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Once I was out for an evening out drinking with four female friends. We had got quite a buzz on by the end of the night and took a taxi back to my place to have a final drink or two and talk some more. When we arrived Sherry, who had been squirming a bit in the cab, said she wanted to use the bathroom first (several of us needed to pee - it was a long cab ride), exclaiming that she had to pee, but what had really worried her was that at one point she almost pooped her pants in the cab. Nobody thought anything of this remark as we were all at the point of somewhat hol-induced lower inhibitions. We just laughed. I was intrigued.

When Sherry was finished in the bathroom and the rest of us had had a chance to use it, I asked if she had not wanted to use the facilities in the place where we had been drinking. She was quite open in answering "Yes, and it's funny because I don't mind peeing when I'm out but I don't like pooping in public toilets." She giggled. "In fact because of this I have had a few 'close calls'". The conversation was turning in exactly the direction that I had hoped it would.

To keep the conversation going in that vein I then volunteered that I too really didn't like public toilets, and not only had I had quite a few "close calls", but had actually "lost it" on several occasions over the years, pooping in my pants. "Has this ever happened to any of you, I just want to know if I'm the only one?" I asked. Sherry, who is about my age as were the others, admitted she had had two accidents as an adult, both on nights when she had been drinking beer and avoided using the public facilities. All three of the others admitted to having had a few close calls, one saying that this tended to happen around the time of her period. But only Jane (of course these aren't real names) admitted having had an actual "accident." I've fictionalized it a little to disguise things.

Jane's Accident (as told by Jane) I was on a trip to Italy with my boyfriend, Rob. We had stopped in bar in a small town to have a sandwich and a glass of wine before proceeding on to the next town, where we had been staying in a small family hotel. We had been there for a week while we looked at old castles in the area. It was part of the research for a book that Rob was writing in medieval Italy.

Feeling that familiar pressure in my bowels, I told Rob as we got up to leave that I would use the WC before we left for our hotel. When I went into WC, I was surprised to see that there was no toilet, only a hole in the floor and those ribbed places that you place your feet on so you won't slip while you're squatting taking care of business. Suddenly, the urge to go didn't seem very urgent. I decided to wait till we got back to the hotel as it was only a 35 minute drive. We paid our bill and walked down the street to where the car was parked, got in and started to drive to the town where out hotel was. The way back was windy two lane road on which it wasn't really safe to drive faster than 80-90km per hour. Rob was driving. About ten minutes along, I started to feel a fairly strong urge to poop, nothing I couldn't control, but enough to make me feel uncomfortable and to start me thinking how relieved I'd be when we got back to the hotel. I had been driving earlier in the day. I was glad Rob was at the wheel now because I have trouble concentrating on driving if I really have to poop bad.

Another ten minutes or so went by as the pressure in my bowels continued to build. For the first time I began to think I might have a problem making it if we took any longer than the 15 minutes or so that I thought we had to drive. Rob was chatting away about the notes he'd made for his book, but I was having trouble concentrating on the conversation. The urge to poop comes in waves. You get a period when the urge eases off and you can relax a bit, and then there is a sudden spasm when the urge is so strong that resisting it requires your whole attention, even attending to a conversation being enough of a distraction to make you lose that extra will power needed to clamp your buttocks tightly together and tell your sphincter to stay closed just a little longer. This is the stage I had reached.

In a few more minutes my thighs and bum were sweating. Rob had noticed me squirming and remarked that it looked like I has to pee pretty badly. I just blurted out that I literally had to poop so bad that I was having trouble talking! And that if we didn't get back REAL SOON I was in danger of doing a big messy number two in my pants. Rob started to drive faster and momentarily the urge eased up. I was really feeling panicky. I hadn't pooped my pants since kindergarten when I was too shy to ask the teacher if I could leave the room.

Somehow we made it into the hotel parking lot with my panties unsoiled, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Rob had been somewhat amused with my predicament, and I was more than a little irritated that I had to tell him not to joke about it because I knew that if I even giggled it was all over except for the laundry problem. Several times my anus had puckered and I thought "this is it." But each time I had squeezed really hard and kept every- thing in. But as I got out of the car and stood up, I heard a lot of gurgling inside and things shifting down and I was hit by the worst spasm yet. I did everything I could to fight it, but as it passed, felt just a little bit of poop between my cheeks. I told myself, somewhat irrationally, that I hadn't really pooped my pants yet because the poop wasn't in my panties. I walked very carefully to the door of the hotel where Rob had the door open and we headed for the stairs.

Unfortunately, there was no elevator and we had to go up three flights of stairs to get to our room. Every step I ascended was a fight for control. At the top of the first flight of stairs I was forced to pause to fight off another spasm. I started up the second flight, Rob waiting for me at the top (some help he was). Part way up another spasm struck, and I felt my sphincter being forced open no matter how hard I tried to resist. I regained control, but not before a some soft poop had made its stubborn way into my panties. I consoled myself that I had only pooped myself a little! My major load was still inside.

I made it up the rest of the stairs and into the room as Rob held the door open for me. He closed the door behind me and I relaxed as I realized that, although I'd pooped my panties a bit, I could still use the toilet and not make a REAL mess. I guess I relaxed too soon! For, just as the door closed behind me, the mother of all cramps hit and my poor sphincter muscle, tired out from such a long effort, just let go. A massive wave of soft poop, becoming quite runny at the end filled my panties to overflowing. It ran down my thighs inside my jeans and some even ran over my shoes and onto the floor. Thank god Italian hotels have tile floors.

That was Jane's story. I hope it wasn't too long or boring. I got a little carried away writing it up. Actually, the story not only was fictionalized a bit, but embellished too. You'll just have to live with it.