Well, I tried. But driving with my panties crammed full of poo turned out to be a tricky business, because I was trying to hover over the seat instead of sitting down, and when the car in front of me stopped suddenly, my foot slipped off the brake and hit the accelerator instead. I ran right into the back of him – pretty hard, too, and the airbag blew up in my face. By the time it had deflated enough for me to move again, the driver of the car I’d hit was standing outside my window, yelling at me.
You may imagine that the collision had caused me to sit down rather hard, but fortunately my poo was by then four hours old and firmer than it had been earlier, so it did not make too much of a mess of my skirt. Some of it, of course, squished out of my panties, but most of it stayed in place.
I was horrified at the thought of getting out of my car, so I just wound down my window and hurriedly apologised to the other driver and said that it was entirely my fault and I would make sure my insurance company footed the bill. He recoiled at the smell, but fortunately he did not say anything about it – just wrinkled his nose and looked at me like I was some kind of alien. We exchanged insurance details, and all might have been well at that point except that there had been a police car behind us (a few cars back) and he now came over to investigate.
I had wound my window back up, and was watching nervously as the other driver explained the situation to the policeman. My hopes for a speedy resolution were dashed when the policeman decided that I ought to be breathalysed, and he beckoned for me to get out of the car.
So I got out, stickily, and of course the policeman immediately noticed the smell. I had a brainwave at this point – I said that the accident had scared me so much that I had lost control of my bowels. I guess I must have given a good distraught performance, because once I’d taken the breath test he just cautioned me for driving without due care and attention, and then he left.
I got back into the car, but it wouldn’t start! Wouldn’t even turn over. And I was still in the middle of the road! By that time the guy I’d hit had driven off, and the cars behind me were hooting at me like nobody’s business. Of course I had to get out again and ask a passer-by to help me push the car to the side of the road. I got some more funny looks on account of the smell and the state of my skirt at the back (the poo had stained right through both layers in a couple of places).
I steered the car off the road as a kind gentleman pushed, and then I called the rescue people. It took them almost an hour to arrive – goodness knows where they were coming from – and naturally I stayed in the car the whole time. I tried calling Doug, but when I got his voicemail I remembered he had told me he was going to be in a meeting all morning.
The breakdown truck arrived, and towed me to the garage – it was just a couple of miles away – and then of course I had to get out and explain my situation to the mechanics. It was so embarrassing, standing there with all those men staring at me and holding their noses! I asked if I could use their bathroom, but they said it was out of order. Likely story – I think they just didn’t want me making a mess in there and stinking it up. Or maybe they were enjoying seeing me suffer. Anyway I was glad to get out of there.
I thought about calling for a taxi, but I figured that no taxi driver was likely to let me in once he smelled my poo. I knew I had to get cleaned up, and quickly, and I hit upon the idea of heading to the nearest McDonald’s, which was sure to have a ladies’ toilet. It was only a few hundred yards away, but it was on a busy street and I was not looking forward to walking down a crowded street with an enormous lump of poo in my panties. Nevertheless I plucked up my courage and walked (or rather waddled) in the direction of McDonald’s.
It was a long walk! As soon as I hit Wellington Road I started hearing rude remarks from people behind me. My ears and cheeks were burning from embarrassment after just a few yards, and I hadn’t even reached High Street yet. As I passed the entrance to a quieter side street, my courage gave out and I turned down it, knowing that it led straight to Theatre Street. I knew that I could catch a bus on Theatre Street that would take me back home – or near enough. I just hadn’t planned on trying to board a bus with a load of poo in my panties. I crossed my fingers and hoped the bus would not be crowded.
I reached the bus stop and waited, and waited, and waited. I felt terribly exposed – people kept passing by and looking at me in disgust as they figured out (no doubt from the stains on the back of my skirt, as well as from the smell) what I had done. Fifteen minutes later a bunch of young guys stopped just behind me, and stood there staring and laughing and making comments. A bus passed, but it was out of service – I could have screamed! After another ten minutes or so I couldn’t take the abusive remarks any more, so I left the bus stop and headed back into the town centre, determined this time to make it to McDonalds and empty my panties.
This time I just ignored all the comments and kept walking, even when a couple of young boys (cutting school, I guess! unless it was their half-term…) started following me, pointing at my bottom and laughing. I was in tears by the time I reached McDonald’s – I went straight to the toilet, found an empty cubicle, sat down, and cried with a mixture of shame and relief.
After ten or fifteen minutes of sniffling and collecting my shattered wits, I felt a bit better. It was so nice to be somewhere private. I fished a tissue out of my purse, dried my eyes, blew my nose, and took a couple of deep breaths. I got to my feet and pulled my panties down – carefully, so as not to get my legs messy. I couldn’t help gasping when I saw the huge mound of poo in my panties – it seemed impossible that I could have produced so much. The biggest part of it was in the back, obviously – a great big lump eight or nine inches across and probably five or six inches thick in the middle, where there was a ridge that had been between my buttocks. At the front it tapered quickly to form a ridge which took up the whole width of the gusset, and was about an inch and a half high. At the front it widened out into another large lump about six inches wide and possibly two or three inches in thickness. I was very surprised, and very grateful, that my panties had stayed up all this time. Good elastic, fortunately – they were fairly new panties.
I sat down, emptied my bladder, then began to wipe my messy bottom (and other parts – the poo had worked itself into absolutely every nook and cranny). It was then that I heard a knock on the door of the cubicle, and some woman asked how long I was going to be. I told her to use the other cubicle, but she said it was blocked up. She said she had been waiting five minutes and wasn’t I done yet?