I was in the fourth grade in Southern California and I had a major crush on my teacher. She was major hot! I was prepubescent, but I still wanted to marry her. She wore little sundresses to work. On top of it all, she was single. I tried to impress her in any way I knew how. As any of you guys who have had such a crush on a young, attractive, slim, twentysomething teacher know, it rocks your world. (Although no wet dreams, yet.)
Things were going almost too well. I was naturally good in the classroom so I always had the right answer. I was the class president -- which I thought was a big deal at the time -- and I was also decked out in the latest Gap and Nike stuff, so I was definitely holding my own in the little fantasy world that I had created in my head.
I had to take a dump. I was heading toward the men's room when suddenly the sign got my attention: BOYS' ROOM CLOSED. This wasn't unusual, since one of the favorite little pastimes that year was jamming something into the toilet and overflowing water all over the floor. The janitor must have been seventy-five. His name was Floyd. Everyone loved him, despite the toilet paper terrorism going on in there.
Then, turning around, I saw Miss Dingleberry. (Not her real name.) She told me that some little needle dick had ruined that bathroom again. And then she said something that made the hairs on my neck stand up: "You're a great little guy, so you can use the teachers' bathroom."
I had never felt so honored! Imagine sitting on the very throne that she used. I was practically her boyfriend! She opened the door of the bathroom and let me in. I flipped up the seat and started to pee -- and then I saw it.
It was a gargantuan turd. Steam was rising from it like a pot of boiling water. It smelled worse than a rotting chunk of Velveeta cheese. I flushed the pot. A tumble of brisk water scorched over the turd, but it didn't budge. Oh no!
It was stuck to the bowl! Whoever unleashed that monster had eaten some sticky oatmeal and a bowl of caramels.
I finished peeing and decided to make a quick exit. The toilet bowl was full of poop and, now, steaming piss.
The door opened and I started heading down the hall. Just then Miss Dingleberry came past me and reached for the door of the bathroom! She had to use the pot!
I felt a red sensation on the back of my neck and buttocks as I thought about the love of my life seeing what was in that crapper.
I had never felt so awful. Surely she would think that I had shit that out, and then bailed.
After lunch, we were back in her class, and I saw her give me a look that ruined my year. She didn't say anything about it, but I knew what she was thinking. I might have made the lame excuse after class that "it wasn't me who laid that steaming pile," but that would have only made me look like a jackass.
She got married soon after that. My heart was really broken.
-- Kirk Z