When was the last time you soiled yourself?

No me personally, but a friend told me about the time he was driving a tipper truck and was touching cloth. It was on an A road somewhere, so he pulled into a layby and climbed up into the empty tipper to do the business. Anyway, all was going well until a packed double decker bus pulled up....
 
Some friends of my first wife and myself went to Athens in the early 1990s. They climbed up to see what is left of the magnificent Acropolis. Sadly the husband suffered a cruel and dramatic gastric breakdown and it all gushed out in front of hundreds of other tourists. It was very hot and they were two miles from the hotel. Imagine!
 
mattyc said:
Absolutely fantastic thread - I had to re-register in order to post my own contribution!

Many years back when I was in my late teens and a student, I went down to London to watch a cup match against Brentford, it must have been in the early nineties I reckon? We went by train (I was based in Leicester at the time) and it was one of those days when from mid-afternoon onwards my stomach was sending out warning signals that it wasn't as calm as it should have been - a combination, I suspect of beer and student fast-food. Anyway, not helped by another dose of ale and junk-food before kick-off, I could feel my insides bubbling up during the match and at the final whistle, I was in urgent need of a trip to the bog.

I had no desire to use what were pretty primative toilets at the ground and even less desire to be dropping a load in a filthy bog as the ground was emptying, so I foolishly allowed myself to tell my complaining stomach that I'd deal with the situation when we reached the train station (although the toilets there were likely to be little better, in truth).

A mate (who shall remain nameless for fear of reprisal) convinced me that the walk back to Ealing tube station was "no more than ten minutes" ... about half an hour later we finally arrived at the station by which time I could scarcely put one foot in front of the other and the spasming pains in my guts were threatening to leave me down on all fours. With sweat pouring from my forehead to the extent that I must have looked like I'd been out in the rain all evening, I located the ticket office and breathlessly pleaded to the station assistant to point me in the direction of the closest bog, to which he replied "there aren't any toilets here!" leaving me clutching the seat of my jeans like a 4-year old gagging for school playtime.

WTF!! No bogs!!? On the point of bursting into tears of anguish, I begged like never before and he pointed me to the other side of the road where there sat one of those tardis-like contraptions requiring coins to gain entry. I hobbled across to find that the three lighted buttons (vacant/occupied/out of order) were all lit up in shades of green, red and amber and the door was firmly sealed shut. FFS!!

I hobbled back to the station where yet again, my erstwhile mate persuasively cajoled me to travel just one stop as he knew there were toilets at the next station (how he knew, I have no idea). As we waited on the platform, my straining bowels decided they would be less easily convinced than me and that further delay would be intolerable. In anticipation of the events of the next sixty seconds, I resignedly dropped to a squatting position, resting on my haunches partly to ease the by-now stabbing pains in my belly and partly, I suspect, to try and lessen the disaster that was milli-seconds away although probably rational thinking had long since passed me by.

It wasn't quite a case of Vesuvius erupting in my underpants - more a surge of molten lava quietly but effortlessly spewing forth to turn my nether regions into a burning mass of filth. I must have remained in a squatting position until the deed was done for the next I recall was that a train was approaching the platform and I was being urged to stand by my wide-eyed pals. As I did so, the backs of my legs became enveloped in the same rich warmth that my pants had succumbed to and before I knew it, my socks were becoming cemented to my ankles.

With me wet and defeated, we got on the train but before reaching the next stop, others in the carriage were starting to cover their mouths with their hands and as the doors opened next-time-round, people were literally falling over each other to reach the sanctity of fresh air.

To cut a very long story short, it was decided (for me and by me) that we should get off at Hammersmith station and there in a painfully inadequate so-called toilet that reeked of piss, I was forced to remove and bin my pants, jeans and socks and try and clean up as best as I could with one mate standing guard at the door to keep unwelcome desperates out (I never did find out if anyone actually tried to come in) and another mate scouring the nearby shops to try and find some trousers for me.

I ended up travelling back to the mainline station in a pair of 'borrowed' underpants (please don't ask!!!) and a jacket tied round my waist before I managed to use the shower facilities at the station and replace the trousers for the journey home.

...and thereby ends the tale of the day I shit myself in West London!!!

(It's a shame no-one is brave enough to start another thread called "the worst you've ever needed to take a piss!" I could tell a real corker about that, revolving around a wedding ceremony after a few pre-event beers!!!!)
Click to expand...
Haha that’s brilliant
 
Can't say I have soiled myself, but I remember this one time during a Saturday League Football Match. I was playing Left Wing and I was letting these awful farts to the point where their players complained to the referee. Their full back asked me if I had a bowel problem, so I just asked him to pull my finger and find out. He pulled my finger, and to his displeasure I let out this horrendously wet fart which nearly caused an explosion in my shorts and him to projectile vomit over me! Hah

I was just blasting these wet, soggy farts out for a good 25 minutes until half way through the game I could feel the turtles head looming. The fucker was trying to climb out of my arse when I was running down the wing with the ball. I decided to pass the ball quickly, and proceed to sprint to the toilets mid way through the game. When returning to the pitch I got a standing ovation by both teams and everytime I touched the ball their players shouted Shitty Arse! It was very good banter to be fair! Hah
 
Couple of days ago and excuse the pun, a very shit one.

Went for a piss in the downstairs toilet before going out for a walk with Mrs Moon. Halfway through said piss, after having nothing to give myself any concerns or indications of pending issues I dropped a very small fart & instantaneously filled my gusset area with incredibly smelly burning gravy which was happily running down my legs as my piss continued.

It'd already become incredibly smelly cold gravy as I raced upstairs, apart from undies & socks nothing else died, mad I was literally a couple of feet and 180 Deg from being spared the mess.
 
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