u/browsingthruit

A few months ago this would have been unthinkable. Years ago I promised myself I’d never again give into the urges while someone else was home. Today I broke that promise.

For context, my partner knows I have this fetish, although she has no interest in participating. I told her about it earlier this summer during a conversation where we opened up about our deepest, darkest links. I’ve never done it in front of her and don’t ever plan to unless she asks. For the last few years I’ve only pooped my pants when she is out of town.

This morning I was standing in the kitchen, making my coffee and getting my lunch packed for work. I was naked except for an old pair of boxer briefs I had slept in. I could feel my morning poop brewing, the pressure gradually rising. I take a poop virtually every morning and it is usually the most satisfying poop of the day. Today things didn’t take long to get moving.

It kind of snuck up on me actually and I was prairie dogging before my coffee was done brewing. At one point I moved across the kitchen and felt a little squish between my butt cheeks — it seemed my clenching had beheaded the prairie dog. Not enough to make contact with my boxer briefs, but enough that I could feel it smush ever so slightly. This revved me up and I gave a few teasing pushes to try and get another prairie dog going — I absolutely love the feeling of being desperate to poop. I actually do this fairly regularly in the mornings. I’ll hold and tease myself until it’s just starting to come out, but not enough to leave any marks.

When I finished in the kitchen. I moved to the bathroom to brush my teeth, poop, and get dressed. My partner was asleep in bed just a few feet away, with only the bathroom door between us.

As I brushed my teeth I kept teasing myself, relaxing then holding, relaxing then holding, never letting the prairie dog out of its hole. As I finished brushing and looked at the toilet I thought, “am I really going to waste this feeling in the toilet?”

I did a quick mental assessment of my situation:
- partner asleep, unlikely to wake up unless she needs to pee, which is a risk.
- wearing an older pair of boxer briefs that I wouldn’t be sad to toss if I had to.
- need to leave for work soon and no time to shower.

I made a decision. From there I acted quickly, not wanting to chicken out or second guess myself. I lit an incense (best solution I’ve found for dealing with ambient smell), locked the door, and lined my boxer briefs with toilet paper. That’s not my usual preference but the goal was risk reduction.

When I pulled up my tp-lined undies I gently patted my butt to make sure there was adequate coverage and nothing had moved out of place. All felt secure.

Without giving it a second thought or moving my hand I pushed. I felt the poop crackle out and pile up in my boxer briefs, the bulge growing in my hand. It happened fast. One second there was nothing, the next there was a pile of poop the size of an orange. I squeezed the bulge gently in my hand — it was my preferred mix of firm and soft. Firm enough to hold together and not get messy, but soft enough to still squish around if I wanted to.

Still acting quickly, I pulled down my pants and did a quick assessment. The toilet paper did its job and the load was fully contained, no marks or staining on my undies at all. Perfect. I wish I’d taken a picture of the bulge or the load itself because it was a good one. It held together perfectly when I lifted the toilet paper out of my undies and dumped it into the bowl. Miraculously the big poop and all the toilet paper didn’t cause any clogs — our old building is prone to them.

Cleanup was cleanup. I used a combination of tp, our toilet seat bidet, and butt wipes and managed to feel adequately fresh afterward. This is rare, I usually need a shower before I feel clean again. The undies, protected by the toilet paper, escaped without so much as a lingering odor. I tossed them into the hamper with the normal laundry.

When I opened the door my partner was still asleep. The incense was doing its job so there was no lingering smell to speak of. The morning was an unqualified success.

Now, hours later, I find myself wanting to do it again next time I get up to go into the office. Until recently this would have been unthinkable, the anxiety too much to consider.

My theory is that my partner knowing about my fetish has taken some of the edge off. The risk of getting caught feels lower. I’m no longer at risk of exposing a secret fetish, just the act itself. While I don’t want my partner to catch me or find out what I’m doing when I’m doing it, if she does it won’t be 100% a surprise. It would be embarrassing for sure — it’s a vulnerable position to get caught in — but it isn’t as terrifying as having my secret outed unexpectedly.

Maybe someday we will be in a living situation where I can discretely indulge now and then without it being a big hassle. Our little one bedroom apartment has limited options.

Side note: in a couple weeks I’ll be flying out of state for a few days for work. I’ll be in a hotel and am hoping to get at least one pants poop in. Probably nothing fancy, I get very anxious about leaving evidence, but definitely more daring than today. Does anyone have any tips or recommendations for cleanup and supplies conducive for travel?

All I’ll have is a carryon so am limited in space. For sure planning to take a roll of paper towels, a pack of Lysol wipes, a pack of butt wipes, room spray for the smell, good soap for the shower, and maybe a pet pee pad or two in case I’m feeling bold. Open to any tips! I promise I’ll get some pics of whatever I end up doing on the trip.

Thought I'd share a more recent experience for a change. Written contemporaneously, this story is about a long weekend during which I had the house to myself. About four years ago I started writing my pants pooping experiences down as they happened so that I could revisit them and keep the memories fresh. This is one of those writings from sometime last year (I try to keep things vague in terms of time and place). Enjoy!

I took full advantage of the weekend home alone. This is actually the second time I’ve done this. The first was a few months ago and was much more experimental. Fairly uneventful save for the finale.

That weekend, Sunday was my last full day alone and I knew I wanted to get one more poop in before cleaning the apartment. I genuinely can’t remember any of my other accidents that weekend so they must not have been eventful. For Sunday, I had stored up a decent size load from the previous day (no recollection of diet). I don’t remember how things got started that day, nor how it felt coming out. No, the memorable part came after. I did some basic sitting / squishing, not trying to be too crazy. But at some point I was standing in the shower and made a split decision to sit down in the tub, being sure to slide and rub around a bit as I got comfortable. It was magnificent.

There was a lot of smearing, more than I usually do. What a mess. Like truly. I hadn’t planned on doing that — it was just supposed to be one last simple load before I cleaned the bathroom that day. So it was a lot of work (and required me to wash the bathmats after some drippage. At a certain point I accepted that this would be a deep clean day. And clean I did. I took a shower and put on fresh clothes — then the work began. I deep cleaned the bathroom and most of the rest of the apartment and threw away the damaged undies and any other remnants. All in all it was a success and earned me points upon my partner's return for the pristine apartment. From there I began formulating a plan.

You see, at that time I was aware of at least two other times this year I’d be home alone for days at a time.

The first, the current three-day weekend, was always planned as a sort of rehearsal for the big show (the ten days my partner would be away later in the month). My mission was twofold: buy some dedicated undies for this weekend’s excursions — I went with briefs for the first time in years — and establish efficient cleanup protocols for accidents of all size. And I do mean accident. The other, more tentative goal was to make as many of them accidents as I could to really amplify the rush.

Saturday. This was very much intended to be my warmup load. I wasn’t even sure how I wanted to do it. I got up, made some breakfast, played some video games, and watched some YouTube. My plan for the day was to go to a movie and then to the store for some supplies. I knew I would probably need to poop before I left. The day was creeping into the afternoon and I was getting restless. I was feeling minor waves of pressure but nothing crazy. I decided I’d get off the couch and go for a walk. I’d get some steps in and just maybe have a bit of an accident.

I wore boxer briefs, gym shorts, and sandals for my walk. Pretty standard walk attire for me. The shorts were black to better hide any signs. I started on my usual route and the pressure subsided. As I rounded the halfway point I felt some action start to happen in my gut. I nursed it. I was hoping I’d get hit by a big wave so I could ease some pressure into my pants. About two blocks from home I got a wave and felt a little push of sticky fart wet the back of my undies. A block or so later another push resulted in the smallest of lumps. As I approached my building I was unsatisfied with my progress so decided to do one more block. Now I was actively nursing the waves, letting pressure build up just behind my cheeks. Walking was working against me — I wasn’t desperate enough to lose control.

As I approached the rear gate I stopped and looked at my phone with my back to the wall. I gave a firm push and felt soft poop slide into my boxer briefs. I marveled in the feeling for a moment — I pooped my pants outside, for the first time as an adult. It felt great.

I made it inside without issue — I only pass a couple doors on my way to my unit so can get inside pretty easy. Good thing too because as soon as I got in a lowered my shorts to see the damage. It was WET. Not liquid, but wet. I decided to clean the litterbox before getting cleaned up. I wanted to enjoy the weight of it for awhile. When that was done I dumped it into the toilet, trashed the undies, and took a shower.

I ran my errands, which included grabbing a pack of 4 pairs of Hanes briefs. I put a pair on as soon as I got home, but there was to be no further pooping that day.

Sunday. This was to be my main cleaning and laundry day. I got up and soon felt the pressure building. I had slept in my briefs so was ready for whenever it hit. I started making breakfast (eggs) and had some coffee. By the time my eggs were done I was fighting back relentless waves of pressure. A final wave struck as I stood in the kitchen eating my breakfast. It was fast and sloppy.

In the bathroom I admired it in the mirror and wondered what to do with it. My decision was quickly made for me as a large, wet dollop fell from my briefs and splattered onto the ground. When more leaked out as I cleaned up the first splat, I knew it was time to clean up. I trashed my first pair of briefs and took a shower. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry and cleaning the apartment — all except the bathroom.

I treated myself to some Dave’s hot chicken for dinner, with fries and a milkshake. I had no further poops — I think due to some drug related constipation.

Monday. Today was to be the finale, the big show, my true test-point for the weekend. It also ended up establishing several firsts.

I woke up and didn’t feel much happening. Good. I wanted this to take awhile. I had an appointment across town in the morning, so I got up with a plan to do the appointment then hit the grocery store.

I had been formulating my plan since the night before so I knew what I wanted to do. I put on a fresh pair of briefs. Then a pair of boxer briefs on top of them (to avoid the leakage from the day before). Over that I wore an old pair of shorts I have been meaning to get rid of. They were fairly tight but thankfully hid my double layered undies. For the car I took an old bath mat to put on the seat, some plastic bags in case of emergency, and a sweatshirt.

The appointment went smooth. I could feel my system slowly waking up as I drank water. I had not eaten nor had any coffee — I didn’t want to risk an early emergency derailing my day.

As I got to the store pressure was really starting to build. I also had to pee. In the store I b-lined for the bathroom so ease my bladder. I didn’t want holding my pee to get in the way of my fun.

I didn’t need a lot so I made it through the store quickly. As waves of pressure hit I let them build up slowly. I tried to emulate my childhood when I would hold my poops as long as I could until it inevitably leaked out and stained my undies.

I checked out and started the walk back to my car. More waves hit as I waited for and road the garage elevator up. They were even more forceful as I loaded groceries into my car. I put my cart back and closed the trunk, feeling a nugget sized lump sneak its way out into my pants — not at all noticeable. I got into my car and left the garage. But I didn’t want that to be it.

I made a snap decision to grab some gas for the week. I chose a pump where my back wasn’t to anyone and started filling my car. Another wave and this time fighting it only pinched off another golf ball sized lump into my pants. That had been as close to an actual accident as I had come yet and I was in public, standing at a gas pump, strangers less than twenty feet away. My heart was pounding. Adrenaline was in control now. I got back into the car, feeling the small lump squish against my cheeks. I wanted more.

I drove the remaining few blocks home but made another snap decision and drove past the garage, looping around the block, waiting for another wave. This thing was gonna come on its own from now on. It hit as I came up the next block. I shifted a bit in my seat and felt a fairly solid tennis ball sized poop squeeze into my undies. I shifted a bit in the seat to feel it out. It felt good, no running or oozing as it smashed across my butt.

I made it back to the garage and parked. I gathered my things and got out of the car. I could feel the weight of the small load in my pants, contained by my three layers of clothing.

I tied the sweatshirt around my waist and headed up to my apartment without issue. My heart was still pumping. I had pooped outside again but in a public place, and then in my car. I had never successfully pulled off this kind of adventure before. I decided to enjoy it.

I put away the groceries and went about some other small chores. The poop stayed firm in my undies, holding together well as it slipped and slid with my movements. When I was crouched down to clean out the fridge, another wave came out of no where and I didn’t fight it. I heard more poop crackle into my undies, nearly doubling the load. This thing was HEAVY now.

After a while I made my way to the bathroom with plastic bags and cleaning supplies. But the fun wasn’t over. I sat, smushed, squished, and slid to my hearts content. The shorts and double undies did a truly admirable job containing it all. Cleanup was a doozy but that was always the plan. I showered and pivoted right into deep cleaning the bathroom.

As the evening winds down and I finish writing this, I find myself tempted for one last little poop. I’m about to take another, proper shower and am currently sitting on the toilet in a pair of briefs. I don’t have to poop but if I give a nice big push I might get a little surprise.

I think I’m gonna try it.

Here it goes.

Pushing.

I got a few grape sized dollops in my undies.

And that’s a wrap on this weekend. Until next time.

Thought I'd share a more recent experience for a change. Written contemporaneously, this story is about a long weekend during which I had the house to myself. About four years ago I started writing my pants pooping experiences down as they happened so that I could revisit them and keep the memories fresh. This is one of those writings from sometime last year (I try to keep things vague in terms of time and place). Enjoy!

I took full advantage of the weekend home alone. This is actually the second time I’ve done this. The first was a few months ago and was much more experimental. Fairly uneventful save for the finale.

That weekend, Sunday was my last full day alone and I knew I wanted to get one more poop in before cleaning the apartment. I genuinely can’t remember any of my other accidents that weekend so they must not have been eventful. For Sunday, I had stored up a decent size load from the previous day (no recollection of diet). I don’t remember how things got started that day, nor how it felt coming out. No, the memorable part came after. I did some basic sitting / squishing, not trying to be too crazy. But at some point I was standing in the shower and made a split decision to sit down in the tub, being sure to slide and rub around a bit as I got comfortable. It was magnificent.

There was a lot of smearing, more than I usually do. What a mess. Like truly. I hadn’t planned on doing that — it was just supposed to be one last simple load before I cleaned the bathroom that day. So it was a lot of work (and required me to wash the bathmats after some drippage. At a certain point I accepted that this would be a deep clean day. And clean I did. I took a shower and put on fresh clothes — then the work began. I deep cleaned the bathroom and most of the rest of the apartment and threw away the damaged undies and any other remnants. All in all it was a success and earned me points upon my partner's return for the pristine apartment. From there I began formulating a plan.

You see, at that time I was aware of at least two other times this year I’d be home alone for days at a time.

The first, a three-day weekend, was always planned as a sort of rehearsal for the big show (the ten days my partner would be away later in the month). My mission was twofold: buy some dedicated undies for this weekend’s excursions — I went with briefs for the first time in years — and establish efficient cleanup protocols for accidents of all size. And I do mean accident. The other, more tentative goal was to make as many of them accidents as I could to really amplify the rush.

Saturday. This was very much intended to be my warmup load. I wasn’t even sure how I wanted to do it. I got up, made some breakfast, played some video games, and watched some YouTube. My plan for the day was to go to a movie and then to the store for some supplies. I knew I would probably need to poop before I left. The day was creeping into the afternoon and I was getting restless. I was feeling minor waves of pressure but nothing crazy. I decided I’d get off the couch and go for a walk. I’d get some steps in and just maybe have a bit of an accident.

I wore boxer briefs, gym shorts, and sandals for my walk. Pretty standard walk attire for me. The shorts were black to better hide any signs. I started on my usual route and the pressure subsided. As I rounded the halfway point I felt some action start to happen in my gut. I nursed it. I was hoping I’d get hit by a big wave so I could ease some pressure into my pants. About two blocks from home I got a wave and felt a little push of sticky fart wet the back of my undies. A block or so later another push resulted in the smallest of lumps. As I approached my building I was unsatisfied with my progress so decided to do one more block. Now I was actively nursing the waves, letting pressure build up just behind my cheeks. Walking was working against me — I wasn’t desperate enough to lose control.

As I approached the rear gate I stopped and looked at my phone with my back to the wall. I gave a firm push and felt soft poop slide into my boxer briefs. I marveled in the feeling for a moment — I pooped my pants outside, for the first time as an adult. It felt great.

I made it inside without issue — I only pass a couple doors on my way to my unit so can get inside pretty easy. Good thing too because as soon as I got in a lowered my shorts to see the damage. It was WET. Not liquid, but wet. I decided to clean the litterbox before getting cleaned up. I wanted to enjoy the weight of it for awhile. When that was done I dumped it into the toilet, trashed the undies, and took a shower.

I ran my errands, which included grabbing a pack of 4 pairs of Hanes briefs. I put a pair on as soon as I got home, but there was to be no further pooping that day.

Sunday. This was to be my main cleaning and laundry day. I got up and soon felt the pressure building. I had slept in my briefs so was ready for whenever it hit. I started making breakfast (eggs) and had some coffee. By the time my eggs were done I was fighting back relentless waves of pressure. A final wave struck as I stood in the kitchen eating my breakfast. It was fast and sloppy.

In the bathroom I admired it in the mirror and wondered what to do with it. My decision was quickly made for me as a large, wet dollop fell from my briefs and splattered onto the ground. When more leaked out as I cleaned up the first splat, I knew it was time to clean up. I trashed my first pair of briefs and took a shower. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry and cleaning the apartment — all except the bathroom.

I treated myself to some Dave’s hot chicken for dinner, with fries and a milkshake. I had no further poops — I think due to some drug related constipation.

Monday. Today was to be the finale, the big show, my true test-point for the weekend. It also ended up establishing several firsts.

I woke up and didn’t feel much happening. Good. I wanted this to take awhile. I had an appointment across town in the morning, so I got up with a plan to do the appointment then hit the grocery store.

I had been formulating my plan since the night before so I knew what I wanted to do. I put on a fresh pair of briefs. Then a pair of boxer briefs on top of them (to avoid the leakage from the day before). Over that I wore an old pair of shorts I have been meaning to get rid of. They were fairly tight but thankfully hid my double layered undies. For the car I took an old bath mat to put on the seat, some plastic bags in case of emergency, and a sweatshirt.

The appointment went smooth. I could feel my system slowly waking up as I drank water. I had not eaten nor had any coffee — I didn’t want to risk an early emergency derailing my day.

As I got to the store pressure was really starting to build. I also had to pee. In the store I b-lined for the bathroom so ease my bladder. I didn’t want holding my pee to get in the way of my fun.

I didn’t need a lot so I made it through the store quickly. As waves of pressure hit I let them build up slowly. I tried to emulate my childhood when I would hold my poops as long as I could until it inevitably leaked out and stained my undies.

I checked out and started the walk back to my car. More waves hit as I waited for and road the garage elevator up. They were even more forceful as I loaded groceries into my car. I put my cart back and closed the trunk, feeling a nugget sized lump sneak its way out into my pants — not at all noticeable. I got into my car and left the garage. But I didn’t want that to be it.

I made a snap decision to grab some gas for the week. I chose a pump where my back wasn’t to anyone and started filling my car. Another wave and this time fighting it only pinched off another golf ball sized lump into my pants. That had been as close to an actual accident as I had come yet and I was in public, standing at a gas pump, strangers less than twenty feet away. My heart was pounding. Adrenaline was in control now. I got back into the car, feeling the small lump squish against my cheeks. I wanted more.

I drove the remaining few blocks home but made another snap decision and drove past the garage, looping around the block, waiting for another wave. This thing was gonna come on its own from now on. It hit as I came up the next block. I shifted a bit in my seat and felt a fairly solid tennis ball sized poop squeeze into my undies. I shifted a bit in the seat to feel it out. It felt good, no running or oozing as it smashed across my butt.

I made it back to the garage and parked. I gathered my things and got out of the car. I could feel the weight of the small load in my pants, contained by my three layers of clothing.

I tied the sweatshirt around my waist and headed up to my apartment without issue. My heart was still pumping. I had pooped outside again but in a public place, and then in my car. I had never successfully pulled off this kind of adventure before. I decided to enjoy it.

I put away the groceries and went about some other small chores. The poop stayed firm in my undies, holding together well as it slipped and slid with my movements. When I was crouched down to clean out the fridge, another wave came out of no where and I didn’t fight it. I heard more poop crackle into my undies, nearly doubling the load. This thing was HEAVY now.

After a while I made my way to the bathroom with plastic bags and cleaning supplies. But the fun wasn’t over. I sat, smushed, squished, and slid to my hearts content. The shorts and double undies did a truly admirable job containing it all. Cleanup was a doozy but that was always the plan. I showered and pivoted right into deep cleaning the bathroom.

As the evening winds down and I finish writing this, I find myself tempted for one last little poop. I’m about to take another, proper shower and am currently sitting on the toilet in a pair of briefs. I don’t have to poop but if I give a nice big push I might get a little surprise.

I think I’m gonna try it.

Here it goes.

Pushing.

I got a few grape sized dollops in my undies.

And that’s a wrap on this weekend. Until next time.

The next foray into pooping my pants on purpose would have been about two years later in fifth grade. There are some time markers for this one so I can pin it down a bit easier. Once again, I was driven by memories of sensations from my early accidents and sporadic experimentation.

I remember it was after we moved, so I would have been 10 or 11 — old enough where having full blown poop accidents felt like ancient history. By now I was done with pull-ups and had much less toilet anxiety at school. It was still there and I still had sporadic staining, but my days of scraping smushed poop off my undies with toilet paper in the school bathrooms were largely done. Or at least much less frequent.

In retrospect, I wonder if it was one of those more extreme holding incidents that revived my interest. All I can say for sure is it started with lining my undies with toilet paper and taking those initial, heart-pounding steps to a full blown pants pooping habit.

Most of what I remember from this era is the progression from paper lined undies, to sitting and squishing. I have impressions of these things.

I remember the impulsive decision to sit down on the toilet seat in my soiled briefs. I rememebr doing the same with the edge of the tub and feeling poop smush up and down my crack.

I also remember my brother was still in pull ups at night. I know more than once I snagged one to wear in secret and poop in. I’d wear it under baggy shorts or pants, and play on my own until I pooped. I was specifically chasing the high of that first pull-up poop when I got ratted out. What a thrill.

There are two distinct memories form this era. A near miss with getting caught, and a genuine accident.

First was firmly during the fifth grade foray. I was bold, or rather sloppy, in those days. I’d lock myself in the bathroom and do it then clean up as best I could. Especially if I was due to take a shower. Sometimes I was really careless and impulsive. I’d go into the bathroom intending for a quick poop, but would end up needing a shower.

One of these times was when we rented the Scorpion King (staring The Rock). My dad rented it on release day, so it was Tuesday. I went to go poop after dinner before we started the movie. I don’t remember exactly what went down, but I know I pooped my pants and I know I needed a shower. I played it off as wanting to be able to be ready for bed so I could get in bed after the movie ended. I seldom took evening showers so this was pretty weak as far as excuses go.

Cleanup was so intense that I used a LOT of toilet paper. So much that I ended up clogging the toilet. I plunged it and thought it was fixed. Before I could do anything else my dad called me downstairs to get the movie started. It was a weeknight after all and he didn’t want it to go too late.

We started the movie and I tried not to think about how stinky I felt even after my shower or how bad the toilet was clogged or the boxers I’d just ruined that I’d stashed in my room.

At some point my dad came in and asked me to come with him. We went upstairs and he showed me the wad of toilet paper he’d had to pull from the toilet. He was very annoyed and maybe a little angry. I distinctly remember him doing a toilet paper folding demonstration to get me to stop wadding it up in balls and wiping that way (I knew this already, it was only so much cuz I’d pooped my pants).

We finished the movie but I was definitely on high alert for after that.

For this second distinct memory, I don’t think it was part of a specific foray as it was a more or less full on accident. In fact, it’s perhaps the most distinct accidental full release memory I have. Probably because I was 11 or 12 at the time.

My brother and I went on a bike ride with our dad, which was pretty standard. I don’t remember much about before the ride, but I must have not taken a poop yet that day.

While on the bike ride, I started feeling pressure. I thought about asking to stop, but my old friend toilet anxiety reemerged. The only thing worse than pooping in a crummy public toilet, is doing it while people wait for you. Yeah not a chance. So on I rode, holding with increasing desperation.

At a certain point I started cramping. It got worse and worse as we went. I started to fall behind because I kept needing to stop and fully clench my butt until the cramps passed. I played it off as looking at insects or some shit like that. I said not to wait for me and I’d be right along. At this point I would have gladly used a public toilet if there was one around. No, I had to keep pushing forward — home was the only option.

Unfortunately, the final stretch of the ride has a lot of uphill stuff. I don’t remember exactly when it started coming out, but it was probably drawn out because I didn’t want to go in my pants — I wasn’t prepared and I wasn’t going to be alone at home.

But fate had other plans. I still remember how hard those final inclines were. The harder I pedaled, the harder it was to hold it in. The effort of getting home was literally squeezing poop out of my butt and into my pants.

Speaking of my pants, I was in cargo shorts with basic boxers as undies. Not even boxer briefs, straight up loose legged boxers. I’ve never been that great at standing up and pedaling, especially for long durations, so my poor load was constantly getting squished and sat on as it grew. I tried so hard to keep the worst of it from spreading forward and down my legs, but that was at the expense of spreading across my buttcheeks and up my crack. I can so vividly remember the feeling. It was horrifying but also wonderful. I was terrified, but thrilled. My adrenaline was pumping, containing my panic.

More than once on that final stretch I had to stop, bent forward from cramps, powerless to stop poop from sliding into my pants. Each time I tried to angle my butt so it would pile up the back of my boxers. By the time I dismounted to wheel my bike across the front yard, I had a full load in my pants, hidden by my cargo shorts. Thankfully they were dark color so no staining was visible.

My brother and dad had beat me home by a solid fifteen minutes so they had already put their bikes away. I did the same, walking carefully so that nothing would fall out of my boxers. I must have made my way up to the bathroom to change and shower. No idea how close I came to anyone on my way up. I vaguely remember explaining my delay with that I’d needed to stop and use the bathroom (didn’t indicate where I’d have stopped) and showered right away because I was sweaty and wanted to feel refreshed after the ride and public bathroom.

I don’t remember there being much scrutiny so I believe I got away with it. If anyone noticed they never mentioned it. Though maybe my family was used to this kind of thing from me. I’m sure poop smells were something they noticed from time to time when I’d get in these phases.

I consider this the last time I had a true, full accident. With the exception of some minor smears and sharts, any accidents have been orchestrated, rather, I put myself into the situation to have an accident deliberately and in a controlled environment. The bike ride accident was not at all planned. Nor was there ever a conscious decision to give up and poop my pants. Every bit of it was involuntary. The sensations were pleasurable, but the overall situation was stressful in the moment. I’d never intentionally create that precarious of a situation for myself. I literally have bad dreams about that kind of thing.

That’s about all I can remember from my elementary aged pants pooping experiments. It was a period marked by near misses, sloppiness, and forward progress in developing how I engage with this kink. By the time my next foray came, it was just in time for my entry into puberty and my early sexual awakening.

I don’t remember the exact first time I pooped my pants on purpose, but I do have a pretty good idea of when I first started to experiment with it. It was during second or third grade — I think third, when I was 8 or so. I know it was before I was 10 because I was doing it at our old house before we moved during fourth grade.

As I mentioned in my previous post, this was my most intense period of toilet anxiety. I was having frequent close calls and the occasional partial accidents (poop is in my pants, but it’s not a full release and I still finish in the toilet). Pull-ups were also in the picture due to chronic bedwetting (let me know if you’re interested in learning more about that), though I can’t remember exactly when I stopped wearing them regularly in relation to when I first started experimenting with pooping my pants. All of that is to say, I was primed to make the leap.

I’m not sure if it was the first, or if it was a part of my initial dalliances with the concept, but one of my earliest intentional pants pooping memories is of doing it in a pull-up. I feel like it was towards the end of my pull-up era, but not quite — maybe 7 or 8. Old enough that poop accidents shouldn’t be happening.

It was evening and I must have been thinking about it all day because I made a conscious decision to get ready for bed early. This entailed wearing a pull up. I think this was an early experience because I went about it by setting myself up to have an accident. I had to poop and was planning to hold until it came on its own. Remember, holding till it was too late was already something I did at school, but this was the first time I can remember holding like that at home, but maybe that’s due to the intentionality of it.

Anyway, I vaguely remember evading some questions about why I was getting ready for bed so early. I likely said I was tired and was going to play in our room until bedtime.

My brother and I shared a room at the time so we played together. I don’t remember what we were doing, probably something with Lego, but the whole time I was holding my poop, letting the pressure grow. I remember positioning myself to exacerbate the situation. I was on my knees, butt between my heels. Every time I leaned forward to reach for something, I strained to hold on.

Eventually it started to come out. I assume it came bit by bit at first, with me clenching up after each slip — this is how I would have handled it at school, although I’d never put myself in such a precarious sitting position at school. I ended up with a tennis ball size poop in my pull-up. I remember it being decently solid.

I think my brother must have noticed pretty quickly. I think I played it off as farts for a while, but it probably became undeniable at a certain point. I knew the accident angle was gonna be key.

I just remember him running downstairs to tell my parents I’d pooped in my pull-up. I think I’d hoped he’d be chill and let me deal with it discretely. But nope. Parents were both watching TV and didn’t bother getting up. They asked what happened, I said I was playing and my stomach hurt and I didn’t realize I had to go. I doubt I had the wisdom to go the whole “I thought it was a fart route.”

I don’t remember it being a big deal, but I do remember sensing some skepticism around my explanation. But in retrospect my parents might have believed me based on my frequently stained undies. It was clear I had a holding problem.

That was the last time I tried that kind of thing out in the open around my family.

My first time pooping my undies on purpose is hard to pin down. It would have been around the same time. As I said before, I think this would have been around 3rd grade, so maybe 8 years old. In those early days, it always started by remembering those early childhood incidents — especially the sensations and the shame of getting scolded about it.

I don’t know how sophisticated my cleanup efforts were in those days. Probably rinsing my undies and putting them in the hamper. This would predate me doing my own laundry. So I can’t imagine it was that big of a secret.

A few distinct memories:

- Hunched in my bed, butt over my pillow, trying my hardest to poop on it to no avail (after thoroughly wetting my bed and soaking my pillow). No idea why I was doing this. I just remember an animalistic urge to poop and pee all over my bed.

- Pulling down my pants in the bathroom and seeing my royal blue, cotton briefs full of soft, mushy poop. I can still envision the texture and color and everything. I remember the weight of it. This must have been on purpose because I don’t recall accident accidents from that era like this. Probably one of my earliest times just pushing it out.

- Sitting awkwardly on the wooden armrest of one of our living room arm chairs, either trying to poop or having just pooped in my pants. This was an early foray into sitting in it.

- I had a lot of stained undies because of my holding issues at school, there was no shortage of options for what to poop in. I think I probably got started after having an especially rough leakage day and wondering what it would feel like to go all the way. After all, it wasn’t like my undies were clean anyway.

- I remember being at a soccer game when I was probably 7 or 8. One of the kids on my team was acting totally normal, but he smelled like poop. I remember thinking he must have pooped his pants during the game. I remember trying to spot it but not being able to tell. I remember being jealous because I wanted to poop my pants while playing too rather than go use the crappy public bathrooms. I am certain I had some holding incidents during soccer practice back then.

Not much else I can remember from that era. This was never something I did consistently. I would go through periods of intense interest — it would dominate my thoughts — with long stretches in between where it wasn’t on my mind at all. Of course the school issues persisted, but they became rarer as I got older.

I’ll cover my next pants pooping “phase” in another post.

A few people were interested in reading more of my memories so here they are. This post is what I remember about pooping my pants at school as a kid. If folks like it I’ll keep sharing more about my early pants pooping journey. Do you have similar memories? Tell me about it in the comments!

I changed schools three times from kindergarten to fourth grade. Well, I think technically twice — my first grade class was at a different location from my kindergarten class, despite being the same “school”. This was the first school I went to that I couldn’t walk to.

All the school changes meant I had inconsistent friends and had to get comfortable with new people at every school. There were a few kids that overlapped from school to school, but for the most part it was a fresh start each time. This did nothing to help my toilet anxiety.

And it was definitely anxiety. I remember being paralyzed by the thought of going poop at school. I knew my poops smelled, as did my farts. I also knew I tended to take a long time in the bathroom, which is very noticeable when you’re in a small class. I was extremely sensitive to being teased about this stuff, which happened frequently. Not sensitive in the sense that it would make me cry, but rather that it fueled my anxiety.

Throughout grade school, I had a bad habit of holding my poop as long as possible while at school. So long that I would frequently have stains in my undies when I finally got to the bathroom during lunch or recess or at the end of the day. I would hold my poop until it was literally leaking out. I wish I had clearer memories of how this felt but I’m sure I’ve emulated it since then. The difference is that if I’m holding like that now, it’s intentional and I don’t bother with the toilet.

I must have frequently smelled bad because I remember this happening a lot. I remember different periods where nearly all my undies had leakage stains on them.

Allow me to stream of conscious through some memories/impressions to see what I can pull out of my head.

I remember being in the bathroom at school, using toilet paper to wipe my undies as clean as I could get them. I have this memory as early as 5 or 6, and as late as 10 or 11 — maybe even later than that, just not as frequently as I got older. When I was younger it was a regular occurrence.

More often than not it was just some smears of poop. A few streaks or a spot where it had started poking through my butt and rubbed on my undies. But every once in awhile it would be much much more. This happened most when I was younger, like under 7/8. I would hold on as long as possible, except for some reason I wouldn’t be able to get to the bathroom in a normal time frame. Maybe a field trip, special class activity, or standardized test. Anything where getting up to go poop would be noticeable or draw attention to me.

In these situations I would hold to the point of basically pooping my pants. I didn’t think about it like that at the time, probably because I usually still went to the toilet eventually. It was never a full release, but rather than smears, it would be lumps of poop slipping into my undies, getting squeezed in my clenched cheeks and smushed to the fabric. Again, this was all from holding too long.

I remember getting to the bathroom, pulling down my pants in the stall, and seeing a little pile of poop squished to my undies. When I was younger these would sometimes be quite large piles of poop. Like a thorough coating for much of the length of my crack, compressed because I was usually sitting in it in some capacity.

A few times when I was younger, I got in trouble for putting these heavily soiled undies into the hamper without cleaning them. I remember my mom telling me to go to the bathroom if I needed to poop. I’m pretty sure that was when I started trying to clean my undies with toilet paper after leaks, although I imagine it was still pretty obvious that it was happening.

Sometimes I’d make it all the way home and through till the evening with poop in my undies. I don’t know how these could have been anything other than full accidents that happened over the course of hours of holding. Little bits sliding out all afternoon as I held on for dear life. I’d pull down my pants that evening and find semi-dried poop caked on the seat of my undies. At least one of these reveals was in the course of being interrogated about the smell. More than once I can remember my mom checking my pants after a long day of holding at school. It’s funny cuz I didn’t like getting caught and scolded, but I don’t look back at it negatively. I relish the memory of that shame.

When I had these larger accidents, I’d try to sit in a way where I wouldn’t smush it too much because I didn’t want to stain my pants. I remember doing this as late at fifth or sixth grade, with no shortage of private shame. It must not have been as frequent as I thought (memory is weird like that) because I don’t know how I’d have made friends if I had poop in my pants that often. Even just small amounts. The stains were definitely the more common occurrence.

I remember trying to avoid this as I got older. I knew that meant not holding my poop as long. I was so used to that my child brain couldn’t figure out how this didn’t happen to other people. Were they not also holding their poop as long as possible? It was a long time before I internalized what I’d been told since I was a toddler, “if you need to poop, go to the bathroom and poop.” For years I interpreted “need” as holding until I couldn’t hold any longer.

What finally got through to me was something that happened in fifth or sixth grade. I was playing outside with some other kids after school. We were playing some ball sport and I remember several of us ended up on the ground or tussling in some way. Somehow, my butt ended up near the face of a younger kid. I remember him saying, “you smell like poop!” I feel like it wasn’t noticed by anyone, the game had continued and others kept chasing the ball. I think I played it off as saving farted at that moment. In actuality I had spent a chunk of time that afternoon trying to wipe a small pile of poop out of my undies after holding for too long.

This was a bit of a wake up call because for the first time I got a taste of the embarrassment that would come with being found out. I knew I’d been mostly lucky up to that point, and that as I got older it would be harder and harder to play it off — what kind of 11 or 12 year old can’t make it to the bathroom on a near daily basis?

Of course it was psychologically more complicated than that. I think on some level I really enjoyed the feeling of holding my poop past the point of comfort. This is still something I enjoy and do for fun now and then. It was also during this time that I first discovered pooping in my pants on purpose. But more on that later.

Pooping my pants may actually be one of my first memories. I mean ever. Yes, there are lots of hodgepodge flashes of my early childhood, but one of my most specific early memories is of popping my pants. It may well be one of the first times I ever “enjoyed” it. This memory may also be the root of at least some of the shame-thrill that comes with this habit. 

I was maybe 3 or 4 — can’t remember exactly but I remember being very very young, but old enough to use the toilet. I was being baby sat by my friend’s mom. They lived across the street from us and he was my earliest best friend. I truly have no recollection if he was there or not. 

I must have done it before because I remember there almost being an expectation that I might do this. I know my childhood was plagued by toilet anxiety, so that very well could have been a factor at this early stage. 

I remember standing at one of those mini kitchen setups or something along those lines. Some form of play table that had my full attention. I remember needing to poop, but I don’t remember why I didn’t want to stop playing and go to the bathroom. Again, anxiety may have been a factor. I kept playing and held on as long as I could. Holding my poop too long is a recurring theme for me. 

I must have been making some noise, either grunting or intestinal discomfort. Hell, could have been the sound of some poop coming out. I remember my friend’s mom asking me if I had to go to the bathroom. I remember answering no, despite holding on for dear life. 

Despite the gaps in my memory, I still vividly remember the feeling of poop filling my pants while I tried to keep playing, crackling and gurgling into my undies. I don’t remember letting go on purpose, more like I chose to hold until I lost control of it. Even then I knew there was something enjoyable about that feeling. It may have been as simple as relief after weathering the discomfort of holding due to toilet anxiety. 

I was found out pretty quickly because the next clear memory I have is of standing in the tub being cleaned up. I remember being told “poop goes in the toilet, not in your pants” as my butt was wiped down with a hot washcloth. I remember seeing my undies scrubbed under the running tub faucet. 

The impression I have of this time is that I had regular issues with bowel incontinence due to my anxiety around pooping away from home (I don’t remember having incidents at home until I started to do it on purpose). 

I mostly have snippets of memories of this era:

Seeing my mom rinse my undies out in the toilet (a technique I’ve used many times over the years). I think once or twice while out and about with my mom I held on too long and ended up with some poop in my pants. These incidents would have been readily found out. I really didn’t like pooping in public when I was little. 

Being in the bathroom while my best friend pooped (in the toilet) and vice versa. We did this a lot when we were young. If one of us had to poop we’d go in together to keep each other company. He always remarked how much more mine smelled. I noticed this too. 

Seeing a kid at school squat in the corner of the room. The teacher asked if he needed to go to the bathroom. I can’t remember if he ended up pooping his pants but it’s an image that came back to me as I try to sift through these memories. Hell, maybe it was me and maybe it wasn’t at school — I’m pretty sure I never did a full, intentional poop into my pants at school. 

I know I farted a lot and my stomach made a lot of noise (still does). With my history of accidents and holding until the last minute, I was regularly asked if I needed to use the bathroom. Sometimes I did and sometimes I didn’t. But I always said no. 

I always had an extra pair of pants during my earliest school days (pre k/ k). I have at least one memory of being told to change into my spare undies. I remember the bathroom for my kindergarten class only had curtains over the stalls — probably so it would be easier to help kids if needed — so I had a very hard time using it. I would instead just hold as long as I could. Sometimes I’d end up losing control a little. I had a lot of stained undies all through grade school.

Most days I have a really satisfying poop first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, my life doesn’t leave me much time or privacy for pooping my pants so I don’t get to enjoy it.

On the weekends I’ll sometimes get up and start holding rather than going to the bathroom right away. I love letting the pressure build over the course of the morning. I’ll usually get up, make some coffee, eat a little breakfast, and then watch tv or play video games while I enjoy the growing discomfort.

On the best days I’ll do this until I am truly desperate, that point where it feels like you could lose control at any second. When I feel a bit of prairie dogging that’s when I know it’s time to head to the bathroom.

It does kind of suck to let go into the toilet. All that great bowel pressure feels a little wasted. But I’ll take when I can get when I’m in the long stretches between pants poops.

What about you all? How do those of you who can’t poop your pants regularly manage your urges/needs during dry periods?