When was the last time you soiled yourself?

Tom_mcfc said:
aphex said:
i puked AND shit at the same time years ago. nothing. not even a blue peter badge.
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done this one mate and it quite the achievment. Woke up tender after being on the lash and had my head down the toilet spewing no end, i then uncontrolably started to fill my boxers also. It was horrific and kind of funny at the same time. I was staying at my mates birds so i proceeded into running into there room to show them my then soiled boxers. I forgot and actualy left them at her house aswel!!

Cracking day
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it is funny! i'd draw the line at laughing as well as doing both tho... who says men cant multitask?
 
A bad one that sticks out from my Student days was when I didn't even feel it coming which was even worse than expecting it! I got up one afternoon after a heavy night and stretched as I got out of bed and out slipped a little fart which I thoguht felt a bit warm. I did the acid test of putting my hand in there to test it out and low and behold I had mucky fingers. The worse part was they were my favourite boxers so I thought sod chucking them I'll put them in a bag and take them home to be washed cause I was going home later that day. I threw them in the washer but my mum always pulls stuff out before putting the wash on. Yes you guessed it, she got a handful of the shitty undies!
 
simonr555 said:
A bad one that sticks out from my Student days was when I didn't even feel it coming which was even worse than expecting it! I got up one afternoon after a heavy night and stretched as I got out of bed and out slipped a little fart which I thoguht felt a bit warm. I did the acid test of putting my hand in there to test it out and low and behold I had mucky fingers. The worse part was they were my favourite boxers so I thought sod chucking them I'll put them in a bag and take them home to be washed cause I was going home later that day. I threw them in the washer but my mum always pulls stuff out before putting the wash on. Yes you guessed it, she got a handful of the shitty undies!
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the acid test hahahahaha class
 
poh said:
In the 70's i was invited along with a few mates to a party in Belfast where the parents of the guy throwing it had gone away for the week (so you know what that means ! ) a few hours before the party i had something from the local chippy,thinking it will be all booze for the next 24 hours so get some food into you first.Well whatever i had (i just cant remember now ) started to fuck my guts up big time about an hour before said party,but fuck it i thought a few drinks will settle that down and off i went.So there i'am at the party feeling just great and getting nicely hammered when that feeling starts,and you just know your in big fucking trouble if you do not make it the bathroom in the next 3.4 seconds ! the thing was i did make it ! but just as i burst through the door i saw that a friend of mine who had got himself in goodstyle with a girl there was on the toilet with her on top of him,fuck it i thought i will use the bath, i turned around quickly and had my begs down along with the undercrackers and in mid-squat when my mate on the toilet yelled no ! no fuck i thought, as i let loose the bowels from hell,it was a split second later when i saw something in the corner of my eye in the bath and it was not my shit! now dont get me wrong i was not in the least put out by my friend and his girl sitting on the toilet watching me shit (i mean after all it was an emergency ) but to my ever lasting shame another of my friends had been having a lie down in the bath because of to much drink taken,and it was this that my mate on the bog had tried to warn me about,but after he had shouted no,he could speak no more because he was laughing so hard he nearly shit himself ! as for the girl,she hid her head at the shame of it on his chest,as for my mate in the bath,well fuck me if he did not sleep right through the whole thing ! I did have to make it up to him the next day (i bought him new shirt and jeans ) i suppose the moral of the story is look before you shit,no matter how desparate you are.
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You've never shit yourself until you've done it over a mate sleeping in a bath. Legendary. FMTWF.
 
I was on holiday in Tenerife with a goup of mates in the summer of 2005, and on the first day my mate decided it would be funny to drop his shorts and unleash what i can only describe as a harrowing fart right in my face. I saw the whole event unfold no more than 2 inches from my face! I saw every movement that his sphincter made, which was followed by a gust of putrid smelling wind! I vowed to gain my revenge!

A couple of days later, after a rather dodgy all you can eat chinese, my arse was dishing out the kind of farts that only yourself can enjoy. My friend was sat on the balcony, and i thought this was the perfect opportunity to settle the score!
I ran over and dropped my kecks, positioning my arse square in his face, in the excitement i pushed just a little too hard, and proceded to force a rather sizeable quantity of liquid poo straight out my crack and right into my mates somewhat surprised face! I ran straight to the toilet, but not before realising he had been talking to a couple of the very nice ladies that were staying in the room next to ours! suffice to say, i didnt see any action off them that holiday!

I suppose my mate must have forgiven me over time...we sit next to each other in block 308 now!
 
haven't read the full thread so sorry if someone has posted something similar!

Anyway - mine was about 10 years ago aged 19. I had been out on the sesh and my girlfriend at the time was at my house. Anyway, long story short - i had no underwear on and a pair of adidas trackies on. I sat on the bed and was trying to hold a fart in (as you do when you start dating) and i felt a hot trickle out of my arsehole. I said to the lass that she would have to go as i was tired - she did and was pissed off big time. When i heard her car go i stood up to see a perfect leaf shape on the duvet and an overwhelming stench of arse lip juice.
 
I presume this falls under the same category so here goes.
I was recently holidaying in egypt and on my 19th birthday, (28th august) we visited the pyramids/museum in cairo.
On the morning we went i felt a bit iffy and had stomach cramps. got to the airport in sharm el sheikh to get a plane up to cairo.
All was well until we got on the plane, the plane was so basic, without toilets and i needed the bog big time.
Sat there uncomfortbaly for about 45 minutes and went to the toilet in cairo airport. However when people advised me before about people begging so much i didnt consider that fact when i needed a shit. theres people stood in every toilet you go in and they stand there with bog roll and ask you for money to have the privaledge of using bog roll, and when you get the bog roll the piece isnt big enough to blow your nose on. To cut a long story short, i had the shits all day and had no form of bog roll on me at the time i needed it.
I was in a a tour group of around 15 people and they must have all thought i was special. I must have used the toilet about 40 times that day. My arse was fucking killing and i was rushing about the museum of mummies like a potential terrorist. I managed to grab about 3 rolls of toilet roll and popped them in my bag on my third visit in the toilet whilst mido at the door begging was busy.
Not the best experience ever.
 
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!!!!)
 
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!!!!)
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Beat that if you can!! quality.
 
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