Shameful Shit Story
Appetizer
My friend and I were on an express bus to dinner; a continual, 40-minute ride stuffed with expired students and office workers en route home. We were laughing, my stomach in knots… I turned away, crouched in fetal position. She stuck out to see.
“Pain?” I nodded. I whispered to her to check the bus route: when could I get off? “20 minutes.” My heart sank; my butthole clenched in time to keep it in my body.
Thankfully, I made it to the next available bus stop. I ran, hoping it would take me to the nearest toilet. I headed into a HBD coffee shop, by then busy with dinner crowd. I begged one of the drink stall uncles to use their toilet, assuming they had one; he pointed to the back alley.
Main Course
I locked myself inside. The cubicle was reluctantly sanitary: dry, spacious, packed a vague stench. Immediately I likened myself to a possessed teen relinquishing the devil; in my case dam-burst, smoothie-dispenser diarrhoea. Imagine a fondue fountain at an upscale buffet but with machine gun audio in the background. Good news: I hadn’t crapped my underwear. Good news: I was “comfortably” clearing my colon. Bad news: the toilet paper wheel was empty.
Seeing, smelling what I’d created in the toilet bowl gave me confidence to freak out: I needed more than several wipes before I could even move without my cheeks squishing the air bubbles of viscous poop. In my spot, I scrambled my bag for tissue paper. Nothing. Called out pitifully a la Belle in Beauty and the Beast, “Hello?” Nothing. Called my friend, who should’ve been patiently waiting for me outside. You know the answer.
What now. I could’ve wiped myself raw-fingers, hurried outside and cleaned my hands; in that case, I risked being caught with my pants down, brown-handed. Next.
Then it hit me. First, I turned around, flushed the toilet bowl a few times over, making sure it cleared out my “creation”. They were powerful, no-nonsense jets. At least.
Following, using one hand, I wiped myself raw-fingers. With the other, I profusely pressed the toilet bowl flush over. I stuck my crap-caked claws into the toilet bowl, and kept them under the running water of the flush, repeating I’d completely wiped myself off and my hands were decent-looking enough to continue washing outside.
I felt like Edward Scissorhands, except without scissors, with shit. I barely pulled up my pants, banged out the cubicle, guiltily scrubbed down my hands with soap like a man after murder.
Dessert
This story did not have a happy ending. But it is a funny story. I laughed at Trixie Mattel confess how she once took such a long poop she had to take a photo of it. I also laughed when Katya revealed how she once picked up her faeces from a toilet bowl that was clogged and overflowing. Do you have a shameful shit story? I’d love to hear it. Hopefully mine has brought you as much joy as it was painful for me living it.
