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This is a question Shit Stories: Part Number Two

As a regular service to our readers, we've been re-opening old questions.

Once again, we want to hear your stories of shit, poo and number twos. Go on - be filthier than last time.

(, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 14:57)
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Travels on the sleeper bus
When I travelled in China in 1996, I had the chance to ride on one of the sleeper buses that runs through China. These are buses stripped of all their seats with narrow double bunks installed inside. The entire trip was spent lying down next to someone. The bunks on top were close enough to the ceiling that sitting up straight would cause you to slam your head, and the bottom ones were similar, though you could lean into the narrow rubber floored aisle. Obviously this bus had no toilet, so when the bus made a rare stop you took the opportunity. All bunks were shared, so I grabbed Mark, the smallest amongst our group, as my bunkmate.

The trip was interesting, I could lay on my side and watch the scenery slide past. As is typical, people were smoking, and noisily coughing up gouts of phlegm which would then be spat onto the floor, sometimes smeared with a foot to help it dry quickly.

As the night wore on things began to quieten. I managed to find a semi comfortable sleeping position that afforded me a view from the window. A couple of hours from the city we reached the roadworks between our destinations, and from there the road became a pitted stretch of dirt, which rocked the bus violently, and lead to such a slow speed that I almost could have walked alongside. Nevertheless, I managed to sleep for a while.

That is, until I woke needing to go to the toilet. Something I had eaten was not agreeing with me, and I clenched my buttocks shut, wondering if temporary denial of access for the broiling mass within me would perhaps change it's mind. I swallowed one of my anti-diarrhoea tablets, and waited to see if it would have an effect. No such luck. With deft efficiency born of desperation I grabbed my shoes and my precious roll of toilet paper, which I crammed into my left shoe. I crawled slowly over Mark, waking him first to make sure he wouldn't think he was about to be molested.

I dropped lightly into the aisle, not waking anyone, and stood up straight. I made my way to the driver, and said `Cesuo', meaning `Toilet'. He said something I didn't understand, and then gestured for me to get back. I tried again but he looked angry, and my knowledge of Chinese didn't cover such emergencies. I stood back, and began to clench in an attempt to prevent myself from making a real mess. I knew that if I `Broke the seal' I would be unable to stop myself. I clenched my jaw and waited, and waited. Several millenia passed, and I looked at my watch. It had been 10 minutes. Our arrival would be around 6 am, approximately 3 hours from now. There was no possible way I could hold it in. Just as this thought arrived, I noticed with delight that the urgency was waning! My body had finally received the message! Feeling substantially better, I climbed back into the bed.

I knew immediately I had made a serious error in judgement. The wave had not receded, it had merely fallen back and waited for reinforcements, like the ocean receding before the tsunami arrives.

The second I lay back down I was assaulted from within with renewed vigour. I climbed back over Mark in a hurry, and jumped into the aisle, stepping heavily on my tour leader's leg. She woke up for about 5 seconds and swore, then fell immediately back asleep. I began the process of clenching my jaw and anus once again, but realised fairly quickly that I had no chance. My options within the next minute were to get off the bus and relieve myself or stay on the bus and relieve myself.

With a confidence born of desperation, I stepped to the drivers side and said, loudly, `CESUO'. He looked at me, obviously pissed off at the long nose bastard, and muttered `Cesuo?'. `Dui, Cesuo!' I said, managing to retain a sweaty sort of composure. `Kwai, kwai (quick!)' he said angrily, and pulled over, opening the door. In a head slapping moment of insight some time later, I realised that I should have simply bribed him to stop when I first asked him.

I looked out into the wet sand that made the side of the road, and turned to get my shoes and toilet paper. One shoe had disappeared! It was nowhere in sight!

Can you guess which shoe it was, friends and neighbours?

That's right! The shoe with the toilet paper!

I was about to spend time looking when a muscle spasm caused me to nearly befoul myself. I leapt from the door, praying the driver would not take off, and looked about for somewhere to conceal myself. As I stood with my socks sinking slowly into the damp coarse sand, I realised there was absolutely nowhere to hide. We were hemmed in by a ridge of sand which was being used to make the road better, and was about half the height of the bus. This was to be my first squat in a very long time. Without much hesitation I dropped trousers in plain view of any awake passengers on my side of the bus who cared to look, and unleashed a great steaming pile of liquid shit.

Now, I know that there are heights of pleasure rarely accomplished without pharmaceuticals or years of meditation. If the overwhelming sensation of relief that I discovered at that moment could be bottled, I would be well and truly rich. I gasped in delight as waves of relief flushed through my body, and finished up. I looked down, and to my surprise realised I had not soiled my pants, legs or feet one bit! In the heat of the moment I had paid little attention to the direction of the spray of either my starfish or dick, and it seems that only luck prevented what would have been one of the messier experiences of my life.

Pleasure then turned to a sense of mild despair. I realised that I had no toilet paper of any form, and unless I chose to wipe with my socks, I was probably going back onto a bus, unwiped, in close quarters with my travelling companions. Thinking quickly I exercised the option that I considered to be most valid, I extended my index finger and wiped, once for each buttock. I then flicked my finger, scrubbed it with sand, and returned to the bus, where I sterilised with rubbing alcohol. I suppose I could have played a game of `smell my finger' with my bunkmate, but I'm not that evil (and I know that I must sleep at some point).

My shoe, with toilet paper, was found the next morning under a bunk. Other members of the group expressed disgust that I had walked on the floor in bare socks. I never had the heart to tell them about the high tech wipe. High tech? Yeah, it was digital.
(, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 1:16, 3 replies)
Sounds like an amazing journey though, apart from the rectal emergency!
(, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 10:34, closed)
That's about all I can say really...
(, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 12:10, closed)
Have a sympathy click
I had a similar experience in China myself. The bus was so full that there were people packed in the aisles as well.

I learned the best way to reduce the feeling of needing to shit was to lie flat on your back. This was a bit tricky for me because I was too tall for my bunk. Also, lying on your back means you miss out on the scenery, but it was all desert anyway.

Apparently, if you take the Chinese Sleeper Bus to Tibet, you have all the same problems but have to suffer altitude-sickness on top of it.
(, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 12:35, closed)

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