I was 17 and she was 18. She lived in this big old house and our little trick was I would come over at night when everyone had gone to bed and we would sneak down the basement, shag, and fall asleep. Then, in the morning before everyone woke up, I would put my clothes on, sneak upstairs and ring the doorbell (looking back, our little scheme was pretty transparent), she would let me in, and no one’s the wiser.
Except one morning our scheme backfired. We slept in, and despite her reassurance that this particular weekend her family (parents, 2 sisters, one brother) were all away, we awoke to the sound of footsteps above our head – and before I could react and plan my escape or hide properly, the footsteps started coming down the stairs. With no time to think, I bolt for the nearest door, open it, go inside, shut it quickly behind me. I am in the furnace room. The owner of the footsteps has now reached the basement. They belong to her father. He asks my gf at the time why is she down in the basement. She pretends to be all groggy and tells him that she must have fallen asleep watching a movie.
It is at this moment of stark terror that I feel a sudden and undeniable urge to piss.
I simply must piss. Looking around in the darkness, (where I am quivering, stark-naked, in horror of being caught) I grab the only receptacle I can find. An empty water bottle.
This was no ordinary water bottle. This particular water bottle belonged to her brother, (who could have passed as a body double for Dolph Lundgren) and when he wasn’t pummeling his victims on the ice, he was lifting brick barbells and running up steep hills in the attempt to become more proficient at pummeling his victims. He had heard we were dating, but lived in another city. He went on to play in the NHL for a couple of seasons.
Anyways, so now I’m pissing in his water bottle. As I’m pissing in it, I’m thinking, ‘this guy is a professional athlete who plays hockey pretty much every fucking day. He could very well come down here and find me buck-naked, shivering, after banging his sister with his water bottle filled to the brim with my still-hot piss and kill me on the spot on basic principle. No cop or judge would even begrudge him my murder.’
Now, the bottle is getting more and more full but I’m showing no signs of slowing down. I’m looking around the room for something else to piss into – but can’t find anything, so I just pathetically keep pissing and the piss is spilling over the edges of the bottle and onto the floor, creating a small pisspond around my bare feet. This saddens me greatly. But even more alarmingly, while this is going on I notice with much horror, that I suddenly have to take a shit. There is no fighting it. I simply must shit.
As the reality of the situation is setting in, I can hear more voices outside the flimsy particle board door and still more footsteps above my head. The entire family is at home. I am a cornered animal.
So I am clinging to some sort of a ledge with a bunch of paintcans on it, standing on my tippie-toes in the attempt to clench my ass-cheeks together in order to prevent a shit from shooting out from between them. But it’s too late. You see while I was pissing, a little tiny turd head had already made it through the gates. It was impossible to hold in. I frantically reached into her brother’s hockey bag, grabbed a t-shirt still wet with sweat – and I took a shit in it.
Now I am standing in a small pool of piss next to a water-bottle full of piss with a turd in a t-shirt belonging to a person who could easily kill me with his bare hands. The room stinks of shit and urine. There is nowhere to hide. Slowly, a sad sense of surrender comes over me, like must happen to some death-row inmates. I am at peace with my fate. For I truly must die.
Suddenly, the door swings open. It is my gf. I am thanking the sweet baby Jesus in heaven as she tells me everyone is gone and that I’m safe.
She says ‘That was scary eh?’ I say to her: ‘I took a shit.’ She says ‘I know! So scary, we were lucky.’ I say to ‘No, sweety, I took a shit. I shit in a t-shirt. And I pissed in that water bottle and on the ground there a bit.’
Like The Wolf in Pulp Fiction, she sprang into action. She went and grabbed a garbage bag, dumped the piss and gave me a mop.
Nary a word was spoken that day. And never was a word spoken of this ever again. That is my nearly-busted having sex story.
Entry filed under: Funny.