Nevertheless, there are rare occasions where I have to go so bad I have to weigh the consequences of what is more embarrassing: pooping in public or shiting my pants. This was one of those occasions, and I decided I had to bite the bullet and hit the stall.
It was around midnight at local restaurant. My wife and I had just got out of a movie and were meeting some friends afterward for appetizers and drinks. After a plate of fajita nachos, it hit: first, the all-too-familiar rumbling, and then the urge to pass gas -- but you feel like there is a mud plug between the gas and the relief that awaits outside your ass; you don't dare attempt a fart.
The pain and pressure grew and grew until I realized the inevitable -- either I was going to have to go in public, or I was going to soil myself at the table. I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom. Happy to see that there was no one else in there, I took the furthest stall from the door, locked it, turned, dropped and exploded. It felt so good -- but the anxiety of someone else coming in the restroom caused me to tense up and cut off the flow, forcing upon myself a moment of silence to be sure the coast was still clear.
During one of the moments, I heard someone walk in and pause. I wanted to continue holding it until they left, but it seemed they were just standing there. No peeing, no hand washing... just standing. I held tough for as long as I could, but one surprise cough and I lost all control again.
After another short burst I tried to pause again, but this time I heard the person turn and leave. I have to admit, unless I really had to go, I would have left too.
The stomach cramps were so bad that even though the movement of my bowels was minimal, my stomach kept me feeling like I had to go some more. I hear the door open and another person walked in. "Here we go again," I thought to myself -- but this time the guy had a mission.
He walked right up to my stall, knocked three times on it and said "Sir, this is the restaurant manager. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Can they do this?" I thought to myself. I will admit that the smell was bad, but come on -- I can't help it.
To avoid any possible trouble I did a final wipe, pulled up my pants, and opened the stall door. I walked right past the manager and began to wash my hands, thinking his business with me was done.
The manager then said, "I mean leave the restaurant." At that moment I looked up to the mirror and realized something was missing. URINALS! I had unknowingly gone into the woman's restroom. The lady that came in and discovered me there had spent the last five minutes yelling for a manager to come get the "man" out of the restroom. It was loud enough that the whole restaurant was aware of my presence.
I left the ladies room with the manager holding my shoulder and escorting me out. Some of the people were laughing at me, some were frowning, and the one drunk bitch that found me in there was throwing wadding napkins at me, and yelling "pervert" at the top of her lungs.
I look back at that memory and think about the dilemma I had before using the restroom -- what is more embarrassing, pooping in public or shiting my pants? I should have shit my pants.
-- Robbie [1]