A defining moment

My interest in the subject of female #2 desperation goes back as far as I can remember. However one particular experience took place when I was younger which helped to shape and define my interest. I will say at this point that it’s an experience which I’ve posted about elsewhere online under other names and forums, so apologies to anyone who’s come across it before. It’s more about as much a desperate situation as anyone’s likely to have encountered!

Many years ago my Aunt Anne happened to be visiting and one Sunday morning I came home to find her sitting, talking in the kitchen with my mother and grandmother.

After a while my Aunt Anne broke wind and at first I thought that’s all it was. However, she carried on farting and I soon realised that she needed a poo and badly. I was too polite to say anything about it and so were the others present.

As time passed by she was farting nineteen to the dozen whilst remaining as cool as a cucumber from the waist upwards. The smell and noises coming from under her skirt were powerful to say the least. Luckily it was more the ‘stewed veg’ variety than the ‘rotten egg’ one.

This carried on for between twenty minutes and  half an hour, during which time she became increasingly desperate.   Just as I thought Aunt Anne was about to poo herself she got up, said “Excuse me,” and hurried to the outside toilet which, luckily for her, wasn’t too far away. As luck would have it, Aunt Anne managed to get to the loo in time and, barely making it, narrowly avoided an accident.

Since then I’ve often wondered what it would have been like if she’d left it a moment too long and messed herself. It was certainly a close run thing though. Another thirty seconds would, I’m sure, have made a big difference.   I can’t be completely sure but looking back I think it’s a pretty fair bet that in all probability she’d pooed for at least two or three days at the time, creating a backlog of material making a bid for freedom!

I love Aunt Anne very much though and this story is in no way a criticism of her.

She had no way of knowing it at the time but the above made a deep impression on me and I’ve since gone on to write several short stories about a toilet accident prone housewife called Anne.

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