an accident, but the only alternative was to go on the beach, which didn’t appeal to me because of the possibility of being seen.
Five minutes later, however, I knew that I had no option but to walk behind a secluded sand dune – which, fortuitously, was protected from view by reeds and plants – and pull down my shorts and bikini bottoms and let go.
This was a massive dump – it was three days worth of food, and I’d eaten a lot during that time. It was long and fat and seemed to keep on coming; it inched out bit by bit under the steady pressure I was applying. Finally it was all out, and I remained where I was to catch my breath for a moment.
I then stood up and left quite quickly, lest someone notice what I’d been doing. I hoped that nobody would see the big brown surprise that I’d left behind – I was thankful that it wasn’t really all that smelly because of the breeze – but at least the beach was relatively quiet, so there was less risk of being caught.
I’d do that again right now if I could…