I pooped (on) myself

I was seventeen years old, soon to be eighteen. I had recently graduated high school. My entire (disappointing) life was ahead of me. This was to be my last summer before college, a three month buffer between yesterday and tomorrow. What is a boy to do? Quite a bit actually but the most memorable experience was when my mom showed a shit smeared rag to my friends.

One day, while walking through the family dining room, a question entered my head: I wonder what a fart feels like? Since I had no point of reference, and as my stomach had the familiar feeling of tightness that signified gas, I decided to find out.

I gently slipped my right hand in the back of my pants beneath my tighty whities. I grunted twice then farted in my hand. It didn't feel at all as I expected. What was supposed to be an airy breezed turned out to feel quite wet, sloppy and sticky. Wait a minute, I thought. That wasn't fart, I just shit in my hand.

Not knowing the proper protocol for when one defecates on oneself, I was a bit lost as to what to do. Was there someone I could call? Since the matter was presently oozing in my hand, I opted waddle towards the bathroom.

I opened the closet door; grabbed a wash rag; shuffled to the sink; placed the wash cloth underneath the faucet; turned the water on; dampened the rag; put it in the back of my pants (mind you that I now have both hands lodged behind my ass cheeks); and carefully attempted to sop up the pile of poop that was slowly leaking out of my right hand.

After cleaning off my hand(s), I dropped the wash cloth in the bin meant for dirty laundry. I mean, it was definitely soiled and needed to be washed. Thinking nothing of it, I momentarily laughed at my own stupidity then went out to see a movie with friends.

Several days later, my mom shoved a brown stained cloth in my face. "What the fuck is this?", she asked. "I pooped in my hand. What did you expect me to do with it?" At the time I thought she was taken aback by my response because she didn't immediately wallop me in the head, instead mom formed a tight smile, took the shit smeared rag and went on her merry way.

Later that afternoon, my friend Tom came by. Immediately after greeting him at the door, mom shoved me aside and exclaimed, "Look what Bob did." She presented the rag and continued, "He shit himself and used this rag to clean it up. He then put it in my dirty clothes bin. What kind of sick fuck does that?" Tom nearly collapsed from laughter.

Mom repeated this performance over the next week for every person who knew me or was slightly acquainted with my person that came to the door - I believe she even showed the evidence of my fart gone literally to shit to our paperboy.

I learned two things from the experience: first, some fits of fancy are best left unexplored; second, perhaps most important, if you shit yourself and use a wash rag to clean up the mess, make sure to dispose of it in the trash and not the laundry bin.