Tales of Shameless Shitting-Part 6

For Peter, a few hours had stretched into several. After the zoo,  another excursion in the company of his father and brother, both by his side. His will power had kept the beast at bay and distracting his mind had helped. There was only one moment he felt like the gut gears might start grinding again, but a deep breath and the thought of the humiliation a public shit would put him through quashed the beginnings of an ache in his rectum. He distracted himself by recalling other times when he had held for up to five days. He was still good for at least two and by that time they would be home where he could wait until he was alone and let the huge pile of shit up his ass out, probably needing to scream with the pain it would bring.

 

Now they were at the wedding rehearsal dinner. Peter ordered a neat scotch, and then another, thinking that would keep the urge at bay. In fact it only made him hungry, and with his inhibitions down he ate more than he should have. But still there was no movement below, almost as if his bowels had given up and were simply excepting the fact they would have to be full. He began to count the hours. Wedding in the morning, reception in the afternoon, back to the airport tomorrow night, four hour flight, home by midnight, brother and father in bed…it would all work out he said to himself, now almost defiant. He excused himself from his table not saying where he was going,  his father asking for all to hear, “Hey where are you going?”, “Just out to walk around.” Peter replied, mortified that any of his family should think he was going to address bodily functions. He went into the last and only available stall and locked the door. Even peeing at a urinal with the potential of someone seeing him was not an option. Here in the stall he might be able to ease his shy bladder faster. He knew there were other guys probably from his family sitting in the stalls. Occasionally he could hear a fart or a grunt. His stream started slowly, aimed at the porcelain, his mother’s voice carping in his ear about rude bathroom noises such as heavy urinating into the water directly. –NO ONE NEEDS TO HEAR THAT!! He finished, feeling an ever so slight need to fart creep upon him but he stifled it, shook off and left.

 

The first twinge happened back at the hotel. The three men were getting ready for the wedding in the morning, laying out suites and packing their bags to be ready to head to the airport after reception in the afternoon. His brother was farting, one after another, grunting with each effort. “Man there was a lot of garlic in that meal” his father said, rubbing his gut and taking an antacid tablet. His brother zipped up his bag sort of dancing around, jostling up and down, “Oooo boy…” and disappeared into the can, leaving the door open. A fart rang out into the porcelain as he began to drop log after log into the water. The first twinge. An ever so slight urge in his anus, a subconscious longing to follow his brother’s lead. He envied him at this moment for being wired without shame or fear in these matters. The feeling grew into a cramp, a sudden fullness that caught him off guard. He clenched hard leaning on his suitcase wondering if the feeling would subside. A deep breath and he relaxed. Then his father farted long and hard, “Oh much better” he sighed, closing up his bag and turning on the tv. “Turn the fan on or close the door” his father said in the direction of the bathroom, and then he walked over, reached in and turned on the fan, “You are making a hell of a smell in here”. Peter felt the cramp subside – victory once more. His father sat down and started to watch the news, farting every now and then into the chair, a series of loud muffled rumbles, each one followed by a sigh. His brother finished up, flushed and came out. “Leave the fan on” his father said, “I’m gonna need to get in there in a minute.” Peter went into his bedroom to check his email and turned down his bed. The cramp came again and with it the need to let off some pressure. He sat on the edge of his mattress and very very carefully passed some gas into the soft surface without making a sound. That was the solution to the problem and the cramp passed again.

 

His brother came into the room undressing to get ready to sleep in the other bed, “Did you fart?” he asked chuckling, “It smells like garbage in here”. Peter looked away in shame and muttered a denial. He grabbed his shaving kit, reached in a stomach aid that would relax him enough to sleep and fend off further attacks. He grabbed his robe and headed to the bathroom. He turned the corner through the door to find his father sitting on the toilet in full go, grimacing and pushing out a big one. “Two great things in life son, the pleasure of a good meal and saying goodbye to it”. “I’ll come back”, Peter said, “I was just gonna have a shower”. His father sighed as his load dropped into the bowl with a big splash. “Gonna be a while, take your shower. We have a long day tomorrow, it’s almost one in the morning now” Now not only was Peter shy about his bowels, he had a thing about public nudity, he didn’t want to be seen undressing. “You ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before” his father said, as if saying  Don’t be such a girl. Peter’s father was a great believer in the locker room mentality – all men are the same, you’ve seen one you’ve seen em all, and why the hell you lookin’ anyway? Peter shrugged and started to undress, his father was looking at his phone messages not giving a care if Peter was there or not. He got into the shower and and pulled the curtain closed. Went about his washing up and when he got out his father was still sitting there, only now he was wiping up, his big ass off the seat, his hand digging with the paper up into his hole. “There ya see, didn’t look once-jeesh” he said as Peter out on his robe and left.

 

His brother was in bed looking at his phone, Peter turned away, slipped into shorts and crawled under the covers. Another huge cramped caught him by surprise and a fart cracked out of him before he could clench. He turned beet red, his brother didn’t even notice, until a minute later. “You need to take a serious shit Petey, your farts stink”. “Fuck off” Peter retorted in a typical big brother way. Falling further into shame. The pill was working, and pulling him to sleep, his stomach settled and soon he was out. At five in the morning he awoke with a blinding stomach ache. Not a need to shit but a digestive system seriously angry at him not allowing nature to follow its course. He rubbed his belly, his ass cheeks with his hand and allowed the built up gas to release under the covers – it eased him once again.

 

They woke around seven, making the final preparations for the day. The wedding, reception the airport. Peter could see the light at the end of the tunnel and so could his log. He took off his shorts to pack them and noticed a smudge of shit. His hole felt sticky and so he headed to the bathroom to shower once again. The door was open, his father standing there toweling off, his swaggering nakedness acting as a challenge. “Gonna have a quick shower” he said, “His father carped, “You had one six hours ago, what’dya do shit the bed?” Peter flushed in shame, “No” he said in a tone that his mother might have used. He cranked on the water closed the curtain and soaped his hole up. His fingers came away shitty. He has shit the tiniest bit in his sleep. Clearly he was getting close to bursting.

 

They skipped breakfast – much to Peter’s relief, checked out of the hotel and now suited up, headed to the church. The stomach ache was back as were the cramps, both working to exhaust Peter who slumped in the cab longing for a private toilet session – terrified now that he wouldn’t make it back. The pressure in his rectum up against the car seat was undeniable. Was it possible for the body to simply go ahead against one’s wishes and simply get the task done? The fullness was worse once his ass settled onto the hard pew in the church. It felt like he was sitting with a bowling ball up his rectum, the hard edge pushed against the hard wood to create the greatest of conflicts. He was shifting constantly trying to get comfortable. The ceremony lasted an hour.

 

When it was over he found that standing hurt, he was cramped so badly now it took his body a few minutes to adjust. His thighs ached and ached with the pressure of his bowels. This was exhausting him , this fight. He longed to be a shameless shitter. Hell he would give anything at this moment to be able to sit on a toilet and let go. He would do it in front of his father, brother, anybody, if only he could. If only the fear would go away. The shame, needless and cruelly thrust upon him so long ago. The reception was an outdoors affair in the sun, airy and bright. Peter ate very little, his body now rejecting at further intake as a sign that it had had enough. Peter was warm in the son, almost feverish and sick feeling. He did find a private toilet with a locked door and sink, but one by one the men lined up. He heard One of his uncles say to another guest as the guest went in to use the can, “No serious business in there, there are others who have to follow you”. A chuckled from the shameless shitting men. Again Peter was without a solution. He went for a brief walk, bending over behind a tree as a cramped racked him hard. He felt his hole twitching as if to say, Your running out of time fella, gonna over ride you soon.  It was true never had he felt so completely bogged down with a need to dump. He farted cautiously relieving pressure, feeling the solid mass pressing against his hole and for the first time he thought, dry or not this wants out and I think it might get its way-just a few more hours.

 

With the reception over they were in the cab and heading to the airport. Peter slumped against the side of the door, sweating and miserable, breathing deep to control the frequent cramping. He checked his boarding pass and then a thought came to him. They had flown in on a plane that had engines mounted in the rear. Engines that made a lot of noise. Engines that droned loudly beside the lavatory which had a locking door.  There he could be safe. The fans were strong in there, they had to be. He reached into his carry-on bag and found the bottle of spray cologne. That would do to help the stink. He was an hour or two away from relief, not six or seven. He felt his bowels ease, his brain sending the signal Ease up fella, he’s gonna get to you soon…

 

To be continued

 

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Responses

  1. Ohhh Man lets keep him Pushing it Back in. i would love to hear of Peter with legs crossed and clamping his arse so tight and the description of the poo trying to push out then slowly going back in again as he stands with legs crossed so tight unable to move etc

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