Please try not to judge me as I explain a quick decision that didn’t end well for me.
I played hockey in college. I was a goaltender. The amount of gear that I had to wear prevented any real movement off the ice. Needless to say when it came time to pee, which invariably happened during a game, it was a real problem. After an unfortunate accident wetting my uniform I realized how nearly impossible it was for anyone to notice, which solved a very annoying problem. From that day on, if I had to go I’d let it out while playing in moderate spurts throughout the game. My underclothes were so sweaty that even undressing in the locker room wasn’t a problem. After a streak of wins while wearing wet clothes I started to get superstitious about it. In my mind if I didn’t pee in my uniform then my performance would be at stake. I know. Weird. It gets worse.
I wore dark black skinny jeans every day. It didn’t take long for me to start spurting in those too. No one ever noticed and since I had this idea that I was more “lucky” with a little bit of pee in my pants it became a regular habit. I had to wash my clothes more than usual, but that was a small price to pay for being lucky every day. My grades were up, as was my confidence. Girls were always smiling at me. I’d never felt better. Then I got cocky about it, which never leads to a great outcome.
My secret life hack turned on me in April of my junior year, which meant that I’d been spurting pee into my pants for over a year with quantifiable results. My already questionable decision making faltered after a large, late lunch after classes on a sunny Friday afternoon. As I walked across campus to get a haircut I noted the need to use the bathroom. A bathroom would be required as it wasn’t pee knocking on the door. Urgency grew quickly and I found myself mapping out all the bathrooms between me and the barber. Then in a flash of misguided inspiration I made that quick decision. I’m sure you can already guess what it was. I took out my phone, leaned against a tree trunk in the shade and proceeded to fully poop my pants. This was not a controlled spurt. I felt my underwear and jeans stretch in strange ways as a great bulk eased out. The warmth and texture on my skin combined with the satisfaction of release created a rush of comforting feelings. Why had I not thought to do this before? If peeing my jeans was lucky, then this was sure to open some doors. I leaned forward and forced the last of it out as a triumphant spurt of pee escaped, as if to emphasize the point.
I rushed to my haircut, my backpack bouncing behind me, feeling that warm mass beneath me change with every step. There was no line and the barber motioned for me to take an empty chair. I put down my backpack and hopped in the chair. What had happened in the back of my pants slowly devoured my butt. It spread up and it spread back. Even while explaining to the barber the intricacies of my desired cut I felt it moving. It was a pleasant, but persistent sensation. Like sitting on a soft and damp cushion. In the mirror my reflection smiled wistfully back at me, but the barber was not smiling. In fact he wore a scowl. I guessed he’d had a bad day so I made a happy comment about the upcoming weekend. He didn’t smile and he didn’t reply. He mechanically cut my hair as I watched him in the mirror. I wondered why he was in such a rush. He finished and removed the plastic sheet from my shoulders with a flourish, sending my discarded hair clippings sprinkling to the floor. This was when I noticed the smell. It was defiantly, unapologetically present. Like a storm cloud or an angry swarm of bees. It penetrated the air with a sharpness that shocked me. As reality slowly set in I watched my expression in the mirror change to one of abject fear. The barber’s expression was set, still in a scowl of displeasure. “Twelve dollars” he said. I gave him twenty and got the hell out of there.
I tried to walk as casually as possible to the nearest bathroom leaving a trail of thick brown air in my wake. If people commented on it, I couldn’t hear them because I was so focused on getting that stink devil out of my pants. Inside the safety of a bathroom stall I gingerly unbuckled my belt and pulled down my jeans. My heart sank when I saw what I’d done. I’ll spare you the details. I’ll just say it was horrific, all encompassing and impossible to clean with only a roll of toilet paper at my disposal. I sighed as I pulled my pants back up. The familiar and comforting warm softness had been replaced by a cool, sticky pile of filth which stretched from the front of my underwear all the way to the back waste band. I slumped out of the stall to wash my hands, taking a second to twist and view the back side of my jeans. It was bad. It looked like I had a few sagging overripe avocados stuffed in the back, but it felt like guacamole. The wetness on the inside of my legs and top of my butt was undetectable though, and nothing brown had soaked through. All I had to do was get back to my dorm and into the showers on my floor.
I wasn’t completely without luck though. I didn’t see anyone I knew on my way to the dorms. Once inside I handed the security guard my student ID. He sniffed loudly and glared at me over his glasses, nodding for me to pass. In my haste I got on the first open elevator without a thought as to what that would mean. A gaggle of students crowded in after me. I stood at the back and tried to be invisible but the brown cloud of stink filled the elevator in a matter of seconds. No one knew who it was. People were gagging and holding their noses. I kept my cool, pretending to play with my phone when I noticed how quiet it had gotten. I looked up. They were staring at me. “Dude. What the fuck” the guy closest to me said. I felt my face flush and didn’t say anything. When the elevator door opened on the fourth floor he firmly pushed me out of it. I took the stairs the rest of the way.
Of course my dorm was filled with activity. It was almost Friday night. Half my hockey team was inside. Some playing video games, most just sprawled on the two beds playing with their phones. I said hi. Grabbed a towel and some clothes. As I closed the door I heard someone say in a hushed voice “oh he definitely shit his pants” followed by laughter. Fuck it. I was almost in the clear. Everybody shits their pants at some point in their lives right? Chances are most of them didn’t do it on purpose though, but my friends didn’t have to know that.
As I showered I thought up some great stories. Bad Mexican food, an obstinate professor who wouldn’t let me leave class, a prank involving brownies spiked with laxatives. All totally plausible. I threw out my jeans and underwear. Got dressed and went back to my dorm clean and fresh. It was quiet. They were all looking at me expectantly. “So what” I said “So I shit my pants, big deal”. And that was that. Oh they didn’t let it go, they actually never have, but to be honest the notoriety that I got from that ill fated experiment worked in my favor. When girls first hear about it they go absolutely crazy. In a good way. I’m not really sure why, but I’ll take any help I can get.
So maybe in the end it wasn’t the worst decision I’ve ever made, but it certainly wasn’t fun. Well, the first half hour wasn’t so bad I guess. I haven’t tried it again. Nothings going to stop me from my lucky pee spurts though.