Twelve years to the day, this was:
I was on a night out with a mate in Blackpool. I was staying in a Travelodge in the town centre. This was a regular thing, having lived in the town for a number of years, I’d often pop back for a weekend with old friends. Anyway, he’d gone home relatively early as he had work the next day. I decided to stay out on my own, thinking I’m bound to strike up a conversation with someone.
Earlier in the night, there was a charity collection in one of the pubs - girls in hot pants and tight tops collecting for a local kid’s holiday home respite thing. I’d exchanged a look and a flirt with one of them as I dropped a fiver in her bucket, trying to look flash at the same time. As I was now on my tod, I thought I’d return there to see if she was still about.
No such luck. Never mind, I’ll do a crawl back to the hotel. 3/4 pubs/bars and an Indian on the way sounds like a plan.
Next pub, who do I see but the same charity collectors clocking off for the night. She sees me and comes over as I’m sat at the bar and we get chatting. One thing leads to another and she asks me back to her flat, a stones throw from the bar and my hotel. I walked her back, carrying her collection bucket for her like the gentleman I am.
After disappointing her for a couple of minutes, we both go to sleep in her double bed. I’d shed all my clothes and was sleeping naked.
During the night, I have a once in a lifetime experience - it’s never happened before nor since - of an incredibly lucid dream where I’m having a shit. It was the most content I think I’ve ever been as I dreamt I was pushing a big log out of my back door.
The dream ended as quickly as it started. I woke up in a state of confusion, quickly followed by extreme panic as I put two and two together and realised that I’d shit the bed. Worse still, there was more poo trying to get out.
The situation was made even worse by the fact her double bed had one side pushed against the wall and that was the side I was sleeping and shitting on.
I started to sweat due to a combination of fear, panic and the agony I was now experiencing in trying to keep in the remainder of shite trying to force its way out of my arse.
I quickly came to the conclusion that there were no options: I’d have to get the turd out of the bed, have the rest of my poo on a toilet like a normal member of society and clean myself up at the very least.
A quick glance to my left confirmed she was still asleep. By now, the smell was making my eyes water so I knew time was of the essence here. If I didn’t make a move now, she’d wake up and discover what has happened and, somehow, that seemed worse than the fact I’d just shat her bed.
I carefully sat up, desperately hoping the bed wouldn’t make a noise, and picked up the turd in the palm of my hand. I began to wretch at this point as the smell was burning my nose hairs.
Turd safely in hand, I now had to navigate getting out of the bed without waking her. I considered scooting out of the bottom of the bed but quickly dismissed that as I wasn’t sure I could avoid the long shit stain that now decorated the bed sheet.
There was only one way out then - clamber over her with a poo in my hand and hope she doesn’t wake.
I lay there for longer than you might think, considering I had a steaming log that was knocking me sick in my hand, heart pounding, sweat pouring from my brow as I contemplated the manoeuvre.
I lifted up the duvet, my thudding heart surely audible to the flats above and below, and swiftly, to my great surprise, pulled it off without her waking. I’d done it.
Triumphantly standing in her bedroom with a hot shit in left hand, eyes streaming and body soaked in sweat, wretching wildly, to my horror the gymnastics I had performed in getting out of the bed has moved things along somewhat internally: I desperately needed to dump the rest of my bowels RIGHT NOW.
It was at this point, given the nature of our meeting, to my great horror, I realised I hadn’t been shown where the bathroom was. She shared the flat with two other girls, both of whom were in bed when we arrived.
I stumbled out in to the hallway only to see all of the internal doors were shut. My guts were now battling with my heart to wake the entire building up. Which door is the bathroom?! I can’t just randomly open doors, naked, shit in one hand in the hope it’s the bathroom, can I?!
At this point, I was desperate. The rest was coming and the log was rapidly disintegrating in my hand, chunks threatening to fall off on the floor.
I stumbled back into her room with the intention of grabbing my clothes, leaving the flat through the (obvious) front door and sorting myself out in whatever greeted me out in the, presumably, communal hall. I was fairly confident I’d be alone in the small hours of the morning so that’s what I intended to do.
Back in her room, she’d rolled in her sleep and was now perilously close to the thick wet brown line in her bed. It was dark in the room and the flat but by now I’d been awake for long enough for my eyes to adjust and I was able to grab my jeans, jacket and t shirt with my spare hand. Any opportunity to find my underwear, socks and shoes has long passed.
As I bent down to retrieve some of my clothes, I felt my bowels evacuating. I also heard them as a tremendous fart escaped from my bum.
I was absolutely desperate not to wake her.
In utter desperation, and to my great shame, but at the time tremendous relief, I grabbed the charity collection bucket from the bedroom floor, waddled into the hallway whilst holding it under my cheeks and unleashed a torrent of all day bender cider slurry on to the cash below.
The feeling of relief was immense. The smell was utterly atrocious. The consistency couldn’t have been more different to what I held in my hand.
I was convinced the rattling of the coins in the bucket would have woken her. If not that, the barrage of machine gun fire that emanated from my anus. Or the sound of porridge being poured from three feet above a bowl so I made my escape.
I dumped the handheld dump on top of the liquid in the bucket, noting that I could no longer see any coins in there but a few notes were peeking through, and made for the front door.
I went all the way down three flights of stairs I don’t remember climbing up to the buildings front door before I dared to get dressed and walked the five minutes across town at 4.20am without any footwear, stinking of shit and constantly looking over my shoulder.
As if things couldn’t get any worse, I had to share a lift with the Night Porter as my key card must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere in her flat. He didn’t mention my lack of footwear nor the smell the whole way to my room.
Utterly ashamed, I climbed into bed after a quick shower and went home early the next day.
I still wonder to this day if the kids ever got the money.
