I’ve got a tale to tell and I’m so glad to finally be able to share it with people who can really understand. It’s not a topic I’d thought much about at all until two summers ago when my friends and I went camping and I experienced it first hand.
There were about twelve of us and we were really unprepared. We had plenty of food and beer but the practicalities of firewood and proper cooking utensils were completely over looked in the planning. That first day was intense. None of knew how to set up a tent and it took ages to get a fire started. We figured it all out eventually but we hadn’t really talked about where or how we would use the bathroom. No one had brought a shovel and not one of us could say we’d pooped in the woods before. And of course there was no toilet paper.
On the second morning it became a concern. The boys were much less concerned than the girls. We decided on a spot near a boulder that we could hide behind and lean against while squatting. We’d bury the poop with leaves and leave a rock on top of it to mark the spot so no one would step in it.
While we were all figuring this out this guy Colby announces that he was just going to go in his pants. We all laugh. None of us take him seriously, about anything really because he’s kind of a clown. We have lunch and few beers. It’s a beautiful, crisp day so we all go down to the river. On the way down something yellow catches my eye in the woods to my right and I see that it’s Colby, all alone just standing there. I beckon him with a wave to join us but he doesn’t respond. It looks like he’s biting his pinky nail with this far away look on his face. I get this weird feeling seeing him like that, but I let it go and follow everybody to the river.
Colby shows up a few minutes later. By that time we’re all sprawled on the boulders soaking up the sun. Colby takes off his shoes and wanders around the river bank overturning rocks with his foot. He finds what I guess is a newt and carefully places it on Billy’s leg as he’s lying there with his eyes closed. Billy looses it when the newt wriggles down his leg and screams like I’ve never heard a guy scream before. In a second he’s up, grabs Colby from behind puts him in a headlock but only for second. He lets Colby go and he’s got this disgusted look on his face.
“You didn’t” he says to Colby, who doesn’t respond. “You didn’t!” He yells this time. Colby’s just standing there with this little grin on his face. Then he grabs Colby, turns him around and pulls the top of the back of his shorts out and looks down his pants.
“Colby shit his pants!” He yells, “Holy fuck he actually shit in his pants!”
You couldn’t really tell by looking but he definitely smelled bad. If you were standing within five feet of him you could smell it. We’re all shocked and kind of disgusted but it’s actually really funny. He seems to be relishing the attention and doesn’t show any signs that he’s embarrassed or uncomfortable. Billy tells him to clean himself up but he doesn’t seem to want to.
After the excitement dies down we decide to go for a hike up this little mountain a few miles away. Colby is essentially outcast and walks a few paces behind everybody. After a while I start feeling bad for him and slow down so he can catch up to me. He’s walking funny and smells even worse than before so I just keep my nose closed. We walk and talk as if everything were normal but I still have this weird feeling being around him knowing what he’s done. It wasn’t disgust, I think I was fascinated actually.
When Colby finds an owl pellet we stop to check it out and Colby sits down on a log as if his shorts weren’t full of poop. That weird feeling I have gets even weirder when we start walking again because when he got up you could tell. The bottom half of his nylon shorts are sticking to his butt but not in a normal way. And it’s damp back there. Just around the edges. And a little brown. And the smell is so much worse. Colby shows no signs of caring and walks up the mountain where everyone is already waiting for us.
By the time we get back to camp we’re starving but the fire is out. Colby and I try to get it lit again but it isn’t easy going. At one point Colby is on his hands and knees, blowing onto the embers with his butt in the air. That’s was when everybody has enough of his situation. Billy threatens Colby that if he doesn’t clean himself up he’s getting punched in the face.
Colby sighs and walks down to the river with his backpack. He’s gone for a while and when he comes back he has different shorts on but he still doesn’t smell great. I think because none of us had thought to bring soap.
It happens again the next day. We’re all having beers after lunch just hanging out by the picnic table when that smell creeps up again. Everyone stops talking and just looks a Colby who is standing there with bright red cheeks biting his thumb nail. There’s no laughter from everyone this time. Only disgust.
“What the fuck is wrong with you man! You are NEVER coming camping with us again.” Billy says. Colby laughs.
“You guys do not know what you’re missing.” Which lightens the mood considerably.
After our hike that day we all get really drunk. Too drunk to care about Colby’s stink. We’re all used to it by that point, though besides me, no one’s really talking to him.
We’re all playing beer pong on the picnic table when I feel the need to use the bathroom and realize I haven’t pooped since we got there. All the strange fascination with Colby’s unconventional bathroom behavior condensed into one drunken decision that to this day I can’t explain. Right there, in front of all my friends, I quietly relax and poop in my pants.
It was nuts. It felt nuts. It only takes less than a minute and I don’t think anyone can tell that I’m going. I only have to push a little at the end because my underwear are so full that it there’s no more room for what is coming out of me. I feel the warmth shift and expand in every direction beneath me.
It felt like time had slowed down or even stopped. There’s all this activity around me, people partying and laughing and drinking and all I can feel is this warm bundle against my thighs. Even though no one is paying attention to me it feel‘s like I’m alone at the center of this massive stage. Just me and this hot ball of poop pressing on the back of my balls and clinging to my butt.
It takes a while to snap out of that trance but when I do I finish my beer and feel okay. Better than okay. I watch Colby playing beer pong, knowing he also has a big mess in his pants and relax somewhat. I realize that if I stand near enough to him everyone will think my stink is his, and since people are giving him a pretty wide berth as it is, I feel safe from detection. Which it turned out I absolutely was.
I spend the rest of that afternoon parting with Colby, feeling that sticky ball of poop in between my legs doing everything in my power to remember not to sit down.
It’s been a few hours and it doesn’t seem like anyone has noticed whatsoever. I could describe how those late afternoon hours felt but posting on a site like this, most of you probably know already. All I’ll say is that I felt it every time I moved. When I walked, it shifted and changed shape underneath me. When I bent over to pick up firewood, I felt it spread in new ways. It doesn’t feel that warm any more but damn, not only did I not mind how it felt, I can admit to you guys that even though I felt totally embarrassed on some level, on another level, a deeper more primal level, it felt awesome. Probably because I was drunk.
Of course I had to pee a lot. At least I know better than to pee in my shorts because that would be way too visible. so even though I want to see what it feels like I walk to the edge of the woods to pee like everyone else is doing.
The first time I pee is fine, the second time I end up pooping a little more, which makes everything warm again back there. The third time I pee I get found out.
It doesn’t even occur to me that I’m standing there alone with my back turned towards everybody. I have no idea it’s even noticeable because I completely forget to care. But as I’m standing there peeing Kevin and Paul creep up next to me on either side. Kevin puts his arm around my shoulders and Paul gives my bottom a couple light taps, right where all the poop is.
“You got a little problem back there amigo?” Kevin says, then he yells “Yo Colby come here! I think your boyfriend needs some help!”
I’m mortified and instantly sober. Instinctively I deny it, but they’re already gone. I can hear everyone laughing behind me. I’m just standing there facing the woods too afraid to go back or even turn around when Colby comes up and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“You sir, are my hero.” he says and hands me a fresh beer.
Colby nudges me to turn around and yes they are pointing at us and holding their noses. He doesn’t say a word about my pants though. He’s totally nonchalant talking about anything but that, which relaxes me a little but man, we smell so bad. I’m sobered up enough to want to get out of my pooped pants and forget the whole thing ever happened. Fortunately or unfortunately the rest of our friends had moved the party over to Ray’s van. I’m guessing to be as far away from us as possible.
Colby is standing there by the fire talking to me and I can see that he has a boner. It’s literally tenting straight out in his shorts. I’m caught totally off guard. I have no idea what to do or say so I pretend not to notice.
That’s enough weirdness for one weekend I decide. I tell Colby I have to clean up.
“Sure sure okay,” he says. “I’ll come with you. Just hold on one minute.” He stands there looking at the fire and I hear this big muffled fart. Then a crackle, then another fart but it’s a slower, lower sound. He squats a little, his face red and straining. He straightens up.
“Right!” he says, totally free of concern. “I’m done. Let’s go”.
Following Colby down the hill to the river with the sun starting to set I can not help but wonder what the hell he’s been eating to have filled his shorts up the way he did. He must have sat down at some point because it’s soaked through his blue nylon shorts. There’s a dark brown shadow of dampness all the way up to his lower back and down to his thighs. As if he can tell I’m staring he turns around.
“Is it that bad back there?” he asks. “Nah,” I lie, “you can barely even tell”.
The water in the river is freezing cold but very effective. Clean and naked now, Colby and I roll a big river rock over and hide our trashed underwear underneath it, hopefully never to be found again.
By the time we get back to camp it’s completely dark. Everyone’s sitting around the fire except for Paul who’s passed out drunk on the picnic table in completely pissed jeans.
“I don’t get it,” Billy’s saying. “It’s like we’re in fucking kindergarten again”.
The repercussions after that experience aren’t terrible. I’ve lost some underwear and all of my dignity but not any of my friends, though no one wants to share a tent with either of us and to this day they refer to us as the Soggy Bottom Boys.
Colby and I camp out on the floor of the van in our sleeping bags. I’m totally exhausted and embarrassed but Colby talks and talks. He’s really good at telling stories.
I’m already half asleep when he rolls over and shimmies his sleeping bag right up next to mine so that essentially I’m spooning him, which is surprising. I let myself relax into him, our bodies softening together.
“You know what?” he says as I reach out and pull him closer, “I think we should hang out more.”
“Agreed” I say, breathing in the scent of his hair. “I’d like that”.
I don’t really have the right words to describe how I felt after my first time camping. The closest word that comes to mind would be traumatized. It’s not like a calamity struck so maybe I’m being dramatic. It’s just that I never ever could have foreseen the circumstances that lead me to willingly humiliate myself in front of my best friends and to question my sexuality on such a conscious level. Nothing really sexual had happened that night with Colby on the floor of the van. It had been cold. It made sense for us to be as close to each other as possible. Every night since though, I’d felt the lack of him very acutely, which confused me a great deal.
We were all on summer vacation except for Colby who was the only one of our group not in grad school. I had plenty of studying to do but focusing on my work was proving difficult. I was distracted by every little thing, but mostly my phone. Every time Colby texted I was tossed back into that crazy vortex of confusing emotions. Not that it was a bad feeling, just weird. I couldn’t figure out why I missed him so much and why such a strange experience had made me feel this way, an experience that I should have been disgusted by.
His texts were more than welcome though. We settled on a date to go for a hike the following Monday.
The fascination I’d had with what Colby and I had done that day made me think a lot. There were experiences I’d had when I was younger that had bubbled to the surface.
Like when my friend Jack shit his pants at his birthday party when he was eleven. We were playing capture the flag and the smell was everywhere in the yard but really intense around him. No one said anything but when we were inside and he was unwrapping presents the smell was so bad his dad took him upstairs. When he came back he had different pants on.
There was the time in college when I walked into the dorm bathroom late one night and found this guy passed out on the floor with his pants half way down and his underwear absolutely filled with his own poop. He was breathing okay and actually had the most peaceful expression on his face so I put a couple folded towels under his head and put another one over his midsection to spare him from too much embarrassment if anyone else walked in.
The memory that was the most persistent though was when I was in high school at a Red Sox game.
It’s a muggy day in June. I’m in a long line for the bathrooms. There’s a guy my age in front me talking loudly on his phone in a thick Boston accent. He sounds drunk. I try to follow his conversation but he’s either not making sense or I can’t understand his accent. I hear a trickling on the pavement. I look down and the bottom of his light jeans are wet, there’s liquid dripping onto the ground and into his shoes. He’s full on pissing his pants right there in line. He doesn’t even stop talking. Right under his butt is wet, and the back of his jeans. The fabric is shining with wetness. He’s standing so close that I can smell his pee. I’m just staring at this guy not really believing what I’m seeing. Then as casual as anything he walks out of line towards the seats leaving a trail of sprinkled wetness on the pavement. I have to step over his puddle as the line moves forward. Back at the seats with my dad I can see Wet Pants Dude and his friends five or six rows down from us. I hope my dad doesn’t notice because I’m totally embarrassed for some reason. Not long later, maybe an hour or so I see Wet Pants Dude again, arguing with security, drawing all sorts of attention to himself. They’re trying to escort him out of the stands but he’s not budging. His buddies are all sitting down hiding under their baseball caps, but he’s pleading with the security guy who keeps shaking his head and pointing to the exits. His pants are still soaked but my embarrassment skyrockets when I see this perfect circle of brown on his butt, covering only the lower half. It’s completely soaked through at the top but in the middle it’s just darker, wet fabric.
He’d shit his pants too. He’s standing there arguing, holding onto the crotch of his pants like he’s squeezing the tip of his dick through his wet jeans. It couldn’t have been more obvious from behind.
Two more security guards show up and he’s led to the exits, everyone nearby is cheering at his departure. He gives the crowd the finger and is gone.
My dad doesn’t say a word about it and neither do I. We pretend like nothing happened even though it feels like I’m inside out with embarrassment.
There are more memories I have like that but none as intense. What they all share is this same strange feeling for me, that the veneer of regular life is torn away while it’s happening and replaced with something else, an unspoken shame. It’s a stark feeling. Raw and primal. In direct contradiction to regular, ordered reality. And I don’t like it. I think because it feels like it could swallow me up.
I have no idea what to expect hanging out with Colby on Monday but I can’t wait to see him. As hard as I try I can’t shake the memory of holding onto him that night. How good that felt. I know it’s corny and cliche but I’d never felt so complete. In a way it felt like I was protecting him or something. That feeling overrides whatever fucked up things we’d done to arrive in that situation.
I get to Colby’s new house that he inherited from his grandfather and it’s hot out. And humid. Layers of insect sounds cut through the heavy air with no breeze at all. There’s a giant open dumpster in the driveway. Colby’s at work emptying the last of his grandfather’s junk into the dumpster. He’s only wearing beige shorts and sneakers. The elastic of his white underwear visible at the top of his shorts. He’s covered in sweat. He waves and runs to meet me at the bottom of the driveway and gives me a huge, very welcome hug. He smells terrible. I pretend not to notice.
I follow him inside for lemonade trying not to look down. It’s a disaster in there. The whole interior of the house is torn apart, tools strewn all over the floor. Our voices echo in the empty rooms. He’s as chipper as ever and launches into three separate stories. For the first time I wonder if he has ADD.
We settle in the back yard on ancient deck furniture in the shade. I can’t help but wonder what he’s sitting in or what his shorts will look like when he gets up. Not that I mind really. It’s so good to be there with him I could put up with just about anything. I can’t even wipe the smile off my face.
He talks and talks and talks, about the house mostly, the contractors, the cool junk he’s found and his plans for the interior. I have much less to report. I’ve been holed up reading books on Greek history. Not that I’m much of a talker anyway. That’s why I like people like Colby. With him there’s no pressure to keep the conversation going. You just hop on for the ride.
It’s too hot to go for a hike so he offers to show me around the six acres of land behind behind his house. I get up and stretch and am startled when I see this giant owl perched on the roof right above where we were sitting. It’s looking directly at me, which is terrifying. Have you ever had an owl look you dead in the eye? It’s nuts.
“Oh hey,” Colby says, “you met Bubo.”
I follow Colby as he takes me on a tour of his very overgrown six acres. His bottom is indeed totally mushy. And sweaty. There’s a thin line of sweat along the seam in between his butt that goes half way up and below that, spread out on both sides a big dark shadow, wet only right at the bottom.
I buckle under the smell of that boy. In the heat, walking down wind of him, I can’t help but close my nose and keep it closed. The shock is gone though and the embarrassment. I’m prepared this time. And there’s no one else around.
I make a study of his butt as he walks. It bounces a little with each step. It’s small but strong, just like him. There’s a hint of fine chestnut hair peeking out over the top of his underwear. He walks slowly but confidently. He’s totally relaxed, talking the whole time. I’m so transfixed that I don’t even respond to anything he’s saying. He stops and looks at me, his expression completely blank. The sun sparkles in his eyelashes. I have no words for what I’m feeling. Attraction and revulsion have fused into something so powerful and unknown that I just stare at him. He steps forward and puts his arms around me, nuzzling his face into my neck. I hold him like that. Feeling him breath against me.
“Why do you do that?” I ask him. It takes him a while to answer.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Does it bother you much?”
“No” I say. “There’s very little that you could do that would bother me.” I can feel him smiling against my neck.
I have no idea how long we stayed like that in the yard. Probably the longest hug I’ve ever had. I had no intention of letting him go.
Colby unwraps his arms and shimmies out of my grip but only to pull my arms down so that my hands rest on the top of his butt, then he relaxes into me again. I can feel his lips on my neck. Then his tongue. He’s kissing me. Licking the sweat off of my neck. His breath smells like lemonade. He squeezes me harder. I can feel something hard pressing into my leg. He’s breathing on my ear, it’s as hot and damp as the air. It tickles and I laugh, instinctively arching my neck to get away. He’s persistent though and I abandon myself to the tickle as he starts to nibble. I can feel it everywhere in my body. I squat a little so I can reach all of his bum. My hands sink into the warm moisture of his shorts. I open my nose inhaling all of his stink, amplified by the heat. It’s a rank, sharp smell, but sweet. Like rotting fruit but darker. I can feel flies buzzing around my hands. I try to pull it closer like I want all of him inside me but it’s still not close enough. My hands explore the mounds of pliable flesh on either side. They’re sticky now. With sweat or god knows what. I reach all the way down and with both hands cup the very bottom of him, holding all the soggy mush contained within his poor shorts, feeling it’s weight with the tips of my fingers sinking even deeper. Colby’s open mouth is searching for mine. He kisses my lips. His are so soft. I taste and smell him simultaneously. His kiss is urgent, his tongue eagerly lashing inside my mouth. I straiten my legs getting tall again and pull up on all that mess. Colby’s legs are off the ground. I can feel the mush spreading under his shorts, Colby’s boner pressing firmly against mine. He wraps his legs around my waist and squeezes too tightly. I wobble, loosing my balance and we both fall into the tall dry grass. He scrambles on top of me, straddles me, knees on either side of my hips. He’s smiling this big excited grin. He sits down slowly, directly on my lap and settles in. I can tell he’s savoring it. He’s biting his lip, his hips move. He’s rocking them forward and back. I bend my neck so I can see it. The bottom of the crotch of his shorts is stained. Right where his balls would be. The hint of his boner is straight up in his shorts and wet right at the tip. He rocks his hips. I shudder. He rocks faster. The shudder ignites the center of my body and flows outward from my balls. I reach out and pull him down on top of me as I shoot wave after wave of hot orgasm into my pants. I feel the pressure of his dick in its final spasm against mine.
It ends. He relaxes, moves down and rests his head on my chest. The twinkle of shudder in my body persists but changes. I giggle a little in response to it. It’s a new feeling. I giggle more as it grows and turns into chuckle, then a laugh. I laugh louder. Colby’s sits up looking at me. The laugh takes on a life of it‘s own and I’m lying there in the dry grass crying with laughter. Tears streaming down my face. I can’t stop. Colby’s smiling down at me, his shadow shading my face from the sun. He’s ringed in light. My laugh looses momentum and settles back to a low giggle, then stops.
“What the fuck was that?!” Colby asks. I just sigh. He rolls off of me and we lay in the grass while flies buzz softly around our shorts.
We shower separately and have a bowl of cereal and spend the rest of the day in his air conditioned bedroom naked pulling ticks off of one another.
Even though I didn’t bring a toothbrush or any extra clothes I have no plans to leave. We have two pizzas delivered and eat in bed naked, watching Star Trek. Colby calls work and tells them he’s ill and won’t be in for the next two days, then sprawls out on his stomach and falls asleep. It’s 7:30.
I stay for the full two days. Colby has an enormous amount of extra clothes that almost fit me. Being naturally lazy people we sit outside in the shade until noon the next day drinking tea. He hates coffee. I casually ask him again about why he’s always going to the bathroom in his pants. He looks down and sighs and launches into a story that breaks my heart.
It started when he was in third grade. Because of his older brother, whom he shared a room with. Without emotion he recites the things that happened to him in that room at night. Almost every night for four years. I’ve got tears in my eyes just writing this down. He couldn’t tell anyone about what was happening. He was just a kid. That’s when he started getting dirty. First at school, then at home. It was something that comforted him. Sometimes if it was bad enough his brother would be too disgusted to touch him.
I’m filled with rage and profound sadness as he’s talking. Kids at school shunned him, his parents assumed he was mentally ill and put him on medication that made him puffy and stiff. It was a miserable childhood for someone so full of life. When the abuse ended and his brother got married and moved away the counselor at his school befriended him.
“Without her,” he said “I would be long gone by now”.
The abuse ended but the desires to be filthy did not. His counselor had told him that if it was something that helped, even in some strange way, then not to fight it. He just had to learn to get sneaky about it.
I know that’s a bummer to read, but these are things that happen.
Doing it wasn’t something sexual for him though. Not at first anyway. That changed during his senior year of high school when he found a pair of white shitty underwear on the locker room floor. His mind filled with fantasies about who could’ve done it. He stole them and wore them. He added to them. The first time he came was in those underwear.
I’m in shock as he’s telling me all this. I’ve got nothing whatsoever in my experience that compares. All I’ve got is this incredible attraction to do something completely wrong and revel in it, which I blame Colby for. Seeing him that afternoon while we were camping, off the trail biting his nails, knowing what he was doing had cast a spell on me. A spell that, as crazy as it sounds, I’m thankful for. Because it’s something he can share with me. And it’s fun.
Colby’s butt is wet when he stands up to get us more tea.
We decide on ice cream for lunch. And French fries. He offers me his spare bike, which is a touch too small. We ride a few miles to Pete’s Drive In. I’m staring at Colby’s wet butt the entire time.
“I hope they think it’s sweat.” he says as we park the bikes. I give his butt a little slap.
“Who cares,” I say. It doesn’t smell like sweat and everybody there stares at it.
The inevitable happens. After lunch while I’m emptying the trays I shit my pants. Colby’s pants that is. My heart is racing . It feels like everyone knows. I’m so concerned about anyone noticing that I walk back to the bikes while I’m still going. Literally walking and shitting at the same time, trying took natural. It billows out of me, mushrooming against the fabric of my shorts. I’m not even done and I can smell it. It’s firm but feels so soft against my skin. And warm. I’m standing there trying to push the last of it out while Colby gets on his bike. I’m hesitant to bend over to pick up my bike so I kind of lean forward, legs straight, and gingerly pull it off the ground without even moving my legs. Colby’s straddling his bike, smiling this huge knowing smile, lips all red from his popsicle.
“Huston we have a problem”, he announces, and kisses my cheek.
Riding a bike with underwear full of poop is not something I ever could have imagined I’d have to do. I’m so freaked out I’m shaking, I have no idea why.
“How about we walk for a little while.” Colby says. I’m very grateful.
I can only guess what people think as they pass us walking our bikes on the side of the road. Two young men in shorts. One butt wet, the other strangely misshapen. I say a little prayer that no one I know drives by.
In the distance a coyote trots into the road and stops, right in the middle. He’s looking at us, which is odd behavior considering the time of day and how shy they can be. We stop and stare back at it. It’s a beautiful animal, almost gold in the sunlight. I feel so much more calm.
“Wow” Colby says, still looking at the now empty road. He’s nibbling on his finger absently, eyes wide but not really focused on anything. There’s a faint hiss. Then a tapping sound by his sneakers. His grey cargo shorts are wet. There’s pee pouring out the bottom of both legs, soaking his socks and sneakers. There are tiny rivers of golden liquid shining in the sunlight and brown hair on his legs. I hear a lower sound, flup flup flup, followed by the deepest, longest fart I’ve ever heard. His face is red. Still biting his fingernail he’s entirely focused now. His face changes. There’s a flash fear when he looks at me but just for a second.
“Maybe we should head back now.” he mumbles.
The point is driven home when an approaching car slows way down as it passes us, the driver staring out of his open window. I can see why. Colby’s shorts are soaked down the front and back and still dripping. It looks like he’s got two apples stuffed down either side of the back rise seam. “Hey come on” I say but he’s motionless with his finger in his mouth, knees apart.
“Hey we got to get back” I plead.
Then I hear another muffled prrrrffffffttt coming from behind him. I want to just take off but there’s no way I’m riding ahead of him, not because I’m embarrassed about my shorts, it’s because it feels safer that way. For him. I’m there to protect him now, from anything.
“Right!” He says, carefully mounting his bike. His butt sinks into the cushion of filth in his shorts as he sits on the saddle and starts pedaling. I can’t see his face but I know he’s smiling. I take off behind him but stand on my pedals rather than sit. I ride that way for about a mile until my legs get tired. I slowly lower down onto the saddle as everything that was sagging in my shorts presses and oozes up the back of my butt and up between the front of my legs on both sides. I make an involuntary sound that I’m glad Colby can’t hear because it’s probably something a moose would say. I giggle to myself and watch that boy pedaling as fast as he can, hunched over like a kid on his tricycle, the soft curls in his sun bleached hair caught in the wind. This is the last time he’s riding without a helmet I decide.
Riding a bike with a huge poop smeared over my butt is tricky. It’s slippery. I feel like if I don’t pay attention I could slide off the saddle. Imagine riding a bike with two pancakes stuffed in your pants. With butter and maple syrup. That’s what it feels like. With every rotation of the pedals the mess moves and spreads. I look down. Either side of my crotch is stained completely brown, right into the creases of my legs.
Colby stands on his pedals climbing the last hill to his house and I try to will him to sit back down. The entirety of his butt is soaked through with his mess, I think because his shorts were so wet to begin with. The fabric is puckered into his crack and clinging to his upper thighs unnaturally. The very bottom of his T-shirt is stained. Even in all of that filth I’m still overcome with how small and beautiful he is.
We pedal up his steep driveway and around the side of his house and let the bikes fall into the grass. I’m exhausted. I tug Colby’s arm and pull him down into the grass. Both of us breathing hard, sitting in our stinking shorts. We smell like a sewer. Colby crawls over nudging my knees apart and sits down between my open legs facing away from me. I pretzel my legs around his waist and lay in the grass marveling at the curvature of his spine. He relaxes into me with with his head resting at the bottom of my chest. There’s birds chirping and bugs buzzing and a rumble of thunder in the distance. Bubo is perched in an old apple tree looking for mice. I wonder if I have ever been happier as Colby begins to snore.
The first raindrops wake us up and we scramble inside just missing a huge clap of thunder and a downpour. I’m standing in his kitchen while Colby shuts all of the windows and gets us each a glass of water. I’m more filthy than I’ve ever been but not as filthy as Colby. Now that we’re inside the smell is almost unbearable. I can’t sit down and I’m too afraid of what could fall out of my shorts if I move around too much. Colby comes back in holding two pair of old grey sweat pants.
“What are those for?”I ask.
“Us” he replies and tosses me a pair. “Put them on. Over your shorts of course”.
They’re too tight. On both of us. But at least everything we’ve done is well contained within them. Colby takes off his dirty shirt. His eyes twinkle at me. His lips are still bright red from lunch. He leads me into the bathroom and his pants are so full it looks like he’s wearing a diaper. Wet patches begin to appear. He turns on the bathroom fan, motioning for me to get in the deep white porcelain tub. He climbs in after me. We barely fit. I can hear and feel his breath deepen. He finds my belly button and pokes it. I laugh and he grins. He kisses me. Slower than the day before. He tastes like cherry popsicle and something else. Something totally his own. He nibbles at my ear and it sends shudders through me. I nudge him a little and shimmy onto my knees. He gets on his knees too and faces me. Everything in my pants shifts. I can feel it hanging underneath me, caught in little hairs under my butt. I kneel there feeling it droop and sag. The light changes. There’s more thunder. The tinkle of hail bounces off the window. I reach out for Colby and hug his body close, reaching around and down. His hands find my butt. We’re on our knees holding each other’s messy bums, pressed tightly together. Colby finds the top of all three layers of my pants and tugs straight up giving me a wedgie oozing with slime. The wet sticky smoothness spreads everywhere. My face is in Colby’s neck. His boner twitching against my filthy sticky crotch. I squeeze all of his mush that I can find, right up into his crack. I inhale deeply through my nose. The smell is savage, shockingly sharp. “Hold on a second” Colby says, getting up. “Cross your legs.” When I do he turns around and sits directly on my lap. He’s so warm. There’s all this heat coming from him but it takes me a second to realize that he’s peeing. My whole midsection, legs and feet are covered in his wet heat. It puddles around my butt and I feel all of my mess soften in response to it. The drain creates an echo of tinkling sounds. I reach around and find Colby’s wet boner and grasp it through all the layers of his pants. I try to rock my hips against him but he’s too heavy. With his hands on each side of the tub he moves his hips. Everything my pants squishes with the subtle friction. I hold onto his crotch with both hands and press and pull the shape of his boner simultaneously as his reeking butt rocks into my crotch. I push and pull in rhythm with his butt and open my nose fully. The smell and the sticky motion ignite and from the center of my open butt I feel it this time, right at the base of me. It swirls and settles into my balls and bursts in an explosion sparks all the way to my fingertips. I feel Colby’s crotch spasm, his body stiff and shuddering. The sparks in my body change and I know what’s coming. I giggle and laugh and chuckle, all at the same time.
I’ll spare you the details of that shower. All I can say is that Colby is a master at efficient clean up and disposal. The whole process takes five minutes.
The next morning I wake up to the sound of Colby mowing the lawn. I sit at his kitchen window with a cup of tea watching him. In all the years we’ve known each other I never could have imagined this would happen. I marvel at the novelty and strangeness of the past two weeks. I feel no shame in anything I’ve done because during every moment it’s felt right. More than right. It feels like all the bits of my fractured sexuality that I’ve kept stuffed away have come together in a chorus of synchronicity. I feel free. Strong. I feel romantic love, probably for the first time. Watching Colby mow I wonder how I ever could have overlooked this absolutely beautiful man. I’m flooded with an emotion that I have no words for. I realize that my future is no longer my own.
Colby comes inside smelling like grass. His shorts are all wet and cling to the inside of his legs. If he sees the tears in my eyes he doesn’t say anything about it. He pours a cup of tea and sits across from me at the table.
“I’ve been thinking” he says. “You should move in with me”.