I was washing my hands when the door to the ladies'
room burst open and a woman in her late teens or early twenties
entered. She did not wait for the door to close behind her before hiking
up her denim miniskirt, exposing white cotton, rose-print panties with
pale pink elastic. She ran for the nearest cubicle, her shoes clicking
on the tiles, the clicking echoing off the walls. She elbowed open the
door, pushing it so far back on its hinges that it banged against the
wall of the cubicle. In her haste she did not bother to close the door
behind her, allowing me to see her in the mirror above the washbasin.
With one shaking hand she lifted the toilet lid; with the other she held
her skirt up.
"Yes!" she said. "Made it!" But just as she slid her thumbs under the
waistband of her panties to pull them down, there was an abrupt squelch
and the crotch of her panties sagged. She froze. A yellow-brown stain
began to appear on the seat of her panties. The fishy smell of diarrhoea
filled the room.
Turning off the tap, I yanked a few paper towels from the dispenser on
the wall and began drying my hands, still watching her in the mirror.
A frustrated growl rose in her throat, drowning out the soft music playing over the PA. "Aaw no!" She kicked the wall.
Ditching the used paper towels, I picked up my handbag from the bench and slung the strap over my shoulder.
"It's not fair! I just about made it! I was so close!"
I entered the cubicle and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You need to
calm down, sweetie." She gave a start and turned to face me. "It was
just an accident."
"Who are you? What are you doing in here? What do you want?"
"My name is Jenny. And it looks to me like you need help."
For an instant I thought she was going to yell at me and tell me to go
away and leave her alone, but instead she said, in a voice choked with
rising emotion, "I'm Jodie. I just totally shit my pants." And she began
sob.
I let her lean her head on my shoulder. She was still holding her skirt
up, presumably to keep it from getting soiled. I stroked her
shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair. "It's going to be okay. It happens to
everyone at some point. I've pooped myself several times as an adult."
She looked up into my face with utter disbelief.
I giggled. "Hard to believe, I know, but it's true."
She buried her head in my shoulder again. The sobbing soon eased off, however, and I let her pull away.
"What am I going to do?" Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. "How do I get cleaned up?"
I looked her up and down. There was light soiling down the inside of her
shapely upper thighs and a few drops of poop on the floor.
"Let's go to the handicapped stall. There's more room in there. And
there will probably be a sink in there as well. Follow me. It's just
down the end here." I held the door open for her. "In you go." I locked
the door behind us. "We'll have you cleaned up in no time."
She looked at me eagerly, as if awaiting instructions.
"What size are you?"
"Sorry?"
"Panties."
"Oh, I don't know off the top of my head."
"Turn around." I slipped my thumb and forefinger under the waistband of
her panties and pulled the label up so that I could read it. "Size
fourteen. Same as me. Today is your lucky day. Because I just happen to
have these." Unzipping my handbag, I produced a pair of pale blue cotton
panties.
Her face lit up.
"I always carry a spare pair with me, just in case. I've had a few bad experiences in the past, as I mentioned earlier."
I slung the panties over the handicapped rail. She kicked off her shoes.
I helped her get her skirt off without soiling it and slung that over
the rail too. Removing her panties was more difficult. The poop was so
runny I feared that it would get all over the floor.
"Cup your hands, Jodie." I tore off several sheets of toilet paper and
laid them over her hands to form a protective layer. "Now put them under
your crotch. I'll pull down from the waistband, and you hold the gusset
so the poo doesn't fall out."
She did as instructed. My plan worked. No poo leaked onto the floor,
though soiling did spread further down her thighs. She stepped out of
her panties.
I lifted the toilet lid (and the seat too; I didn't want to get any poop
on the seat). She emptied the contents of her panties into the bowl,
and I flushed. She disposed of her panties in the tampon bin, ignoring
the sign on the lid:
"Thank you for doing this, by the way — helping me." She had a bunch of toilet paper scrunched up in her hand and was wiping the inside of her thighs. "I really appreciate it. I'd be lost without you."
"It's no problem. I just wish I'd had someone to help me the few times when I've had accidents. Perhaps now that I've helped you, next time I have an accident, someone might help me. Karma, you know. What goes around comes around."
"I hope so. You deserve it."
She wiped her vagina as best she could, but a considerable amount of faecal matter remained stuck in her pubic hair. She then turned her efforts to her buttocks. She wiped and wiped, went through sheet after sheet of toilet paper, got poop all over her fingers. Finally, she huffed. "I can't even see what I'm doing. This is going to take forever."
"Here. Let me help you."
"What? Let you help me what? Wipe?"
"Of course. You can't see what you're doing, and I'm here, so...."
"Ah, no, I couldn't possibly let you―"
"I insist." I pulled off some toilet paper. "Come on."
"Well... okay. Thanks."
As I wiped, gas built up in my gut. Since the air was already thick with the stench of Jodie's poop, I figured she wouldn't notice if I farted, so I did. But it came out louder than I had anticipated, echoing off the walls.
"Ooh excuse me!"
Jodie didn't say anything, didn't even turn round, just continued to stand, bent over, hands clutching the toilet seat. I kept wiping till she complained the paper was beginning to abrade. By this stage I also had poop all over my fingers.
"There's a trick I learnt from my previous accidents." I pulled off a fresh sheet of toilet paper, took it over to the washbasin, and ran it under the tap. "Wetting the paper makes it softer. And helps remove any stubborn poop stains." I resumed wiping. "Is that better?"
She nodded.
Moments later I farted again. "Oh dear me!" Throwing a clump of wet brown toilet paper into the toilet, I said, "There. Done. All nice and clean now."
"Thanks." She sniffed the air. "Paaw! That stinks, Jenny!"
"Yeah, sorry."
She laughed.
"You might want to try the wet-toilet-paper trick around front," I said, "to get the poop out of your pubes."
"Good idea." She ran some toilet paper under the tap.
"Leave it on, could you, please? I need to wash my hands."
"Oh, they're filthy. That's my mess. Sorry about that."
"Don't mention it."
"You know, I'll probably be all right now, if you've got other things to do. I feel a lot better now, and I'm just about all cleaned up."
"Well, I do need to get on with my shopping." I turned off the tap and went to pluck a paper towel from the dispenser only to find it empty. I wiped my hands on my skirt.
"Thank you so much for helping me. God knows how I would've managed this alone."
"No problem. I'll get going, then."
"It's been nice meeting you, Jenny. You've really restored my faith in humanity. Thanks for the panties, too."
"That's quite all right. It's been nice meeting you as well, and I hope it's a very long time before this happens to you again."
"I hope it never happens again."
"Oh, it will. But you'll know how to deal with it next time." I unlocked the cubicle door. "I'm off, then."
"Bye."
On my way out of the ladies' I passed the first stall she had gone to and saw the poop on the floor. I had forgotten all about it. I called out to her to remember to clean it up. She said she would.
Exiting the ladies', I took the corridor leading back to the shopping centre. I felt the need to fart again and pushed.
No sound. But wetness bloomed between my butt cheeks. I stopped dead. Clenching my buttocks, I pinched off the gassy, liquid stool.
In denial I put a hand up my skirt and touched the crotch of my panties, hoping to find them dry. They had to be dry. I couldn't have pooped my panties just after giving away my reserve pair. Not even I could have such bad luck.
When my fingers touched fabric, however, they detected dampness. Yet I refused to believe the signals the nerves in my fingertips were relaying to my brain. I couldn't have had an accident. It was impossible.
With mounting apprehension I withdrew my hand from under my skirt and raised it to eye level. Were they brown stains on my fingers? I rubbed them together. Sticky. I sniffed them. Stinky.
"Nooo." It came out as a polysyllabic whimper, though I had intended it to come out as a scream.
I ran back to the ladies' and pounded on the door of the handicapped stall. "Jodie? Jodie, are you still in there?"
"Yeah. Is something wrong?"
"Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I need those panties back. I've had an accident."
Laughter erupted on the other side of the door.
"What are you laughing at, you ungrateful bitch?"
The laughter stopped abruptly.
"Look, I'm sorry I got angry, but I'm being serious. I've pooed my pants and I need those knickers back. Could you please pass them to me under the door?"
"I don't know. Can't you just go commando?"
"No, I can't go commando. I'm having my period, and it's really heavy at the moment."
"Aren't you wearing a tampon?"
"Well, yes, of course I'm wearing a tampon, but I'll have to throw it away because it'll be all shitty now, and I only have a pad in my handbag."
"Couldn't you just buy a new pair?"
"I could ask you the same question, Jodie. And besides, I'm having my period. How do you suggest I go shopping for panties? Should I leave here with blood dripping down my legs? Or should I walk around with one hand holding a pad to my crotch? Can you imagine me walking into a store like that and saying, 'Excuse me, what aisle are panties in'?"
"You don't understand. I can't leave here without panties. If my boyfriend finds out.... Let me explain something. My boyfriend once found out I cheated on him when he caught me without panties after I lost them having sex in a toilet stall. He's been suspicious of me ever since. You don't know what he's like — how he gets — when he's mad. If he thinks I'm cheating on him again, he'll kill me."
"Well, then, you'd better buy some new underwear."
"I can't. He doesn't let me carry any money. I'd have to ask him for the money, and then he would want to know what it was for. And then―"
"Okay; I get the picture. But that's not really my problem. I need those panties more than you, and I'm not leaving here without them. So again, if you could just pass them under the door, please."
"No."
I heard the swishing of fabric. It sounded as if she was hurriedly getting dressed.
"No? I'm sorry, Jodie, that's the wrong answer." Getting on my belly, I crawled under the stall door.
Now fully dressed, Jodie was slipping into her shoes. "What are you doing in here, you crazy bitch? Get out!"
From my position on the floor, I could see up her skirt, see the crotch of the pale blue cotton panties I had given her. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, crawled over to her, and reached up her skirt for the panties; but she jumped up onto the toilet seat, leapt over me, and ran to the door. Panicked, she pushed and pulled on the door, but it wouldn't open. She didn't think to unlock it. This allowed me time to get to my feet, wrap my arms round her torso, and throw her to the ground. The strain caused another leak of gassy, liquid stool into my panties. Whimpering, she rolled onto her belly and crawled under the partition into the neighbouring stall. I unlocked the door and, running parallel to the stalls, cut her off just as she emerged from under the partition of the stall she had first entered, the one with the poop on the floor. Sobbing silently, she got to her feet. Shit was smeared down the front her top, her skirt, her legs.
"Get out of my way!" she screamed, lunging forwards.
I stepped aside, hands in the air as if surrendering. "Oh, don't touch me!"
Once she had passed, I came up behind her and, reaching up her skirt, grabbed her — my — panties and yanked down.
Jodie stumbled. The panties came away in my hands. She spun round, her jaw hanging loose.
The panties had torn along the hip seams.
"Look what you've done!" I said, pushing the torn edges together then pulling them apart, pushing them together then pulling them apart, as if I could will them to rejoin.
"Great! Now how am I going to face my boyfriend? Well, if I have to leave here without panties, so do you."
Absorbed in the torn panties, I didn't notice Jodie approach, didn't sense her reach up my skirt; but I did feel the tug on my panties, did hear them tear. They plopped to the floor. Poop splattered onto my shoes.
Jodie fled.
"Come back here, you bitch! You can't just leave me here like this! Not after I helped you!"
But it was no use. The woman had no conscience.
What do I do now?
Don't panic, Jenny; think! What is the first thing you must do?
Get these filthy panties off the floor.
Good. And then?
Head to the handicapped stall to get cleaned up.
Excellent! You'll get through this.
Using the panties I had taken from Jodie as a glove, I picked up the pair on the floor and, carrying them at arm's length, my nose wrinkled, disposed of both pairs of ruined panties in the handicapped stall's tampon bin. It was then that I had an epiphany.
Jodie's panties! You could use Jodie's panties! They're dirty, yes, but still intact. All they need is a wash.
Fishing them out, I rinsed them in the sink, then rung them dry. I draped them over the handicapped rail. Squatting on the toilet, I finished pooping and then cleaned myself up with wet toilet paper. I donned Jodie's panties. Though still damp, they nicely supported my fresh pad. And I left the ladies' room ― with poop still on the floor ― confident to face the world. Whereas Jodie, I like to think, got slapped around by her boyfriend for cheating again. Bitch!
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