Originally Posted by
Adrian69702016
I've posted it elsewhere but this is my most memorable fart experience.
Many years ago my Aunt Anne happened to be visiting and one Sunday morning I came home to find her sitting, talking in the kitchen with my mother and grandmother. After a while my Aunt Anne broke wind and at first I thought that's all it was. However, she carried on doing smelly farts and I soon realised that she needed a poo and badly. I was too polite to say anything about it and so were the others present. As time passed by she was farting nineteen to the dozen whilst
remaining as cool as a cucumber from the waist upwards. The smell and noises coming from under her skirt were powerful to say the least. Oh boy, she was really a smelly girl! Luckily it was more the 'stewed veg' variety than the 'rotten egg' one.
This carried on for about half an hour and just as I thought Aunt Anne was about to poo herself she got up, said "Excuse me," and hurried to the outside toilet which, luckily for her, wasn't too far away. As luck would have it, Aunt Anne managed to get to the loo in time and, barely making it, narrowly avoided an accident.
Whilst she was out there my grandmother ventured the opinion that Aunt Anne didn't 'go' as often as she should, a view with which my mother agreed and which was understandable at the time, whether or not it was strictly correct or not.
I remember Anne returning and washing her hands at the kitchen sink, a little less thoroughly than I'd have thought the situation demanded, as there was no washbasin in the then outside loo. That loo did have a powerful flush which would effortlessly removed all evidence of her visit. Although I never saw the results I'm quite confident that she would have done a panful, not least of all because I have perfectly just suspicion that she'd not 'done anything' on the #2 front for a good two or three days. I also know that she would have dined well at the house where she was staying. At least she made plenty of room for her Sunday lunch that day!
Subsequently I've often wondered what it would have been like if she'd left it a moment too long and messed herself. It was certainly a close run thing though and I don't think she was far off having an accident. Another thirty seconds would, I’m sure, have made a big difference. It was the closest I've known a woman get to pooing herself whithout actually doing it. I loved Aunt Anne very dearly though and this story is in no way a criticism of her.
This experience did have some consequences though. It left me with a slightly specialist interest in women called Anne or Ann needing to go to the loo. I know it's not logical but the idea formed in my mind that holding until desperate was a very 'Anne' thing to do.