A couple of years ago I was working as an IT Manager and mostly things ticked over without incident. On this particular day, towards the end of the afternoon, our sales data server crashed unexpectedly. Although we had all sorts of defences and protective systems in place, we couldn’t prevent hardware failures.
After working on the server for a few hours it became clear that the hard disk controller had failed and there was no way we could resurrect the server by ourselves. To add to our misery, the last backup had been the night before â€“ we couldn’t back up the data whilst the system was being used â€“ so we were missing a whole day of sales data. (My bosses were cheapskates and didn’t think continuous backups were a requirement.)
So there I was with a broken machine, it was early evening, and we needed this server back up and running as soon as possible with all the sales data available. To get to the data we needed a data recovery company, one that specialised in recovering stuff from broken hard disks. I hit the phone and after several hours I finally found a company that answered my calls and were willing to help â€“ for a large fee of course.
By now it was late evening â€“ probably between 9 and 10 â€“ and I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. The data recovery company agreed to meet me at their offices at 1am â€“ they were many miles away â€“ and this gave me just enough time to grab a burger before setting off.
Although I had staff, I was the only one insured to take the server off site, so I got my minions to load the machine into my car and off I set. My company was based in Doncaster (UK) and the server had to go to Crawley, a distance of 215 miles. I went to the toilet beforehand, had a piss, and then away I went.
Everything was going OK as I sped down the A1 towards London. Sure I was a bit tired, but I had a couple of Red Bulls with me and the adrenalin of having a major IT incident helped keep me awake. Eventually I reached the M25 and turned West. The M25 is a huge circular motorway that goes all the way around London, and Crawley was almost directly opposite from where I joined the motorway. I turned West because that was the way I normally went when visiting some friends and it didn’t seem to matter which way I went as the distance was the same whether I went East or West.
About 10 minutes after I joined the M25 is when my troubles started. I began to feel a pressure in my lower gut, a warning that I needed to shit. That’s OK, I thought, I can hold it in until I get to Crawley. As the minutes passed the pressure grew and my guts started to rumble and bubble and I knew that I had a wet shit bursting to get out. And the desperation to shit was growing almost second by second. That’s OK, I thought, I’ll just pull in at the next motorway service station.
Here’s where everything fell apart. The M25, over 125 miles of motorway, only has 3 service stations, and they were all on the eastern side of the motorway. There were no motorway services between me and Crawley. The need to shit was so great that there was no way I was going to make it to Crawley in time. I really, really needed to find a bathroom, and I needed to find one in the next 10 minutes. And then fate dealt me a vicious blow.
Although it was nearly midnight and there wasn’t much traffic on the motorway, it turned out that there were roadworks between junctions 19 and 18. Not only did the traffic have to slow down to 40 miles per hour or slower, but there was a queue to get past the roadworks, so I had to stop on the motorway whilst I was desperate for a shit. Not just desperate, but only just holding on, feeling the beginnings of a wet squirt moving down towards my ass hole. I started to squirm in my seat, clenching my butt to keep the shit in, bouncing up and down sometimes, anything to relieve the need to shit and keep the stuff inside. I was on my way to a meeting and the last thing I needed were my trousers full of runny shit.
However, the other traffic had no mercy for me. After another 10 minutes of very slow movement, I think we only moved about 200 yards, I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to hold on any longer. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop the beginnings of a runny squirt appearing in my pants. And this little stream of liquid was only the start. Clenching as hard as I could, I still felt my bowels open and a steady stream of shit began to fill my pants. Pretty soon the pain of holding on grew too great and I just let go and within seconds the rest of the shit erupted into my briefs, and boy was it a big shit. Sure enough it was a runny shit and I could feel it soaking through my briefs and trousers, spreading quickly in all directions.
As the shit started, I’d put my feet on the floor of the car and pressed my shoulders into the car seat so that I could lift my ass off the seat. Whilst this kept the shit off the seat, it also gave the dump more freedom to move about and fill my pants. So now I was stuck in a traffic jam with my pants full of poop and both feet on the floor.
I hadn’t planned any of this, so I didn’t have anything in the car to help me deal with the mess. Looking around, the only thing I could think of doing was putting a couple of empty plastic carrier bags on the driver’s seat so that I could at least drive the car. Scrambling around the car for a few seconds, I managed to arrange the carrier bags and then I slowly lowered myself onto the seat. Sure enough, I could feel the warm, runny shit spreading across my ass, oozing upwards in my crack and forwards between my legs, caressing and enveloping my balls. Normally I’d be enjoying these sensations, but not while I’m in a car going nowhere fast.
Thankfully after a minute or so the cars started to move again, albeit slowly. This time we didn’t stop and going no more than 20 miles and hour we finally cleared the road works. But now I had another problem â€“ I had my undies full of shit and I was on my way to an urgent meeting.
I drove on, watching the mile markers, counting down to the next exit, my pants full of oozing shit, trying not to move and make the mess worse. After an eternity, a junction appeared and I pulled off the motorway looking for somewhere to stop. This was Junction 17 of the M25 and the road south looked as though it just went between large fields. (Look for it on Google maps if you want to see where I ended up.) I came to a roundabout, took the left exit since it was the first and spotted a turning into a field. I pulled in to the turning, turned off the engine and had a think.
I needed to get cleaned up, I had a pound or more of shit in my undies and I couldn’t meet strangers with that mess smeared over my butt. I got out of the car, climbed over a gate to get into the field and moved a few yards along until there were some trees between me and the road. When I say trees, I mean some bushes that were about 8 feet tall that gave some screening from the road, but anybody looking directly at me would easily spot me.
It was pitch black in this field, there were no lights on the road, and there weren’t any buildings in the distance with any lights on. So now I had to gingerly undo my trousers and slip them down to my ankles whilst trying to keep the poop inside my undies. I gently kicked off my shoes, making sure I knew where they were and then I stepped out of my trousers. Step 1 of mission clean-up completed.
I knew that my black Sloggi briefs were a complete mess, and I didn’t have anything I could put them in to take them home, so I decided to abandon them in the field. Slowly, carefully, I eased the briefs down, all the time looking out for other cars, especially police cars. The last thing I needed was for someone to spot me, and how I could explain my situation to a police man was beyond me. When the briefs reached my feet, I stepped out of them carefully and then folded the shit inside the back of the briefs to stop is spreading any further.
Using the front of the briefs, I gave my ass a careful wipe, trying to get as much shit off my cheeks as possible. A swipe or two later I’d done all I could, so I tossed the undies beneath the trees. I was still a mess, and I was standing half naked in a field of grass, so I used what was available.
Several handfuls of grass later I was as clean as I was going to be, so I picked up my trousers and inspected the seat of my pants. Luckily no squidgy solids met my exploring fingers, which was a relief, but the fabric was clearly damp. I had no real choice, so I put my trousers on, slipped back into my shoes and headed for the car. I took the carrier bags off the seat and threw them away â€“ they were little more than cling film anyway and wouldn’t have contained the messed undies and only just kept the poop off the seat. Shortly afterwards I was headed back to the M25 and my urgent meeting.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, although I could still smell the shit, an aroma that lingered but wasn’t overpowering, at least to my nose it wasn’t too strong. I reached Crawley, parked at the data recovery firm and got the file server out of the back of my car. Now came the worst part of the evening â€“ I had to meet these strangers without knowing what state my trousers were in.
I rang an entry bell and two smiling men appeared on the other side of the glass doors. They opened the doors, took the file server from me and invited me indoors so that we could fill in the paperwork and I could update them on the day’s events. I must have been in the building over half an hour, talking pure Technical, all the time aware of the smell wafting around me.
If anyone said anything about my trousers I would have died of embarrassment on the spot. Strangely, neither man said a word about the smell, and I sure wasn’t going to draw attention to my current ‘Going Commando’ status. We finished up our business, I left, got back into the car and drove off.
Deciding that I might need to go to the toilet on the way back, I kept going anti-clockwise around the M25. That way I’d pass two service stations with toilets and it was a relief knowing that another emergency stop was possible without having to use a field.
I stopped at the first service station and walked into the toilets. They were being cleaned, but luckily there wasn’t anybody else around. This meant I had to go into a stall and close the door. I’d wanted to check how I looked in the mirrors above the sinks, but with a cleaner pushing a mop around, I had to settle for a stall.
Undoing my belt buckle, the trouser button and the zip, I eased my trousers down so that I could see the back of the trousers.
Oh â€¦ My â€¦ God!
There was a stain on my seat pants the size of a dinner plate, clearly obvious against the light buff-coloured fabric. I’d gone into that building with two strange men with a massive shit stain clearly visible on my arse. And yet, they never said anything, never looked at my butt, or acted strangely in any way all the time I was there. Mortified hardly covered how I felt.
With nothing left to do, I pulled on my trousers and sidled out of the toilets, trying not to let the cleaner see my back. Many hours later I got home, put the trousers in the wash, had a shower and went to bed for a few hours.
This was undoubtedly my most embarrassing shit-in-my-pants event and I tried hard not to think about it as the months passed. However, the events of that night kept coming back to me.
What if I had a nappy/diaper in the car? What if I’d had some wipes and a spare pair of briefs in the car? What if I’d had a strong plastic sheet in the car? What if I’d been more prepared?
I could have happily filled my briefs, letting the poop ooze around my butt whilst I drove along, gently flexing each cheek in the smooth, ecstatic liquid. I could have pulled my trousers down and put a plastic sheet on the seat and let myself enjoy the unexpected bonus of shitting in the car. Having had my fun I’d have the materials to hand to clean myself up and then get to my urgent meeting, more relaxed than when I started the journey.
I could have worn a diaper and when I got to the data recovery company perhaps the men would have been really interested in the smell, and the top of the diaper peeking above my waistband. Perhaps we could have had some fun in the middle of the night because those men were really interested in what had happened in my trousers.
Sadly, I wasn’t prepared that day, but I do now carry a plastic sheet and a box of wipes in the car. After all, you never know when you’re going to get stuck in a traffic jam with a burning need to dump a load.