MAIN SECTIONS
MAIN SECTIONS
Stories About Poop Intellectual Crap Consumer Reports Fun with Feces Poop at the Office Techniques Travel Logs The Captain's Log Academic Poop Home  
RESOURCES The PoopReport Gift Pack Poop Culture: The Book The PoopReport Store The Skatole Shirt PoopReport FAQ Best Of PoopReport Press Room Advertise! PoopReport on Myspace PoopReport on Facebook NEWS AND ADVICE The BM News Wire Ask PoopReport Ask a Poodiatrist Eternal Debates FEATURES Special Reports Movie Poop Archive Toilet Paper Survey Pooetry Comics Poop Contests MOVEMENTS I Poop and I Vote!  Shameless Shitting Poop For Peace The Summer Stoolstice DISCUSSIONS Shit Of My Career Childbirth Poop Book Of The Shameless First Memory of Poop More... REPORT POOP Poop Forums PoopReport Chat Submit 
NavigationPoop Comics Our BuddiesLower left rotating ad most recent poll -- formattedPoop at the Movies |
 AhhhsfestPosted 10.19.2007 by stanky (26)
It started off like any other first date. I rang the doorbell and her father came to the door. He looked me over. Even though I was clean-cut, he glared at me as if to say, "Don't you be messin' with my little girl!!!" He must've figured I was just a twenty-something college boy with raging hormones. As it turns out, hormones ain't all that was raging.
His daughter and I were coworkers at a restaurant; but, as the Beatles said, she was just seventeen. I gave her father a look that said, "Don't worry. I'll be a good boy." I wasn't really that interested in her anyway. She was kinda cute, but I was more intrigued by the fact that she offered me a free ticket to a concert if I drove. As we got to our seats at the outdoor amphitheater, my stomach started percolating like an industrial coffee pot. "What the HELL?!?" I screamed to myself. "Where is this coming from? What the hell did I eat?" And then, in the Oh Shit! moment, I realized I was going to have to use some of the most disgusting toilets in the world: outdoor concert bathrooms. These bathrooms are in the same class as porta-potties and city park toilets. The thought of having to sit my soft, lily-white ass down on the filthy seat in one of these shit shacks filled my mind with terror. With everybody drinking so much beer, the line, of course, was a mile long. And by this time, my intestines had generated about three cubic feet of gas. The pressure was increasing as each new bubble formed. With each step I took, I could feel liquid sloshing inside my urn. I started to sweat, and my face turned cold and ghost-white. When I got to the head of the line, the smell and taste of the casa de caca was intense. My neck snapped as I turned away from the piss- and shit-bouquet emanating from the poop parlor. And when I finally approached the commode that would take my load, it was quite a colorful sight: white toilet paper and lemon-yellow piss, and walls, beer cups, red drink stirrers, cherries, and brown liquid shit drops covering the floor, walls, seat, and pot. Entering the doorway to salvation, I dropped my drawers in nothing flat. But even in my desperate state, I could not bring myself to set my precious ass on the seat from hell. So as I hovered over the top of the piss-covered ring, I thought about cleaning it. But this brought to light the cherry on top of my sundae: one roll of toilet paper had fallen onto the floor and was soaked in piss. The only other roll was half wet, so that every other sheet was disgusting. I peeled off some of the half-wet roll and tried to wipe the seat, smearing the piss all over like a worn-out windshield wiper. Drunk people started banging on the stall door with shouts of "C'mon dude, you're holding up the line!" Once I realized that nobody would hear my explosion over this insanity, I gave up trying to clean, resumed my hover, and relaxed the anal orifice ever so slightly to start releasing the mother lode. I thought perhaps this would minimize the splatter. "Nice try!" I thought to myself as thin brown pudding coated the pot and my ass. Still having trouble relaxing and enjoying a good shit in this atmosphere, it took a good five or six blasts before I finally cleared my tubes. Then I unrolled some half-wet sandpaper and smeared the mess that was in my crack. I kidded myself that it was cleaner after I wiped. "At least my underwear and pants will soak it up," I thought. The other two or three trips went better than the first. Even though the paper was completely gone, I had grabbed a pile of cocktail napkins at the snack bar. Although they were more abrasive than the high-quality paper I had used previously, at least they were dry. In the end, my date's dad didn't have to worry. I didn't feel too romantic or attractive that night. Post new comment
|
Ad 1
Ad 2
Text Ads
Recent comments
Who's onlineThere are currently 1 user and 742 guests online.
Online users:Thong ad Highest Users
Browse content by author View some statistics Learn more about userpoints |
