Last update
2021-01-01 16:34:15

    2019 Excess

    I haven’t written anything particularly descriptive for a while and although I’ve had a few nature walks recently, there really isn’t that much to describe apart from the almost overwhelming sense of serenity and solace it evokes during times of doom. Quite a few things are causing stress this year with covid being the poisonous cherry crowning the mouldy cake so I’m looking back to around September last year when I was cheerily going about adventures without the clouds. The weather was still nice, low 20’s, sunny with a nice sea breeze on this coastal shopping excursion. My mind keeps going back to this one because of a few of the reactions that I can transcribe.

    I’ll attempt this post with basic screenshots from handbag cam but the likelihood is that I’ll have to repost it without pics once the kill bots arrive. If so I’ll put them on my instagram too - realkatannauk.

    It was an early afternoon at the weekend so the town was absolutely manic. I’d messed here once before after visiting friends so I knew the layout reasonably well but still got pretty lost walking into town as I didn’t want to pay something stupid for parking just for a few hours. It was a nice walk though, following a 50 minute drive and a morning of fumbling about thinking of clothes and protection whilst trying not to have a premature accident. I’d managed to hold for two days and did normal diet planning with a few fibre supplements. It was urgent as soon as I got up so it wasn’t a very nice drive but getting out of the car in the sunshine, being parked at least a twenty minute walk out from the centre caused a sense of nervous excitement making the pain worth bearing. I felt oppressively full and didn’t really know the way but just thought it’s in the direction of the sea over there somewhere so let’s try that. It was just a black top, blue jeans with a single layer of stripey red and white underwear. I’d brought cut tights, more underwear and a pull up if I’d need to add them as security but just wanted to be normally dressed to start with this time, hence the slight jitters. My delusive sense of direction brought me out way down the beach which added another ten minutes, having to stop a few times by a fence away from the flow of people along the promenade to covertly postpone going into labour. The closer I got to the shopping centre the gassier I was feeling but it felt like I’d poop if I’d risk it. I reached the back end of the shopping centre and worked my way in through the large multi story car park which was confusing but I just followed others until I found the main concourses and shops, emerging on the second level where I headed straight into a department store. The place was absolutely heaving with people which caused my nerves to flare as I knew it wouldn’t be easy checking out the shopping I’d wanted without risking having an accident. They had a jacket I’d had my eye on online but the price wasn’t reduced anymore which was simultaneously a disappointment and a relief as I’d have had to buy it, most probably causing a stink in the process. I remember just after I rejected the jacket, I started browsing underwear and it had a nearly immediate psychophysical effect on me. Just looking at pants awoke the urgency that had subdued while browsing seriously for jackets and I found myself glued to the spot with rigid crossed legs trying to resist an ambush of pressure. It went from zero to a million in 10 seconds and I very nearly lost control, holding my breath and trying not to look like I was nearly pooping. As it gradually subsided I  was seriously doubtful I’d be able to hold on during the next wave of pressure and made my way directly to the main centre public toilets. My anxiety and nerves started to negatively feedback, increasing my worry butterflies and tummy pressure. The nature of the urgency pointed clearly towards a loose, messy poop and I could feel my bottom was becoming squishy as I walked. With every step I could feel it touching and sticking to my underwear more. It soon became a genuinely desperate pace to reach the toilets and add protection against the inevitable mush. The shopping centre has a large sign indicating toilets but then you enter a very long corridor off the concourse and the toilets are a tease being right at the end. I bolted in but immediately hit traffic and was forced to walk quite slowly. There were some elderly people up ahead and they were rather slow. The problem was that the more slowly I walked the greater the urgency seemed to be and in no time at all I was walking very rigidly and beginning to have an accident. With every step I’d lose control a little more and as I approached the toilets, everyone stopped quite abruptly and I could immediately smell the situation I was in. I tried to wait with my back to the wall and stood with tightly crossed legs, fiddling with my phone and trying not to appear like I was the source of the stink as an increasing amount of warmth started to spread over my bottom. People around me were equally as distressed by the wait and I heard someone say the toilets were being cleaned. My stomach suddenly started cramping and I instinctively held my bottom which is when I realised it was already feeling bulgy and wet in places. Behind me I heard a lady say ‘someone’s sh*t themself’ and immediately I involuntarily gave in to the pressure briefly and lost control of a large surge of warm soft serve which came out with a blop. It was so obvious that I quietly cursed and held my bottom which didn’t really help my intent to remain covert. Still with my back to the wall I remember being shocked and relieved in equal measure but I had to cross my legs again as I wasn’t done and with no sign of the queue moving at all, this was bad. I felt incredibly panicked as the strong smell took hold and I glanced back to see maybe 10 more people waiting behind me already, including some millennials whispering to each other and looking at me. One was holding her nose. I’d been totally rumbled and couldn’t face standing there stinking any longer with the uncertainty of the wait. I had to give their noses some respect and in a slight fluster, darted back past them all to a chorus of giggling and a fake gag. I probably deserved it and was now quite seriously pooped in the middle of the shopping centre. I retreated to a quieter department store private toilet to examine the situation and the mess had started to show through my jeans. The panic meant I was all sweaty too. I wish more shopping centres could adopt better air conditioning.


    Just after using handbag cam, someone knocked on the door and I couldn’t hold someone up who might need the toilet more. This scuppered my plans to reinforce my underwear and I left the private toilet in total shame of the smell that the person would have to witness. Hopefully no worse than a normal poop. I went straight into the other toilets where three women who looked in their 30’s were waiting and I stood 'patiently’ sweating behind them for a little while but when someone else entered the already claustrophobic small toilet I panicked and walked ahead to the basins, trying to hide my bottom - but I didn’t have my cardigan tied around me still as it was so hot. I immediately heard a badly whispered “she sh*t herself” from one of the three women and another woman washing her hands looked over and groaned. I think I probably could have gotten away with a queue jump considering my situation but I felt too crowded in there and just had to leave, especially following the stink groan. I headed for the food court toilets and remember how cringy the busy, slow motion escalator was that I couldn’t walk straight up due to traffic. People who’d joined behind me stood too close so I stood sideways to try and shield them from any horror but they must have smelled me. The food court with big name fast food outlets and cafe’s was packed and the main memory of this walk was now approaching. I hobbled into a corridor that leads away from the food court and winds around to the toilets and this I already realised was a bad plan as it was busier than the main toilets. Half way down as I hit human traffic and the beginning of another wait I heard two voices coming from behind me. Firstly two woman exchanging omg’s. Then one of them elaborated with purposeful volume by advising others in the vicinity, “oh my god, gross, no, do not walk around here”, and continuing to clarify the situation I heard another intently loud, public broadcast. “She’s had a huuuuge poo in her trousers”. Then she concluded with “what is the matter with her? She needs a toilet already”. Thanks for the studious advice, I’m clearly trying to get to a toilet here. My heart raced but I continued normally. The people she’d been advising to stay back ignored her and her friend and followed me to the queue where again I waited with my back to the wall. It was similar to the situation in the christmas pants present post, only this time everyone knew thanks to the kind, thoughtful and empathic creatures who so enthusiastically precipitated this information on everyone within a ten mile radius. It was like they were trying to score points off me but I was too panicked to take it all in and was trying to focus on hiding my bottom. However in no time at all the bottom in question had suffered the final assault of nerves and suddenly I felt a decisive surge of poop quickly spread everywhere in my pants. The urgency had become clouded by the panic and it all happened suddenly. It crackled and I felt it spread all up my front. I wet myself slightly also. The world was now just a big stink with me at the centre. Game over. One lovely person waiting near me asked if I was ok. I bumbled something about having a funny tummy and shortly after gave up waiting again due to the stink and departed the queue with no other intention apart from - get the hell out of here right now. I had to walk past the women who’d so kindly brought my plight to public attention and gave them a fake smile. Part of me wanted to wait by them to distribute some aromatic karma but obviously that part of me only thought of it afterwards. I headed back to the department store private toilet which was occupied so yet again I had to wait with people constantly passing by. I focussed on my breathing and tried to calm myself. The poop was lava against my skin. Eventually a woman of similar age exited without making eye contact, when I entered I smelled why. It stank worse than me. I tended to private things trying to abate any UTI risks and also turned on handbag cam to document how ridiculous I looked.


    Awkwardly, I pulled up my pullup over the messed pants and eventually tied my cardigan around me. It was time to escape from samsara. Although I did stop at a huge clothes shop that I hadn’t seen here before; only for 5 minutes to check out deals but handbag cam showed that it hadn’t gone unnoticed. When I leave it recording I often see people staring at my bottom. I’m definitely not as covert with pooping as I should be. 


    The long walk back caused a rash that took a week to heal up although the drive really wasn’t so bad. It’s only when you walk that rashes hurt in my experience. I feel like it was probably my most eventful messing last year. There were so many legitimate reasons to have made the accident plausible with all the crescendo’s in urgency as I walked to different toilets only to be caught short by queues. What is the mechanism in the brain that allows your body to relax and cause urgency just as you’re on the way to a toilet? I haven’t researched it but I certainly seem to like taking advantage of it in busy places where it’s likely to be betrayed. It’s like my equivalent of when you arrive home and suddenly need the toilet, and then your key breaks in the front door. But in assessment of the two women who seemed out to get me, all I can say is just wait, It’ll happen to you, sooner or later and when it does, ask yourselves how much you’d appreciate people blaring it out to everyone around like walking megaphones, broadcasting to the public the universally essential gossip about how you’ve pooped your pants. I have a fairly thick skin with this stuff after all the practice but if it was a normal genuine accident and I wasn’t addicted to messing, I think that would have scarred me for life. So in this continuously bizarre social empathy experiment I can say that reactions continue to be mixed but on the whole - kind. It’s very rare that people actively go out of their way to cause you even further pain and I put those two women in the much room for personal development category for their age group. It is slightly infuriating that they don’t know that they should know better but everyone’s on their own path. Some just hit a road block and their potential to be a humane human seems to dry up. I confess that recently I have had a similar incident. Normal shopping got transformed by a semi planned mess when I realised how social distancing is impacting public toilets. I’ve never witnessed such sudden and long queues as shopping centres close toilets for regular cleaning along with closing every other cubicle. On the same day I witnessed something that I’ve been secretly craving for karmic reasons. A queue for the men’s that was longer than the one for the ladies! Oh how the tables have turned HAAHA!!  xx

    Thank you for reading and happy pooping :)


    I’m reposting the text here from Baggy Bum which was flagged recently and will put the pics from it on my Instagram - realkatannauk. I have a feeling it was the diaper pic but it’s confusing as the post was live and fine for about six months. I’ll also try to post something new shortly but I’ll separate any pics from the text this time.

    Baggy Bum            

    I’m pretty lazy with this blog these days and I’m sorry. It’s just that I never know if what I post will be flagged and that’s enough to put me off bothering a lot of the time. Just the weight of things that I’ve made the effort to document with handbag cam and all the pictures I’ve taken after public incidents feels like it was a waste of messy scrutiny unless I start documenting it all here. Before I totally succumb to defensive emotional amnesia and forget the intricacies of how I felt at the time.

    This was pretty recent and I’d ordered some trousers from a cheap website that sells on unsold items from larger mainstream suppliers. So cheap that every time I order I get at least three new items. The one’s in question were too big though and I couldn’t be bothered to return them so they became destined for imminent destruction.

    I’ve been finding it harder to hold on from going to the toilet for long periods of time over the previous year but with a few dietary alterations and supplements I seem to be having pretty large incidents with just a two day hold now. And the less time I hold the mushier and less controllable it is if I get the diet right.

    So just take it as a given that pretty much every post will continue to involve some sort of shopping excursion. Mostly anyway. I’ve had a few this year that weren’t and were still very public. Local Festivals etc. But there’s no privacy apart from porta loo’s which are gross. And handbag cam becomes pointless as there are no mirrors outside usually. It’s not an easy covert operation on this budget. I need an invisible silent drone that follows me. Please invent and post me one.

    Anyway, I jumped on a train on a lovely warm sunny day wearing a big tena slip over various protective layers of pants and rolled up tights and it all felt very secure. I would have looked pooped before I’d even began though as it was all so poofy and baggy so I tied a top around me for the main journey. I’d been desperate since I’d woken up and struggled on the train. My tum was making low down gurgle noises and sitting wasn’t helping to reduce the pressure much.

    A few stops away from where I’d get off a painful wave of pressure hit and I got pretty hot and bothered. The train wasn’t particularly busy and was well ventilated so I stopped resisting briefly to see if I could pass any gassiness to reduce the pressure. Lifting one side of my bottom I relaxed and made a disgusting muffled sound. It took me by surprise and I would have probably laughed if it wasn’t for the fact that I was now definitely pooping. I managed to regain control but it was all unusually intense in my stomach. Like there was a balloon in there that needed urgent deflating. I always aim not to mess until I’ve actually had a chance to do some normal shopping but sometimes it becomes too much too soon. It was another useless train without any toilets so the panic was rising slightly as although it wasn’t really busy, there were still a fair few noses in the carriage. And then the smell hit from the squished mushy warm lump already in my pants. Even through the diaper it was pretty potent.

    I was way more protected than usual and it gave me confidence but I knew my remaining time on the train would distort physics and become at least twenty minutes longer. Identical to being on a treadmill at the gym. It would have been a serious situation already if not for the thick diaper that I’m pretty sure I put on the right way this time. I untied my top and put it over my lap along with my handbag to add some possibly useless smell barriers. They didn’t stop the pressure though.

    At the next stop my fear of train passengers was crystallized perfectly. A group of teenage boys and girls came and sat a few seating blocks away from me broadcasting their advanced music tastes from some sort of a blue tooth amp. And after about ten seconds I heard them all agree that ‘it stinks in here’.


    I’m getting quite used to staring out of a train window wondering why we’re not going faster. And fiddling with my phone to look as if I’m doing something when I’m actually just swiping home screen pages back and forth. More crampy gurgles began and I resigned myself to the fact I was probably going to totally lose it soon. Everything was going relatively well until the train arrived at my stop and I had to stand up. As soon as I did, everything started moving south and standing up was like opening a full up bin on a hot summers day. The smell intensified ten fold. In the midst of this increasingly distorted timewarp I limped down the carriage to the train doors as a wave of urgency absolutely enveloped me, then stood at the doors with suspiciously crossed legs waiting for the train to slow down which took about four hours. Lots of the other passengers were now coming to the doors and I was surrounded and about to erupt.

    It was a case of damage limitation and the only plan I had was to try and hold on until the train announcement of the station started which might provide some audio camouflage. Unfortunately that didn’t work and I quite simply exploded in front of whoever was behind me. Even under the diaper and the top that was tied around me again now, it was an unmistakable long drawn out sound. I remember a particularly nasty moment when the flow was interrupted by some chunkier mess. Just before the doors opened it gave way to some very mushy poop and it was so bubbly. The large surface area of wet warmth on my skin confirmed it was a disaster. I just wanted out now and was hopelessly embarrassed. I heard some laughs and whispers behind me as I was finishing and just tried to remain still and not make it too obvious what was happening. As the smell took hold, finally the doors opened and I was released but having not acclimatised to my new limited movement range yet, the step off the train caused an issue. The rolled up tights weren’t doing their job and I felt a potentially significant leak. I shot away from the main stream of traffic and witnesses behind me and realised walking wasn’t going to be easy without waddling. I found some space and calmed down, then decided I needed to find a toilet and stabalise the leak situation somehow.

    Getting out of the station and up to the highstreet was an awkward affair. The top didn’t totally cover my bottom and I could feel the leak wetting through my trousers a little on the left. Reaching a large clothing store in the shopping centre was an incredible relief. Aisles and aisles of clothes barriers to badly stealth my way around away from people. 

    Until I looked in the store mirrors I hadn’t really noticed how see through my trousers were at the back and that plus the huge bulge made my heart skip. It’s hard to see the leak here but it was getting worse and needed to be investigated so I kept moving towards another large store that had sparsely visited toilets and I went into a baby change/toilet unit. 

    I was finally in private at least which helped to clear the panic away and I remembered the mission statement of this walk which was the total annihilation of these trousers. My idea was to remove the diaper and walk in just pooped pants for a while and keep the diaper in a relatively undestroyed state for later use if needed.

    And so I whipped it off, wrapped it in a few plastic bags and just about managed to stash it in my handbag. Underneath the pants and tights were already stained though after weeing intermittently following the messing.

    I left the stink room and suddenly became aware that I still needed to wee and it was fairly pressing. Normal shopping was off the agenda now and so I headed up to the main shopping centre toilets. It felt easier to walk without the diaper but I knew my trousers were suffering badly. There was a small queue for the ladies there and even though I had the top tied around me I was getting a few funny looks. I hadn’t been there long enough for anyone to pin the stink on me yet so it was confusing. It was resolved when I saw in the mirror that the top was hanging badly and slightly caught up leaving one side of my bottom rather visible. I wasn’t really in the mood for more humiliation after the train so that was slightly emotionally jarring. Especially the way they looked at me. A sort of pity meets repulsed expression this time.

    In the toilets I pulled down my trousers and realised there wasn’t an option of taking down my underwear to wee. And also way too messy to attempt a wee out the leg side of the underwear and tights. I was getting too desperate to care so in the end I just wet myself while sitting on the toilet. And that’s where I stayed for about ten minutes waiting for it all to drain. The smell was horrible and I felt like a total mess.

    In line with my - destroy the trousers - intentions, I’m afraid the diaper stayed off when I pulled my trousers back up and got out of there. Only having walked for a few minutes I saw in another store mirror that the plan was becoming remarkably successful. Too successful.

    I can’t imagine how mortified I’d have been without that top as a cover but it was becoming increasingly less effective as the damage increased. It was time to retreat. Everything was getting unsustainable, even if I’d used the diaper again I still worried about total leg leakages which just can’t be hidden. I don’t mind being seen pooped under controlled circumstances like in a toilet but I don’t like it when I’m out in the chaotically busy public and just can’t control all the possible angles of sight. I have too much experience with that and adrenaline turns to pure panic.

    It was a nervy walk. There were people absolutely everywhere and all I could do was hug the side of the highstreet and dangle my bag over my bum. And in the station my heart exploded when I saw police. Walk casually forwards, act normally, fiddle with your phone. If my top had fallen off then I’d have had an extremely awkward day. That has happened, not in front of police thankfully. I was walking through another shopping centre totally pooped and my top untied itself and fell on the floor without me noticing. Someone called me back and a group of people saw. Indescribable cringe. I’ll try to find it.

    Slight digression; the train thankfully had toilets this time which were a relief after another timewarp waiting at the station exacerbated by a late train. I just rushed into them and hid for the entire journey that only took 15 minutes this time for some reason.

    Well nearly the entire journey. Just before my stop I left the toilets a bit too early and would have gone back in if it was busy but it wasn’t. I could only see a few people the other end of the train so I put my bag on the small seat table and tried better lighting.

    I didn’t go for a nature walk afterwards or get decent pics I’m afraid. Too messy and chaffy in those trousers. They washed pretty well but I don’t think they’ll ever be totally white again. I generally don’t like baggy stuff so I doubt I’ll wear them ever again. I did end up reusing the diaper on another walk soon after but that’ll have to wait for another post.

    Genuinely losing control before you’d planned to did make this walk feel like a real accident. And being protected gave me a little more confidence but in my experience, the stink is the really embarrassing element of this ridiculous behavior and diapers don’t do much to abate it. I felt far more stressed having an accident on the train though. I don’t know why but it feels more excusable flooping in a queue for the toilet. People are usually kind. Not everyone and not always but recently some people have been so nice to me. Maybe it’s just because I’m nearly used to toilet line accidents and not so familiar with other scenarios. Either way I know it’s gross. And I know this will all read like madness to anyone who doesn’t want to understand it.

    Thank you for reading. I won’t finish with promises of more posts really soon. But I do intend to start working on decreasing the back log :p

    Total Blowout

    IL PLEUT. Who put the UK in India without my permission. Monsoons are rubbish. It’s been raining for about two weeks here and when the sun comes out everyone goes outside and looks confused. But the sense of seasonal change which I think evokes alterations in many peoples emotional meanderings has been a contributing factor to some serious self analysis again. I’ve been in a battle with myself for well over a month regarding messing. I’ve tried to be strict and say that’s it, no more. And then I start slipping into a black hole of depression which affects my life and relationship more than the shame of living with being a total mess sometimes. But that carries its own avenue of depression as you work a professional life trying to ignore the memories of all the times you’ve totally pooped yourself in public. I can’t really see a way out short of a brain transplant. Acceptance and moderation seems the only path that lifts the doom.

    And so I had a ridiculous mess recently that was pretty much a full blown accident. Short of the whole holding on for days before hand thing. I won’t write a book this time but I’ll try to convey it in some detail. I had a day off and I knew my partner was working so I’d planned to go shopping somewhere new which was a good 45 minute drive away. I had the urge to go to the toilet but it wasn’t serious. By the way it felt I thought it was likely not to be too large so I just wore two pairs of underwear with some rolled up tights betwixt them. This proved to be a mistake and en route I had some pretty serious gas and cramping develop which usually means something unpleasantly sloppy is on the way. Traffic made this all the worse as I also now needed to wee. I’ve never had such an uncomfortable car journey where the urgency to poop and wee were in a full on battle, taking it in turns to dominate and I started to think it was possible I’d lose it in the car.

    Finally getting out the car in the multi story brought on the most almighty wave of desperation to poop and I was suddenly glued to the spot with tightly crossed legs trying to hold on and hope that no one was looking. It slowly subsided but now I felt extremely full and knew I wouldn’t be able to control the next wave so I bolted straight into the shopping mall and managed to buy what I was after before anything unpleasant occurred. But as soon as I’d left the store my subconscious clearly decided to green light the need to poop. Similar to when you have your keys in the front door after needing the toilet for a while, mission control decided we are go. The problem was I had no idea where the toilets were which in hindsight was probably the most exciting thing about this particular excursion from sanity.

    After some useless, panicked searching trying to overtake people that seemed to walk in slow motion I found a mall layout plan on the main concourse and located the nearest toilets which were conveniently the opposite end of the mall; near the shop I’d just come from. Standing still while looking at the information board was enough to initiate my start sequence though, and I was faced with the options of standing there with crossed legs until I had an accident in front of everyone, or attempt the waddle to the toilets which would result in walking and having an accident in front of everyone. I opted for the latter. My stomach was now game over and with decreasing leg dexterity my pace slowed and I became overwhelmed with cramping and pelvic muscle fatigue. I started pooping my pants as I walked and had to stop by the railing overlooking the lower level of the mall. I remember just glancing around through cringing eyes as I now uncontrollably pushed and felt a sudden rush of warmth cover my bottom. I turned my back to the railing hoping no one was seeing this disaster unfold. Surge after surge led to increasing control and I managed to stop but my situation was dire. It wasn’t a smaller mess like I’d expected and I had no way near enough protection. I felt back and it was bulging into my jeans badly and already wet in places. I knew I wasn’t done but the release in pressure meant that my bladder could gladly announce it’s urgency and as I continued to waddle to the toilets I lost control slightly adding to the chaos.

    The toilets were located at the end of a large food court with a starbucks, burger king, various cafe’s, endless seating and huge crowds of people queuing. All I could do was dangle my bag over my bottom and try not to act too panicked as I bolted through it all but the busy toilets had a small queue and were boiling hot for some reason. If you’re going to have aircon anywhere in the shopping centre, why not the toilets? This is often the case although I’m usually pretty hot and flustered in these situations so maybe I’m exaggerating but I always hear other people complaining about it too. Waiting for toilets is a regular theme in my blog and I apologise for its lack of originality now but at peak times this is often the case with the ladies. I rarely see queues outside of the mens. Not particularly fair. When I’m not in messing mode, waiting gets extremely stressful if you’re urgent and I’ve nearly had real accidents at night clubs where a queue seems to be part of the deal.

    This time I had to just wait there stinking as the need to wee gave way to the need to poop again. The woman in front of me didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just politely ignored it, but a group of people joined behind me and I knew I was rumbled when they went silent suddenly. When I heard one say “she shit herself” I just held my bum and my breath, then let the pressure win. This was fairly dramatic as judging by the mess I was in I didn’t think there would be a great deal more but I quickly doubled the severity of my situation audibly. It went from bad to disaster in seconds and I felt the tell tale sign of a blowout as the mess forced its way out of my pants into the rolled up tights and also all the way into the front. It nearly reached the top of my underwear at the back and I was dumb struck. I looked around in panic to see three faces portraying a mixture of shock and amusement. One was holding her nose. I’ve no idea what they thought but I imagine they’ve told everyone they know about it by now. I can’t describe the stench. Large blowouts seem to have a distinkt nuclear character of their own. Sickly sweet and so potent even under clothes. I feel pretty bad about it but they weren’t intoxicated for too long and I managed to get into a toilet soon after. None of them offered me any help.

    I stood there for a little while regaining composure and attempted to wee by taking down my jeans and outer underwear, then sat on the toilet and weed into the messed primary underwear and rolled up tights trying to channel it through the tights where there was less mess. It just made everything worse and all I could do was try to dab it back into a sustainable situation with lots of loo roll. I’d been in there long enough to stink out the toilets now; people were commenting on it and I had to retreat. Pulling up my pants and jeans was pretty gross and the jeans stained through totally. I took a deep breath and exited the toilet, washed my hands as if nothing had happened and walked back out into the chaos. I didn’t really care now who saw, I just wanted to get somewhere less crowded and headed for a department store in which I found private baby change toilets to let my heart calm down. It was only then, away from the chaos that I started to relax and see the silly side of it all.


    I retreated back through the store eventually after a few more embarrassing witness incidents in toilets. The mess was getting lower into my jeans and in the back of my mind I knew I had a 45 minute drive before salvation. Sitting down in the car was an operation in itself. I needed two bin bags to protect the seat and as I slowly sat, the mess spread everywhere and the smell was horrific. I was umming about whether to stop on the way back to use a better camera for posting. The weather wasn’t great so I ended up just getting out of the car for ten minutes to try badly. In which time a dog found me and wouldn’t leave me alone, obsessed with how I smelled. They have zero manners. It left only after it’s owner shrieked repeatedly.


    It was an epic mess. Being so recent I’m still a little defensive about it but the cringe is gradually giving way to the excitement it provoked. The sense of relief coupled with the shock of a severe pants accident, confirmed by the all consuming sensory nature of it made things enjoyable on the most bizarre level, the first time of which for months. I’m trying not to over analyse so much now but it was an extremely messy summer and the excess has played its part on my morale. But it’s only recently after this mess that I’ve allowed myself to get back engaged with posting and continuing the blog. I don’t know when another dip will come or whether I’ll try to banish this pants pooping witch that possesses me again. I literally have dreams about seeing myself pooped, with a witches face, writhing and fitting and spinning on the spot. It’s messed up. It’s all messed up. But ultimately this is some sort of cycle, and increasingly I’m accepting this is part of me and trying to permanently deny it is like trying to deny oxygen.

    Thank you for reading

    Happy Pooping xx

    Christmas pants present

    I’d been meaning to write up this fiasco for a few weeks now but kept putting it off. It isn’t particularly easy to relay the emotions of a public pants disaster, especially one like this so I find the challenge of it a bit daunting. It was my most recent messing and occurred a few days after Christmas when all the shops had their sales on. The timing of it guaranteed a fairly large mess as I hadn’t yet been to the toilet following all of the Christmas and Boxing day food and deserts and snacks and more deserts. I’d needed the toilet all day before but managed to hold on and even took some fibre supplements to hopefully avoid anything too solid. So looking back I was clearly planning and in the mood for the thrill of it at the time. More recently less so but that’s always the way in winter. I find something in withdrawal and return which is maybe just a way of structuring the heartbeat of a year but it also acts as a means of mental recovery. I tend to just block it out immediately after an extremely embarrassing incident but it slowly builds into something oppressive over the summer and into the Autumn. So in January and February I try to let the clouds clear. I’ve also been off alcohol for most of the month and it’s definitely had an impact on the urge to have an embarrassing unpredictable day. But following Christmas the days were constantly hungover. And the accumulated feeling of excess and food comas coupled with an enormous need for the toilet that morning meant I didn’t really think twice about heading out into the sales to see what I could get - which as usual was interrupted by awkwardness. Messing can be financially advantageous on one level at least. I’ve often had to abort buying something expensive because it’s too extreme for me to go and pay for it after having had an accident. I’ve started to lose it while paying before, and have had some awful times waiting to pay for parking, but never spent too much time in one place if I’m out shopping apart from the toilets. Which is where most the cringe of this walk happened. Well half at least.

    Waiting for my partner to leave that morning made me feel awful. I’ve never let this fetish get in the way of the important things in life and I felt awful silently willing him off but I had to keep going into the toilet to regain composure, just saying I was feeling ill. It’s still something I’d never discuss with anyone, and I usually time walks far better so they don’t ever overlap. As soon as he left I threw on some cut rolled up tights over white midi’s and then an extra layer of green undies above. Messing jeans up and I was out of there, managing to forget a memory card for handbag cam which cost me 10 minutes so by the time I’d reached the station I was already about to burst. I think the nerves that were gradually building while I was driving, knowing I’ll be using public transport made the need to go far more pressing. I’d chosen to visit a huge shopping centre that I haven’t been to for years and one that I’d never had an incident at. But the shops are far better here and I knew it would be busy. Another cause for nerves. It needed two trains and as I hurried to the platform I could sense everywhere would be crowded. This little station is usually deserted but today it was pretty jammed. I stood further down the platform away from seating areas and started uncontrollably farting like before back at home. But sitting down on the train seemed to calm things for a little while. The next train was more of an issue. As soon as I’d changed platforms and stood still I had to cross my legs as I nearly started to lose control. I had a few minutes to wait and checked to see if there were toilets I could wait privately in but they were locked which is pretty normal for British Rail. I was now starting to get the strangely addictive feeling of two parts fear, one part thrill as I tried to look natural standing with crossed legs trying not to let a full wave take hold. My insides felt heavy and after all the recent gas I knew all the pressure was probably pure mess. The previous train had toilets. This one didn’t. I had no idea a useless service without toilets would be involved (nerves turning to panic). Whenever I’ve used trains before there has mostly always been a toilet to hide in. It was uncomfortable sitting down this time and the train was crowded. I managed to find a two seat arrangement that faced the back of more seats so at least I wouldn’t have to face anyone if things went south. Which they started to about ten minutes into a 15 minute journey of staring out the window willing the scenery to pass ALOT more quickly. I suddenly felt a slight pain and on top of the pressure it was enough to stop clenching. I leaned forward in my seat and uncontrollably farted softly before slightly lifting my weight. The fart immediately turned to mush and I couldn’t stop it straight away. It made a muffled squishing sound and I clenched with everything I had and sat back down to try to stop anything else from escaping this prematurely. As I sat I felt it spread quite far and realised this was pretty serious already. Pure panic set in as the smell became obvious. I took my jacket off and put it over my lap hoping to stifle it. I also subtly took out a small shopping bag to sit on while sweating and going red. I just stared out the window again trying to ignore the pressure which was beginning to become noticeable again after the brief release. I felt underneath and it felt a little wet in places. Eventually the train arrived and after ignoring a few comments by passengers and pretending not to be the source of the smell I was now about to have to show everyone whatever state my jeans were in. I couldn’t gauge it sitting down. While I was sitting I’d adjusted my handbag strap to it’s full length so it could hang at the bottom area level but it never fully covers it. I waited and dashed off late so I wouldn’t need to wait by the doors before they opened. I don’t know if anyone saw but I was just euphoric to be out in the cool open air after a very long 15 minutes of panic. The toilets on the platform were actually open and I wanted to check the situation and let a wave of pressure pass under controlled privacy. But with the human traffic from the train ahead of me they were pretty busy. Sensing relief or at least the chance to fight a wave privately in a cubicle meant that I didn’t have much choice but to let it take hold while waiting - something that rarely goes well. Relief from leaving the train had now turned back to the panic of trying to look normal while standing awkwardly waiting for a toilet with people everywhere. The wave took hold and I was now stuck with locked legs in a line that was moving forwards. My handbag concentration wasn’t great either so I maybe exposed my bottom and whatever state it was already in. I really didn’t want to completely mess this early without even having a chance to look in the shops. As the urgency reached it’s peak I had to inelegantly shuffle forwards with people behind me now, and then I started to lose control again having unlocked my legs. Before I could cross them again I involuntarily gave a sudden push and pooped myself noticeably. It was gas and mess so it was mortifyingly bubbly. My hand went to my bum instinctively as I clenched with full power and when I looked around I was met with two astonished stares from some middle aged women. It was rather warm and soft and I could feel it piling up higher from the centre towards the back of my underwear. I couldn’t bare it any longer as I clearly stank and was sweating so I aborted, walking back past them and onto the platform where I could stand and regain control under the radar. I felt back and there was a bulge now. Perhaps the size of an apple, and it felt wet in places. I was disappointed in myself for letting things get quite bad so soon but more so I was increasingly nervous as I didn’t know the town or where any of the toilets were. But at some bizarre level that was one of the most exciting moments in my history of messing. Absolute uncertainty and unpredictability. I was a mess, I still needed to go,  I didn’t know where the toilets were and I was far from home. Having walked for five minutes out of the station towards the town centre with my attention squarely on keeping calm bowels and maintaining correct handbag camouflage, I spotted the huge shopping centre and entered immediately into sales wonderland. I’ve been out on missions when it’s busy before, but not this busy. It was chaos. The downstairs of one shop had an improvised queue system on the floor using ‘fragile’ warning tape marking out the lanes. But the way I’ve come to see it over the previous few years is that the busier it is, the more invisible I generally am. And the more people who could be the source of anything nasally unpleasant. That said, and I think I’ve voiced it before, if just one person notices, they seem to spread some kind of scary unconscious telepathic communication almost instantly to others in the immediate vicinity who all suddenly just lock on to me and my disastrous bottom. The first priority was locating the toilets but I kept getting distracted by shoes. I was able to look in some mirrors and check how noticeable my situation was. Some slight staining and a bit bulgy but generally better than expected. The smell was the problem so I couldn’t linger anywhere. The urgency was also rising again and I found some toilets on the top floor of the department store. They weren’t too busy here and at last I’d managed to lock myself in a cubicle and let the pressure take hold. It felt dangerously loose as the urgency peaked and even with full clench and tightly locked legs I only just managed not to pop. It was persistent and I couldn’t get it to settle. I must have been standing there like that holding my breath intermittently as the pressure repeatedly peaked for a good ten minutes and I started worrying that it wouldn’t settle until I’d fully exploded. I could hear people pooping and it made me want to go more so on a trough of pressure and urgency I decided to head back out into the chaos as I didn’t want to have an accident in a toilet cubicle. Walking was awkward now as I was constantly clenched. I knew it wouldn’t settle until I gave in so I left the department store and searched for signs and floor plans of the huge shopping centre and spotted the main toilets on the next floor, but at the opposite end. Cramps were now taking hold and I remember being in quite a lot of pain as I made my way through the crowds and eventually found the main toilets which were incredibly busy. My heart fluttered when I saw there was a long line for the ladies, people just waiting around randomly, prams and screaming children everywhere, even a shorter line for the mens toilets. I think anyone in my situation would have tried to access a private toilet but there was a small queue for the two disabled toilets located just next to the entrance to the ladies. I joined the main queue, trying to stand with my back to the wall as much as I could and immediately felt very self conscious about the smell, especially after more and more people kept joining behind me. I’ve clearly had accidents while waiting for the toilets before but nothing quite compares to the intense stress of it. It doesn’t get easier, it’s always just as awkward. The only thing I’ve regretted in the past was giving up on seeing it through to the front of the line and actually getting into a toilet. I usually give up and dash off in a fluster after an accident. I did my best to hold even though the pain and pressure was becoming unbearable. It was now impossible to stand normally and I had to keep crossing my legs. And then I heard people behind me commenting on the smell and then some whispering. I looked back to see a small group of girls, younger than me, standing just behind a middle aged woman directly behind me. I only glanced but made eye contact with one and saw another whispering to her. Both of them looked amused and I’m pretty sure they were onto me as being the origin of the stink. In front of me were too older women who seemed to ignore the smell thankfully.

    And then things happened. There wasn’t much hope I’d hold it any longer and every time the queue moved I had to unlock my legs to hobble forwards just like at the train station toilets. An enormous wave of pressure won and I became totally absorbed by nothing else but urgency. Tunnel vision and blurred sound sum up the way my memory packages those moments of maximum physical and emotional intensity. I started losing control slowly for a few seconds but a painful cramp forced me to push suddenly and with zero control I stood there completely pooping myself. I remember holding my bottom at the time and I could feel a slight vibration of the embarrassing bubbles and crackles as it made my jeans bulge. The slightly firmer mess turned mushy and I could feel a lot of sticky warmth spreading at the front and back quickly, adding to the previous whoops. The initial relief was instantly replaced by panic and shock as the world rushed back into focus and the fresher, more potent stink filled the air. I could hear gasps and giggles coming from behind me but I didn’t dare look back. All I could do was stand there trying to cover my bottom with my handbag which was pointless as everyone close to me already knew.  People in front of me were now glancing back and my mind was just fried. The sensation of bubbles moving against my bottom was a constant confirmation of how messy things had become and I stared at the floor trying not to fully break down into tears. The smell was truly revolting and it must have been far worse for other less guilty noses. The girls behind kept giggling but all I could make out were repeated omg’s and fake gagging sounds. I could also hear people further back who hadn’t directly witnessed it commenting on the smell. No one offered me any help until the line had moved forwards enough so I was closer to the disabled toilets and then I felt a reassuring hand on my arm and a lovely woman offered me the chance to split from the main toilet queue and go ahead of her into the disabled’s. I was pretty much speechless but let her guide me there. But then I had to wait there for a few minutes for it to become available which was maximum cringe as the line of people kept advancing past me now. I tried not to look at anyone and stood with my bum to the wall. My mind was going into shut down and now I was genuinely teary. The lady asked me if she could get me anything and all I could manage was to shake my head and sniff. I did manage to thank her when the toilet became available and finally, I was out of everyone’s sight. I stared through blurry eyes in the mirror for a while and tried to regain my composure but the emotions of it all were still overpowering and I remained teary for a while. I took my jeans down and tried to wee but most of it went in my pants which I tried to dry with toilet paper. I took a few reflection pictures to try and distract myself from what had just happened. I was only going to stay in the toilet long enough for most the witnesses to have moved on. But when I left I was still gawped at. I felt bad leaving a stinky toilet for the next person but I didn’t stay in there for longer than five minutes so hopefully I didn’t cause them any problems.


    Suddenly walking back through the shopping centre away from the scene of the crime I felt a little more relieved but pretty daunted by the scale of the problem. I could feel the mess was quite mobile in places and worried it might breach the rolled up tights and go onto my legs. I went back to the huge department store, doing my best to hide my bottom with my handbag. If the smell was visible I would have been the source of a large luminous green cloud spreading out behind me wherever I walked. Back at the quieter toilets I had half a mind to try and empty my underwear as the thought of getting on a train without toilets in this state was incredibly disturbing. There I took a few pictures briefly and went into a cubicle but soon realised I’d almost certainly make more of a mess trying to clean up than I would by just keeping things contained and controlled.


    The poop was very sticky and caked to my pants and bottom and the smell was too unbearable to have it exposed to the air for longer than a few seconds. But the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. It was very warm and soft and without having eaten anything spicy it wasn’t burning my skin. It was about as comfortable as a messing can be. So in no vein of sanity whatsoever I headed back through the department store, glancing in mirrors, stopping briefly to look at shoes and then straight back to the train station with totally pooped pants.


    Waiting on the platform was stinky but just about sustainable with my back to the wall. But any vague hope of a different train back for the first leg of the journey - one that might have toilets - was soon vapourised as an old and useless toiletless train rolled into the platform. I was panicking again and having got onto the train trying to hide my bottom I proceeded to walk the entire distance of it from carriage to carriage trying to find the most isolated seating area, of which there were few. Down the far end the best I could do was a two seater, facing the back of other seats again with only a few people nearby. I causally opened all the windows near to me and sat down slowly on the shopping bag I’d used before. The mess squished everywhere and I felt it climb worryingly high towards my underwear waistband at the back. I was sweating again so I took off my jacket and put it over my lap but the smell was still very noticeable. Then at the next stop two girls got onto the train and sat next to me the other side of the aisle. All I could do was sit there cringing, looking at anything but them. Sitting on a train with badly pooped pants amongst others is just as terrifying as it sounds and the journey took an eternity. But neither of the girls commented on the smell. It was almost like polite ignorance and I just thought thank you. The longer I sat still with my jacket over me the less potent the stink was so I’m hoping they may have just put it down to someone farting. Getting off the train was awkward as I had to put my jacket back on and reveal that I was sitting on a shopping bag but I just did it all in one movement and dashed off hoping that I hadn’t offended anyone too much.

    The next train thankfully had toilets, within which I hid for the entire journey. I took a quick pic there and it shows the damage that sitting on the previous train caused.


    I’ve ruined these jeans so many times but somehow they wash well and rarely develop many signs of permanent staining. I didn’t stop anywhere on the way home as the weather was pretty gross so apologies that the pics are low quality this time. But generally I think that was the most emotionally interesting messing of 2018. As far back as I can remember I’ve bizarrely craved an awkward accident this potent. The mental overload of it is becoming easier to control but I’m not immune to completely breaking down as I nearly did this time. It’s beyond shame and embarrassment and the only real respite is the fair certainty that you’re very unlikely to ever see any of those witnesses again. I know it’s just an ooky pants accident but the impact it has on my on going self hatred isn’t soft. Whether this is a weird distortion of self harm or not I don’t know as despite the shame, the toe curling memories and the continual repetition of extremely unlady like activities, it seems to evoke a cocktail of emotions, so perfectly mixed and so totally unique that I can’t identify anything else in my life that comes close to it. That said, it will always be a blessing and a curse and I must stop this ridiculous trend of shopping and awkward queue situations.  I’m not sure what this year will bring but I doubt I’ll ever get as crazy as 2018 again. I’ll try to post some snips / pics from incidents last year that I intend to write up. Thank you for reading and apologies it was rather long, happy pooping xx

    Good Friday

    I hadn’t really planned anything or envisaged more than I’d already completed for this trip but I was disappointed with some of the images as some were blurry and in others I looked like a dishevelled wreck. I’d also woken that day to an unexpectedly full feeling. I hadn’t really eaten correctly for another event and had been enjoying the trip doing normal things for a few days but there was definitely a large need for the loo and it put me back into mission mind set.

    The weather was actually pretty reasonable for the UK in late March. From my lookout post the beach already seemed busy and more enticing like on the morning of a summer’s day with long mansions of shade cast across the sand by the cliffs. The whole thing had shorts poop written all over it.

    I’d previously found some shorts that resembled the one’s that I remember my friend wore on her fateful day. They were composed of quite stretchy cotton with a ruffled high waist band. I chanced size 10’s as the reviews said buy a size down due to the stretch and ordered the creamy white colour although they’d been slightly dyed blue in a wash with blue jeans previously. I’ve also got them in pink and they’re cosy but I only wear them for poop missions, not for day to day use, bit too short.

    With a chill in the air on the breeze still, I opted for thick tights and chose green underwear, again supported with cut, folded up tights. My morning coffee didn’t help matters; after some preliminary and horrendous gas the convulsions started so I knew I’d need to get going soon. Strangely the feeling of it was just about comfortably controllable but with a degree of fullness and repeated desperacy that I usually associate with large poops, like there was a dam holding back some looser stuff. After fighting back a few times the need usually goes away with smaller poops but that didn’t happen. It kept knocking so I got my stuff together and left.

    I decided to drive to a nearby beach that I used to visit as a child with my family. Shaped like a crescent moon and expansive, it could offer good spacious anonymity and general beauty just for enjoyment. The large grass and gravel car park was already busy, like everyone had the same idea with the first taste of summer on good Friday; well not exactly the same idea. Can you imagine if everyone was on a private pants pooping mission, that would be so hilarious I’d probably wet myself. There’s a long rickety boardwalk down over the dunes snaking toward the beach and it was busy; people of all ages laughing and smiling after a long and tedious UK winter. 

    At the intersection and steps down to the beach there was a café next to the toilets with people sitting on the benches outside chatting. After driving, the need to go had subdued slightly but was returning and I was put-putting a bit as I made my way down the steps carved into the cliff and onto the beach. The tide was on its way out and the local area was quite busy with people settling around the cliff edge and playing beach games. I walked for a while and took normal photos as the need started to take hold and then found a semi-private area where I could let a full wave dominate. It was suddenly stronger and less comfortable. I had to fully cross my legs and hope no one came around the large beach rocks into view. Lucky this time, no interruptions and I managed to resist but only just. It felt like the next wave could be the decider. After 20 minutes or so on the beach under the purest blue skies, easing winds and just a little wispy cloud I’d circled around the beach rocks and the surf line back to the steps. I didn’t really know where I was going to let this happen and thought about going straight on from where the toilets were at the top as the views looked good that way. 

    Climbing the steps however started to stir another wave and there were even more people to negotiate. I had to slow my pace a little and walking was becoming more awkward with each step. I had the beach toilets as a backup in my mind so I could at least do it privately but at the top of the steps I was a little panicked to see a queue for the ladies. My heart started racing as I was probably within a minute or so of losing it and I was in a very public area now. I’d never been brave enough to lose control in a queue before. I’d witnessed a queue accident once; a lady possibly in her 30’s wearing jeans that were clearly bulgy and a little wet at a festival and she kept touching her bum. What a disastrous place for a pants poop clean up. 

    I didn’t really have many other options as I’d be cemented to the spot soon trying to resist or I’d have to just let go somewhere close. Sheepishly approaching the queue I joined behind a woman and maybe her young daughter and further ahead some teenagers who were also in shorts, denim and Khaki by the looks of it and both braving bare legs. 

    The same rush as the supermarket started to take hold and it seemed to make me a little bolder. I didn’t hold my bum or anything but had my legs crossed and was fidgety. My insides were now really churning. Someone came out but only one of the teenagers went in so it must have been a single toilet. Then someone joined behind me, which put my mind into total overload and panic. I had to try to act more normal and loosened my legs slightly. I only caught a glance of her but she looked my age, or maybe a little younger, pretty, not raunchy, and was wearing blue jeans and a grey short sleeved cardigan and through her sunglasses she was about to witness someone shitting herself. My battle was over and again I tried to stop thinking but it didn’t really work. I felt as nervous as before my finals at uni. After having loosened my legs there’s very little power left to resist and the full wave was now building way past the point of no return. Then it was happening. The poop started coming out with my feet still crossed but with loose thighs, semi-solid to begin with for maybe 5 seconds before an uncontrollable convulsion push suddenly sped it all up as I bent over against my will. It was much mushier and was coming out more quickly. It was totally audible and I could feel the warmth suddenly spreading everywhere as the awful smell hit. The main noisy push was over in three or four seconds and it was unexpectedly large for an unplanned poop. That’s EV olive oil for you. The lady in front looked around and with genuine concern asked if I wanted to go first. I was speechless and just stared at the floor slightly dazed with my hands on my stomach. Reality flooded back in and I just said I’m so sorry and left the queue and by then a few others including the teenager were looking at me. God knows what the girl behind thought who had to witness the full visual and smell. She must have told people about it.

    I had to waddle off past everyone at the café and on the benches which were close enough for some people to seem unduly interested. I bowed my head in shame and marched back up towards the boardwalk and walked by many others on my way back to the car with a very red face. I couldn’t even subtly feel back there to assess the damage. It felt oily and warm but not liquid, just quite mobile against my skin. My hands were shaking still as I fumbled for my keys to open the car. I put a bin liner stashed for such occurrences on the seat and slowly climbed in, being careful when sitting down as I didn’t want any overflows. Yes it went everywhere and everything was getting in my way or causing issues; hair tangling on seat belt, handbag spilling on floor. I was flustered. There was a new level of odour in the car and I felt underneath a little, raising myself up slightly. It felt a little wet in places but not drippy wet thankfully as I’d managed not to wee myself somehow. I sat there for a moment in disbelief about what I’d done. The reality of it was scary. The little micro expressions you notice when people look. The shock or subtle, polite disgust; things I don’t accurately picture when visualising a scene before. 

    Back in the town where I stayed, having been sitting down in the car which exacerbated the stain, I wasn’t as brave as supermarket day I’m afraid and tied a stashed cardigan around my waist even though I was wearing a leather jacket, which probably looked a bit suspicious. After a brief visit to the ladies to inspect things which were starting to stain, I enjoyed another walk on the beach and the tide was fully out so I could avoid people fairly well with the extra space. No leaks yet and rolled up tights to the rescue again. It was pretty much a dream pants poop situation and my mind was much calmer knowing I was well covered; less windy now, seagulls, sunshine, and carelessly walking along the surf edge. Unexpected days like this are what its all about as the plan can’t go wrong if you’re making it up as you go, but then it did a bit.

    I went to a more secluded area of beach and without an actual obvious need to poop anymore decided to push hard. A sudden and unexpected wave of noisy semi-diarrhoea erupted. Not loads but enough to destabilise the situation. I immediately lowered myself with my arms on some rocks behind as I lost control of my bladder briefly too. Everything collected at the seat of my pants and I was leaking wee slightly onto the sand through my clothes. I had to stay there until the leak finished and also had to sort of push against it repeatedly so its consistency mixed together into something a little more walking friendly and that left one of my hands in such a gross state that I had to wash it in a rock pool. The cardigan wouldn’t cover all of this now as the front was also stained. The problem with this beach is that there aren’t that many escape routes unless you’re a mountaineer. I rushed a picture as there were dog walkers coming. The stain was ridiculous.

    I had a less crowded route option back around the cliff but knew uphill walking would be disastrous for my boots as not even rolled up tights can defend against a wee poo. Also walking on dry heaped sand like that was awkward when you’re trying not to overstep anything and as the crowded area approached I pretended to search for something in my handbag which could cover my front up a bit. I also had to keep tightening the cardigan tied around my waist. If that had fallen off I may as well have given everyone a twirl. From the looks I got on the beach I’m sure people knew something was up. It was all made worse by being so close to leg leakage. After an eternity and much eye contact avoidance, I left the beach and eventually reached my apartment. 

    I laughed when I looked in the mirror. The back of my shorts were totally brown. Even after a few washes since, they’re still noticeably stained. I took a picture as usual. Knowing it was nearing the end of the trip I tried other clothes on and had a fair few glasses of wine prolonging it and mulling it over, reliving the moments in the queue with real imagery and emotion. As arousing as the fantasy was before, actually living it out was a more scary rush than expected. I know its unlikely I’d ever see those people again but I feel bad for bringing them so closely into my mad, self-et-ish world. Like I used them. As far as public humiliation goes it was pretty bad and losing it in a queue was about as close as I’ll ever get to a real accident like my friends’. Once you’re a purposeful pants pooper, nothing’s really an accident and innocence is lost.

    I still can’t help wondering what the girl behind me made of it. Happy pooping ☺

    Not usually this brave

    The second planned pants poop on my trip was fairly ridiculous on all levels. I’d previously imagined a situation in a supermarket but have never been brave enough to follow it through, haha. My local supermarkets at home are too risky and I bump into people I know quite often so I figured this was probably the only chance I’ll get anytime soon to realise something I’d been considering for a while.

    As with any plan I’d pictured what I wanted out of it, firstly, to lose control in an aisle, secondly to waddle to the toilets and finish off in my pants, thirdly to waddle out of the store with visibly pooped pants. I’d bought some stretchy light brown treggings from Amazon and decided on pink underwear under nude tights cut and rolled up. I’d had a few days in-between from my beach poop and had controlled my diet since to create as large a poop as possible. 

    That morning I couldn’t really believe I was going to do this and was nervous and excited. I left for the store about 11am after battling back the need to poop a few times which gets worse when I’m nervous. It was a rainy day and that proved to be useful later on. The store was only a 10 minute drive away and I went in as normal and started browsing while letting the pressure build which it did very quickly. I can usually decipher and link the way a poop feels as to how messy it will be. The more movement back and forth I feel the more solid it is. This one was quite relentless without as much feeling of motion so my bet was quite mushy, which was good as the more solid one’s can get painful. The caveat is that they’re much harder to control, which it was, and they can stain quite badly, which it did. 

    In the cosmetics aisle situated at the far end of the supermarket I was browsing as usual but now getting very desperate and about to lose, or win, depends how you look at it! Any normal person would have been well on the way to a toilet by now but I just stood there with my legs crossed starting to let my body take over. There were a few other people close by, a family I think a little further down and an attractive girl looking at the hair products with me only a few metres away so I couldn’t stand too defensively. My mind started going into overload, what if it was noisy, it would be totally obvious at this distance but it was too late and I uncrossed my legs and did my best to stop thinking. I didn’t have to push at all, it just started coming out all on its own and it was indeed messy. And then my fears were realised as the flow sped up it made a muffled blurpy sort of sound at which point I tried to slam on the brakes. Now bright red and smelling noticeably, about half way through and aware from my peripheral vision that I had attracted her attention, I just made an awkward waddle to the toilets while trying to stop the flow. I also put my hand on my bum briefly making it even more obvious. Totally seen and it was a huge rush. There are some times when I wonder if I’ve been noticed but that was a certainty. The toilets were at the same far end of the store so I didn’t need to go that far and luckily both loo’s were free.

    Still desperate I could now resist a little better in private and I just stood in there with a very smelly load in my pants, contemplating what I’d just done. The need to finish was getting worse and after a few minutes I decided to keep my treggings up as I stopped resisting. This time I pushed a little and the rest flowed out making more noise and just kept coming; far more than I’d expected and it felt very warm. This is the precise reason I use the tights cut above the knees and rolled up. It would have definitely overflowed and gone down my legs and I don’t like ruining my boots. The moment was incredible and the relief much needed. My only regret is that I didn’t carry on around the store to finish instead as it was a pleasingly huge poop that still remained after losing it in the aisle. However, the toilets are located at the opposite side of the store to the entrance and a walk of shame was looming. I did my tripod in the handbag on the door trick and took a picture and then started plucking up the courage to face the music. From the photo I could see there was staining already and it was very bulgy, so bulgy that I decided to awkwardly take off the treggings and put on another pair of spare underwear on top of the pink pants and tights to help keep it under control. They were sloggi maxi 12’s in lilac and helped a little. 

    I left the cubicle and was still alone so I took a quick picture on my phone in the mirror, washed my hands, had a spray of romance and left the ladies. Immediately I was already being followed and should have taken a detour down an aisle. The walk across the store along the numerous cashier scanners and queues of people seemed to take forever. I don’t know how many people saw but it was obvious and I could smell myself above the perfume even though I was walking. It was another huge rush and as embarrassed as I was, it was definitely arousing. This was as public as my friends pants poop so it felt like a victory in the sense of recreating something similar. I hope I didn’t gross out too many people. I wonder what they all thought and whether the reactions were purely disgust or anything else. It’s the nature of a pants poop. People only notice behind you and you don’t look back. I’d be interested to see the security video at that time.

    Back outside it was raining heavily and I again had to walk in my stained shame past many people. I got to my car and then had to sit in the mess. It squelched everywhere. It was already riding up quite high in the back and sitting in it had to be done slowly so I could control it enough so it didn’t breach the back waist band. I drove off and then did something crazy. I hadn’t planned it but it struck me that with the rain I could use my umbrella to cover my face if I fancied escalating things and in a crazy attempt to keep the rush going I drove into town, parked and walked the highstreet in my badly pooped pants. No photos of that I’m afraid unless taken by a witness somewhere but after having sat in it, the seat of my treggings were now stained through and couldn’t be more obvious. I noticed various people looking at me on the return leg back up the highstreet and angled the umbrella to cover most of my face. I also noticed my front was now stained too. I have a picture from when I returned afterwards, I was a disaster zone. 

    There it is; in one morning of madness I surpassed by miles any of my previous levels of bravery and fully pooped myself in public and the rush of it was amazing. The down side is I’m now a little bored of my standard woodland walks which pale compared to the giddy rush of full on public messing. But maybe such public excursions should remain far from home. 

    I’ll write up the final pants poop of my trip soon; it was again rather eventful. Thanks for reading and happy pooping ☺

    Blow out at the beach

    Last week I managed to cram three very public and very visible pants poops into a spare of the moment Easter trip.

    For the first incident, after having planned my diet for two days before without going to the loo so it would leave me very desperate, I decided to wear white stretchy jeans and underneath some green sloggi maxi briefs and set off for the beach. As my poops can be quite large I also wear a pair of tights cut at the knee and rolled up to help sure up the underwear leg holes. It was nice weather but I still needed a jacket as there was a cold wind. I get very nervous and excited about public events as for most my pants pooping history I’ve stuck to safer woodland areas where there’s always an escape route away from any people. Over the recent years however I’ve started to not mind being seen as much, so long as I’m not trapped somewhere.

    I was desperate from the word go and it was hard work just getting to the beach. When I need to poop and a wave of convulsions starts I cross my right leg in front of my left so I have extra support to ride and resist them. I enjoy the feeling of my body exerting the natural convulsion pushing pressure and then fighting it back with the pelvic floor muscles and my closed legs, which usually happens two or three times in a row leaving you right on the brink of pooping yourself that many times. Repeated resistance of these waves of desperation with me sometimes results in the entire poop collecting and being ready to push out as one. When a convulsion is really bad I won’t be able to resist it and will poop myself just like anyone else would if they weren’t near a toilet.  I’m cemented to the spot though so if I’m disturbed during a convulsion wave I either just have to stand there obviously bending over in desperation or I unlock my legs and start walking away and then uncontrollably pooping myself. The latter was the choice this time.

    I’d found a fairly quiet area of beach and was enjoying needing to go badly (it gets worse and harder to control the more times I resist) and was about to give in anyway when a dog walker appeared. Dogs are a nightmare in general if you’re on a pants pooping mission. They always come and smell your bum bringing obvious attention to what’s happened! When I was disturbed I was in the middle of a bad convulsion and knew it was time to stop fighting. I unlocked my legs and started slowly walking a little so the dog walker, who was a female in her 40’s maybe, didn’t see me there in obvious desperation. I managed to waddle behind some large beach rocks near the surf as it was starting to come out. My heart was racing, she was heading in my direction and I would be in her sight within 20 seconds or so but now I was again stuck to the spot and uncontrollably pushing overwhelmed by the huge pressure. It was coming out semi solid at first and then suddenly got mushier and from much experience I immediately knew my white jeans may stain through. It’s always a nice feeling of having warm mushy poop spreading against my skin; it’s really all about those brief moments. When I plan these poops they’re usually rather large and it’s sometimes possible to regain control half way through. After pushing out a fair amount, probably about the volume of a grapefruit, I managed to squeeze my legs back together and start resisting again to ebb the flow. It was very smelly but contained for now. At that moment the dog appeared. Still only just on the other side of resisting I started walking back, bent over and stroked the friendly but incredibly annoying little honing beacon to my bottom and then smiled at and walked past the dog walker. She looked friendly and I hope she didn’t smell me. The dog didn’t stick to me luckily this time. I found a cave and walked in to be a little more out of sight. The lump already felt large and soft and felt a little wet around my leg pantylines. Taking stock I knew it was going to be a struggle to get out of this unseen and decided after taking a quick picture (I carry a small compact on a little tripod and use it on timer) to head for the beach toilets as I still needed to finish and it would be easier to inspect the damage although from the picture there was some visible staining already. On the way I took another picture which is the main one at the top of my page.

    The walk across the beach (this time) was fairly uneventful as I could plan my route through people keeping the most amount of space around me. It wasn’t too busy but still needed stealth. I could feel the remaining poop was wanting out now but couldn’t stop so I just did my best to hold it while walking. The poop in my pants was slightly more spread out but not up my front yet thankfully. It can get painful. The exit of the beach was crowded and there were some workmen on the road with a barrier that I had to walk right past. I don’t know if anyone saw me. I couldn’t hear any spontaneous laughter which I’ve attributed to myself before. I never look back. I arrived at the beach toilets set near the car park in this fairly busy little town and thankfully the end loo next to the wall was free (I prefer an end stall for some reason!) Having gone in and hung my handbag on the coat hanger I was now in privacy and could let the pressure win more comfortably. I pulled my stained jeans down gingerly and while still standing, crossed my legs and let another convulsion take hold. Then I heard somebody else walk into another toilet. I’d passed the point of no return and sat on the toilet still trying to hold it but then I felt a pain. It was no use and poop started coming out again. I thought I could keep it from coming out too noisily by moderating the pace but again, overwhelmed, I uncontrollably pushed and it all suddenly flowed out in the space of three seconds or so with a muffled blarp to start with and then a slight crackling. I breathed out finally and was in a state of disbelief that I’d realised a long term beach fantasy with such precision. It was about the same amount of poop again and still mushy. Then the double smell hit. The smell of poo immediately after going is always the worst. I knew the person in the other stall would have heard and maybe suspected that it didn’t sound like a normal poo. She was just weeing so she’d left fairly quickly. I wonder who she was and what she thought.

    I sat there finishing and slightly weeing into my pants a little too and then pulled my jeans up. I reached around to survey the mess and the bulge size. It was on par with some of my larger poops. I stood for a little while in my toxic cloud and had some of my e-cig and then took another picture by positioning the little tripod so it was standing in my handbag that was hanging on the door. From the picture (posted above) I could see obvious staining at the top of the legs and around the seat of my pants and also a little higher up. I was still on a giddy high of anxious excitement and worry about how the walk back to my apartment would go. Leaving the toilet, I washed my hands and luckily no one else came in. I chose a slightly less obvious route back that took me away from the main rabble but I must have been seen whilst walking up the road to get to my apartment. I walked past at least twenty people and the workmen again and there were a few that I noticed were walking behind me a little way back. From the reflection in a car window It looked like a middle aged couple. I just kept my head held high and marched back. I don’t know who definitely saw me but I must have been noticed.

    I tried wearing a few different clothes and took a few more pictures back at the apartment while enjoying a glass of wine before the clear up and cooking some more poop fuel. If you want enormous blow outs, add lots of extra virgin olive oil to your food but not too often! It was definitely the best pants pooping I’d had this year, until maybe the next one a few days after.

    I’ll write up the other two soon which were even more public and unusually brave for me  :)

    In a nutshell

    I’m very aware that It’s quite a weird behaviour and I go through phases of questioning it from time to time. Fixation possibly, thrill seeking maybe, meditative definitely. That’s how my inner narrative loops without ever really asserting a conclusion. But even in my late 20′s I can’t stop enjoying it and it’s fairly harmless in the grand scheme of things. It did however develop a sexual tint after witnessing a friends accident in my mid teens. Until her incident I just occasionally pooped myself for the naughty satisfying relief but ever since, it’s definitely become an abstract fantasy fetish that’s actually possible to live out. 

    She wasn’t my best friend but was in our group at that age back in 2002 and we’d smuggled some alcohol out to a local park for the annual music event there in June with bands and the general festival paraphernalia. After we’d been sneakily drinking in the woods for a while and then ventured out to see the band, she started complaining of cramps. We were all quite drunk and were enjoying the event so we didn’t respond quickly enough when she returned from the portaloos saying the queue was too long and that she needed to go home. Soon after, I think she’d maybe already started to have an accident as there was no nonsense now, she was off, so we went with her. I’ve lost touch with her but she was very pretty and was wearing cream hot pant style shorts with a ruffled high waist. She stopped and bent over grimacing and then sat down to the curb and we heard this blarp sound followed by a noisy crackling. As she was pooping she lifted herself from the curb slightly with her arms behind. We were as shocked as her. I was mesmerised. The poor girl stood up and most of it was contained as she was leaning backwards on the curb with her knees bent while she went but now it was starting to stain through. It was a large poop, not totally liquid as it didn’t go far down her thighs but very messy and smelly. For cackling drunkards we were impressively comforting and walked in a cage around her so nobody else could see. She was understandably mortified so I felt bad for finding it so arousing. But nevertheless that’s stuck with me ever since and it escalated my own habit to recreate those unthinkably embarrassing moments.

    Its been totally private for 20 years, I’ve kept it from all partners and it’s my biggest secret. I’ve been fine tuning the process in terms of diet, locations and clean up for ten years. I’ve posted pictures on other websites that cover the fetish but those sites are quite pornography orientated with lots of explicit scatty images and videos which I’m not into. My core interest is the moment, the unpredictability and then capturing the image of the aftermath, as it would be if it were real, in normal clothes. Clothes are huge to me; I’ve tried it in all sorts. My favourites evolve with each year but usually are jeans, leggings/jeggings, skirts and shorts. I’ve spent way too much on clothes bought with the sole purpose of destroying them!

    Away from this I lead a normal life. I won’t say too much as ambiguity is the only way. I won’t show my face in any pictures and videos are too risky. But I’m rational, empathic, not religious and have an awe and fascination with the cosmos that always lifts me from inevitable spells of depression that everyone gets. I’m 5′6 and have blue eyes. My stories are as accurate as I can remember but some will be from years ago so the finer details may be a little hazy. Every summer I’ve always had an excuse to be away on a Sunday once or twice a month, and more often than not I’ll be wondering around a forest or somewhere scenic that helps with the pictures I take. More recently I’ve been a little braver and have pooped my pants badly in much more public places which I’ll write up soon.

    I find poop as horrendous and disgusting as anyone, but when you let go of the strain you’ve been dealing with and planning for days, the overwhelming relief combined with the large naughty mess and smell takes on an entirely different experiential form to when I normally go to the loo. Maybe it’s a distant resonance back with the comfort of early life. Trying to figure out why I do it again.. Whatever, I do it and I love it.

    Feel free to ask me anything and I hope you enjoy my accounts. It’s not for everyone and I don’t expect everyone to understand, but for me, it’s a freedom unparalleled.