samantha c.
- or ... the piss, the poop, the posts

by bluepervina - © 2003 - 2005

( FF, f mast, revenge, pranks, exhib, voy, ws, scat )

October 7, 2003

Hi people, I'm Samantha. Just want to say that I really like this site. I love to read about poop and toilet things that people do, so it was so great that my friend told me to check this place out! I've had some big fun reading back through the old posts and everything. You people rock!

I do have a poop story, but it is really sexual, and I don't know if you will post that sort of thing. So I will tell you about another time that I think the moderators will let you all see. I was really pissed at my friend Hannah for fucking my boyfriend behind my back, so I broke into her apartment while she was at work. I got totally naked and pooped a huge pile of turds on her bed, then I went around squirting piss on her furniture and stuff, until I was completely dry. Then I went back and smeared my poop around until it was on her carpet and walls and couch and TV and stuff. I wrote BACKSTABBING BITCH on her bathroom mirror with it, then I washed my hands, got dressed again, and went home.

My boyfriend called me that night and said it was all he could do to keep her from calling the cops. Blahblahblahblah like he really cared about me anymore anyway, but I decided not to do something like that to him, just in case he really was nice like that. I know it was a stupid thing to do and breaking laws and all that, but I was really pissed. And I was 19 at the time, and how stupid are we at 19, right?!

So I haven't talked to either one of them since that night, and I've gone on to move to another city and everything. Movin' on, you know?

Anyway, I'll see if this gets posted, and if it does I'll put up a few more things from my past and see if they get posted, too.

I love this board!

samantha c.

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October 12, 2003

Hi!

Well, I'm glad to see my first post was allowed to go on the site! I really feel like this is the best forum about going to the bathroom that I've ever seen. It's cool to now be an official part of it.

Anyway, since I've been an adult I usually poop at least once or twice every day. Every now and then the first turd is hard and it can hurt; but usually my turds are pretty soft -- not diarrhea -- just easy coming out in nice semi-firm long ropes. It's been that way my whole adult life, ever since I stopped starving myself as a teenager (and even then I'd poop some big loads at least every other day). Usually, nowadays, I poop once in the morning and once in the evening. Sometimes, though, depending on what I've been eating, I might also poop mid-afternoon. I guess I'm what you call anal expulsive. It could explain why I'm in a creative line of work, I guess....

But the roommate I had a few year ago was pretty much my exact opposite. She's married now, but we're still the greatest friends, and she hasn't changed a bit since we lived together. She's very "by the book" and type-A motivated, all into business stuff and managing accounts and crunching numbers. And she only poops about once a week. It blows my mind! She more or less has to force herself to sit for nearly an hour during the week to try and crap, and she says she doesn't even attempt to go poop anywhere but at our apartment because she almost never feels any kind of sudden urge to go. It's like she schedules it into her week, I swear!

What gets to me is that she's really not worried about it. She swears she's asked her doctor and it's normal for her to only go once in a while. But you should hear her strain and moan and carry on while she's in that bathroom! My God! We'll be having a conversation through the closed door sometimes, and it sounds just like she's being tortured. It's hard for me to relate because I hardly ever have to strain. I just sit down and it comes out. Now, I do have a problem with sudden urges and having to poop in places ASAP, so I guess that's the tradeoff.

But then she truly blew my mind once, regarding her poop situation. We had been drinking a lot one night, home together on a Saturday just messing around watching stupid cable, bitching about guys who wouldn't call us, etc., and she goes in and tries to crap for her one hour. Then I hear her calling me in there, so I go in and she's all red-faced and straining on the toilet. Tears are flowing down her cheeks. She's really hurting! She says to me that she often will have to stick a finger up inside her vagina as her poop moves down real low in her rectum, and she'll push against the poop through her vaginal wall to help move it out of her anus. She says her turds are really big and hard, and that she sometimes bleeds when they come out.

She's sobbing like crazy at this point, and I'm rubbing her back and trying to be a good roommate. Meanwhile, I'm a little freaked because the bathroom stinks so horribly, and she's drunk and I'm almost there, too, and I'm starting to wonder if my roommate has got some things going on in her life that she's suddenly wanting me to be a part of, you know? Then I'm wondering how I feel about that.... you know, the whole thing is just crazy. So I rub her back and nod and try to listen, while inside I'm feeling weirder and weirder.

Then she says that it's been almost ten days since she's pooped, and she took fiber pills the last two days. Now, finally it's trying to come out, but she can't push hard enough to do it. She tells me she doesn't have the right angle with her hand to get her finger up in there far enough to push the right way, since the turd is so massive. She wants me to put my finger in there and do it for her. I am supposed to stick my entire finger up my roommate's vagina and try to push out her poop!

Anyway, I won't bore you with my past (and present), but I'm not against getting real close and personal with female genitalia. So I get down there between her knees and reach into the bowl and find her pussy. She's all hunkered down in there like it's a fight to the death, so her ass is only a couple inches above the water. My wrist was immediately sore and only got worse as I continued, and it gets wet a lot of the time I'm doing this, in fact, but at that point I was at the mercy of a pretty wicked sexual rush, so what did I care? I slide my index finger with some difficulty all the way up her pussy, with my palm facing the back of the bowl, so that I can crook my finger toward her rectal area once I'm in there and hopefully find some kind of lump to push against.

Well, there was certainly a lump! It was difficult to get my finger all the way in, the turd was so fat and hard and pushing her vagina pretty much flat inside. As I wiggled as deep I could get and started to push tenderly against the solid crap on the other side of her vaginal wall, my poor roommate sobbed again and buried her face against the top of my head. She started to pee like crazy all over the back of my hand! She's saying "sorrysorrysorry" and "ohgodohgodohgod" over and over, and meanwhile the smell of her farts and her piss is enough to knock me out -- but I swear my own pussy is the wettest it's been in five years!

So now I'm saying "itsokitsokitsok" over and over. I'm sure if anybody was listening in they'd think we were a couple of nuts. But I've got a good "grip" on the end of her turd by this time, and I'm really trying to move it. The problem is, it's just like she said, her poop is too big and too hard to come out her little asshole. She starts whining and moaning like the women you hear on TLC who are giving birth to ten-pound babies. I tell her I can't hurt her like that, but she says "goaheadgoaheadgoahead" so much that it's like a chant after a while. She's trying to breathe and is moaning and repeating "go ahead" and "go on" while I slowly push, push, push.

Finally, she's just plain sobbing, crying against my hair as her face is pushing against the top of my head. It's been like fifteen minutes, at least, of this slowly fingering out the poop. I'm trying like crazy to keep my eyes on her asshole, but it's hard since my own hand is mostly in the way. She pees on me over and over, so much that she's not even apologizing anymore. Mostly now she's just grinding her teeth as she sobs and moans, and I begin to realize that my back is killing me, knees are sore, etc.

But then there's blood. I see it in the water suddenly, this dark trickle going down below the surface, snaking around. More and more blood coming down. I feel wet against my knuckles, and I realize that her blood is backtracking up her perineum and running down over my closed fingers. My roommate is sucking in her breath in short little hisses between her teeth as her straining seems to quadruple. The turd was starting to come out!

So now I'm unashamedly looking as hard as I can around the side of my hand, and I can see her hole just stretched all ugly and purplish, with this massive brown head of a turd just barely poking out. She's gasping for breath and asking me if I can see it. "Is it coming out yet?" I'm not even thinking how weird that really is, that particular conversation, so I just say "yeah" and go on fingering and watching. Her anus splits wider and wider as my finger and her guts push on that turd harder and harder. There's blood flowing more heavily from a couple places around the edges of the turd, and the toilet water pretty much looks like a big bowl of red easter egg dye.

Then it's out. Some point of physics or something must have been reached, because the resistance just disappears and the poop is out.

That log was the most immense thing I could ever imagine coming out of such a thin woman's body! It hit the water like a cannonball, and suddenly bloody goop splattered up all over my arm and face. I had forgotten the inevitable splash! Piss and blood and toilet water dripped off me like I was some kind of wild Amsterdam whore, but I remember still taking the chance and looking hard at my roommate's anus one last time. It was gaping open nearly an inch still, dripping blood in four or five places, and not a single smear of poop could be seen.

Then, of course, I had to get my finger out of there. It was pretty clear by then that my roommate wasn't actually hoping for anything but the help that I gave her, so I pulled down and out as quickly and politely as I could. Problem was, her ass had only been a few inches above the water, so of course my wrist went right down into the nasty soup. My roommate was too exhausted and sore to do much besides slump back and try to breathe, so she didn't even seem to notice my sloppy departure from her vagina. Her eyes were shut tight and her jaw hung slack. I took that as a chance, once again, to get a look. Down in the bottom of the bowl lay her turd. It was almost black, nearly as fat around as my arm, and maybe eight inches long. It had to be a twelve-pound torpedo poop, if ever there was one!

I remember I slipped up and actually said "wow" out loud, and my roommate just started laughing. That got me laughing, too, and we ended up whooping it up like that for a while -- me sitting there between her knees in front of the toilet, her up there on the seat, the two of us just too weirded out by it all to do anything much more than simply laugh like idiots.

At last I got up and left my roommate to do whatever else she needed to do. I staggered down the hall to my own bathroom, where I stripped and showered quite thoroughly. Then I got right in bed and masturbated to a couple of really stupendous orgasms. It was total sensory overload time, like my body was electrically charged. I didn't even have to get out one single vibrator and I had one of the best times of my auto-erotic life!

My roommate and I didn't ever talk about it after that, but we did have a lot better relationship. We did a lot of drinking and clubbing together for a while, but then she moved out when she got really serious with this one guy from her work. I ended being her maid of honor and everything when they got married.

Anyway, that's just one of those things you have to deal with, right? Maybe somebody else can actually reply and tell me if they know of any other girls who have to do what my roommate did with needing to stick a finger up her vagina to help push the poop out. I still think that's really weird!

Well, until next time,

samantha c.

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October 15, 2003

Hello everybody!

This one is to answer J***'s question. He asked what was the most satisfying dump I've ever had.

OK, I was in high school, and I was not eating much at all. Same as a lot of girls. I wanted to be as thin as possible. The problem was, I've always been a person who can produce a lot of poop when I take a dump. (Back then I was mainly an every-other-day person.) So in high school my poops were still pretty big, even though I wasn't eating much. And so of course it was truly agonizing for me when I did have a big meal or two. That next time I had to poop it would feel like I was going to rip apart.

Along comes this boy. So he took me out one Friday night to this cool luau restaurant and I ate like crazy. Then Sunday I'm over at his house watching football with him and I can tell I'll have to poop pretty soon, but it's not too uncomfortable yet. He drags me outside after the game and we go into this orange grove that was near his house, to this water pump shed where we'd fooled around before. But just walking out there got me all shaken up in my bowels, so by the time we get to the shed I'm dying to take a dump. My boyfriend is pawing me to death and we're kissing, but I tell him to wait and I go back out and make it like one row of trees away and yank down my shorts and panties, and I'm squatting there in the weeds next to this orange tree just farting away. Then, just as the first turd starts to tear its way out, my boyfriend walks up behind me and says he wants to watch. Well, I was mortified at first, but then he got down on his hands and knees and got really close to watch me pushing and straining, and that sort of started to turn me on. It still hurt so bad, but it was so nasty and so cool seeing him there trying to get a good view.

Back then, when I pooped after big meals it took me a long time, of course, so that first turd was pretty much an eternal murder. But by the time it finally plopped out into the dirt, I was seriously glad I'd gone through it. My boyfriend was in an obvious state of arousal and I knew we'd be having a lot of great fun as soon I was finished. So the rest of my poop was awesome, since the other turds were softer and didn't nearly hurt so much. By the time I was finished there was this huge pile and this sloppy puddle around it of my pee, and there was my boyfriend just crouched there with this stupid "best Christmas ever" grin on his face. So I stepped out of my panties and used them to wipe myself, then I ran bare-assed back to the pump shed with my boyfriend right behind me. I quickly washed out my panties, hung them up on a nail to dry out, and then I jumped all over my very happy guy.

It was the first time I'd ever pooped while someone watched me, and it was the most satisfying dump I've ever had, by far.

Hope that's a decent answer for 'ya!!! ;)

samantha c.

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October 24, 2003

To answer another question....

I was in junior high, the summer after eighth grade, and I was spending a lot of time with my best friend Melanie. It was around the time that wine coolers got real popular (so I'm an 80's girl -- sue me), and Melanie's mom and stepdad were really permissive parents. That meant that they bought us wine coolers all the time, but only as long as we promised to stay home when we were drinking. Anyway, we both got drunk for the first time in our lives that summer, and really we spent a huge portion of those months in a crazy Bacardi-induced haze. It's a miracle I didn't come out of it with an addiction problem, but I guess I don't have that gene or whatever that would give me the tendency for it. BlahBlahBlah -- you get the picture. Lucky for me I was a sort of cranky and quiet kid anyways during that time of my life, because neither of my parents ever seemed to notice how woozy I always was when one of them would come by to pick me up.

So since my parents both worked, and I was an only child, I got to stay over with Melanie every day while her mom supposedly "watched us". Most of the time her mom was out shopping or playing tennis or whatever. She was never around. Melanie's two older sisters came and went however they pleased, too, and just ignored us like we were bugs. They were bitches, OMG! But one of them had a vibrator that she'd gotten from her boyfriend. She thought it was sick and threw it in the garbage can out by the garage. Anyway, Melanie heard her talking about it on the phone one night, and so the next morning I show up and find Melanie all excited in her room wanting to show me this skinny little white plastic thing that buzzed when you turned the dial on the end.... I didn't have a clue you could involve TOOLS, let me tell you! But, it turned out that Melanie had been touching herself for a long time by then, sort of the result of living around two older teenaged girls, I guess. She told me she'd learned about making herself feel good and all that, but I knew all about that stuff, too, just with fingers, not with like this wonderful magic wand thing. BlahBlahBlah -- long story short we learned all about how that little vibrator worked, and it's goofy to write it, OK, but it was a completely life-altering experience for me.

You gotta know this, too, to get what I'm saying. I hadn't had much of "those feelings" inside me growing up. Not any that had to with other people, at least. There had not been a big flutter of warm-fuzzies over anyone. I was sort of a dead fish where being horny was concerned. I was more into playing soccer and swimming and rollerskating with my dad. Of course, when I got curious about my own body, the sensations and smells and tastes of things, then I discovered that I couldn't STOP being horny - but that was all inward, self-focused, "let's see what this will do" and all that. I never found myself getting excited in that way about anyone else's body. Just my own. Weird, right?

But then Melanie showed me the way to the hardware store! We figured out how it was all done - things, big, hard, long things could go way inside THIS hole and THAT hole - and I got this whole new life handed to me like the most wonderful Christmas present in the universe! I found out that I could share the horny craziness I had with other people in the world. I wasn't alone and odd, and here was this girl who knew about it all, too, plus she had a nice white buzzing gadget she liked to watch me use, not to mention a lot of allowance saved up for buying batteries!

Still ranks as the Number 1 best summer of my life. I masturbate more to memories of those days than I should probably admit!

samantha c.

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October 25, 2003

OK, well I've never been a gal to do much posting on message boards, but this site has really gotten me distracted lately. So I guess I'll keep contributing!

J*** asked me about other poop-related happenings with boyfriends. But I know there's limits to what can be posted here, so let me just say this, and maybe it'll be allowed -- depending on the person I'm with, I like to have a kind of physical intimacy with my lovers that can sometimes involve what I think you can guess.... Enough said? (Maybe too much! Not everybody can accept certain things about people, right?)

Anyway, I *can* tell you about another time I pooped outside, though. I was in high school at this party out in the middle of a cow pasture. We were a sort of redneck group, although I was mainly what you'd call a "girl jock" because I played a bunch of sports for the school, etc., but I had these friends who did 4-H Club and rode horses and stuff. So they all had a lot of land, and we'd light a bonfire and drink Busch beer and just generally goof off and play classic rock and country real loud on a boombox, etc. Usually people paired off sooner or later and disappeared into the beds of their pickups or into the woods, but then there were also always a few guys and girls who'd just pass out and lie around for a few hours in a serious state of deep drunk. Sometimes some of us would fuck around with them just for fun -- because we were drunk too, after all! Usually that involved stealing clothes or tying people up or piling sticks and leaves and junk all over them.

The time I'm talking about is when my friend Melanie came and pulled me off into the woods to go see this guy and this girl we barely knew who were bare-assed naked and lying on top of this tarp that he must've pulled out of his truck. Both were completely gone, knocked out from the alcohol, and it looked like they hadn't even managed to actually do anything. It was like they'd started, but then Dr. Drunk's medicine had kicked in. The guy was on his hip sort of rolled against the girl, who was on her back with her arms stretched up above her head. He had his hand on one of her breasts, and he was drooling on her where his face mashed against her shoulder.

So Melanie and I, being the wasted perverts that we were, decided to kill our little flashlight and do something nasty. Melanie pulls her jeans down to her knees and sort of hunches out her crotch and just pisses like crazy all over the guy's bare ass and legs. It splatters all over everywhere and really makes a mess, and by the time she finishes Melanie is laughing and shaking so hard that the pee is sort of flinging out her all over the place. The guy moans and scissors his legs back and forth and just goes on snoozing. Completely soaked from ass to knees, basically. I'm thinking how I won't be able to even look at him in Chemistry on Monday without laughing myself half to death.

My turn now and I pull down my jeans to do the same thing, but just as I'm willing myself to let the pee come out, I feel that old familiar pressure in my rectum. So I say "Watch this" and I take off my shoes and socks and jeans and panties, and I straddle both of them. I make sure I squat my butt down real close to them, and then I get serious about pushing. First there is pee that splashes all over the girl's stomach and runs every which way. And then, for a lot of minutes, it's just me straining to get the first big one out, just like always. Melanie walks around and around us, giggling and staring and sometimes freaking out because she thinks somebody is walking up. But nobody does.

Finally, out comes my first long turd. So hard! and it hurt so bad for a second, but then -- slip, slop, plop -- and it drops right on top of the girl's belly button. A couple more turds come out, more semi-soft, and then I'm done. There were turds coiled on top of the first one, and they just sat there looking so wrong on a naked girl's stomach! Then I'm climbing back into my jeans and all, and Melanie gasps and can't hardly get the words out, but then I look and see the girl frowning and muttering to herself. She's in that state of drunk where you can sense some things going on around you, but only the basics, like if you had an itch you'd scratch it and scratch it, but it was really mostly an automatic response, right? Well that's what this girl does. She reaches a hand down and squashes it right into my poop. I thought I would fall down and die, I was laughing so hard -- and trying not to laugh out loud at the same time, and God does that hurt to do!

But the girl is frowning and shaking her head softly and just going to town with her hand. She's smearing it absently back and forth while she's scratching at her belly over and over. Melanie is convinced they're both going to wake up any second, so she's begging me to leave and really sort of making me nervous about what I did. I figured that no one else at the party knew we'd come back here, and neither of us really knew the guy and girl all that much, so what the hell? I was pretty soaking-drunk at the time, after all, right?! I had an excuse built right in.

Just to be safe though we left the woods right then and got in my Blazer and drove home, and I swear we laughed for three hours straight. But I admit it -- that was pretty sick. It was such a gross thing to do that we didn't want to tell anybody, of course. Plus, that guy and girl were nice and in love and didn't at all deserve such a mean thing. All I can say is that Melanie and I were both stupid and drinking too much and both really, really perverted. But we must have re-lived that night a thousand times over the next couple of years, remembering and laughing and feeling ashamed and proud of ourselves all at the same time. And really, in my own private mind, I did think about it a lot more than was probably normal for a girl to do. But that's me! Not-a-normal-girl. Thank God!

(And Melanie's name is not her real one, right, but I wonder if she would be embarrassed or mad at me for telling people? We haven't spoken much since I moved when I was nineteen, but I guess she'd still remember that night pretty much like it was yesterday -- since I sure do!)

samantha c.

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November 16, 2003

G*** - I bet that was weird, seeing all those poop piles and pieces of clothes that people wiped with! I've pooped outdoors a few times, and I've used my panties to wipe but I've taken them with me usually. Sometimes I didn't clean myself until later on.

S*** - Wow. I have read your post about ten times now. That was a gruesome night! You might have been miserable, but it sure made for an incredible story.

A*** - Your stories really make me hot! I love how you describe your asshole being so tight and getting stretched and stuff like that.

Toilet Hole - Get control of yourself -- you are "preaching to the choir"! What you ought to do is just start handing out this forum's URL on a little business card to all the WASPs that you must constantly come in contact with.

A*** - Your story really brought back some memories. I used to tickle this one girl I babysat, the same way my big sister used to do to me. This girl was like nine when I started to watch her after school, and I was a freshman in high school. She was a really silly, funny kid, and I sort of fell in love with her in a twisted kind of way. Anyhow, it was a big turn-on for me to see her wet her pants. I used to chase her all over the house, get her down on the floor, and just go after her tickle spots until she whizzed. She never once got mad at me for it, either. I used to fantasize about her so bad after she got too old for a babysitter! Twice I drove over and parked a block down from her house and just sat there in my car, masturbating and looking out at her dark bedroom window. I call that my "Creepy-Stalker-Lesbo Period". At least I didn't do it in the bushes, right?

A*** - I agree with you completely about what you wrote to N***! And...

N*** - Way to go! At least now you can empathize a little better with your daughter. Just be sure you look up the health risks of feces, since it looks like your daughter might have a good chance of catching hepatitis or amebiasis (for example), especially if she's with other girls who are pooping themselves and letting it stay on them for a while. Don't want to spoil her fun or make you worry, but she can still have her good times and you'll feel a lot better about it if you perhaps start thinking about getting her some shots now and then. Just some antibiotic boosts and stuff like that. I told my doctor that I had an aunt I had to care for who was vegetative and incontinent -- colostomy bag and all that -- and I was worried that my regular handling of poop, even with gloves on, might get me some kind of infection. The doctor believed me and now lets me come in for periodic booster shots, and I haven't gotten sick ever from exposure to poop.

R*** - Here's a peeing story, and it's because of A***'s post, actually. I got to thinking about tickling and wrestling and stuff, and I remembered this funny thing I saw when I was a teenager.

Anyway, my friend Julie was always getting drunk at her house after school. It turned out that she had alcoholic tendencies, and she eventually dropped out of school and moved out of town with an older guy. It was this big scandal because she had been smart and popular and nobody had known this side of her, except for me and a few of her other friends. Her mom was divorced and worked constantly, so Julie had all kinds of freedom to drink. Her mom was a heavy drinker, too, so she'd come home and crash, drink herself to sleep, that whole abuse cycle, right!

So Julie had a little brother named David. He was 13 when she was 16, so he was getting hard-ons a lot and had a body odor problem like every other boy his age. And he sort of was a pervert about Julie. He was always stealing her panties from the hamper and messing around with her when she got tipsy, like he would constantly sneak up and grab her boobs or lift her shirt. He even pantsed her once when I was there -- he just ran up and yanked her shorts and panties right down past her knees and then ran off laughing so hard. Julie said he'd come into her room at night with a flashlight and shine it on her and try to lift the covers and stuff, etc., you get the picture. He was like the ultimate annoying little brother. And since their mom was never around to do anything about it, Julie sort of had to deal with it her own way.

A lot of times we would go to her house and get the vodka out of the freezer and make screwdrivers and talk on the phone and stuff, and one day Julie just freaked out when David came in from playing outside. He made a grab for her boobs while she was standing in the kitchen watching me talk on the phone to this other girl. Julie chased him into the living room and this time she actually dove and tackled him. She's bigger than him and stronger, so she gets on top of him and starts hitting him really hard and screaming "Stop it! Stop it!" over and over. It was ugly, really embarrassing for me to see, truly it was.

But then he was crying and she was still on top of him, just sitting on him. She was straddling his stomach. He had his hands over his face and was sobbing like crazy and apologizing, but Julie didn't back down one bit. She kept on cursing at him and pinching his arms and just making him bawl. Then she got real still and started laughing. David went all stiff and then suddenly was kicking and screaming and trying to push Julie off of him. She just smacked him even worse and yelled at him to lie still and take his punishment. Then I saw the piss that soaked into his shirt and the puddle of piss that was collected against Julie's crotch where she was sitting on him. It was running down his sides and her legs onto the carpet. He got still like she wanted, and she stopped hitting him. She got up on on her knees and pulled the leg of her shorts to one side and said "Ughhhh!" real loud. This heavy spray of urine just flooded out of her and drenched David's stomach and chest. He was crying like a three year-old and covering his face.

I remember standing there like I was on the highway and just drove past a wreck. It was awful, but I had to look. That family had a terrible life, and Julie and her brother never really spoke to each other much after that. Within like two more years she was gone from town forever, and I don't know if they ever patched things up. She eventually stood up and spit this big loogie on him, and he crawled away to his room. Julie then sat right back down on the wet carpet and sort of keeled over. I helped her get to her room and put her in bed, get her out her wet clothes and everything, and I just let her sleep. I knocked on David's door to see if he was OK, and screamed at me and called me a bitch, so I just left their house.

It was something Julie and me never talked about, and I'm not so sure she even remembered it really. But David did. I mean he hated her guts from then on. Really, though, I think he had it coming to him.

samantha c.

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November 22, 2003

Well, I was at work one day last year, and I couldn't sit in my chair anymore, the pressure was too much. It was literally hurting my ass to keep sitting on it, the turd wanted out so bad! I got up and barely made it down the line of cubicles before I could feel it pushing its way out. Luckily, nobody got a chance to grab me and talk about a bunch of nonsense or make me debug their crappy code or anything. If they had, I think I definitely would have had either a horrible accident or a rude and rapid end to a stupid conversation. But, I did make it to the restroom. Our company has really nice, clean restrooms. Very Ally McBeal and that. They're not unisex, but they are nice enough to be considered a perk of coming to work for my group. You get "really good amenities", and that literally includes the perfume and lotion and stuff they keep stocked in the vanity in that restroom of ours. It's pretty nice- and so very convenient sometimes!

So I got in there, and as soon as the door closed and I got maybe three steps across the tiles, it just burst out of me. For the first time since I was a kid, I had a true accident in my panties. Naturally, I stopped dead still in shock and tried to perceive if (a) I was alone in there and (b) if I was making a mess that I wouldn't be able to hide. I was wearing jeans like I always do, low-rise that day, pretty tight with nice flares. I had on low-cut bikini panties, so at least that was catching a lot of my problems. I managed to get to the closest stall by sort of shuffling forward and being real careful not to squish loose anything. By the time I got into the stall, it was clear that I was alone in the restroom--- and thank God. I'm sort of a manager of a little department in our group, and I can't imagine the thought of any of my people knowing I had a problem like that!

Don't get me wrong- I do what I do for fun and in private and stuff, and when I've pooped in my pants other times it's been on purpose and sort of a controlled experiment and all that, right! But I don't want any of that to mess up my job. Especially not *literally*. It's because people just don't understand, you know. That's why I think this site rocks, because I can see that other people are really focused on their craps too, and I don't feel like such a freak. Anyway. You get that I was in a real-world type of problem, and I wasn't happy about it--- believe me, I was panicked and nowhere close to "excited" or whatever.

I spent maybe ten minutes peeling my pants and panties down, wiping as I went. Over and over I had to all-of-a-sudden stop little globs of turd from falling down onto the floor. I was a big, nasty mess. My shoes were back at my cubicle, and I was just in my socks. So pretty soon I had those off and was using them to wipe because the toilet paper was pissing me off. As nice as our bathrooms are, the toilet paper was still pretty mediocre, and against my messy skin it was constantly tearing and rolling against itself and stuff. The socks worked a lot better. I had to dip them into the toilet over and over to rinse them and get them moist so they could get the job done. It was like forever before I had those jeans all the way off, my ass and legs and everything cleaned, and my socks and panties doing that swirly thing in the toilet as I flushed like ten times over and over.

Of course it was at that point that a girl came in and got right in the stall next to me. I had no idea who it was, but I saw her shoes and took a guess. She was in another department, but I liked her OK. She was cool. I had stopped flushing and swirling my stuff around in the water as soon as the door had opened, so then I was just in there standing still wondering what to do next. My jeans were hanging on the peg thing on the back of the stall door, and I still needed to clean them off. Then the girl said this right when I was thinking it- she said "Are you barefoot?" and then "What's wrong?" The whole time her piss is whizzing out of her like a liquid snake. I'm like dying because I can tell she sees me standing and not sitting, and it's got to be plain as day that I'm sort of doing something weird. Toilet water had splashed on the tiles around me, and that was definitely abnormal for our restroom. Plus I'm sure it stank really bad.

I was pissed, right? What could I say? For real I was sick that my job was on the line if I didn't do this the right way with this girl. But now she was crapping her own turds on the other side, and I guess she just sort of had the idea that it was OK to be herself, because she sort of moaned a little and spurted pee over and over into the water inbetween the sounds of turds plopping. She was like "God, I had to go." Then she said something like "Really, are you OK?" And I heard her doing the toilet paper and wiping and stuff. I'm still in a panic and just standing there and all I'm doing is saying "Yeah, yeah" like a moron. My mind was totally void of any kind of idea. It was horrible!

At that point the door opens and these two people come in together, talking all about stupid work. I heard them coming before they even got there, so I jumped up on the toilet seat and said "FUCK!" and I meant it. I was just so pissed, and I didn't want anybody else knowing I had a problem if I could avoid it. And who else were they talking about but me, right? They were girls in my group, and they were saying how they thought I liked the QC manager and I was a flirt and all that crap, but it was nothing new. It's not like managers don't get to where they are without knowing what's getting said, right! So big deal. They go over and do makeup and talk talk talk and then they're both heading for the stalls, like they suddenly remembered what they went in there for in the first place. Only two are empty, at the opposite end of the row from me, and of course they get in them because they're adjoining and they can keep on talking while they crap and stuff.

I get back down and just wipe like hell on the insides of my jeans with my wet socks that I had wrung out and then I had a bunch of toilet paper scraping around in there, too. I got turd stuff all over my hands again doing that, and ended up washing them in the toilet water but not being able to flush because of course that would give me away. The girl next to me is still sitting there, and she had to be finished wiping and all that. Her own jeans were still down, though, I could see them just barely and they were crumpled on top of her clogs. But those two girls from my group just blahblahblah and didn't stop the whole time, and thank God they got off the subject of me before I had to hear things like how I was bitch to the fat one the month before and all that garbage. Just one more reason why some rise and some don't is all I can say.

But then they flushed- same time of course, like fucking high school again- and they got out and washed their hands and then it was like they noticed the girl next to me. (I of course was back up squatting on the seat by then.) They asked *her* if she was all right, and she said yes and then the girls were gone and thank God, right! So I finally said "Yeah, I guess I do have a problem" to this girl as I got down off the seat again. The girl stands up and buttons her jeans and all that, and she comes out of her stall and just stands next to mine's door. "Can I do anything?" She's really a sweet girl, and she was being so nice to me! I was crying a little by then because I was totally pissed and freaked and needing a cigarette like I can't even tell you. I remember I smoked almost a whole pack in like an hour later that day and I ended up puking my guts out not long after that.

Anyway, I get the girl to go find the janitor's closet out in the main hall on the other side of our floor, and she comes back with the wet floor and out of order signs and puts them in front of the stall. At least three other women came in during all that time, but I was up on the seat naked from the waist down just waiting it out. It was like forty-five minutes by then, and I had the girl go round and tell the girls in my group that I'd had an emergency call about a break-in at my apartment, and I'd run out and had passed her on the way, etc., told her to let them know, etc., who know when I'll be back blahblahblah. And then fuck it but didn't my cell phone ring right away and the fat girl's trying to find out what's going on. I saw the number and killed the call immediately and shut the thing off. Then I got freaked that the girls would have heard my phone and put two and two together and come in there and busted me. But I got lucky and nobody heard it, I guess. I told the girl my pants size and stuff and said I'd pay her back if she could manage to go grab me some new clothes.

So she begged off with her manager to go down to the store and buy some cold medicine- faked sick for me basically- and promised to bring back lunch for him and whoever else, etc. So like another forty-five minutes later she comes back and brings in a pair of jeans just like mine, a three-pack of low-cut bikini panties, and a pair of new socks. All stuffed in a Subway bag. Hilarious! "They looked at me funny when I asked for an extra bag" she said "But the real hard part was rolling those jeans up tight enough!" I put all the soiled stuff into the bag once I was dressed, and then I came out and went straight for that soap and water. And the perfume! I realy had to love the corporate amenities that day, you know! The girl stayed there still looking worried, and I was like not able to make eye contact and all. But then she pulls my shoes out of another bag that she had, and I'm like bawling all of a sudden and I finally turned and hugged her real hard and said thanks and everything. Then she went out and made sure the coast was clear for me to get off our floor by the back stairs, and I went on home.

That girl never did take any money from me for the clothes she'd bought, and since we were different sizes I just kept them. We didn't start hanging out or anything right after, but we were more friendly and had this bond going on. It was pretty clear that the girl was a very decent person and just was trying to help out that day, etc. Like three months after that I requested a transfer/promotion for her to get her into my department, and she's gotten to be a really good friend of mine now that we talk every day at work so much. This summer we even went on vacation together, since we're both between guys. I still can't believe how lucky I got having *her* find me in there instead of somebody else!

samantha c.

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December 17, 2003

I thought I was going to die today from having to pee so bad!

After work, waiting in traffic. It was typical gridlock insanity, and my radio can't bring in NPR when I'm on that part of the loop, so I pop in my Margaret Cho CD, just trying to chill out while I sit there in my car not moving at all.... and suddenly it's like a faucet getting turned on. I've got this pressure that starts killing me! My bladder is this heavy, full bag of hot slippery stuff that's pushing to get out any weak crack that it can.

Gas is what did it. I was leaning over to get out my cigarettes and lighter, and suddenly "pfffttt", out slips this little mousy fart. And as soon as it's done, my bladder just rolls or blows up bigger or something, since the pressure inside me got changed. We all know how that goes, I'm sure!

Then, of course, as soon as that "too full, too heavy" sensation in my bladder hits me, I start to shiver. Any girl will tell you, guys, that when a girl really gets the big pee-shivers, she usually pees a little, too. And I did -- just this one good thick-feeling spurt of piss that simply flooded the crotch of my panties and jeans. It was one good squirt and suddenly I'm sitting in this squishy, smelly leather seat, my ass slowly getting soaked through my jeans. And still my car was not moving!

So I hit my turn signal and started sort of rudely moving into the lane next to me, honking, forcing my car in there. People are honking back and cursing at me and all that, but eventually I get across three lanes to this exit ramp I don't normally take, and I went on down to this gas station right at the bottom, on the corner at the light. I pull in at the back and jump out. It's one of those places where the man inside behind the counter has to give you the key, but there's this guy coming out of the men's room with the key in his hand as I pull up. So I jumped out and went right up to him, wet crotch and ass and all, and I could feel the little leaky drippy feeling of the pee running down my legs from the over-soaked parts of my jeans. It was so wild, I had to go so bad! I just like held out my hand for the key, doubling over to keep the rest of my piss in, and I said something like "Please, I gotta GO!!!"

He gave me the key like a hot potato and said "sorry" or something. I got in the men's room and it stank! Oh my GOD! But I didn't care, I was just trying to peel down wet jeans and panties, right? Ever tried that?! I don't recommend it if you're ever in a hurry to void the old piss bag. Anyway. The toilet looked OK -- not too filthy or anything. The water had a few "leftovers" as the bowl refilled, but the seat was clean-looking. But let's get serious. What girl ever sits on those things in public? Rarely, for me at least. Even when I take the time to lay out toilet paper I still tend to hover just above the seat when I go.

So that's what I did. I turned and backed up while I tried to get my stupid wet junk pulled down, and at about mid-thigh I had stuck my ass like an inch above that seat, and --- whooooooosssshhh! --- out floods the pee! Gushing and gushing like crazy. Of course it's splattering, too, since I didn't take any time to reach down and arrange myself, if you know what I mean. You could say I didn't get the doors all the way open, right? And the shivers that came on me then were pretty much this pure religious ecstasy. Wow! It was like the best back scratch, bubble bath, and cat nap I've ever had, all rolled into one incredible pee-shiver.

Then I was like -- spurt -- fart -- spurt -- drizzle -- fart -- spurt -- drizzle -- and I was done. I turned to look, and the seat was all beaded over with splashes of my piss. There was urine that ran down the sides of the bowl and pooled in tiny puddles around the base. Totally sloppy and smelly. I was kind of privately embarrassed, right? A part of me was pretty ashamed. But it was kind of cool at the same time! I mean, it felt sooooooo good to get that relief. And it was in a stupid old men's room, too! Meanwhile, in my head I was already thinking, "I gotta write this for the forum tonight!"

No poop was coming, I'm sad to say. The pressure was there, but not the urge, if you know what I mean. It was pretty obvious there was still some more composting yet to go, right? I came home and got rid of that with no drama about two hours ago. But it sure felt good to void some more of that gas I had while the piss was draining from me in that men's room!

The funniest part of all was at the end, though.

I don't even bother wiping. I'm like, why? I'm getting ready to put on wet panties, right?! So eventually I get my panties and jeans pulled back up (just as hard to do when wet, let me tell you), and they're all cold and hard-feeling with the denim being soaked like it was. Not comfortable at all. I still have the key in my hand and I head on out, wondering what my poor driver's seat is going to look like when I get back to it --- and that nice man is still outside, waiting on me, worrying about whether or not I'm all right!

That whole time I was in there gushing like a busted fire hydrant, this kindly middle-aged guy was pacing outside the door like a gentleman taking care of his lady! How cool is that? A part of me wonders if he was listening at the door like a perv, but he didn't seem like the type. I think he honestly was being nice and was truly worried that I'd need more help or something. He took the key back from me and said he'd return it, and he made sure not to stare at my wet clothes. But I'm sure he'd noticed, since that much wetness was pretty much impossible to hide. He just said something like "Are you going to be OK?" and I said "Yeah" and went back and got in my car. He actually waited to see me fire up the engine and back away before he waved and went on around to the front of the store to return the key.

Then I had another problem, of course --- sitting in wet pants and a wet seat in the middle of gridlock for another hour. But I just rolled down the windows to let out some of that strong smell, and I pretty much chain smoked and laughed along with my girl Margaret until my exit came up.

Like the old saying goes, right? --- "What a way to end the day!"

samantha c.

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March 27, 2004

Well, hello again -- like almost six months since my last post! Cha!

I've been really involved with this guy all that time, and I got back into sports again, too, so there's been zero "fun time on the computer" for me - since I'd finally found more fun "irl"! Now, though, the boyfriend is toast, and I've just sort of shut down for a while to reflect on everything.

The guy wanted my roommate (a girl) and me to have a threesome with him. I said no, and he had no idea that my roomie was a true lesbian; I found out from her that for a solid week he really tried to get her into bed behind my back, all after I'd said "no" to the whole threesome idea and everything. Needless to say, he got what he deserved.

I still had his apartment keys, so I left work early last Thursday, drove to his place, and crapped all over his baseball cards. He collects them -- as an investment he says, right?! But he's almost thirty and it always creeped me out. So I got out his big plastic crates, opened three of them, and straddled them, one by one. It's tough to release and then hold, but I've been down that road before, even if it had been a while. I have naturally thick, solid turds anyway, so it was no prob. I put my first one, nice and fat and hard, in the first crate. Then the next two were longer and more slimy and they went in the second crate. The last crate got a long slender turd, plus a pretty sick splatter of after-shit (what I call it) as I farted a couple times. All his neat little plastic cases and albums and junk that were holding his cards were all covered in my crap!

I wrote him a little break-up note and left it in the last box, on top of the worst of the mess. I stuck the key down into the turd in the first box like it was a radio antenna. The second box I just reached in an smeared the poop around until it covered the surface of everything I could reach inside. Then I left some brown hand prints on his carpet, his couch, his mirror. That kind of thing.

It's the second time I've scatted at somebody's house due to a breakup. I haven't heard from cops yet, and I know I'm lucky, right?! My roomie says I'm crazy, and she's got me going to see her therapist tomorrow. I guess that's why I'm on tonight posting this, cos I'm nervous about it. I know I'm pretty sick and all. But no doctor needs to hear about my life like that, right? I guess we'll see. If anybody cares I might drop back in and tell how it goes.

samantha c.

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June 6, 2004

I don't know if you all will want to read this stupid stuff, but I have had a very weird shitting experience that's just too ironic.

Ok, so I went to my roommate's therapist last month. This was after my ex-boyfriend had repeatedly tried to get my roommate to sleep with him, and she finally told me. Since my roommate is a lesbian, that aspect of it was funny -- proof my ex was an idiot. But my roommate is very pretty and femme, so he couldn't believe she wouldn't want to fool around with a guy. Anyway. You might recall from back then I posted about going over to his place and using my key to get in. Then I got out his big plastic bin boxes full of his precious old baseball cards, and shit all over them and smeared the poop around. When I told my roommate about it, she was sad and asked me to get some help. I know what I did wasn't normal at all, and I'm not really sure why I always involve shit in anything I do that I feel strongly about. So, long story short, I went and saw her shrink.

The psychologist was this woman about fifty years old. First question I get is whether or not I'm a lesbian like Jennifer, my roomie, and whether or not we're lovers. I'm like, no, and then she's like, well, do you fantasize about her? Blah blah blah blah. It was all this stuff from her about sex, like I'm there because I have feelings for my roommate! Finally, I'm like, lady, I took a big stinking SHIT on my boyfriend's most precious possessions! I want to know if I'm a psycho or what!

Meanwhile, since I'd come straight from work, I was missing my usual time to get home and sit on the toilet and have a nice big shit and piss. There was a little cramping here and there as we talked, but I didn't fart much, and I don't think they were all that smelly. Really, I was putting it into the back of my mind, since I didn't want to get up in the middle of the conversation about shit to go take a shit. I figured the lady would call the funny farm people and have me locked up right away. So I just held it with an iron ass and did the whole "mind over matter" thing.

So we got to talking about my shit experiences for a long time. I had to go back through my life's story, basically, and catalog for her all the times I could remember when I had "abnormal" poop experiences. Well. I was super embarassed because I had a lot of stories to tell her. It's been a thing for me since forever. I would fish my turds out of the toilet ever since I was a girl, and I would hold them and feel how heavy and slimy they were, and I'd squish them in my hands and stuff. It's a big thing for me to try to smell the farts and the bad odors of people around me after they shit big loads. I like going into the bathroom immediately after anybody I'm around has had a big bowel movement, and a lot of times I will sit right down on that warm toilet seat and crap, too, and have a nice sloppy orgasm. And on and on and on went like that, with me telling her basically what a pervert I am. We moved on and discussed what I liked when it came to sex, how many boyfriends I'd had, what weird things we might have done. We talked a lot about whether or not my parents had been mean to me or abused me, or if there was some relative or neighborhood person who might've been doing wrong things with me as a little girl and I was too young to remember. Yada yada yada! I was in there for almost three hours -- you won't believe how much that lady charged me! It was like the end of the day, I'd come straight from work, and we ended up talking about my stupid life until almost nine o'clock. I'd done pretty good ignoring the urge to move my poop, but gravity and time and the pretzels I'd eaten in the car on the way over were starting to really make me miserable. But I held on tight. A bit of turd was spreading my ring a little bit now and then, but I'd try to very discretely squirm and push it back up in with my ass cheeks, and that was working OK.

Then the shrink lady ends it all by going right back to the lesbian thing again! She got all into questions about experimenting with other girls and did I ever have a sexual relationship with another girl and did I fantasize about it and all that. So I had to go into how I had fooled around with this girl or that girl on the softball team and on the soccer team in high school and college, and all my sad trips to the lesbian bar when I'm really hating guys sometimes. And I'm starting to think I'm just purely insane, because this lady's not making any comments, you know, she's just listening to me, watching me, asking me questions. I'm dying to take a piss and a huge dump by the end, and I'm squirming -- like my own body is making fun of me by torturing me! There I was trying to get a grip on why I'm so obsessed with shit, and by the end all I want to do is to get up and run to the nearest toilet and blow this huge pile out of my ass.

So finally the lady says the old line about "my, look at the time" (yes she did), and she stands up and holds out her hand for a shake. I stand up to shake her hand and --- ooops --- this huge fart just rips out of me, and half a turd rushes out into my panties before I can grind my ass and pinch it off. I sort of double over and groan and hold my stomach, and the shrink lady just stands there and puts her hands on her hips. Are you trying to be funny, she says. I'm dying, you know? Like embarassed and in pain and just really freaking out. Pissed off, now, but just then I was wanting to get out of there without getting locked up or sued or something. I was scared!

The lady walked over to her office door and opens it pointed out, told me where I could find a bathroom down the hall. She said she didn't know whether or not she was going to keep seeing me. She went on about being very disturbed by my behavior and that psychiatry was not some kind of joke to be laughed at and that I did have a "few issues" that I needed to address. But I'm out the door before she finished, and I stumbled down to that lovely doctor's office bathroom with the nice wallpaper and the expensive toilet paper and the air freshener. The half-turd is smushing badly inside my panties as I'm going down the hall, and I'm crying, just absolutely dying, you know?

I get in there and rip my pants and panties down, and whooosh! plop!, the shit just burst out of me in a bunch of heavy loads. The water splashed up against my ass and I was all sloppy and sick down there. The turd in my panties was just a gooey paste, and I had streaks going down the insides of my thighs from being so hasty when I pulled them down. But, my savior, Cottonelle moistened towelette wipes! They had them on the counter next to me, so I knew I could clean up OK.

Just as my huge torrent of piss began to flood out of me, the shrink lady gently knocks on the bathroom door and said she'd wait for me in her office when I'm done, and that I could leave my dirty panties in the trash can if I wanted to throw them away, she'd make sure she took care of it and all that. I'm like hell no lady, but I just said "OK" out loud. So like twenty minutes later I was all cleaned up and my panties were in the little trash can. I walked out of that bathroom and went straight out the office door, found the stairwell, and I got down to the parking garage as fast as I could. The lady yelled something after me, all angry, but I wasn't about to stick around and get lectured. No fricking way. I'd had enough psychiatry.

But then I had to go home and hear my roommate ask me how it went, so I had to tell her. It would be hard not to be honest with her since she knew me so well. Jennifer didn't really say anything until I started crying, but then she just hugged me for a long time and rubbed my back and said it would be OK, that I wasnt' crazy and all that. Then she took me out to her favorite lesbian bar and got me really drunk on margaritas, and that seemed to get me over it better. Even though the next day at work was a killer.

So I thought I was "over it" for good, but then the shrink sent me an email this Friday afternoon. I'd put it down on the patient information form. She said she was sorry for the problems in our first meeting, she blamed herself for not letting us take a break, etc. She apologized like crazy and said she really would like me to come back and start regular sessions with her. I showed the email to Jennifer and she of course was like you should do it Sammie and all that. But I don't know. I'm still trying to decide.

No matter what, though, from now on I'm taking a nice full shit BEFORE I ever go into a shrink's office again.

(Sorry this was so long!)

samantha c.

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July 25, 2004

Long time since I last had a post!

TO A***: Hey, I wish you could write more on this site! I'd love to know more about your shit experiences. If you want to email me, then send it to ******** AT ****** DOT *** . (Anybody else, too, IF you have shit stories too hard core for this site! What can I say, I'm a horny girl!! :P )

4TH OF JULY ACCIDENT: Well, I got together with roommate after all. So what the psychologist thought about me is true: I am bisexual, and I've spent this summer trying to really accept it and not freak out about myself. It's like now when I'm in public I wonder if people can tell. But of course they can't, I'm just paranoid. And if my roomie and I go anywhere together, we're smart about things, you know. At least most of the time.

But we did get drunk together on the 4th of July at this place at the beach, and that's what I'm writing about, cos we sort of publicly displayed our affections too much and got tossed out. My roomie had been complaining earlier about having to pee real bad, and way too much time went by. She got all distracted with me and what we were doing and forgot to go. Isn't that stupid how we can do that?! Then we get thrown out of this nice place and have a long way to walk back down the beach to where our car is parked. Since it's the 4th of July there's people everywhere waiting for the fireworks; we looked all over for a nice hiding place for her to go, but it was no use.

So my roomie is trying to walk and not let it out, but she finally just said, "Oh God!" and pissed her shorts right there on the sand. There were people sitting in beach chairs and on blankets, kids with sparklers and stuff. We were having to walk through them to get to the car, so of course a few people noticed. Her pee hissed like crazy once it got going, sort of shooting right through her panties and drumming against the inside of the crotch of her shorts, so that there was also this splattery sound, too. A kid started laughing that she peed herself, and a mommy-type of woman next to us got up and asked if we needed help.

My roomie was too drunk to really be crying or anything. She was just really ashamed and shaking all over. I found out later that it was her first accident since college, when she'd peed herself in an elevator. So she just waved the lady away and squatted down and pulled her shorts over a little and pissed the rest out, right down into the sand in the middle of everybody. I stood there helpless like a little fool, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over. It was dark enough, though, and very close to the time for the fireworks, so only those near us really knew what was going on. And most of them seemed sympathetic. Since it was the beach, on sugary sand, there wasn't even a puddle. Like kitty litter!

So I help her up and tell everybody sorry for her, and we stagger out of there as fast as we could. By the time we get to my car we're laughing like crazy girls, you know? We were still pretty hammered, and I gotta admit I was suddenly so horny for her that I seriously thought about fooling around with her right there in the parking lot inside the car.

But I didn't do it. We got in and I drove while she took off her wet things. Laughing and having trouble breathing, it was so funny. And then I farted! Inspiration! I said, "I'm gonna do it too!" So I pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and parked the car. I scooted my ass forward in the seat and lifted up a little to give me some room in my shorts. My roomie's like, "Oh God, Sam, no way!" But I was ready, and in a matter of a minute or two I pushed out a nice fat turd into my panties. The crackling sound got us giggling again, and I was shaking so hard trying to hold my awkward position and laughing that I thought I might drop it out onto the floorboard, since my panties were hanging low in my shorts by then.

But I managed to scoot back up on the leather seat, and I sort of dramatically SAT down on my shit. I said, "Ta-DA!" and squirmed my ass around in it. My roomie was speechless. We could hear the squishing in my pants, and of course the smell was gagging. It was so rank! Too much holiday food!

I got the windows rolled down and the moon roof open, and just then the fireworks started going off. It was perfect! We were laughing again so hard! My roomie must've said "Oh my God, I can't believe it" about a hundred times as I got the car going again and drove us back home. It was fun!

The worst part was having to go in and get cleaned up and then come back out and clean the car -- all while I was still significantly drunk. That part sucked, and I remember taking a second bath once I got done with the car cleaning. But we've got a memory we'll never let go of now. As sick as it is! Really, though, what's more intimate than that sort of thing? Is there anything that could be more private that you could share with somebody? I don't feel all that bad about it, to be honest. And it helped her get over her shame and humiliation and all that. So no worries!

samantha c.

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August 16, 2004

Anyway, I'm sitting here surfing some fave sites and fooling around, and I felt like I had to pee. I was wearing these big comfy Hanes cotton panties (granny panties, right?), and I took off my long t-shirt I wear as a nightie and scooted it under my ass. It was soooo nice, because I just kept on clicking and stuff and meanwhile I let out the piss in these little spurts. It was the hottest I'd ever felt it! Had a problem, though, because the shirt got totally soaked waaay before I was dont, and I knew that the chair I sit in was not going to be urine-resistant. But the pee pooled a tiny bit between my thighs while I sat a little longer, then I got up and grabbed my jeans from where I'd thrown them on the floor Friday night and used that to soak up the rest of the piss. I went into the bathroom and threw the jeans and my dripping shirt into the tub, then I stepped out of my suddenly very cold panties and threw them in, too. I got into the tub and sort of lay down for a while on the clothes, and then I peed the rest of my bladder into the tub. And it was so hot again! It was like my internal body temperature was ten degrees above normal. Then I took a shower. Now I'm back sitting on my damp -- but comfy -- chair!

Meanwhile, my girlfriend just snores away in the bed, clueless. She sleeps like a rock.

That's it for now!

samantha c.

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August 21, 2004

What is the deal with having to pee every five minutes? Does this happen to other gals? I pee a nice big bladder-emptier into the toilet, but then five minutes later I have the urge again, and when I sit back down, there's a bunch more pee spraying out! I'm like that every night, always have been. It drives me crazy, you know? I'm trying to get ready for bed, settle in and all that, and don't you know it -- I got to get up four or five times in the first hour to pee before I can finally stop having the urge.

Sometimes, of course, I'm really tired, so I don't get back up, and I just hold it. Those next mornings are usually the ones when I wake up wet! I don't have anything against bed-wetting at all, though. I do it on purpose quite a bit. I've got a waterproof mattress cover and all that, so no worries, etc.

BUT, it DOES annoy me that I can't get my bladder fully, totally emptied when I need to. It's like I don't have enough pressure in there to physiologically suck all that urine up into my urethra to void it from my body. Is that possible? Are there any other gals out there who have this same problem? I'm wondering, really, if maybe I shouldn't go see a doctor about it.

*shrug*

Thanks for listening while I bitch!

samantha c.

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September 4, 2004

TO A***, A***, AND B*** (and anybody else I'm forgetting): Thanks a lot for helping me figure out my "endlessly repeating pees" problem. I did go see a doctor, but I don't have urinary tract infection. Nor, apparently according to her, is there an overactive bladder problem. The positioning thing when I sit on the toilet is probably the culprit -- and I have had some time to think about it, and it makes a lot of sense. When I piss outdoors or in the shower I'm in a totally different position, and it's definitely a lot more satisfying piss those times. I used to think that it was just because I was peeing in a more unconventional place and so I was just turned-on. Now I'm thinking I was more satisfied also because I was actually fully voiding my bladder. Solution: now I'm pissing in the shower before bed every night. And guess what? It might just be mind-over-matter or whatever (power of suggestion?), but I do one big shower piss and then I get in bed and don't have to get back out anymore to squirt-squirt. THANK YOU for this relief, right? I can't ever tell you how great a change this is. It's like I've won the lottery or something. Really!

TO T*** M***: your story a while back rocked. Rocked!!!

There was this other thing I thought about sharing, too. It's more of a question than a story, because I honestly don't remember anything to go with this experience of mine....

Here's the experience: It's happened twice in my life that I've gotten SO drunk that I've utterly, fantastically drenched my jeans with urine and not noticed it at all. I mean not one clue as it was happening. The only reasons I ever knew it happened, both times, were because (1) friends of mine ragged me about it for FOREVER after both instances. (2) From one of those times I do have a Polaroid of me lying passed-out under a pool table in my soaked clothes, and it's actually kind of a fun treasure to me now, even if I don't remember one bit of it ever happening. (3) Both times, by the time I was able to be aware of my surroundings, it was well into the next day, and my friends had helped me to change clothes and had put me to bed. But of course I stank all to hell, and neither time did they bother to wash my clothes for me, just left the dried-up pissy-smelling stuff lying next to the bed I was in. Like to prove it to me what I did. Bitches, they were! ;D

Anyway, I do remember some drunken pissing times where I was in distress and managed either squat somewhere safe or else just had an accident, but it does sort of freak me out that twice I've been so blasted that I wet myself that badly and then just went on being drunk and unaware. Maybe that's silly, but that's the way I feel.

samantha c.

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October 11, 2004

What about me as a kid, how "it" all began, etc. That category of question is not allowed to be answered, I think, on this board. But I'll try anyway, since several people have asked lately.

I started out with a thing for panties. My own dirty panties in the hamper. I was never a great wiper as a kid, and one day I got the urge to sniff my panties at the end of the day when I was ready to throw them in the hamper. There was a nice, crusty streak of brown there, just like most days, and before I knew it the little nasty bit of cotton was up under my nose and I was transfixed, breathing in, breathing out. My heart pounded and I felt that sickly-sweet excitement throb through my entire body. It was the first time in my memory that I knew with certainty that touching myself "down there" would be the way to make myself feel more wonderful than ever before. So, being already naked and ready for my bath, I ran one finger down between my pussy lips and just held it there, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing. And all the while I kept the soiled panties to my nose, the rich aroma of my dried shit making me almost dizzy with what I now know is lust. But just then I only knew I loved it. Of course, I was old enough to know how filthy and wrong dirty panties were... but they were MY dirty panties, private to ME, and I was in my room alone, and I felt too good all over for it to really be as wrong and as gross as everyone seemed to think, right? I remember for a long time after that I did so much thinking, trying to fight the shame and fear I had that somebody somehow would find out that I craved the smell of my dirty panties every evening when I changed out of them, that behind the door of my room there a lust-crazed girl all giddy and melting inside over her discovery of what must be one of the most amazing secrets of the world of adults. I figured that what I did must be an OK, adult thing, that adults only steered us away from enjoying our own stains and smells and excretions because, in children, that amount of lust must be harmful. But by adulthood a person could handle it. Well, I was nearly a teenager by then, and so of course I was full of thinking that I was really smart and mature and really already an adult kind of kid anyway. It was only natural that I begin to like adult things, right? And besides, no one ever knew what I was doing! It was just me in my room, pushing a finger against my wet slit, inhaling with great care every possible molecule of delicious stink that my nostrils could absorb.

samantha c.

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March 23, 2005

Hey, this is not really a post meant to shake the world or anything, OK? I just thought I'd let everybody know that my girlfriend and I have moved to a new town in a new state! Yay we!

So I'll give some details, right, since I know there'll be replies or emails or whatever asking me about it if I don't.

Anyway, it was this rainy morning, and my head was killing me. That sort of skull-bursting sinus pressure thing that makes you, I swear, blind in one eye and seeing all the wrong colors in the other. Plus you can't breathe but barely, and all you want to do is find a way to kill yourself that doesn't require moving at all. Seriously, right?! I was in headache hell. And like the brain-dead bitch I was, I of course did the "call in sick" thing myself. Couldn't think to ask my girlfriend to do it before she left for her job. No. That'd be too convenient, legitimate, and sensible. Instead, I had the phone right next to the ibuprofen and me, so I called in and told my work that I was in like the last throes of death, etc., could somebody else please test that last GUI and make sure they actually sign the damn script at the end before they file it this time, blah-blah-blah... and I ended up working on my phone and then online fucking telecommuting for three more hours. And I'm not even sure after fifteen minutes or so that I was even speaking English. I know I was slurring my words, and most of the time my eyes were either closed or barely slits because of the torture that it was to sit upright at my laptop and try to read anything in that fucking 1280 x 1024 resolution. Which of course I didn't actually bother to change. Because pain makes me stupid as a stone.

But I made it through without cursing (I think) at any of the seven or eight guys I had to speak with. And at least I got the pity. They must've heard my death rattle coming on every time I tried to actually focus my eyes or turn my head or something, because I got the rest of the week off! Yay! To celebrate, of course, I went straight back to bed. First, though, I made sure I turned the ringer off on the phone.

Next thing I know, it's like the next afternoon, and I have an empty Jack Daniels' bottle in bed with me, the cap, believe it or not, sensibly screwed on tight. Find out from my girlfriend that I'd called her at some point the day before and had demanded she bring a fifth home after she got off work. My sensible lady delivers a half-pint flask, instead. That was lucky for me, actually. Turns out I grabbed it from her and downed the whole thing in about two minutes, laid back down, and snored. Snored instead of died, you know? Because she thinks I might've slammed down that whole fifth if I could've got it. She said she tried to get the flask from me, apparently, but I'm a lot stronger than she is, even when I'm delirious from pain. I smacked her somewhere (she won't tell me, and I never found a mark) and really pissed her off. So she just watched me finish my little binge and pass out -- and then she left. Went to her mom's for the night, of all places. What a nurse!

So there in the bed with my bottle and me is this magazine from God-knows-where. It's from AAA, and it's got mountains on the front and this utterly wholesome white family in backpacks and even a fucking squirrel crouched on a rock back behind them, humping an acorn or something -- whatever it is that a squirrel does on a rock. So -- surprise to me! -- I laughed hard at the perfect mountains and the nice, shiny family and the damn stupid squirrel. And I swear I thought that was the end of me. I puked right there in the bed, all over myself, the magazine, my favorite jersey sheets. So of course my head was still hurting pretty badly, but this time I could tell it was more hangover and dehydration, you know? I could deal with that. Even if still to this day cannot figure out why I'd asked her for borboun, of all things.

Then later I'm back at my laptop, resisting the urge to login to the company VPN, and I start googling about mountain towns and all that. I was in my Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and this old sweatshirt of an ex-boyfriend's that I swear still smells like him. I guess I haven't washed it in seven or eight years, at least. Anyway. I was getting super-comfy at that point, and suddenly more than a little horny. After the puking and all that earlier, I'd had a nice long bath and had messed around a bit with the handle of the loofa brush in my asshole, so I guess that had started a bit of a hormonal chain reaction.... My head was still throbbing quite a lot, but less, you know? I was popping Advils, gulping down some serious amounts of water, staggering to the toilet to piss, then doing it all over again. Nevertheless, etc., I ended up masturbating there in my pj's, looking at the fucking Appalachian Mountains!

I'm leaned back pinching my nipples and wondering if I should stop a minute to go pee, when my girlfriend comes in the room. She's behind me, and she sees the pretty Smokies there on the screen, notices my pajama pants are kicked off, and she just cracks up. Scares me so bad I piss all over poor Hello Kitty! My girlfriend can't stop laughing after that, and she has to run off to the bathroom, herself, she's bent over so bad. I end up in the tub, pissing myself dry down the drain, while she comes in again and again to keep peeing, still laughing like a complete dipstick.

So I'm still in my new bubble bath later on, and she comes in and joins me, etc. She ends up giggling halfway through it all, which just sucked. And I told her it did. I mean, give me a break! So I was masturbating to a picture of trees, hills, and clouds. SO??? I'm basically screaming this at her while I slosh my way out of the tub -- but I stand up too fast, get this horrible sudden dizziness, and I basically collapse right back into the water on top of her.

We end up in the tub for an hour more, at least. She tells me that seriously she thought it might be nice to go see those mountains for real. I call my boss that night, we work out some vacation time for me the next month, and my girlfriend does the same thing the next day.

Long story short: we go on vacation, love it in the mountains, start looking around at houses and jobs.... and within another month we're living up in this high valley in a gorgeous little house in this town that's I swear still in the 1950's! But it gets better! There's a decent amount of lesbians up here in and around our town, and we've already gained a bunch of friends and learned where to go and where not to go, etc.

Turns out my girlfriend likes to hike, so we've done that a bunch. I didn't think at first that it was for me, but I do like tent-camping beside these tiny little creeks just a ways off the trail, us two getting naked in the same sleeping bag and sweating all over each other like pigs -- fun to lick all that off, you know?! No joke. And that outdoor-sex stuff I always heard about is true, by the way. Highly recommended. Especially if you find a nice mossy spot among the ferns... and if your girlfriend remembers to pack her magic wand (and the extra batteries) in her Jansport.

Anyway, that's the Epic of Our Move. If any of you are still awake, please feel free to email me if you live anywhere near western NC. It'd be a trip to finally meet some of you weirdos face-to-face. ;P

samantha c.

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March 26, 2005

To answer K*****, about the outdoors-poops....

Yes, it's true. And I swear I've shit more in the woods up here than I have in our own toilet!

samantha c.

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July 17, 2005

I had a very nice accidental reunion last night with a girl I used to go to school with way back in the parachute pants days.

In junior high I sat right next to a gorgeous girl named Traci during an essay test, and right in the middle of it she let go with a torrent of piss that flooded her seat and poured out onto the floor to make a huge puddle. The only indication that we had of what was going on was the sound of her hissing piss and the muffling of it as it hit the insides of her panties, and then, of course, the wet drumming sound it started to make in the quiet room as it poured onto the thin carpeting. I just sat there in wonder and stared at her as shed hid her face in her hands and sobbed and sobbed, not making a sound as she did so. Finally, as she was nearly finished, one of the other students nearby called to the teacher, who had somehow not heard it happening. All of us other kids had heard it, though, and a roomful of 30 or so of us got to watch nearly an entire minute of desperation pants-wetting before the teacher came over and helped the girl get down to the clinic. Then, for like fifteen minutes, we sat there in class with no teacher, forgetting the essay entirely, but still pretending to sort of do it; we were really just stealing glances over and over at the little lake of piss left in her chair and huge staining puddle that was spreading and soaking into the carpet. A lot of nervous laughter and crude jokes ensued until the teacher came back in and read us the riot act. The girl, however, was a genuinely well-liked kid, and I don't recall anyone ever making fun of Traci about it later; we all felt sorry for her, really, I guess. It was a miracle she wasn't ridiculed, but she wasn't.

And I can't tell you how many times I masturbated to that memory! Half the rest of that year alone was spent by me in my bed or in my bathroom, my fingers or hairbrush or whatever up my cunt or my ass, my clit busting me inside-out, me just right back there in my head seeing and hearing that piss flood out, and her all embarassed and so beautiful and so pitiful....

So guess who we run into up here last night? In a lesbian bar. Yes. She is a lawyer now, works in Charlotte, comes to the mountains to this house she owns about once a month, etc. And wow -- to see her face when she saw me! It was horror + happy + horny. The horniness due to her partner making out with her at the time -- Traci only saw us because they'd taken a break from their liplock on the dancefloor to come over to get a drink, right next to where I was sitting, trying to figure out if she was who I really thought she was. You know how that goes. She was all sweaty and stank in this rich, melt-me-down way that made me instantly want to suck every ounce of moisture from her under her arms and breasts. Told us later that she and her partner went "natural" on their mountain weekends. No deoderant or perfumes, no baths, no wiping crotches or assholes. So I'm pretty sure that now know what Heaven's going to smell like!

The four of us hit a few other spots, end up on the back deck of Traci's vacation place, waaaaaaaay up at the top of this ridge about two miles outside town. Her partner, Sarah, teaches at a private school in Charlotte, looks exactly like a boy of about fourteen. There's these light freckles on her nose, she hasn't shaved her legs or pits since 1997, likes -- not Faye! -- the girl Edward from Cowboy Bebop in a really really really sick way, and is basically crazy. She farts halfway through our third or fourth round of Newcastles, and we all laugh like it's the funniest thing that's ever happened. Traci is doubled-over and in distress, and I'm thinking I'm going to get to witness a second accident. Like maybe the first one wasn't such a horrible unexpected thing for her after all, you know? Maybe she's always gotten off on pissing her clothes in public??? But just as my pussy pumps out yet another layer of lubrication, just when I'm sure she can't possibly hold off for another second, she gets up and runs inside, squealing and jamming both hands hard against her mound. Oh well.

My girlfriend is nearly passed-out drunk by then, anyway, and when the schoolteacher farts a little more, it's only me and her that laughs, but lots softer, like a laugh aftershock. My lover's eyes are closed, and she looks like she's doing that thing where all of a sudden the level of drunk just tips you right into beer-coma. Snores almost instantly. But I'm more into Sarah's gassy ass, you know? And she doesn't disappoint! More farts pop out in little staccato bursts, and Sarah hasn't yet stopped smiling or looking at me.

"Traci likes this smell a lot, too," she murmurs, squirming her ass around a little on desk chair, getting over onto one hip just a little. She lets out a series of smaller farts, the last one a long hiss like a pppffffffffffffssssss that fades away with me just staring at her while she stares at me. We smile at each other but we don't laugh. Its like an obvious thing at that point -- at least to me -- that both of us are pretty horny about the farts. The schoolteacher swallows hard but keeps our eyes locked. I'm smelling her stink and wishing I could finger myself right there -- or get my face in the crack of her ass, to be honest. A fart directly against my nose or mouth pretty much guarantees me an "orgasm of the month" experience.

"Hope you don't mind...." Sarah rolls a bit more onto her hip at that point, and I hear it. The crackle. The gurgle. The sound of shit filling the teacher's pants. Fuck! We never stopped staring into each others eyes the whole time, and her satisfied little smirk said it all. She sure was a crazy bitch! And oh lordy did it reek. Nice and rich-rotten, and I bet when she stood it would run all down inside her jeans-legs in this nice warm sludge. I had a very very difficult time sitting still at that point. The urge to rub my pussy had me in a full sweat, it took so much willpower not to do it! It was Sarah's moment, and I wanted her to start whatever came next -- and I figured there was no telling what she might do.

She rolls back to sit flat on her ass, and I hear the smushy-squirty sounds of the shit mashing all over the place under her weight. Then she wiggles and grinds her ass a little more into the chair, her hands gripping the arms lightly, and she's still just smiling in this little Bruce Willis style that's stimulating all by itself, to be honest. "Ooops," she mutters.

Then she slowly stands, pats her rump a bit, and turns away from me. "Is it really messy?" she asks. Where her hip-huggers sling low across the back of her pelvis I see one mushed blob of crap blossoming up her spine about two inches, and I glance over and see some of it stuck to the chair-back, too. She reaches back and feels for it, gets a bit on her fingers, then sniffs at it for a good minute, letting me just watch it all. And I am truly going to die from horniness at that point. Total hormonal overload. My cunt's gonna burst like a water balloon that's filled too full. It needs me, dammit!

So what does this teasing shitty little slut do? Licks her fingers, of course. Staring this wicked stare right into the core of my soul, where I'm squirming for a lot of reasons already anyway.... Running her tongue around inside her mouth, swallowing a couple times, her eyes watering a little. But still smiling, right? She's into it and I mean hardcore, head-first, triple-axle, stick-the-landing, smack that ass into it! I say something like "Oh, fuck," and that's about all I can manage. Sarah doesn't care, though. She's clearly got her mind on something else. Traci. Whom I now would like to either murder or at least box up and mail to China. She's the one Sarah did all that for! Traci comes around from behind me where I guess she'd been standing for a while. Her own jeans are utterly soaked with piss, and her gorgeous bare feet are speckled with little drops of urine that stream off onto the deck while more of it runs down out of the saturated denim. It WAS a fetish thing for her! Maybe all the way back to junior high, like I thought!

The two of them meet right in front of me, lock up in this kiss that I can't believe, makes me blush on top of the flush I've already go, that kiss is so hot. Like I'm witnessing something rare, like the perfection of a moment -- all the planets aligned, that sort of thing. Traci jams her hands down the back of Sarah's jeans and runs them all through the shit. New blooms of turd come sploogin up out of the waistband, and small blobs of it roll off and splat on the deck. Some of the more runny goop has even begun coming out the bottoms, puddling around Sarah's bare feet, like she must not have shit in a week, saving it all up, she's got so much in there to play with! Traci growls into Sarah's mouth as they keep on kissing, her hands clearly working Sarah's cunt and ass now, one in the front, one in the back. Sarah can barely stand up at this point. Her hands are just sort of resting on Traci's shoulders, and her eyes are rolled back in her head.

I have to finger myself at that point. It can't wait! My jeans are unsnapped and down, with my drenched panties, around my ankles. I lean back in my chair and pull my lips out hard, then apart, with my hands. The pain is a perfect catalyst. My orgasm is already on its way by the time I move my fingers down my slit and back up for my first good stroke of my clit. I never have masturbated like that, right in front of people I've never fucked before. It's weird and just too hot to explain, I guess, but I come and come and it's like I'm gonna lose it for good, like pass out and fall off the chair and everything. I can feel cream running out of my hole and down my ass-crack, and it drips off thickly onto the deck, little by little.

Just at that point of coming back down a little, I realize I'm squeezing shut my eyes. When I look back up at Traci and Sarah, they're smiling at me, holding one another tightly. Traci's hands are out of Sarah's pants, rubbing up and down Sarah's back now, under her shirt, smearing brown. I gulp for a breath, and I swear to God I just about say "Sorry," like a complete idiot!

But Traci says something first. "If you want, Sammie, you can tape us," she offers. Sarah is now leaning down a bit, kissing on Traci's slender neck. "We've been waiting for the right moment and person and all... it's been hard just using a tripod and trying to see everything. We figured on the way home that you'd probably be able to handle this sort of thing," she's peering intently at my wet pussy, which I'm still massaging a bit, actually. "Looks like we were right!"

What can I say? Of course I want to tape them! Holy fuck, hail Mary, etc. Fill in the fuckin blank on that one -- it was like me jumping up out of that chair and following them into their bedroom like the dog that I was, bitch in heat, whatever, my tail just wagging away.

And my poor girlfriend, silly drunk that she is, gets left out on the deck all night. She catches the worst cold she's had in years! And I never tell her a thing about any of what had happened less than ten feet away from her passed-out self. Traci and Sarah have cleaned up the mess on the deck by the time she's up and about, anyway, and they were well-scrubbed, themselves, and all that. And I'm still so much in shock I can hardly talk. Really, it's more like I'm far off in that happy place, you know, where lezzies fart and frolic and lick brown paste squeezed fresh from soft warm assholes? So I tell my girl when she asks that I'm feeling hung-over. Good enough answer for her, since she was feeling horrid too, of course, and was distracted plenty by that.

We leave to get home pretty quickly that morning, but I manage to make plans with Traci for when they come back up for a weekend. She's going to bring an extra copy of the tape for me when she does. And I cannot wait to watch it with my girlfriend. The look on her face alone, once she figures out how close and yet how far she'd been that whole time... imagining what might happen after that is enough to send me off masturbating three or four times a day now! I ought to remember to ask Traci to return the favor, too, and make sure my own video camera's ready, you know?

And I ought to just ask, next time, if she and Sarah could make it three (or four), instead of just two!

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August 9, 2005

So I used to post on that other board, right? And people found out about my fetish (which was a tad obvious, I guess *blushhhh*) -- I'd get messages and emails all the time with people asking "why???" and "how did you get started?" and all that. Now I'm getting the same stuff all over again from here (after that last post, especially) -- and then I got half a clue and realized that this board's mods won't give a fuck if I got real about things. So I figured I'd try and sort it out once and for all, exapanded, unabridged, low carb, etc.:

I grew up perfectly normal, well-raised, all that. No divorce nightmare. No crazy violence. No serious pervs in my family, etc. Only one sibling, my sister (we'll call her Celeste), who is five years older.

First of all, I liked sniffing my dirty panties. That's the beginning of it, truly. Some of you from the other board might remember that, because I told about it a tiny bit over there. Self-soiled panties were my first crush! And to this day I still crave the fun times that a nice filthy smear in my hot cottons can provide. I'm sure I'll keep on sniffing every pair of panties I ever take off my body, at least until my hormones give up the ghost. It's a habit. It's a fix. I can't live without at least one good, long sniff every time I pull them off... so nice and warm and funky. Smeared or not, I can't resist.

But then, as a kid, I pretty quickly moved beyond just panty-sniffing.

It was not a big thing as I was growing up for me to get shit on my fingers when I pooped. I would wipe, and sometimes it was there -- no big deal. I remember my mother explaining how that happens sometimes and how that was the important reason why everybody should always wash their hands really well after using the potty. Made sense. Shit was nasty. It smelled awful. It got all over everything you touched. It was like finger paint. It was like messy barbeque like we used to eat all the time in my house. I understood I had to get it cleaned off.

But something in me got curious.

I was about seven or eight when I first actually sat there on the toilet and studied my fingers. It had been the first time in a while that I was messy on my hand after wiping, and I remember I didn't automatically have that "oh my GOD, Igottacleanthisoffrightnow!!!" kind of urge. Instead, I started to sniff at it and look at it and just sit there. I sat there forever smelling the brown scum on my fingers, and I got this feeling. It's the way you want to feel, you know? But taboo took over, right, and I ended up scrubbing real good with the soap and running off to do my little kid things, same as always.

Meanwhile, my sister is looking after me more and more, since by then she was like 13. She'd always been real touchy and lovey on me, but as I got older she really, really liked to catch me in the tickle game. Said our older cousins used to do it with her all the time, like she did with her friends, too. It was a girl thing, where you agree to tickle each other for a minute or two or three, whatever the two of you decide, and you'd see who'd lose it and pee their pants first. And then you could be their Total Boss for the rest of the day. Anyway. My sister enjoyed a good power trip, so she was doing that to me a lot back then, would really go crazy on my ribs and thighs and all, and I remember how I was even sore a lot from how hard she went after me to make me wet myself. And I was very ticklish. So you can imagine how that went. Don't think for a minute I haven't figured out where my sub tendencies probably came from, right?!

But little pee-squirts didn't do a bit for me, sexually, not the way my shitty fingers did. I just liked playing rough with her and being her slave or whatever she decided. That power stuff was my sister's thing back then, not mine -- at least so I thought. But I never did regret losing the tickle game every damn time. It was worth a wet spot and a few bruises to have my gorgeous, smart, hilarious big sister involve me in her silly junior high lifestyle. By the time she was a couple years older, though, and the boys came into the picture for her, then she pretty much pretended I didn't exist; and if she ever remembered I was around, she treated me like dirt. That's the status quo to this day, matter-of-fact, and that really bothers me. Because, in fact, she did open up this one huge door for me -- whether she intended to or not.

It was my nipples. One of Celeste's big tickle techniques during the tickle game was the tittie-twister thing where she'd pinch and twist my little nips as hard as she could. She'd go from my ribs up to my chest in an instant, and the pain would hit me right in the middle of a laugh, and all I could do was try to fight off her hands and get some relief from the pain. Then, quick as lightning, her hands would be back on my ribs or thighs, and I was done. No defense. My body was still sending everything into shock from the tittie pains, and suddenly I was tickled like crazy again, and I'd bust my bladder.

So my nipples, by the time I hit nine, were a huge zone of feeling for me. It got to where I'd sort of tingle afterward all over, for hours sometimes, and I had this incredible urge to pinch and twist them myself. But they'd still be so sore! I'd sneak feels under my own shirt later, while watching TV or doing homework or riding in the car, and I'd just rub them. And down inside, this place I couldn't get at, you know, it was just on fire. I wanted to rub my nips all the time, sometimes. And if Celeste hadn't hurt them in a while I'd do it myself. I even snuck clothespins out of the basket by the washer, and I'd snap one on each nipple and sit in my room doing my homework, just sneaking a finger or two across the agonized purple little tips of flesh every now and then. And wow! That feeling I had! You know how at that age you don't have a clue, but I just knew that was something I'd keep as my special happy little secret thing for forever.

But I was getting more and more into studying my shit, too. By the time I was nine I had gotten into the habit of wiping a little bit with the paper, but then leaving the last two or three swipes for my bare fingers, so I'd have a little brown smear to study and sniff. Then one lucky night I'd just been tittie-twisted all to hell by Celeste. She'd been mad because I hadn't pissed myself that time, but I paid the price, since holding it so hard also made me almost shit myself, too. I got into the bathroom and locked the door within minutes of her giving up the game, and I had a huge piss and shit into the toilet. Well, my nipple were throbbing, sticking way out, all red and purpled all around, and I was going nuts it felt so bad and so good all at once.

Reaching down to wipe, I hit my crotch same as usual to clean the pee, and I nearly fell off the toilet! For the first time I'd managed to stroke on my clit, fully bared and ready and all that. I'd squiggled around down there a lot before, but never with such a massive, happy, instant result. I had to do it more! So I spent maybe half an hour just stroking and fondling my clit, using my other hand to pinch and caress my nipples at the same time, and I was in heaven.

Meanwhile, the toilet was full of my piss and shit, since I'd forgotten to flush, and I of course hadn't gotten around to wiping my ass yet. I realized all that after the half hour or so of fooling around with myself, and then I immediately realized that I liked two new things, too: the smell of the stink in that room, and knowing that my asshole was covered in my own thick, nasty shit. I reached down with my masturbating hand and felt the poop that was sticking all over and around my asshole. I moved my fingers around down there, smearing it a little in my crack, a littl on my cheeks. My other hand kept on doing my nipples, and I was really, really, happy about how it all felt. My finger, for the first time, went up inside my asshole. I probed and wiggled and pumped it in an out for a long time. It went in really easy, all lubed with my shit, and the sounds of the squishing nasty poop -- just wow, you know?

Then I had to see, so up came my hand, absolutely ruined with shit. Even little globs were caught between a couple fingers, and underneath my fingernails it was stained and nasty. My nose got right on it, though, and I started sniffing. It was so nice! My other hand was still on my nipples, and I was almost mad at myself for not knowing all along how nice this other private pleasure could be, right! So I dabbed just a little under my nose, on my upper lip and between my nostrils, and then I had to do it. I switched hands.

My shitty fingers went to my nipples, and as I pinched and stroked all over them, I looked down and watched. That nearly killed me, I swear. Seeing all that brown smeared all over, smelling it so strong and knowing it was on my own face! God! And then my other hand, even though it was a little awkward, found a good pace on my clit. Boom! It was maybe ten seconds and I was into the first orgasm I can ever remember. My eyes were watering over the sight and the stench from my filthy little shitty nipples. It was all I could do not to fall off the toilet!

So it's probably pretty obvious how I spent my bathroom time from then on. I wasn't a stupid kid. I of course didn't think I was doing normal things that other kids or that my parents would accept. I knew I was a nasty, filthy thing for what I liked. But that made me like it even more. Especially since I could, and did, hide it and have no troubles because of it -- just as long as I stayed smart about when and how I went about playing with my own shit.

Before I was ten I was licking and sucking my fingers. Once I had my first period and started experiencing more intense orgasms, I began to have this craving to actually eat a full bite of my shit. I was almost thirteen, in the seventh grade. It was the first night my parents left me home all alone. Celeste was on a date, my parents were on a date. I planned it all out and had a nice big dump, fished out a log, and just went completely sick with it.

And, yes, I still do.

samantha c.

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by bluepervina, © 2003-2005

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