When I was about 12, my family and I were at a local lake, enjoying the weekend. On Saturday morning, I awoke with a great brown pressure down below. Now, when I was younger, (and to a certain extent, today), I did not enjoy giving "rectal speeches" in public forums. I do not have to elaborate: public shitter at the lake. How much worse can it get?

Well, I decided that I could be Hercules, and hold that loaf until I made it home on Sunday evening.

Boys will be boys, so my brother and I spent the day swimming, eating, drinking, and the like. Sometime in the early afternoon, the loaf down below had finished rising and baking. It now wanted to come out of the oven. Let me tell you, I was in tremendous agony. But the pain I had then was only a small peek of what lay ahead.

There were only two sets of toilets in the park we occupied. We checked both, and I picked the cleaner of the two. I sat myself down in the handicapped stall (this will become important later) and began doing business.

Now, I knew something was amiss as soon as I began the foul act. Nothing budged. I was flabbergasted! Ok, fine. I could do this. I pushed harder and felt the cruel log give a little. After it moved, I wished it hadn't. A jolt of pain shot up my spine directly to the base of my skull. This turd was gonna be a problem. A BIG problem.

That was fine. I'd dealt with this kind in the past. The pain would persist whilst I dumped, but would quickly go away after the event. I resolved to get this thing over -- and fast.

I pushed harder. Here it came! Ouch, wait... OH SHIT!!!!!!!! The turd (hereafter referred to as "Bigfoot") started irrevocably on its way out. I tried in vain to clamp my sphincter shut, but it was too late. Bigfoot was s-l-o-w-l-y crawling out, and leaving a blinding pain in his wake.

My butt began to rise from the seat, and I began to grunt. Beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. The hurt got worse. I was fully off of the seat now, and the beads of sweat became rivulets. Was I crapping my spine?

By now, I was erect enough to see over the small door on the stall. My brother was standing in one of the doorways of the bathroom with a look of sheer terror on his face. He ran off. With the advantage of hindsight, I would have done the same.

As I rose from the toilet seat, I had unconsciously grabbed the handicapped rails. I now had a death-grip on them. Bigfoot felt like he was almost halfway out, which meant it was still gonna hurt a little more. I could stand it no more, I began screaming.

This wasn't a girlie scream -- it came from deep in my gut. I imagine it sounded like Russell Crowe in Gladiator. At that exact moment, a complete stranger came strolling in to do his business. His eyes met mine, and he, too, turned right around and left.

Shortly thereafter, I heard a huge splash. My ordeal was over. In my mind's eye, all I could see was a huge, pulsating, bloody lump of waste. I turned to look and was greeted with the blackest crap I'd ever seen. I cleaned myself up, splashed some cold water on my face, and lit out of that place like the Flash.

Although I wish I could, that weekend will never be forgotten.

-- Johnney