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Chocolate Cream Pie

Pooped at the Park

By MadsPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
Chocolate Cream Pie
Photo by Ekaterina Tishkina on Unsplash

One day, when I was on the precipice of womanhood, but a wee lamb flowering into lady-dom, circa 2010, I crapped myself in a public park on a hiking trail.

Let's rewind a bit. It was a normal day for my 13-year-old self, except that when I had gone to school my stomach hurt quite a bit. I wanted to go to school despite the twisted gut situation because I was working on a 4-H project and I thought would definitely win some sort of dope prize for it. So yeah, suffering through would be totally worth it.

I got dressed in my green, collared 4-H top and my favorite khaki cargo capris. They reminded me of Kim Possible and that automatically made me feel cool. I layered about 45 spaghetti bracelets on, parted my long blond hair down the middle, added a stretchy choker for flare, and slipped into my sponge flip-flops before heading out to the van. You could say I was stylin', you know, flexing on the haters and all.

My stomach was in knots so I skipped breakfast, but hung out in the cafeteria chatting with my friends. I made it through a couple classes but my face felt hot and my stomach gargled any time the room was quiet. By lunch time, I considered the idea that maybe I was just hungry. I grabbed a tray of square cut pizza. I asked for sausage instead of cheese with a huge smile. The cafeteria lady grumbled a bit but obliged.

After being seated with my friend group, I scarfed down my food with actual ferocity. I felt okay and talked with friends until the bell rang.

Only a few more classes to go.


Oh, lord. My guts were freaking rolling like boiling water. My anus quivered and sweat pooled on my upper lip. Definitely should NOT have had lunch.

I started singing the chorus from that 3OH3! song in my head every time I felt a fart coming on. Don't trust a ho, never trust a ho!

I went into the bathroom and there were like five girls in there. I couldn't crap my guts out in front of other teens! I could never live that sh*t down. Literally.

So, I squeezed my cheeks like I was doing a butt-kegel and prayed that God would spare me until 3:15 when I could get home.

After school, I waddled to the car line where my mom was waiting to pick me up. We picked up my siblings too and started home. By this time the need to crap was coming in waves like freaking labor. I would be fine and then all of the sudden I would have a contraction and go into agony and terror, praying that my butthole wouldn't dilate.

Along the way mom decided to tell us the wonderful surprise that we were going to stop and play at the park before going home. I thought, that's not so bad, they have a private bathroom there where no one can hear me LITERALLY EXPLODE.

Once we arrived, my sister, who is six years younger, decided to walk the trail to the bathroom with me. I read the map and flexed my cheeks so hard that I had to take small steps forward. Anything more than 12 inches of separation between my ankles and I was going to let out a reverse Old Faithful.

After about ten minutes, I realized I had read the park map wrong and we need to go back the other direction. By this time, the waves of pain in my stomach were reducing me to an agonized ball of sweat and fear every two minutes and they were getting closer and closer.

Chloe, I made a mistake, we need to go back the other direction.

No, I want to go this way.

Chloe, I am serious, we need to go NOW.

No, I don't want to! Haha!

Chloe takes off running further down the trail. Further in the wrong direction. I consider abandoning her. I consider dropping my fabulous khakis and taking a shite right there in the woods.


I consider abandoning her a second time.

Remembers all the horror stories of little kids getting stolen in the park and sold into sex trafficking after being abused and molested by their captors.


I ran after her, desperate to grab her arm, her shirt, anything that I could. I knew I couldn't just pick her up because the force it would take would surely cause my to lose the clinch in my cheeks that was separating me from utter social ruin.

After an anguished attempt of leaping toward her while keeping total control of my sphincter muscle, I was able to use the hem of her shirt to drag her along with me.

I was shaking. I was covered in sweat. I was feverish with concern. I was almost to the mouth of the trail, I could see the bathroom in the distance. I was longing for it. I was crapping.

It was like someone else was crapping my khakis. My soul left my body only to return to a hot question mark in my britches. What the???

I had a freaking hot load of crap in my pants and I had to waddle, ashamedly, to the van and tell my mother what had happened. She freaking laughed at me! Even worse, she made me kneel in the front seat, my butt facing the windshield, and cling to the head-rest with folded arms. She called my siblings to the van. They kept whining about having to leave, not knowing what had occurred. Mom kept laughing.

After a few miles of kneeling in shame and shite in the front seat, we made it to our house. I turned and waddled in, willing to poo to stay in my underwear and not run down my leg; tearful, embarrassed, sweaty.

As I waddle toward the front door, my brother gets sight of the stain in my Kim Possible khakis. So the drama.

He yells out "chocolate cream pie" and proceeded to absolutely freaking die of laughter.

I had to trash the khakis but I won the prize in 4-H; you win some, you lose some.


About the Creator


Human. Woman. Wife. Mother. Graduate. Teacher. Writer. All the things.

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