My Diary 01 - The Outside Lavatory

My Diary 1 -- The Outside Lavatory by Emily Harrison

It'd been some weeks since Father White had relocated to his new Parish in the north of the country, a hard few weeks as I had become very fond of my elderly friend. So much so, that quite a few tears had been shed after his departure. We had remained in phone and email contact however and he was happy, which made me very happy too, I wanted nothing but good things for my lovely friend.

But life goes on. I'm only 18 and once my University degree course starts in a few months, my mind will be concentrating on academia, and attaining my degree. Until then, and after my experiences with Father White, I needed to get out there and explore.

A quick recap on who I am. My name is Emily Harrison, as I say, I'm 18, I have shoulder-length brown hair, I'm slim, athletic, 5ft 2 inches tall and regarded as pretty, although that's for others to say. Still a virgin, and happy about that. I'm not one who would jump into bed with the first person who asks as if it needed no more thought than choosing whether to get a medium or family-sized pizza. I'm quietly proud that I'm still a virgin.

Now being a virgin doesn't mean to say that I'll be waiting till Mr Right appears before any 'physical contact' takes place. Father White was the first man to have access to my body, but we only went so far. I'd rather like my first 'full' relationship, to be with the man who will be my eventual husband, although I don't intend that to be for many years to come. I know, I know, that all sounds pretty old fashioned, but to a certain degree, in some ways, I probably am old fashioned.

I've gradually realised, over my teenage years, that I like the attention that being a teenage girl gives me. I like being looked at in a positive way. I like the fact that my body is attractive to men. Having said that, I'm relatively shy. I am not overtly flirty or 'in your face' sexual in the company of others, I like being the innocent virginal teenager, which is pretty much what I am anyway.

Behind that shy and innocent exterior, however, lies an incredible amount of controlled sexual desire and needs, and that gauge is always at a pretty high level.

Parts of my body need a lot of attention, which it gets, at night and in my bed alone. I know what to touch and when. My mind has a selection of fantasies, like having a DVD collection, and it will choose the one that fits the mood I'm currently in. That then gets played in my mind, with a few tweaks here and there to satisfy my needs at that moment.

Now as you'll know if you've read my earlier writings, by some quirk of nature I seem to be attracted to older men. And I don't mean a year or two older, I mean older with a capital O. Father White was 72, and if he had been 10 or 20 years older than he was, he would have been equally as attractive and desirable to me. As another girl might look at a 20-year-old boy, and get nice sexy feelings, older men in their 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's etc. do the same for me.

Maybe it's the age difference that thrills me. I like the thought that an older man might think he has no chance, but I very much like being the one who can and might want to give him that chance. Most older men will probably look and dream and masturbate thinking about an 18-year-old girl. Well look at me, and I'm sure I'm not the only one out there either, it can become a reality you know, just keep believing. There are many of us 18-year-olds, just waiting for that nice elderly man to start talking to us.

But then, for me, not every elderly man will fit the bill. I don't like the overly confident, leering, sexually aggressive 'in your face' type. The older man that will attract me and get my juices flowing, will be the shy, fairly quiet, respectful, gentlemanly and reticent to come and talk type.

So I've realised, Father White being a prime example, that for such a man, and to get where I want to be, things might need a little manipulation and help on my part. Steering conversations and situations to where I want them to go. I sound predatory don't I, but I'm really not. I just have desires, and under cover of my innocent virginal persona, I intend to fulfil them.

Anyway, back to what happened after Father White had left.

A new neighbour, Albert, had moved in next door, a sweet old man and helping him move his furniture around had helped take my mind off Father White's departure. The physical effort of taking box after box of his possessions up to his loft had also worn me out, but I didn't mind, he was a sweet old man and he didn't appear to have anyone else to help him. I volunteered to help when I saw him trying to lift all this stuff by himself.

But I needed a rest, and as I sat in my lounge having just helped Albert with another box or two, and trying to decide between a salad and a vegetarian lasagne for lunch, my mobile phone rang. It was my Gran. I so love my Grands.

After a brief chat about what I'd been up to, family stuff etc. Gran invited me to go down and stay with them for a week. I couldn't agree fast enough, I felt I needed a break, to get me out of the flat and get some country air in my lungs.

Gran and Grandad live in an old farmhouse, out in the countryside. No houses or people for miles other than a few close neighbours and a few farms. It was idyllic countryside. No traffic or crowds, no hustle and bustle, everything was slower, calmer and much more relaxed. I didn't need a second to decide, it was just what I needed.

I packed all that was required for a week's visit and was on the train in a matter of hours. A two-hour train journey later, and I was stepping onto the platform of this quiet backwater country railway station, to see Gran and Grandad waving at me from the other side of the ticket barrier.

After lots of hugs and kisses, my suitcase was stored in the boot of Grandads old Morris Minor and I took my seat in the back next to Grandma. A fifteen-mile journey through little country back roads and we were there.

I'd often stayed with Gran and Grandad as I was growing up, and as Grandad turned off the engine and I was out of the car, wonderful memories of my childhood came flooding back. I was suddenly a kid again. The barn where I'd clamber about in the hay, the little duck pond where Grandad and I would watch the ducklings swimming about following their mum, the apple tree I fell out of and broke my collarbone when I was 6. It was an idyllic childhood and even now that I was 18, I couldn't wait to get my old clothes on and explore again.

Gran helped me up to my old room with my suitcase, everything seemed smaller than I remembered, but apart from that, my bedroom was no different. A single bed, a wardrobe, dressing table and mirror, a bedside unit and my old rocking chair, complete with two of my old teddy bears. Nothing had changed.

It'd only been 3 years since my last stay over, but I had so missed this.

My Grands cottage was pretty small but incredibly cosy. It consisted, on the ground floor, of the lounge, Grandads study, the kitchen and dining room. Up the creaky stairs and there was my Grands bedroom, the bathroom, my room and an old box room where Gran would sketch and paint.

After a lovely supper and a long catch up sprawling on the sofa, alternating cuddles between Gran and Grandad, I was exhausted. The day had been a long one.

"I'm going to have a bath if that's ok, Gran, then I'll get to bed."

"Of course darling, but don't use all the hot water," it was a standing joke from way back when one night I'd filled the tub up to the brim and almost flooded the bathroom as I stepped in. We all three got the joke and smiled, even my Grandad who by now had his head buried in the local newspaper.

My Grands bathroom was very basic but warm and cosy, and as I lay back in the tub, my mind reflected on the past few months. It had been lovely, I wasn't a child anymore, I was enjoying being a young adult.

After a lovely soak, I had a pee, cleaned my teeth, got into my 'sensible' nightie and went to bed. I always sleep well when I stay at my Grands and that night was no exception. Whether It's the country air, Gran's great home cooking or just the relaxed pace of everything, or maybe a combination of all three.

I opened my eyes in the morning to birds tweeting and the sunlight of a new day bursting through the curtains.

I ambled downstairs still yawning at about 8.30 am. Gran was at the cooker frying some eggs and bacon and Grandad was sat at the kitchen table reading his newly delivered mail.

"What time do you call this sleepyhead, we were just about to send a search party out to find you." My Grandad was always the witty one.

I gave them both a kiss and sat at the table as I tried to wake up.

It was bright, sunny and warm outside already, the back door was open wide letting the smell of the cooking out and the fresh morning country air in. Thomas, their old ginger tomcat came and plonked himself on my lap as I sipped on my first cup of tea of the day.

As Gran made the rounds placing breakfasts in front of each of us, I eased Thomas off my lap who ambled out into the fields to start his mouse hunting quest for the day.

My Grans breakfasts always hit the spot; she'd remembered I was a veggie, so a fry up of potatoes, beans, eggs, mushrooms and toast, all washed down with another cup of piping hot tea. I was stuffed.

"Once I'm washed and dressed," I said, "I'm going to have a wander, I might go up to the farms and see the lambs and maybe down to the river."

I loved this part of the world, I'd spent many glorious weeks just roaming free in summer school vacations, exploring, climbing trees, or listening to Grandads stories of fairies and elves that lived in the big oak trees and magical woods.

After getting dressed, grey shorts, red scooped neck sleeveless vest, ankle socks and my white trainers, I got together a few things I might need on my adventures. Sandwiches, a bottle of water, my mobile phone, binoculars, tissues, sunglasses etc. and after a hug from my Gran, Grandad was already working on his next letter to the newspaper in his study, I was off.

Thomas tracked me until his old legs couldn't go any further; the sun was wonderfully warming but bright, so out came the sunnies. Heading up to old Mr Pearson's farm to look at the lambs, brought back lovely memories of playing around here as a child. Nothing seemed to have changed. As I got closer I could hear the newborn lambs bleating in the clear otherwise still air. It was early summer, so they must be late arrivals.

As I got nearer, there was Mr Pearson, looking older than I remember; well yes he wouldn't have looked younger, would he? He waved as I got nearer.

"Emily, wow hello there and what brings you this way?" I was surprised by his cheery welcome and his warmth, if I remember correctly, the last time I saw him he was glowering at me as I scrumped some apples from his big old apple tree.

"Hello Mister Pearson, lovely to see you, I'm visiting my Grands, thought I'd have a wander up to see the lambs"

"My and look at you, all grown up and a proper beauty too."

Compliments always make me blush, and you can't hide a blush.

We had a chat about University coming up and what's been happening with me, about the farm and the new arrivals. It was lovely to see new life and everything looking so idyllic, this is the England I love. Everything seemed so clean and fresh, even the smell of cattle poo gets into your nose but smells so wonderfully natural.

After a hug and a wave, I was off. I thought I'd wander just a bit further along, up a gentle grassy hill which I used to roll down as a child and have a sit-down. It was only about a hundred metres from the farm, which I could still see quite clearly. I laid back to soak up some sun.

There was a very mild balmy breeze which cooled things just enough, I could hear the wheat swaying in the fields below and the sound of the bumblebees buzzing and Corn Buntings twittering away as I lay there. But apart from that, it was relaxingly quiet.

With all that tea back at Grans and all the water I'd been drinking, I needed to pee. And then I felt my stomach gurgle, yikes I needed to poo as well, and right away too. There's no way I'd be able to make it down the hill to do it behind a bush or a tree.

There was no debating it; I needed to go now and fast. I stood up, pulled my shorts and panties off, squatted and released. My hand on my vagina to try and direct my pee outwards, rather than down to my feet, oh my what a relief. My pee jetted out and sparkled as the sun hit it. It seemed to go on for ages, had I really drank that much?

But no sooner had the last few drops dripped out, I felt my bum hole start to open as a big poo pushed its way out. Oh my, what a relief it felt, as I squatted there, the fresh air on my bare bum, as another smaller poo plopped out after the first bigger one. I'm not sure what brought that on, something I ate maybe?

I stayed squatting there, just in case that wasn't the last, but after a minute or two I grabbed some tissues from my rucksack and proceeded to wipe, vagina first, then my bum. My bum needed a few wipes and a few fresh tissues, but as I stood up, bum bare on view to the world, it felt remarkably nice, being partly bare and doing a poo in the open like that.

As I stepped back into my panties and then my shorts, I debated what I should do with my poo. I can't bury it, I didn't have a shovel, and I can't cover it up as the ground was rock hard. No one will know anyway, it'll be ok.

As I closed my rucksack and threw it back over my shoulder, I decided to head just 50 metres away to the stream down below; I used to watch the little freshwater fish darting about there when I was small.

As I reached the stream, crouching into the foliage surrounding it to find a place to sit and watch the fish, out the corner of my eye I saw a movement. It was Mister Pearson and he was heading up to where I'd been not 2 minutes ago.

'Oh no, he's going to see my poo'. I could feel my face instantly blush, all sorts of emotions like a flash hit me. But embarrassment was the big one. I scrabbled into my rucksack for my binoculars and quickly focused in on him as he got nearer. And then he stopped, he was looking down. He was looking at my poo, he was looking at the dirty tissues that had minutes before been wiping my bum. How embarrassing. Then he squatted down, looking at it more intently. Gosh suddenly, from a moment ago being embarrassed, I was now feeling quite strangely excited by this old farmer looking at my poo.

What a strange feeling I was getting, but then he started back to where he came from. I threw my binoculars back in my rucksack and after a while looking at the fish in the stream and exploring further, I headed off back in the direction of my Grands.

All the way back I was thinking about old Mr Pearson and what he'd seen. So he must have seen my bottom half naked, did he see me doing my poo too? Did he see it coming out?

After half an hour I was back at my Grands, it was now late afternoon, Gran was in the kitchen, Grandad was sitting in the lounge and with him was an elderly gentleman who looked vaguely familiar.

"This isn't little Emily is it?" And with that, he got up from his chair and hugged me.

It suddenly dawned on me who it was; it was Grandads old friend Colonel Morrison. I hadn't seen him since I was about 10, but I now recalled the military moustache, the rosy cheeks and slicked down hair. My memories of Colonel Morrison were always positive, he was always very friendly and fun, I remember us going fishing in the ponds and him helping me out of a tree when I got stuck up there when climbing it. How wonderful to see him again.

I sat down with them as Gran brought in the tea. We chatted about the past for ages. He stayed for supper, it was such a lovely evening and I had almost forgotten about Mister Pearson and my poo.

After supper we all sat in the garden, chatting and just having a nice relaxing time in the warmth of the summer evening. As it got later, Colonel Morrison, or Harold as he now asked me to call him, got up to leave. We did however agree all four of us, to go up to Meredale Knoll, a lovely area several miles away, from where you could see right across the county. Tomorrow was Sunday; the Colonel was busy on Monday, so we agreed to go up on Tuesday.

Once the Colonel had left, I went up for a much-needed bath. A day out in the fields, that long walk and in such gloriously warm weather, well I was grubby and sweaty. I needed a bath.

As I soaked, my mind was thinking about all sorts of things. I was getting nice tingly feelings thinking about Mister Pearson seeing me poo, by him looking so intently at what had come out of my bum. Is that normal? I'd never thought about that before but as I lay there, I was going through the whole thing again in my mind.

Would I want to see a man poo? Umm probably yes, but the thought of a man watching me pee or poo, well now that really was getting me strangely excited.

That night, under my bedcovers and trying to keep as quiet as possible, I enjoyed masturbating myself, thinking about what had happened.

Sunday morning and getting into the smartest of clothes I had brought with me, Gran and Grandad were regular churchgoers, so I decided to join them. Fortunately, I'd brought with me one summer frock, nice and thin but dressy enough for church, and that's what I was now in.

My Grands local church is only a few miles away, but too far to walk for them on such a warm summer's morning, so we climbed into Grandads car and within 5 minutes we were there.

It was nice seeing some familiar faces from the village and surrounding farms. Mrs Green, who ran the local village shop and her husband, and is that Mr Wright whose gooseberries I used to pinch whenever I walked past his garden,? Gosh, he looks a lot older. There was the Colonel, I must try and remember to call him Harold, and oh no, there was Mister Pearson and he's coming over.

"Hello, Emily, lovely to see you again."

What did he mean by that? After all, he'd just a couple of days ago seen my bare bum squatting doing a poo. Yes, he had indeed seen me, I thought.

"Lovely seeing you again too Mister Pearson," I said as I settled my bum on the pew next to Gran and Grandad.

It was a nice service, a relatively new Vicar from what Gran was saying, but the service went well, even if it was stiflingly hot inside the church.

It was a relief to get outside once it was over. Standing outside, chatting to a few people who came up to say hello, the Colonel came over and joined in. Gran called over that they were ready to go, but to be honest another minute in that small car in such warm weather didn't seem too attractive, so I said I'd walk back. The Colonel, ever the gentleman, offered to escort me, which was lovely. I called over to Gran and she waved back, saying they'd see me later then.

And with that, after a few more hellos to a few more familiar faces, me and the Colonel, sorry Harold, started on our way back to my Grands.

It was lovely chatting with Harold as we walked, his walking stick, more for show than use, reinforcing that military bearing he had. He looked every inch the ex-military man. As we walked he asked what I'd been up to the past few days, he knew I'd been out walking lots as he was at my Grands when I got back from my first day out. I told him about the places I'd already been and where I'd fancy going later in the week.

Now I'm not sure exactly why I did, but I also started telling him about the other day and my needing a poo and being seen by Mister Pearson.

Maybe I needed to tell someone, maybe it felt exciting telling him, which it did actually. I went through the whole story, he laughed a few times, but at various points, he said 'Lucky Pearson!' What did he mean by that, I was thinking.