Samantha Ellis expected a
strong turnout, but she didn't expect the line to be going outside the
door and stretching around the block - 30 minutes before tryouts even
started. She was grumbling about the wait, but her friend and companion
Lindsey offered a good perspective: the longer they waited, the more
time they'd have to get ready.
She had everything she needed, but she was still checking to make sure her ID was valid, even though it wouldn't expire for another two years. Lindsey's support seemed to stop at listening to her rehearse her pitch.
"Here's your pitch," Lindsey said, with her palms clasped together, "My name is Samantha Ellis. If you feel the need to point to your face, do so, but I doubt you'll need to."
"Come on, Lindsey," Samantha said, looking at herself in the mini-mirror she kept in her purse. "I can't be presumptuous. I want to show that I actually have something to offer."
"I get that," Lindsey said. "Just remember, most of your talking won't be with your mouth."
Samantha had done everything she needed for preparation, and she and Lindsey had done their demonstrations for each other so many times that even if their auditions were only half as good as their rehearsals, they had a good chance at getting in. However, a good chance was not a certainty. Only 3 percent of people who applied for Madame Calvert's got accepted. However, girls still came out in droves, hoping to be the next star.
No one knew what their audition would consist of until it happened. Samantha had read an interview with an anonymous judge once. It said that no one could know anything about the auditions before theirs, and that no one is a sure thing until everyone has gone. On average, it took four weeks to receive a response.
There was an aura of confidence coming from the rest of the line. She didn't know if they were delusional or if they knew something she didn't. This was as confident as she'd feel, and she was still pretty uncertain.
A commotion was happening far back. She couldn't make out what was happening, but company officials seemed to be involved. It quieted down a bit when a corridor was put in place, but it wasn't silent.
"What's that about?" Samantha asked. Lindsey shrugged.
"Capacity," the woman behind her, with the sunflower dress and curly black hair said. "Looks like we're in the 1,000."
"1,000? I didn't know about that," Samantha said.
"Yeah, they don't tell you," she said, "It's supposed to get us more primed, knowing that we wanted it more. I got turned away last year. I was 1,001, I swear."
"Did they tell you what happened?" Lindsey asked.
"Fuck no," she said. "But I knew next year I'd be first in line.
Samantha looked at the line extending in front of them.
"Of course, any place between 1 and 1,000 would be acceptable."
An official came by with a jar, prompting Samantha to reach in and pull out a small disc.
"139," Samantha recited as if she had never seen the number before.
"Lucky, I got 177," Lindsey said. "I guess it's a random order."
The official informed that that they selected their group number. There were five people in each group, who all went up at the same time, in different rooms. The woman next to them said it was something she had never heard of them doing before.
"God, this sucks," Lindsey whined. "They'll probably all want to go home and not consider me at this point."
"Come on, it's not that bad," Samantha said.
"Easy for you to say, Miss 139," Lindsey icily retorted.
Soon after, all the numbers had been chosen and groups began being called. Samantha and Lindsey had made it to one of the waiting shelters right before the rain started falling. Samantha felt like showing this much patience was enough of a sign that she deserved a spot.
After seven-and-a-half hours of waiting, she heard the word "one-hundred and thirty-nine" and felt exhaustion turn into alertness. She gestured Lindsey to get up and come with her before realizing her mistake.
Following the official, she entered a room, about half the dimensions of her bedroom, with wood flooring and an eggshell white paint job. A woman entered shortly after the official left.
"Hello, I understand you wish to audition for Madame Calvert's," the woman said, seeming to make a point of not looking at Samantha.
"Yes," Samantha said resolutely.
"And may I ask what you would bring to our business?" she asked, but her questions felt as sharp as her freshly-painted nails.
"I would be a team player, and I'd never give up," Samantha replied.
"That is what we'd hope for from all our girls," she said. "It's what we hear from all of them, and the ones who don't make it. Now, please, tell me, what makes you a suitable choice for our company Miss...Ellis?"
The woman held the folder firmly in both hands and looked at Samantha with astonishment.
"You don't mean to say, you're the daughter of Janice Ellis? My word, I don't need to tell you of your mother's achievements," she said with one hand on her cheek and another still grasping the folder.
"Adopted,"
"Beg pardon?"
"I'm her adopted daughter," Samantha said. "My sister, Kyra, is her birth daughter."
"I have no time for such semantics and other nonsense, Miss Ellis," the woman hastily replied. "Now, please present to me, a reverse half-step using the chair over there."
This was Samantha's big moment, and she knew she could do it, but how well was another question. A reverse half-step was a position she had practiced, but it had a lot of steps to keep track of. She knew she would be disqualified if she got enough one out of place, and she was sure she had been given it due to her namesake.
To begin, she unbuckled her belt and pulled her pants all the way off, including her panties. She heard one scratch of the pencil in the woman's hand, likely from checking one box positively. Next, she got her right foot planted firmly on her seat while her right leg stayed bent. Her left leg remained straight, with just enough tension to not need readjustment.
Next, Samantha put her hands in proper position, each pushing apart the corresponding cheek. As she had expected, a bit of a fart rippled out, but she wasn't losing her mojo. The first bit of poop started peeking out of her. She couldn't see it, but she could definitely smell it. This was a strong load, coming out as one sturdy log that dropped out of her asshole about a quarter of an inch at a time. It managed to all land on the platter.
Getting off the chair and looking at her poop, Samantha felt pretty good. The official brought over her toilet paper and Samantha wiped her dirty ass until it was clean, placing the used paper next to her dump as instructed. She was quickly thanked and instructed to leave.
The next day, Samantha and Lindsey were FaceTiming, both sitting on the toilet.
"I know I had the right form, but my poop looked so lame," Lindsey said. "I keep having these little nuggets." She tilted her phone to show Samantha the proof in her bowl.
"But they were pretty uniform, right? That should definitely help your case," Samantha said, trying to be encouraging.
Samantha felt reasonably confident at the time, but she only had a fleeting memory of her audition poop to go on, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt like she needed to second-guess herself. It didn't help that she was spending so much time looking at the work of her favorite poop models on Instagram. She had more than 15,000 followers and would regularly get several hundred likes on videos of her pushing out a load and pooping with Lindsey, but those with sponsorships and perfect bikini bodies spreading their tanned cheeks apart to poop on the beach or fill their diapers with huge lumps had her a little insecure.
There would also be occasional posts tagged #janiceellis, showing Samantha's late adopted mother, in her feed. Photos and videos showed her with her rich black hair draped over her shoulders and her pants down as she held her nose and smiled at the camera while a thick log came out. These were turds that earned Janice Ellis the title of "World's Best Pooper" and helped to make pooping pageants mainstream.
Samantha didn't know about any of this until she was leaving for college. While searching the attic for boxes, she came across a stack of magazines labeled "Miss Messy," many of which featured her mother on the front. She saw her mother pooping while smoking a cigarette, posing seductively next to her dumps, and answering questions about the naughtiest place she's ever gone.
Though she felt mortified and never brought it up to her mother, Samantha started to become fascinated by it, eventually discovering how many fans her mother had. She had passed away before Samantha got a chance to discuss things about it with her, and Samantha wanted to honor her.
Her sister, Kyra, had also known about their mother's poopy past, but she didn't much want to discuss it. However, when she learned of Samantha's ambitions to become a poop star herself, she starting showing support and sending her tips for having better loads.
Samantha had met Lindsey in college. During a round of truth or dare, Lindsey asked her what the craziest thing she had found out about a parent was. She was floored by the response, but only because she didn't know her friend was raised by a pooping legend. Samantha then dared LIndsey to poop in front of her. She was more than willing, and a new point in their friendship was reached.
She had hoped they would both get accepted by Madame Calvert's, but even one getting accepted would be hard, let alone both. Mostly, Samantha wanted there to be no bad blood between them whatever happened.
"I gotta hop off," Lindsey said, pointing her phone at her toilet again so Samantha could see her poop before she flushed it away. Samantha knew she and Lindsey were both strong poopers. But were they strong enough?
She had everything she needed, but she was still checking to make sure her ID was valid, even though it wouldn't expire for another two years. Lindsey's support seemed to stop at listening to her rehearse her pitch.
"Here's your pitch," Lindsey said, with her palms clasped together, "My name is Samantha Ellis. If you feel the need to point to your face, do so, but I doubt you'll need to."
"Come on, Lindsey," Samantha said, looking at herself in the mini-mirror she kept in her purse. "I can't be presumptuous. I want to show that I actually have something to offer."
"I get that," Lindsey said. "Just remember, most of your talking won't be with your mouth."
Samantha had done everything she needed for preparation, and she and Lindsey had done their demonstrations for each other so many times that even if their auditions were only half as good as their rehearsals, they had a good chance at getting in. However, a good chance was not a certainty. Only 3 percent of people who applied for Madame Calvert's got accepted. However, girls still came out in droves, hoping to be the next star.
No one knew what their audition would consist of until it happened. Samantha had read an interview with an anonymous judge once. It said that no one could know anything about the auditions before theirs, and that no one is a sure thing until everyone has gone. On average, it took four weeks to receive a response.
There was an aura of confidence coming from the rest of the line. She didn't know if they were delusional or if they knew something she didn't. This was as confident as she'd feel, and she was still pretty uncertain.
A commotion was happening far back. She couldn't make out what was happening, but company officials seemed to be involved. It quieted down a bit when a corridor was put in place, but it wasn't silent.
"What's that about?" Samantha asked. Lindsey shrugged.
"Capacity," the woman behind her, with the sunflower dress and curly black hair said. "Looks like we're in the 1,000."
"1,000? I didn't know about that," Samantha said.
"Yeah, they don't tell you," she said, "It's supposed to get us more primed, knowing that we wanted it more. I got turned away last year. I was 1,001, I swear."
"Did they tell you what happened?" Lindsey asked.
"Fuck no," she said. "But I knew next year I'd be first in line.
Samantha looked at the line extending in front of them.
"Of course, any place between 1 and 1,000 would be acceptable."
An official came by with a jar, prompting Samantha to reach in and pull out a small disc.
"139," Samantha recited as if she had never seen the number before.
"Lucky, I got 177," Lindsey said. "I guess it's a random order."
The official informed that that they selected their group number. There were five people in each group, who all went up at the same time, in different rooms. The woman next to them said it was something she had never heard of them doing before.
"God, this sucks," Lindsey whined. "They'll probably all want to go home and not consider me at this point."
"Come on, it's not that bad," Samantha said.
"Easy for you to say, Miss 139," Lindsey icily retorted.
Soon after, all the numbers had been chosen and groups began being called. Samantha and Lindsey had made it to one of the waiting shelters right before the rain started falling. Samantha felt like showing this much patience was enough of a sign that she deserved a spot.
After seven-and-a-half hours of waiting, she heard the word "one-hundred and thirty-nine" and felt exhaustion turn into alertness. She gestured Lindsey to get up and come with her before realizing her mistake.
Following the official, she entered a room, about half the dimensions of her bedroom, with wood flooring and an eggshell white paint job. A woman entered shortly after the official left.
"Hello, I understand you wish to audition for Madame Calvert's," the woman said, seeming to make a point of not looking at Samantha.
"Yes," Samantha said resolutely.
"And may I ask what you would bring to our business?" she asked, but her questions felt as sharp as her freshly-painted nails.
"I would be a team player, and I'd never give up," Samantha replied.
"That is what we'd hope for from all our girls," she said. "It's what we hear from all of them, and the ones who don't make it. Now, please, tell me, what makes you a suitable choice for our company Miss...Ellis?"
The woman held the folder firmly in both hands and looked at Samantha with astonishment.
"You don't mean to say, you're the daughter of Janice Ellis? My word, I don't need to tell you of your mother's achievements," she said with one hand on her cheek and another still grasping the folder.
"Adopted,"
"Beg pardon?"
"I'm her adopted daughter," Samantha said. "My sister, Kyra, is her birth daughter."
"I have no time for such semantics and other nonsense, Miss Ellis," the woman hastily replied. "Now, please present to me, a reverse half-step using the chair over there."
This was Samantha's big moment, and she knew she could do it, but how well was another question. A reverse half-step was a position she had practiced, but it had a lot of steps to keep track of. She knew she would be disqualified if she got enough one out of place, and she was sure she had been given it due to her namesake.
To begin, she unbuckled her belt and pulled her pants all the way off, including her panties. She heard one scratch of the pencil in the woman's hand, likely from checking one box positively. Next, she got her right foot planted firmly on her seat while her right leg stayed bent. Her left leg remained straight, with just enough tension to not need readjustment.
Next, Samantha put her hands in proper position, each pushing apart the corresponding cheek. As she had expected, a bit of a fart rippled out, but she wasn't losing her mojo. The first bit of poop started peeking out of her. She couldn't see it, but she could definitely smell it. This was a strong load, coming out as one sturdy log that dropped out of her asshole about a quarter of an inch at a time. It managed to all land on the platter.
Getting off the chair and looking at her poop, Samantha felt pretty good. The official brought over her toilet paper and Samantha wiped her dirty ass until it was clean, placing the used paper next to her dump as instructed. She was quickly thanked and instructed to leave.
The next day, Samantha and Lindsey were FaceTiming, both sitting on the toilet.
"I know I had the right form, but my poop looked so lame," Lindsey said. "I keep having these little nuggets." She tilted her phone to show Samantha the proof in her bowl.
"But they were pretty uniform, right? That should definitely help your case," Samantha said, trying to be encouraging.
Samantha felt reasonably confident at the time, but she only had a fleeting memory of her audition poop to go on, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt like she needed to second-guess herself. It didn't help that she was spending so much time looking at the work of her favorite poop models on Instagram. She had more than 15,000 followers and would regularly get several hundred likes on videos of her pushing out a load and pooping with Lindsey, but those with sponsorships and perfect bikini bodies spreading their tanned cheeks apart to poop on the beach or fill their diapers with huge lumps had her a little insecure.
There would also be occasional posts tagged #janiceellis, showing Samantha's late adopted mother, in her feed. Photos and videos showed her with her rich black hair draped over her shoulders and her pants down as she held her nose and smiled at the camera while a thick log came out. These were turds that earned Janice Ellis the title of "World's Best Pooper" and helped to make pooping pageants mainstream.
Samantha didn't know about any of this until she was leaving for college. While searching the attic for boxes, she came across a stack of magazines labeled "Miss Messy," many of which featured her mother on the front. She saw her mother pooping while smoking a cigarette, posing seductively next to her dumps, and answering questions about the naughtiest place she's ever gone.
Though she felt mortified and never brought it up to her mother, Samantha started to become fascinated by it, eventually discovering how many fans her mother had. She had passed away before Samantha got a chance to discuss things about it with her, and Samantha wanted to honor her.
Her sister, Kyra, had also known about their mother's poopy past, but she didn't much want to discuss it. However, when she learned of Samantha's ambitions to become a poop star herself, she starting showing support and sending her tips for having better loads.
Samantha had met Lindsey in college. During a round of truth or dare, Lindsey asked her what the craziest thing she had found out about a parent was. She was floored by the response, but only because she didn't know her friend was raised by a pooping legend. Samantha then dared LIndsey to poop in front of her. She was more than willing, and a new point in their friendship was reached.
She had hoped they would both get accepted by Madame Calvert's, but even one getting accepted would be hard, let alone both. Mostly, Samantha wanted there to be no bad blood between them whatever happened.
"I gotta hop off," Lindsey said, pointing her phone at her toilet again so Samantha could see her poop before she flushed it away. Samantha knew she and Lindsey were both strong poopers. But were they strong enough?
