Posted by Skywatcher on December 07, 2010 at 08:55 [67.164.150.78]
Many people have spoken about the physical sensation involved with this fetish, and how very erotic it is. This story has to do with the psychological side of things.
As I have occasionally posted, my ex-wife Susan sometimes used to “do the deed” to arouse me. Susan had a degree in psychology, even though she worked in a completely different field as a legal secretary. She was a firm believer in the idea that couples should satisfy each other’s sexual fantasies. She believed that it helped keep “the spark of passion” alive in relationships which had lasted for a long time and were sometimes all too strongly “grounded” in the real world. She always said that anything done between “two consenting adults” is beautiful. In fact, she didn’t even like to use the word “fetish” to describe our little hobby. She preferred the term “fantasy.”
After she had done it a few times, I asked her if she really hated it, or if she liked it, or whatever. She said she didn’t like the smell or the clean-up, but there were a few things about it that she liked well enough so as to continue doing it. First of all, she loved the way that I almost fell at her feet, worshiped her like a goddess, and told her she was the sexiest woman in the world. She loved the way that this “fantasy fulfillment” aroused me with so much passion that I “just about went right through her.” That was the most exciting thing to her about it, which is what one would expect from a woman’s point of view, since they are always “relationship-oriented” first and foremost.
But there was another thing she liked about it, and it had nothing to do with the erotic sensation of having a load in one’s pants (something she more or less admitted to later on). She said that she got a huge rush out of “just letting go.” She said it was better than downhill skiing. What appealed to her about it was the magical moment of deliberately violating one of society’s most fundamental taboos.
Susan had always been a “good girl.” With her mother working as a teacher at Susan’s high school and her father on the school board, she had never managed to get away with anything naughty. She had always been forced to be a pillar of respectability, and she had always secretly envied the “sluts” of the school. After she went off to college, got her own place, and so on, she experimented in a mild way with being a “bad girl.” She used to work as a temp for a construction firm now and then, mostly made up of traditional chauvinistic men, so she would sometimes dress like the office bimbo with deep cleavage, revealing short skirts, and high heels. She told me that every time she went to the copy machine, someone would come up behind her and grope her butt or lift her skirt, so she eventually gave up doing it and went back to being a good girl, and in her current job she always had to have a respectable demeanor.
So pooping in her pants was an amazing way to feel like a really “slutty” or “bad” girl who deliberately flies in the face of society by violating one of its most fundamental taboos.
This, of course, brought up the discussion as to whether she could really feel like a total “bad girl” until she did it in public.
Of course, she saw the logic in that, but needless to say she was terrified to do it, didn't think she would ever do it, and needless to say I encouraged her to do it anyway.
One night we had gone to a large public park to sit on a picnic blanket and watch a fireworks display for the Fourth of July. At one point during the evening, Susan got up and went to check out the public bathrooms. But as usual in such events, there was a long line for the ladies’ room and she said she would “try again later.”
The fireworks ended, and everyone began to leave. There was a crowd of people strolling through the park. It was pitch dark. There were a couple of street lamps on the park walkways, and there were a number of people, including us, taking shortcuts through the trees with flashlights (I think you Brits call them “torches”).
Susan whispered in my ear and said, “I’m going to make you very, very happy.”
I knew immediately what she meant, but could not believe my ears. I just spluttered and stared. I could not believe that she would ever really do it in a public place.
We stopped. To anyone else watching, it would appear that an ordinary couple in their mid to late 30s had just paused to gaze at the moon through the trees. But as I held Susan, I could feel the little quiver that ran through her body as she “just let go,” and I could hear her gasp in surprise as a couple of big logs filled her underwear. Because I had seen her getting dressed earlier, I knew she was wearing everyday nylon panties of light blue.
In a way, it was perfect. There were many people strolling through the park on their way back to their cars after the fireworks, so it was definitely a very “public place” to load her pants. On the other hand, the people were walking in a dispersed way rather than packed close together, in addition to which it was dark and Susan was wearing dark jeans. Only I was close enough to really see that her jeans were bulging and there was a big steaming pile in her light blue nylon panties. No one else would have noticed a thing.
So we walked through the park like that, hand in hand, Susan with her pants full, until we reached our car. We drove home and had fantastic sex.
Afterwards, Susan said that the incident really had fulfilled all her deepest fantasies about being a “bad girl” or a “naughty girl,” dropping her “good girl” personality completely and doing something totally taboo in a very public place. At the same time, she was very grateful that she had gotten away with it and not gotten caught. She never did it again because an equally perfect situation never arose.
Just a little story about the way that one woman has experienced the psychological ramifications of our fetish.
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