About two years ago, there was a span of about four months in which taking a pooper was quite difficult for me. I'm not sure why, but it would always be a struggle. I've since grown out of this phase, thank goodness; but during those few months, I had some face-reddening bathroom experiences.

This is the story of the worst experience.

I had been dating my girlfriend for a while when this began, and we had reached the point of the relationship where we could talk openly about bathroom matters. You all know that point -- it begins when one of you farts in front of the other for the first time, and then it's like a whole other level in the relationship reveals itself. You can then talk about ANYTHING with them.

So I mentioned to her that I had been having trouble taking a crap lately. She said that I might not be drinking enough water. She said that she felt sorry for me and that she hoped it would all clear up soon. "If not," she said, "just grab the side of the bathtub for some leverage!" (It's no mystery why I love this woman.)

On this particular day, my girlfriend had to play in the pep band for a college basketball game. She called me at my apartment and told me she'd like it if I could come to the game that afternoon. I said all right, seeing as how the game was later in the afternoon, and I would have ample time to try and squeeze one out before hand.

I went into the rather small bathroom of my apartment and attempted to fire one off; no dice. But I figured I'd be safe -- if I didn't feel like I had to poop, I must not have to poop.

So I went to the basketball game and sat next to the pep band, across from my girlfriend. After about twenty minutes on the hard wooden bench, I felt like I had to go... BAD! I told my girlfriend I'd be right back and that I had to go to the bathroom. She said, "Good luck!"

I ventured into the men's room of the stadium, picked a stall, dropped my pants, and sat down. Nothing happened. I knew that I had to go, but nothing happened. I could feel the poo trying to escape from my ass, but nothing happened.

"Oh no," I thought. I knew this feeling all too well. This was going to hurt.

It felt like a brick. It just wasn't coming. I could feel my asshole getting bigger and bigger. Then it started to come out. Pain abruptly followed. Then... it got stuck. This turd was huge! It just wouldn't budge! My ass was stretching trying to compensate for its massive girth, but its size was just too tremendous. This log wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Then I heard the pep band start to play. Oh no! Was it halftime already? Crap! Not only did I have a root growing out of my ass, but my girlfriend's going to be pissed as hell! Steady, old boy, you can get through this.

So I started to push, and push HARD. Stabbing pains emanated from my ass. I swear I felt something tear. I started getting hot flashes. I was actually breaking a sweat! And yet this thing just wouldn't budge. So I decided to just cut my losses and pinch off what was already hanging out.

This plan was defeated. If I wanted to stand up, I had to push out.

Minutes felt like hours, with me sitting and pushing and sweating. My legs fell asleep. I started fearing the worst. I was in the middle of a basketball stadium -- it's not like I could escape without being noticed. I needed to finish things up before they closed the place -- I couldn't stay here all night! What if this turns medical? What if they need to call an ambulance because I gave myself a hernia? I feared being rolled across the basketball court on a stretcher with my ass in the air and my pants around my ankles. I didn't know what to do.

Finally, I realized that I was attacking the situation from the wrong angle. I knew this monster couldn't be forced from its domain -- so I decided to just relax and let it come of its own free will. At this point it felt like my pooper was dilated about a foot.

I could feel the beast easing its way out, but extremely slowly. I could hear that halftime was already over, so at this point there was no need to rush. I leaned against the back of the toilet and waited. I didn't have anything to read, so I made an origami swan from a square of toilet paper. This was taking far too long. I decided to try and push again.

Sweet-Joseph-Husband-Of-Mary-But-Not-Father-Of-Jesus! The gargantuan snake was passing! And passing... and passing... It just wouldn't stop. Now I had a whole new problem on my hands; what if the toilet gets clogged? I thought about flushing midway through, but I knew that public-restroom-toilet-water would splash on my ass, and I sure as hell wasn't going to top this experience off with a burning case of STDs! Will the nightmare ever end?

And then, finally, it did. It all stopped. The beast had fled. The clouds parted, and all was right in the world. I shivered in relief. I had made it through the fight. I felt like I had just run five miles.

I sat on the pot a while longer and waited for my asshole to return to it proper dimensions. And after all that, when I went to wipe, it was as if the monster was apologizing for all the grief it had put me through -- all was clean! A clean break, no muss, no fuss! I chuckled to myself. Then I stood up.

Oh... my... God.

I stared the beast in the eye. I couldn't believe something that size had squeezed between my cheeks. I felt like I was looking at a miracle. Then I flushed. No clog, thank God. I left the origami swan perched on the toilet paper dispenser.

When I was returning to the stands, I felt like I was walking a little funny. My girlfriend looked pissed as hell. "You missed the whole performance!" she said. I didn't say anything as I eased my butt onto the hard wooden bench. Our team lost that day. But I fought the beast... and I won.