Most embarrassing, uncomfortable moment in your life…let’s hear it

[Lumberg]

once...in bandcamp....

no seriously I was in Spanish class once and my foot kind of slipped against the steel leg of the chair, causing a farting sound. everyone laughed, and I loudly protested that it was my sneaker. as people calmed down a bit I was like here...I'll prove it. and I rubbed my sneaker against the chair and....nothing. I guess it was just a freak occurence.

not as bad as the kid we called "Ben Dover" for three years, but it was pretty funny at the time....for everyone else. even the teacher was laughing at me.

 

[ChefWide]

I was in London some decades back for a theatre/literature trip with my high school. So, being 17 years old, my two partners in crime and I went to the local public house and tried to get served, no go. But the barkeep did sell us 6 bottles of barley wine and a bottle of Tanq. gin, which we hammered 'tween the three of us.

Next morning, hung over to the point of brain death, and late for the bus that was due to take us to Oxford to chill with the Archbishop, we stopped at the cafeteria for breakfast.

Runny eggs, fatty fatty sausages, very hot, very strong coffee, inhaled. A quick cigarette on the run to the coach (bus) and off we were on our day trip. Hung over, fatty greasy food, hot coffee, cigarette. Recipe for failure.

The bus was filled with mostly girls from my high school lit class, my main reason for going. Then my stomach started to cramp.

To my horror, no bathroom on the bus, as there would be on a Greyhound or similar in the states. Within 15 minutes my cramps had progressed into a battle of epic proportion: every fiber of my being was concentrated like a laser on keeping my anus shut. I was sweating, knowing that there was a tsunami-like wall of Brown Tide desperate to gain it's freedom. I started to lose my peripheral vision, my hearing was almost gone, all I could hear was the sound of a runaway freight train.

I staggered to the front of the bus to rasp out a plea to the driver to pull over, no can do, as the closest public facilities were a mere 5 minutes down the road, and we would pull over then. I made my way back to my seat, and sat, sweating profusely, unable to breath.






Then, I sneezed.







The crapping of my pants that followed that next nanosecond was so violent that it filled my underwear completely like high pressure foam insulation. But no mere elastic waistband would hold back the deadly tide of my rhea. It shot up the small of my back and I had to slap my hand on the back of my belt line to prevent it from traveling up to my neck. The useless attempt to damn the flow only succeeded in sending it racing around to the front of my underwear where it totally enveloped my cocknballs like an ancient insect suspended in amber.


The girl sitting in the seat behind me ignorantly said " Damn, (my name), you farted!"


How wrong she was.

As I regained control of my sphincter, the bus had pulled over at the public rest area. I grabbed my jacket tied it around my waist and was out the door of the bus in under five seconds, leaving my friends, most of them, oblivious to the fact that I had done anything other than fart a cubic meter of dioxin cloud.

I made my way to back side of the small, brown building to where the entrance to the men's room was, and the last 10-15 feet between me and door was muddy and and puddled with water. "I just shit my fucking pants, I am not going to trash my fucking shoes." Who knows, you think strangely in times of crisis, so I took off my shoes and socks, and walked through the mud to the door. It was padlocked. The lock was rusted. I wasn't standing ankle deep in mud and water.

I slogged through the piss and shit back to dry land, and decided to use my shirt (I would zip my jacket up to the top later) and socks to clean myself up. I pulled down my pants, a little moist but no major shit stuck to them yet, and then pulled down my underwear just as my friend from the bus rounded the corner with a roll of toilet paper, thinking that there might not be any in the bathroom there.

His view was of me standing with piss and shit up to my ankles, my totally shit covered rack in full view. He walked up, saucer-eyed, handed me the TP silently and walked back to the bus. He was visibly traumatized, and would never again speak to me over the next two years we were in school together.

I used most of the roll, my socks and shirt to try and clean up. Pants on, shoes back on, jacket zipped, I got back on the bus and sat down in front next to the driver, as far from my friends as possible, reeking like the gates of hell.

As soon as we got to oxford, I rented a cheap hotel room, bought all new clothes and shoes, and emerged a new, yet damaged, kid.

 

[biggest_man_in_the_world]

I was in London some decades back for a theatre/literature trip with my high school. So, being 17 years old, my two partners in crime and I went to the local public house and tried to get served, no go. But the barkeep did sell us 6 bottles of barley wine and a bottle of Tanq. gin, which we hammered 'tween the three of us.

Next morning, hung over to the point of brain death, and late for the bus that was due to take us to Oxford to chill with the Archbishop, we stopped at the cafeteria for breakfast.

Runny eggs, fatty fatty sausages, very hot, very strong coffee, inhaled. A quick cigarette on the run to the coach (bus) and off we were on our day trip. Hung over, fatty greasy food, hot coffee, cigarette. Recipe for failure.

The bus was filled with mostly girls from my high school lit class, my main reason for going. Then my stomach started to cramp.

To my horror, no bathroom on the bus, as there would be on a Greyhound or similar in the states. Within 15 minutes my cramps had progressed into a battle of epic proportion: every fiber of my being was concentrated like a laser on keeping my anus shut. I was sweating, knowing that there was a tsunami-like wall of Brown Tide desperate to gain it's freedom. I started to lose my peripheral vision, my hearing was almost gone, all I could hear was the sound of a runaway freight train.

I staggered to the front of the bus to rasp out a plea to the driver to pull over, no can do, as the closest public facilities were a mere 5 minutes down the road, and we would pull over then. I made my way back to my seat, and sat, sweating profusely, unable to breath.






Then, I sneezed.







The crapping of my pants that followed that next nanosecond was so violent that it filled my underwear completely like high pressure foam insulation. But no mere elastic waistband would hold back the deadly tide of my rhea. It shot up the small of my back and I had to slap my hand on the back of my belt line to prevent it from traveling up to my neck. The useless attempt to damn the flow only succeeded in sending it racing around to the front of my underwear where it totally enveloped my cocknballs like an ancient insect suspended in amber.


The girl sitting in the seat behind me ignorantly said " Damn, (my name), you farted!"


How wrong she was.

As I regained control of my sphincter, the bus had pulled over at the public rest area. I grabbed my jacket tied it around my waist and was out the door of the bus in under five seconds, leaving my friends, most of them, oblivious to the fact that I had done anything other than fart a cubic meter of dioxin cloud.

I made my way to back side of the small, brown building to where the entrance to the men's room was, and the last 10-15 feet between me and door was muddy and and puddled with water. "I just shit my fucking pants, I am not going to trash my fucking shoes." Who knows, you think strangely in times of crisis, so I took off my shoes and socks, and walked through the mud to the door. It was padlocked. The lock was rusted. I wasn't standing ankle deep in mud and water.

I slogged through the piss and shit back to dry land, and decided to use my shirt (I would zip my jacket up to the top later) and socks to clean myself up. I pulled down my pants, a little moist but no major shit stuck to them yet, and then pulled down my underwear just as my friend from the bus rounded the corner with a roll of toilet paper, thinking that there might not be any in the bathroom there.

His view was of me standing with piss and shit up to my ankles, my totally shit covered rack in full view. He walked up, saucer-eyed, handed me the TP silently and walked back to the bus. He was visibly traumatized, and would never again speak to me over the next two years we were in school together.

I used most of the roll, my socks and shirt to try and clean up. Pants on, shoes back on, jacket zipped, I got back on the bus and sat down in front next to the driver, as far from my friends as possible, reeking like the gates of hell.

As soon as we got to oxford, I rented a cheap hotel room, bought all new clothes and shoes, and emerged a new, yet damaged, kid.

 

[buddy28]

I've got a few and most revolve around G.

 

[boscoe wilson]

Biggest man, your story definately takes the cake. I think you handled the situation much better than I could have. I think I probably would have sat down in the piss and shit and started crying and freaking out. Way to come through.

 

[SofaGeorge]

I was in London some decades back for a theatre/literature trip with my high school. So, being 17 years old, my two partners in crime and I went to the local public house and tried to get served, no go. But the barkeep did sell us 6 bottles of barley wine and a bottle of Tanq. gin, which we hammered 'tween the three of us.

Next morning, hung over to the point of brain death, and late for the bus that was due to take us to Oxford to chill with the Archbishop, we stopped at the cafeteria for breakfast.

Runny eggs, fatty fatty sausages, very hot, very strong coffee, inhaled. A quick cigarette on the run to the coach (bus) and off we were on our day trip. Hung over, fatty greasy food, hot coffee, cigarette. Recipe for failure.

The bus was filled with mostly girls from my high school lit class, my main reason for going. Then my stomach started to cramp.

To my horror, no bathroom on the bus, as there would be on a Greyhound or similar in the states. Within 15 minutes my cramps had progressed into a battle of epic proportion: every fiber of my being was concentrated like a laser on keeping my anus shut. I was sweating, knowing that there was a tsunami-like wall of Brown Tide desperate to gain it's freedom. I started to lose my peripheral vision, my hearing was almost gone, all I could hear was the sound of a runaway freight train.

I staggered to the front of the bus to rasp out a plea to the driver to pull over, no can do, as the closest public facilities were a mere 5 minutes down the road, and we would pull over then. I made my way back to my seat, and sat, sweating profusely, unable to breath.






Then, I sneezed.







The crapping of my pants that followed that next nanosecond was so violent that it filled my underwear completely like high pressure foam insulation. But no mere elastic waistband would hold back the deadly tide of my rhea. It shot up the small of my back and I had to slap my hand on the back of my belt line to prevent it from traveling up to my neck. The useless attempt to damn the flow only succeeded in sending it racing around to the front of my underwear where it totally enveloped my cocknballs like an ancient insect suspended in amber.


The girl sitting in the seat behind me ignorantly said " Damn, (my name), you farted!"


How wrong she was.

As I regained control of my sphincter, the bus had pulled over at the public rest area. I grabbed my jacket tied it around my waist and was out the door of the bus in under five seconds, leaving my friends, most of them, oblivious to the fact that I had done anything other than fart a cubic meter of dioxin cloud.

I made my way to back side of the small, brown building to where the entrance to the men's room was, and the last 10-15 feet between me and door was muddy and and puddled with water. "I just shit my fucking pants, I am not going to trash my fucking shoes." Who knows, you think strangely in times of crisis, so I took off my shoes and socks, and walked through the mud to the door. It was padlocked. The lock was rusted. I wasn't standing ankle deep in mud and water.

I slogged through the piss and shit back to dry land, and decided to use my shirt (I would zip my jacket up to the top later) and socks to clean myself up. I pulled down my pants, a little moist but no major shit stuck to them yet, and then pulled down my underwear just as my friend from the bus rounded the corner with a roll of toilet paper, thinking that there might not be any in the bathroom there.

His view was of me standing with piss and shit up to my ankles, my totally shit covered rack in full view. He walked up, saucer-eyed, handed me the TP silently and walked back to the bus. He was visibly traumatized, and would never again speak to me over the next two years we were in school together.

I used most of the roll, my socks and shirt to try and clean up. Pants on, shoes back on, jacket zipped, I got back on the bus and sat down in front next to the driver, as far from my friends as possible, reeking like the gates of hell.

As soon as we got to oxford, I rented a cheap hotel room, bought all new clothes and shoes, and emerged a new, yet damaged, kid.

Exceptionally well written.

 

[bdog527]

LOL at chefwide. Great story man.

 

[IhateOsama]

When I realized neverbuffchick was really a fat, bald, hairy 50 year old man named anabolicmd and was not a hot 20 year old nympho who liked to give cyber bj's while you stuck a kong dildo up her ass no questions asked. Let's just say I'm still taking cold showers to clean the dirtiness off of my body.

 

[calveless wonder]

In 6th grade baseball i was in left field and we were practicing defense.

So the coach hits the ball to left center and i wave off the center fielder saying i got it. All of a sudden the sun shines in my eye and i turn my head and glove slightly and it hits me right above the eye and knocks me unconcious. i ended up with a concussion and my entire team was dying in laughter


Another event was after prom....
I had killed a fifth of Remy Martin and was so wasted that my friend bet me 10 dollars i wouldnt get naked and jump in the pool in front of everyone (including my date and all the girls). So every single girl was outside, i stripped down danced around for a minute like an idiot and finally jumped in the pool.
Little did i know one of the girls had a video camera, and on top of that i had MAJOR shrinkage going on.
I think everyone watched that tape

 

[boscoe wilson]

Biggest man, your story definately takes the cake. I think you handled the situation much better than I could have. I think I probably would have sat down in the piss and shit and started crying and freaking out. Way to come through.

Sorry Chef, I'm an idiot. I was looking at the wrong post.