The first time I shit myself, not on purpose, I was walking home from a party where I had eaten sushi, the first time. Seriously, I had never eaten it.
It was winter, and cold. I had long johns under my corduroys, and was wearing big winter boots with thick socks. The walk was only about ten blocks, but halfway there I started to feel cramps, and then farts began.
I walked faster.
About three blocks from home I suddenly had this huge painful contraction, like the kind that makes you gasp, and it seemed like I was going to shit right there in the street. It faded away, so I started taking little baby steps; must have looked deranged. People passed me, looked and stared. The wind was strong so I wasn’t smelling my trail of fart, but I’m sure you could hear it.
As soon as I could see the awning on the front of my building the pressure started building, DEMANDING that I let go in my pants. Never happened to me before. I walk through front doors and tried to get my key into the inner door lock, and felt the hot wet squirt. I froze. It really couldn’t be, right? My butt hole was betraying me.
I began to walk slowly across the lobby, and at the two steps into the elevator hall, another squirt came, and another as I waited for the elevator, but as soon as the door closed, it all came out. Big soft warm slippery load, out, in my long underwear. More and more of it, filling my pants, weighing heavily. I felt such relief until the smell filled the elevator: damn.
I waddled to my front door and got into the bathroom, pulled down my pants over the toilet. Such a large amount of wet shit in my underwear, sliding down my balls and thighs, it seemed impossible that it had all been in me. I sat on the slippery seat and shat more, then got up and showered with my boots on, cause I didn’t want to pull my long johns over my feet, don’t ask me why.
Thinking about the mess made me hot, but I didn’t do it again for years, by accident or on purpose.
Then one summer I was at an office party, clients and bosses, lots of food. It was boring, it was long, people were increasingly drunk and annoying. I snuck away and looked for a cab outside, and as we were driving away, I realized I should have pissed before I left. There was definitely a need to. I was sitting and holding it, when I began to feel the urge to shit. I felt the urge just as we began to slow to a crawl on the bridge, just inching along.
Grumbling, small farts.
Taxi windows opened.
I started shifting from one ass cheek to another, sitting on my hand, pressing my legs together. We drove past guys paving the other lanes; I squirmed and prayed for the pain to fade.
Sometimes it seemed that it would go away, then it would surge back even stronger. By the time we pulled up at my apartment house, I was grinding my teeth. I threw money into the front seat and yanked the door open, but the change of position getting up was the last straw; I began blowing turds into my gray suit pants, standing right outside the cab. Loudly. I’m pretty sure I also made a surprised noise.
The driver was staring at me from behind his window, and the doorman was watching from his desk. I tried to stop to crap, and tried to walk normally through the door, but it just kept bubbling out; I was afraid it would slide down my leg onto the lobby floor. I guess you would say I shuffled to the elevator, trailing a cloud of stench behind me, grimacing, and when I was finally putting my key in the lock I just gave up and forced the rest of it out. Relief.
I stood in the tub and wet my pants, then I got really into it and got REALLY dirty. Really.
So the second time was half on purpose, and I had fun with it. Really.