Mountain of a Mess Pt. 01

What had started out as a fun hiking trip had quickly turned into a disaster. When we set out for Gallow Mountain, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we'd planned a whole weekend around the trip. We packed up the car and set out on our road trip, excited to hike, climb, explore, and relax.

Blake stopped and doubled over, his hands on his knees. He groaned audibly and let his head hang down.

"Not much longer, babe. Come on," I urged him, and stepped closer. A woman with an iPod and headphones stopped to look out over the nearby vantage point, so I took advantage of the quiet moment. "You can make it," I reassured him. "We're almost back at the parking lot."

"Yeah," Blake groaned, finally looking back up at me. "We're almost there."

Unfortunately for Blake, something we had eaten along the way was not agreeing with him; and, of course, it had to kick in mid-hike. Normally it wouldn't be a problem if nature calls out in the middle of the woods. However, Gallow Mountain wasn't at all what we had been expecting. Rather than a peaceful hike through the woods, it was a crowded, commercialized walk along a mountain face, swarming with tourists every couple of feet. It had kicked in around thirty minutes ago at the longest part of the hike, so we had simply picked up the pace and he had done amazing at holding it so far. However, he was rapidly losing his composure.

Blake had no idea I was into it. I'd never told him-hell, I'd never told anyone-that I had a thing for desperation, scat, whatever you wanted to call it. Did I feel bad for him? Absolutely. Was I also insanely turned on? Hell yeah I was.

We got back to walking, but I let him choose the pace. It was a fairly normal walking speed for me, but I could tell he was struggling between trying to rush and trying to hold in impending disaster. Once again, he groaned to himself, but kept walking. A couple passed by us, holding hands and laughing, and once they were passed, Blake stopped yet again. He leaned his back against the mountain side and reached behind himself, suddenly clutching at his backside.

"Eden," he started, trying to find the right words, "please, please, keep walking."

"But—"

"No buts, please..." He looked down at the ground and, just for a moment, looked on the verge of tears. "Please, I seriously can't hold it anymore," he told me, running one hand through his hair. "I'm going to have to go here. Keep walking."

"Absolutely not," I replied. "There are people everywhere, especially children. You could get arrested."

As if on cue, a woman with a dog and a child passed us, only two feet away on the narrow trail. Blake groaned again and buried his face in his hands.

"Come on," he said, "let's keep going." No sooner had he said that when his embarrassment worsened: he let out one long, loud, very wet-sounding fart. Blake froze in his tracks.

"Are you okay?" I asked, immediately turning to face him. Both our cheeks burned: his from embarrassment, mine from arousal. Again, he clutched one hand to his ass.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm good..." he murmured. "Let's keep walking." He stepped ahead of me this time, picking up the pace. I watched him intently, my eyes fixated on his ass. Damn, his body was perfect. He had once been built so athletically, and now, nearing the end of his 30s, his muscles and tight frame had relaxed a bit and left him looking absolutely faultless in my eyes...especially his ass. I'd stared at it a thousand times, but this time, I was so, so close to possibly seeing those tight khaki cargos getting ruined.

"Fuck," he growled as he farted again. "Don't walk behind me."

"It's too narrow not to," I said, and continued pacing behind him. A group of three guys sidled past us along the edge, but Blake didn't slow down. He let one slip again, this one as loud and wet sounding as the first. He clutched one hand back over his ass, pressing it firmly between his cheeks.

"Fuck, fuck." Though he said it quietly, I heard him nonetheless. When he pulled his hand away, the smallest, slightest, most barely noticeable dark patch had formed on the seat of his pants.

"You good?" I asked while attempting to keep my voice composed. Before he could say anything back, he farted again, this one sounding alarmingly messy. He clasped his hand over his ass before I could even glance to see if any damage was done.

"No," he answered finally, "no, I'm not good." There was a small alcove in the rocks in the mountain face, and he took that opportunity to step away from the trail. "Eden, I don't know what to do."

"Baby, it's okay." In vain, I tried to make him feel better. It was not okay. As much as it was absolutely driving me wild to see him this way, I did feel bad for him. He looked so vulnerable, so miserable, so ashamed.

"It's not okay, I..." his voice trailed off. "Some came out already and I can't hold it."

"Huh?" I said, feigning ignorance. He was looking at the ground, not me.

"Look, I shit myself, okay? Just a little but I can't hold it any more. I'm so, so fucking sorry you have to put up with this."

"Put up with it? Blake, I'm not putting up with anything, it's no big deal, really."

"I feel like a kid! Having an accident in my pants like a damn child."

God, I bit my lip. There was no time to reply, barely any time to even process that remark. There was a wet squelch—this one not as loud as the other farts. This wasn't a fart, this was the sound of Blake beginning to lose complete control of himself. It was a wet, sudden crackling noise accompanied by his eyes widening. He pressed his hand to his ass even harder, as if to stop the filthy mess from coming out.

"Do you want me to be as embarrassed as you are?" I suddenly blurted out. I was barely thinking about what I was saying, or the consequences that might ensue. I was so fucking turned on, but I couldn't bear to see him look so upset.

"What?" Blake looked alarmed, and it crossed my mind for a moment that he might have thought I was offering to do the same thing.

"I'll tell you something. It's something ridiculously embarrassing, and I never in a million years would have ever thought I'd tell you."

"Eden, please, I just—"

"I'm really, seriously turned on by this," I told him, lowering my voice and inching closer to him so no one else would hear. My cheeks burned—the truth was out at last.

"Huh?" The surprise that washed over his face almost entirely removed the look of shame.

"Yeah," I confessed. "It's a thing of mine. There. Now we can both be embarrassed."

"What? But I—" he cut his own words short with a loud fart. He grimaced and the look of embarrassment returned. What I just said was out of his mind already. "I can't hold it, I have to go."

"Then just go," I urged. He looked at me with raised eyebrows, and I could see him trying to grasp what I had previously told him combined with me telling him to shit himself. "You might as well just get it out in one go rather than struggling the rest of the walk."

"There are people around, they're going to see."

"No they're not," I assured him, and unzipped my hoodie. "Here, just tie it around your waist."

"No, no! You're going to get cold."

"Well if someone," I raised my eyebrows in a teasing way, "had worn his like I told him to, we wouldn't have to use mine."

"Baby..."

"Go ahead, no one's coming right now."

"Christ..." Blake murmured, looking around apprehensively. Once more he looked back at me, his face a strange mixture of confusion, shame, and relief. I nodded as if to validate what he was about to do.

Blake bent over slightly, bending his knees and resting his palms on his upper thighs. He allowed his body to relax, and within moments, he let out another disgustingly wet fart, and it was obvious what was happening as a torrent of soft, mushy diarrhea spilled out of him. "Oh, fuck..." he whispered, closing his eyes. The smell was atrocious; so bad, in fact, that anyone passing by him would immediately know what had happened. Another loud, wet squirt slipped out as he released his own filth into his pants. I remained inches away from him, holding my breath, waiting to see if he was done. He didn't open his eyes again. Another faint, wet, crackling noise, barely audible, signaled that he was not done, and the way that he shifted indicated he was running out of room. After a long, quiet moment, he nodded his head and looked back up at me.

"Are you done?" I asked, offering the hoodie to him.

"No," he said sheepishly. "My stomach's still fucked up, but I can hold it now."

"Okay, good," I told him, though he wasn't making eye contact with me. "We'll get you cleaned up at the hotel."

"Your car..." he began, and I knew what he was thinking.

"It's fine. You can sit on the emergency blanket, it's not a big deal," I assured him with a smile, and we kept walking. A sign on the right read "PARKING LOT: 1/6 MILE."

____________

"So..." Blake began, "do you want to talk about what you told me?"

"What did I tell you?"

"You know good and well what I'm talking about."

We were stopped at a red light, Blake sitting on my emergency Red Cross blanket, and the windows were rolled down. When I glanced over at him, he looked back to his usual old self: his mischievous grin was back as he leaned against the arm rest and studied my reaction.

"Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," I replied with a laugh. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it really, really hadn't been. Maybe my confession made him feel less embarrassed, but Blake shitting himself mid-hike would have simply become an amusing secret between the two of us. What I told him? I'd never live that down. That would always be embarrassing.

"Mmmhmm, sure you don't," he teased. "You got any other kinks I don't know about?"

"No!" I snapped immediately, more defensively than I intended.

"I do," he said with a grin, settling back against his seat. My ears pricked up.

"You do?"

"Uh-huh."

"You gonna tell me?" I pried.

"Maybe," he started, "but I feel a little plain now, you know? Here I thought my fetish was so bad and dirty, and then—"

"Blake!" I interrupted. "I told you because I was trying to make you feel better. I never would have told you if we hadn't been in a situation where—"

"Mine's bad too!"

"It can't be that bad. What is it?"

"Maybe I'll tell you later. Right now I gotta process this one," he grinned. "I'd never have guessed you'd have a shit fetish. You're a pretty little doll and you like shit?" he pressed, looking over at me. His eyes were practically shining. "What do you like about it?"

"We don't have to talk about this, really."

"Want me to describe how it felt?"

"No!"

"It felt kind of good, really."

I rolled my eyes. I could tell he was trying to get under my skin.

"Once you told me to just do it and I started letting it come out, that actually felt kinda good."

"Blake, it's—you don't have to..."

"No, I'm being serious. It was hard not to piss myself, too, because I was getting so relaxed."

I clutched at the steering wheel, desperately trying not to show how aroused I was.

"Would you be into that, too?" he asked.

"Into what?"

"If I pissed on you. Or you pissed on me. Either works, really."

"Look, we're here!" I dodged the subject as we pulled into the hotel parking lot. Blake laughed and dragged one hand across his jaw.

"I'm going to get you to talk about it sooner or later." We clambered out of the vehicle. I slammed my door harder than I intended behind me. I was already unimaginably wet; all I wanted was to get back to the hotel room. When I looked over at Blake, he was finishing tying the hoodie back around his waist. He caught me looking and grinned. I shook my head and he bit his lip, winking at me. It would be a long walk back to the room. It would be worth it.

________________________________

The best thing about this first chapter? This one was a true story!