Susan'S Diary

[Anonymous Coward]

Like the last story I wrote, this one was inspired by a post on The Toilet, this time by a girl named Susan, on Page 1186.

While theses diary entries don't have dates attached (yet), they are meant to cover the last years of school, meaning Susan will be fifteen to eighteen years old.

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Susan's diary

Dear diary,

it happened again: I soiled myself. Messed my pants. Shat my knickers. Pooped my panties. Crapped my undies.

We were in the park, my friends and I, just hanging around, looking at the ducks and chatting. It was after dinner, but its summer so sunset wouldn't be for a few hours more. I didn't have to go that bad, I should have been able to hold it. It wasn't that I didn't have muscle power, more like not having the willpower. I had to go, and I ignored it. When I felt it start to come out I did nothing. When I felt the poop between my buttcheeks, I didn't move a muscle. And when it touched my panties and stopped moving, because of the resistance — then I pushed!

Not only didn't I even try to hold it in when I should have, but when I still could have excused myself to the bathroom and gone to clean up, with no one being the wiser, I instead pushed it all out in my pants! I was wearing shorts, not quite hotpants but close, and there was just no way anyone could overlook the pile I had just made in them, without taking even one step away from my friends and towards the public toilets in the park.

Naturally, my friends noticed immediately. The smell was hardly unobtrusive, and even if my clothes were different, I was the one with the reputation for messy accidents in her panties. And the one with the mortified expression on her face. They were so understanding, telling me that accidents happen to anyone (I never hear of any happening to on of them!). They thought I was crying because I had an accident, but really what shocked me was how I didn't, really. I could have held it. But I just let it happen. What's wrong with me?

Zoey helped me clean up, scraped the crap of my bum with half a roll of toilet paper. Didn't seem to faze her one bit, she even cracked jokes, maybe she was just trying to cheer me up? The poop had stayed in my panties, I tossed them in the trash right there, they were an old pair anyway. The shorts were luckily undamaged, so I wore them commando until home. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if the poop had been much softer…

After a shower and fresh panties, I now feel human again. But I still wonder what the hell I was doing there.

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Dear diary,

today, i crapped myself again.

It was this afternoon. The phone rang, and my parents weren't back yet so I picked it up, it was my aunt Valarie. She's nice, but a terrible motormouth, and I knew I wouldn't get off the horn for half an hour or so.

I had to poop, but not much. I could easily hold it, but for some reason I didn't. After a few minutes the poop started coming out, but I didn't stop it. I just stood there listening to my aunt chattering while my panties filled up with poop. I could have held it no problem, I didn't have to go that bad. I could have told my aunt I had to go and used the toilet. Instead, I just let it all out into my panties. Something must be wrong with my head…

Eventually my aunt ran out of steam, and I managed to get away. I had been standing there in my soiled panties for some time, and the poop was soft so it had spread around quite far. I didn't even bother to take them off and went directly for the shower to clean up. The panties were black, so they won't keep a visible stain, and with all the windows open the smell was gone quickly from the house, so I got away with it, my parents didn't notice.

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Dear diary,

what is the deal with me crapping myself? I did it again today…

We had afternoon classes, Alejandra and Deidre and me. I forgot to bring a sandwich today for midmorning break, so I was quite hungry at two o'clock and ate a big lunch. When class ended at four, I had to poop, and of course the school bathrooms get locked at half past three, but I had no problem holding it so far, and I would have easily held it 'till home.

Only I didn't. Hold it, that is. The moment we three stepped out the school doors, I stopped holding my poop, and what would you know? Three blocks later, I already had a golfball-sized wedge of crap in my panties and between my buttcheeks. I could have gotten away with it, I guess, the smell wasn't so bad yet that it couldn't have been something random. But while we stood waiting for a green light, what else would I do but go ahead go ahead and finish the job?

The cars had already finished going through the intersection, so there was little noise for a moment. I pushed, and my poop came out with some rather loud crackling and popping sounds, maybe that tipped my friends off, or maybe they saw me screw up my face when pushing, because they both noticed immediately that I had soiled myself, again.

Like every time they tried to console me and stuff. Alejandra offered to take me to her place for cleanup, which was closer, but I declined, same for Deidres offer to come with me to mine and help me clean up. All my friends are so understanding of my accidents. I wounder if they would be if they knew that I never really had a problem with holding it, well, physically at least?

I went home and took a shower. My poop was pretty soft so it didn't make a visible bulge in my jeans, unfortunately it did leak out of my panties and made a stain inside them. I cleaned them out as well as I could and dumped them in a bucket full of soapy water, I hope that works to clean them out. The panties were hopeless, though. Another pair bites the dust mud…

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dear dairy,

gonna keep this short cuz im typing tis on my netbok in a moving car, so bad grammar etc cuz its hard enough to hit the tiny keas when teh stupid thing sits on my desk, fuking waste of money, i wish i had enough for a proper laptop...

i shit myself again an hour or so ago in this very car. am on a road trip with my parent sfor a week of vacations. same trip as every year, leave ungodly early in the morning, bigass brunch at ten or so, drive on. so eventually i have to poop, i should have told my parents but i didnt, nor tried to hold it, i just let it go, wtf is wrong with me?

of course sitting down all i get is a brown stain in my panties, so do i stop it and tell my parents to look for an rest stop? no i lift my butt out of the seat and let it all go into my anties, wft is wrong with me? i was wearing loose slacks so no resistance and no need to push, it came out all on its own. of course mom and dad smell it immediately and think just i couldn't hold it and are all helpfull, youd think theyd be annoyed i didnt even tell them i had to go, but nothing of that sort.

wlee we stopped at the next rest area and while dad dug out fresh clothes for me mom cleaned me up, i told her i could do it myself but she insisted. good thing my parents always keep kitchen roll in ther cars, cuz of corse there was no tp in the toilets, since this was no restaurant or gas station the toilets get maintainance maybe once a week!

iam now wearing new clothes, and dad aired out the car real good, but i still can smell the crap i did in my pants. just my imagination?

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Dear diary,

guess what i did today? Thats right, shat my panties, again! And this time I did it on a fucking date! Can you believe it?

I met Martin at his place, he said he knew a little restaurant nearby where we could have dinner. It was lebanese, hidden in some back road where you wouldn't ever find it without knowing it already. The food was really great, and dirt cheap, too! Afterwards we took the bus to the outskirts, where some little alt-rock band whose name I just can't remember was giving a concert.

Now my tastes in music are pretty much nonexistent, other than a disdain of pop music and an immortal hatred of all things hip-hop, but Martin is a music geek, and he likes them, so when he offered to take me to the concert I accepted, and I wasn't disappointed, we both had fun — until I literally pooped on the party.

Same procedure as last time? Same procedure as every time, Susan. I had to go, and instead of looking for the loo or just holding it until home I simply did nothing, and kept doing nothing as the pile in under my skirt grew — thank God my panties contained it all, shitting myself was bad enough, but shitting on the floor? I don't even want to think about it.

Somehow, Martin got it in his head that it was his fault, like I was too shy to ask him where the toilet was or something and ended up not being able to hold it. He tried to offer me to help cleaning up and halfway through bit his tongue because he notices that would mean handling my girl parts and he I'd take that as him trying to take advantage, it was cute in a sorta pathetic way, but I appreciated the attempt.

In the end, I dumped the rather full panties and cleaned up as much as I could with only toilet paper and no mirror, and Martin insisted in accompanying me home, where I had to nearly slam the door on him to prevent him from apologizing further. What a way to end a date!

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Dear diary,

today, I think I managed to top myself. I don't think I can do anything more pathetic, ever.

I was in the bathroom, experimenting with a makeup kit I got from an aunt with absolutely no taste, hoping to find at least some use for it. And standing there in front of the mirror, no more than two meters away from the toilet, I crapped myself. I felt the need to go, and instead of turning around and taking two steps to the toilet, I just stood there, wearing nothing but underwear, putting powder on my face and poop in my panties. WTF‽

Nobody noticed, and a shower cleaned me right up. But I'm starting to really doubt my sanity here.

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Dear diary,

for years I tried to avoid this conclusion, but now I find it quite unavoidable: the reason I soil myself is because I like it. Not because I'm unable to hold it (well, physically unable at least), not because I'm psychologically scarred (no more than most teenagers, at any rate), not because I crave the attention (nice, but not worth the shame), but because I like shitting myself.

I'm typing this entry with loaded panties. I crapped myself not five minutes ago, this time with full intent, not as before in a moment of weakness that leaves my subconscious time to act. When I felt the need to go, I consciously made the decision to go in my pants. I found it surprisingly hard to actually do it, however, and ended up having to push quite a lot before the load started to move, this effort even caused me to loose a spurt or tow of pee, my tight gray leggins have a rather large wet spot in front.

But then my bowels moved, and a nice amount of crap slid into my panties and made a bulge. I looked at it in the mirror, I felt it with my hand, and I finally sat down on it, squishing it all around. And I liked it.

But I'll have to cut this short, because I fear the poop will seep through my capris and stain the chair, and that would be hard to clean. But I know that I'm going to mess myself much more often from now on…

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Dear diary,

while I know better than talking about my discovery that I love to poop in my panties, there is one person that I felt I had to confess to: Zoey, my best friend for years. Even if she rejected me as a result, she had a right to know — a need to know, even. She didn't reject me, quite to the contrary. It turns out that she long had suspected — longer than I myself have! — but had not dared bring it up, fearing that if she was wrong it would completely destroy our friendship.

She guessed (correctly) that I was going to mess myself much more often now, and had come with an idea I would never have thought of: diapers. It made sense, cheaper than panties, watertight so no stains on clothes or furniture, absorbent in case of very wet poop or accidental pee spurts, and the ones they make for bedwetting children would still fit me.

I was terrified of buying any, so Zoey offered to help. Actually, what she ended up doing was buy them for me. She walked into the supermarket as if she owned the place, picked up two packages of bedwetter pants from the shelf (one of each brand the shop carried, I later noticed), and paid for them, as if buying diapers in her size was as normal as buying, i dunno, celery? All the time I was hanging back, terrified someone would figure out who and what those diapers where for. An irrational fear, I know, but a real one.

Back at Zoeys place, she insisted I put on a diaper immediately, to see if it really fit. It did, and as I'm typing I'm still wearing it. It feels odd between my legs, bulky and a bit scratchy, but I guess I'll get used to it.

Note to self: need a thank you gift for Zoey. Maybe ask Martin about concert tickets?

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Dear diary,

today I got to try out the diapers.

It was a “blast from the past