Recently, while waiting in the customer lounge at the car dealership getting an oil change, a Category Five crap storm hit my ass. Without warning, I felt as if someone had suddenly kicked me in the gut. Almost immediately, a thick haze of stink formed around me as hot, moist gases seeped out, burning the delicate, fissured tissues of my anus. In a crowded waiting room with twenty to twenty-five other people, particularly to those seated next to me, it was impossible to disguise myself as I stumbled and weaved through a gauntlet of chairs and crossed legs heading towards the restroom in full view of all. I bore the full weight of their contempt and my shame. There was no way I could pass this off onto someone else. Everyone knew.
Two stalls, two urinals, two sinks. A modest space by all measures.
Fortunately, I was able to secure the larger of the two stalls available, which was clean and well appointed. Trembling and sweating, I was coherent enough to wipe down the toilet seat and place a layered, cushioned ring of TP to sit upon (as is customary for me). Owing to my duress, this task was no small feat. As we are aware, the urgency/pressure of diarrhea is inversely proportional to the distance of the anus to the toilet. In other words, the closer the anus gets to the seat, the urgency/pressure rises exponentially.
After pulling my pants down, I lowered myself onto the seat - achieving full contact.
Whew. I made it!
I could have sent it then; but just at that exact moment, the final patron, having dried his hands, widely flung open the door to leave. I hesitated. The inner chambers of the bathroom were now in full earshot to those outside. The heavy door, on a slow-release hinge, took what seemed years to close. As it did - quiet, alone, nearing infinity, I burst.
What happened next, I cannot explain.
In a violent instant, watery feces splashed from the bowl beneath me through the narrow gap of the seat and streaked upward onto the white porcelain behind me, ultimately coming down on top of the toilet. Furthermore, large splatters had landed into the stall to my right, somehow breaking the plane of the dividing wall. Mind you, I was fully seated the entire time. Thank goodness the restroom was unoccupied or I would be the first person guilty of deficating on another's shoes from an adjacent stall.
As I sat in disbelief, alarm crept in. My God, did I just poop on the back of my head? Reaching back, I was relieved to find it was dry. Relief for a moment.
Now, what about my shirt? I took it off and examined it, and somehow found not a single spot. How could this be? Poo water just went two feet vertically behind me, with clumps of feces strewed all over, and yet I didn’t find a single stain on myself. I don't know what was more amazing; crapping into the other stall or not having to shake poo out of my hair. My buttocks and balls, though, were not so lucky; everything beneath me was covered. I was an absolute mess. I'm not sure how long I was in there, but when I got out to the waiting room, everyone was gone.
Anyway, later on I went home and told my friend about the fetish. She agreed to tie me up and tickle me. So I'm pretty happy now.
Two stalls, two urinals, two sinks. A modest space by all measures.
Fortunately, I was able to secure the larger of the two stalls available, which was clean and well appointed. Trembling and sweating, I was coherent enough to wipe down the toilet seat and place a layered, cushioned ring of TP to sit upon (as is customary for me). Owing to my duress, this task was no small feat. As we are aware, the urgency/pressure of diarrhea is inversely proportional to the distance of the anus to the toilet. In other words, the closer the anus gets to the seat, the urgency/pressure rises exponentially.
After pulling my pants down, I lowered myself onto the seat - achieving full contact.
Whew. I made it!
I could have sent it then; but just at that exact moment, the final patron, having dried his hands, widely flung open the door to leave. I hesitated. The inner chambers of the bathroom were now in full earshot to those outside. The heavy door, on a slow-release hinge, took what seemed years to close. As it did - quiet, alone, nearing infinity, I burst.
What happened next, I cannot explain.
In a violent instant, watery feces splashed from the bowl beneath me through the narrow gap of the seat and streaked upward onto the white porcelain behind me, ultimately coming down on top of the toilet. Furthermore, large splatters had landed into the stall to my right, somehow breaking the plane of the dividing wall. Mind you, I was fully seated the entire time. Thank goodness the restroom was unoccupied or I would be the first person guilty of deficating on another's shoes from an adjacent stall.
As I sat in disbelief, alarm crept in. My God, did I just poop on the back of my head? Reaching back, I was relieved to find it was dry. Relief for a moment.
Now, what about my shirt? I took it off and examined it, and somehow found not a single spot. How could this be? Poo water just went two feet vertically behind me, with clumps of feces strewed all over, and yet I didn’t find a single stain on myself. I don't know what was more amazing; crapping into the other stall or not having to shake poo out of my hair. My buttocks and balls, though, were not so lucky; everything beneath me was covered. I was an absolute mess. I'm not sure how long I was in there, but when I got out to the waiting room, everyone was gone.
Anyway, later on I went home and told my friend about the fetish. She agreed to tie me up and tickle me. So I'm pretty happy now.
