Posted by Lucy Peters on January 29, 1999 at 16:18
In the Garden
It's a weird business, this desire to behave as antisocially as only an unreliable toddler can. Weird but compelling. I'm a big girl now (not that big, thank you!) but I've never lost that desire to just let go in my pants like I did when I was little. And when I was little I did! I must have been the despair of the succession of patient au-pairs and home helps that looked after me while my parents were off making money, because I was (when it suited me) completely un-toilet-trained. If I felt like using the toilet, or it was handy, I might. Other times, I just did it in my pants. Being wet or mucky never bothered me, and I always liked the feeling of actually going potty in my knickers - especially 'big potty'.
I never did it a school, mind, or if I was with other kids. Just when I was on my own - and I was, a lot of the time. I don't have any brothers or sisters. Then, when I was about seven, I got sent off to boarding school, so that rather put the kybosh on my little games. The matron was very strict, and wet or messy panties would have been punishable pretty much by death. So, for a while, I stopped doing it. I didn't start again until about four years ago, when I was just coming up for fifteen. What got me going again was reading article in a magazine. It was a parenting magazine, and I came across it at the dentists while I was waiting my turn. When I read this particular article, it intrigued me so much I tore it out and took it home for closer study.
The piece was headed 'Soiling in Older Children', and was about kids who went to the toilet in their pants after they had been trained. Kids like me, in other words. According to this article, there were two main reasons why older kids messed their pants. The first was to do with something called 'Encoprensis' , which was getting constipated and ending up with your back passage sort of stretched so you hardly knew you were doing it. That wasn't really very interesting, as the feeling of actually doing it was what I had most liked about the whole business. The only part of this section that interested me was an account of a little girl (well, not-so-little - eight or nine) who kept getting constipated. The doctor had advised the child's mother to make sure that this didn't happen, and suggested that as a last resort the girl be allowed to go to the toilet in her pants rather than try and hold on and risk the dreaded big C. Apparently, when the mother got to telling her daughter this, the little girl just squatted down and filled her knickers on the spot. That appealed to me greatly.
The second reason, though, was one I could really relate to. This concerned 'deliberate soiling'. Two main reasons were given for this; the first was a psychological reason, where children who were emotionally disturbed in some way, such as by parents splitting up or the arrival of a new baby, messed their pants to call attention to themselves; and 'comfort soiling' where, and I quote 'children of all ages may soil themselves because they find it pleasurable. It is often associated with early expressions of sexuality and the gaining of sexual satisfaction.' The article went on: 'it is not uncommon for some children, right from the earliest age, to find the act of moving their bowels highly pleasurable and the feel of the resulting bowel movement in their underwear soothing and pleasant. It is often found that children who mess themselves for this reason will try to prolong both the passing of the motion and the time that they keep their soiled clothes on; they may also be anxious to sit in their bowel movement, or to feel it through their clothes.' So that was it! And medical science knew all about it.
As you can imagine, this article got me thinking about the whole business, and all the times I had done it and how nice it had felt. I lay in my bed at night with my hand jammed down the front of my pyjamas, remembering the feeling of anticipation as the need to go slowly grew, until it got to the point where I could just stand or squat and sort of ease it all out. And the feeling of the warm, soft lumps sliding gently out and piling up in the seat of my knickers, until I had finished my BM and my panties were sagging under me. And the finale - sitting down, feeling my weight squash the pile and spread the soft warmth out under me, squeezing a little out at the leg-bands of my knickers, maybe, or making it go up behind me. Often, I might wet myself as well, and sometimes this would make the mess squidgier, so that it spread out more. Lovely!
Well, with all this it was only going to be a matter of time before I tried it, one nice sunny day in the summer holidays. As usual, I was at home alone, being left to my own devices - now I was older I didn't rate a nanny any more, which suited me fine. After thinking about it for several nights, I'd got myself really quite worked up about it, and dreamed up a sort of fantasy situation that appealed to me. I started to eat the sort of things that are supposed to make you good and regular - but then on this day I didn't go when I needed to, so that by the next morning when I woke up I was already feeling a bit uncomfortable with the need to have a BM. I lay there in bed for quite a while, feeling the need and fingering myself through my panties - I had started wearing a T-shirt and knickers to bed that summer. I nearly let go then, in my bed, but I needed to pee as well and I was worried that I'd wet the bed if I relaxed too much. I decided that today I would not take my panties down at all to go to the toilet.
So I went to the bathroom, and sat on the toilet with my panties still on, and wet them. I loved the feeling of the warm wetness spreading down underneath me as I dribbled pee into the gusset of my cotton briefs, until it started to flow out of the sodden seat and splash noisily into the toilet. When I had finished, I slipped the wet panties down, and rinsed them in the shower tray. Then I went back into my bedroom to dress. I found an old sun-dress I'd had since I was about twelve. I hadn't grown a lot since so it fitted OK. (Even today I haven't got that much bigger- I can still get into that same dress, although it's a bit short on me now!). I put on some clean knickers - ordinary white cotton briefs, the sun-dress, and some plastic jelly-sandals. Then I went down to the kitchen and got myself a breakfast of fresh orange juice and bran cereal. After that, I went out into the garden.
Fresh orange juice goes through me pretty well, and in quite a short time I needed to pee. I didn't try and hold it all - I just relaxed and went in my pants. Walking slowly down the garden dribbling wee into my panties felt gorgeous, and I gradually soaked them until it started to trickle down my legs and drip onto the grass. I found I could keep doing this for quite a long time, and soon my clean knickers were absolutely soaked. I went back into the house and inspected myself. There was a small damp patch on my dress, but that didn't really bother me. I knew it would soon dry in the hot sun.
By the time I'd got back down the end of the garden, a need of another sort was predominating. I could feel my BM was ready to come, and it felt encouragingly large. I just kept wandering around, relaxing as much as I could, until it gradually started to ease out. When I felt the first bit poking out and rubbing against the clean white cotton of my knickers, I stopped walking and gave just the gentlest hint of a push. That was all it took, and next moment there was a warm, sticky lump nestling between the cheeks of my bottom. I could feel it was only a small piece, but I could also feel that the next one wasn't going to be. It wasn't. I eased it out as gradually as I could, revelling in the feeling of the firm softness holding my little passage open as my BM pushed against the inside of my knickers. And then it was out, a big, knobbly lump of warm sticky poo sitting in the seat of my pants, held against the sensitive skin of my bottom. The next lump was just as big, and took just as long, and when that was out my knickers had that well-remembered sagging feeling. The last lump was small and rather soft, and then my knickers were full. Fuller than they had ever been when I was small, I was sure.
When I had finished having my BM, I remember I stood quite still for a couple of minutes with all the nerves in my body sort of tingling, super-aware of the mass of firm-but-soft poo in my pants. Then I slowly walked the few yards down to where my old childhood swing still stood at the end of the garden. When I got to it, I lifted up my dress so it was out of the way, and slowly sat down on the red plastic swing seat. My lovely big BM went everywhere inside my pants - a lot went up behind me, and some went down the backs of my legs. I was fairly sure it would be escaping at the legs of my knickers. Fortunately, only a bit went into the front part of my knickers - the article in the magazine had warned that it was not good for girls to get this sort of mess too much in their front openings. I decided anyway to wash mine, so I let go a long spurt of pee. Heaven! I kept those messy pants on for as long as I could, until I'd peed them twice and the mess started to escape and stain my dress. I wet four more pairs of pants before I decided I had to do some washing. Thank goodness for modern washing machines and that powder that makes everything whiter than white!
From then on, one of my chief pleasures has been to put my hair in bunches, put on a short little-girl frock or a pair of shorts, and spend a day - days on end, if I can - where, if I need the toilet, I just go in my pants. I only do it for me and in private, and now that I've moved out from my parents' house and got my own little flat I can do it whenever I want. I just like to relax and let go, although obviously peeing indoors can be a bit messy, so I don't go on the carpets or anything. Usually, I go and stand in the shower tray, where it doesn't matter. Or I might put on some plastic pants over my knickers - although they get horribly wet if you do that. I might have to investigate proper nappies...
I got the plastic pants so I could be sure that nothing escaped from my panties when I finally got around to trying a BM in the bed. I don't like washing that much! It's really a far-out feeling to lie there, all warm and snuggled up, and just let go with a huge soft big job that fills your pants and squashes out beautifully as you lie in it. Yes, 'comfort soiling' is a very good way of describing it!
Lucy Peters
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