Tag Archives: fart

An Epic Battle

4 Sep

When people mention great battles that have been fought through the history of time, there are a few that immediately spring to mind; David and Goliath, Gettysburg, Waterloo and Stalingrad to name but a few. However, there is one battle that leaps straight to the forefront of my mind; a battle that lasted almost an hour and a half and that left one man a worn, tearful but eventual hero. A battle that defines courage and guts; that shows what one man can do if he is determined enough. The battle I’m talking about is my mate Ashley versus his bowels, when he fought for 90 minutes to avoid shitting his own pants.

It was a Saturday afternoon and my brother, cousin, Ashley and I were playing football on the green outside the front of my house. I think I must have been about 14 at the time. We had two goals set up and were playing 2 on 2, using a very small football. Every now and again, I’d run across to the front window and peer through at the TV so I could check the latest football scores, which would disrupt the flow of the game. We also had to stop whenever a car went passed as we had a tendency to be a bit wayward with our shots. However, these small pauses in the afternoon’s fun were nothing compared to the waiting around we had to do when Ashley’s battle began.

As I ran towards goal with the ball, I saw Ashley approaching me, defending his goal. As I neared him, I thought about an early shot, but decided that I’d try and take it passed him before slotting the ball into the goal. I was a couple of yards from him, when without warning, and quite hastily, Ashley dropped to the floor and lay face down on the grass. He was stretched out, but he crossed his ankles and I could see that he was clenching hard. Despite witnessing him fall down, I scored my goal and celebrated before we all gathered round him and peered down.

“What are you doing?”asked my brother. “You could have saved that”.

‘Bllllllaaaaaapp-a-flap-flap-flap-a-bbblaaap-flap-flap’

Ashley responded with one of the wettest farts I have ever heard. His hands quickly went from being flat out on the grass above his head, to cupping his bum cheeks. We all burst into laughter, apart from Ashley.

“Oh God, I really need a shit”
“Go to the toilet then”, I said.
“I won’t make it”, Ashley whimpered, his face still sunk into the grass.

‘Blllllaaaarrmmm-bup-bup-bup-blaaaapp-flap-a-flap’

Once again, Ashley let out a wet, meaty fart.

“That must have been more than just air that came out”, I joked, but Ashley didn’t laugh, he stayed where he was and let out a silent groan.

For the next ten minutes we just stood over Ashley, trying to make him go to the toilet, but he remained on the grass. Eventually, he made an effort to move, and slowly but surely, he got into a crouched position. As we egged him on, it looked like he’d finally got the beating of his bowels, but then he let rip with an almighty air biscuit that threatened the safety of all of our nostrils. He collapsed to the grass again and rolled back onto his stomach at a rather impressive rate.

“What the fuck are you doing?” we asked.
“It won’t come out if I’m like this. If I move I’m going to shit myself”. By now Ashley was beginning to panic. My cousin probably didn’t help his composure at all;
“Well it looks like you’ve got two options. Shit yourself now, or stay here all night and shit yourself in your sleep”.

Again, we all chuckled. How nice it was watching someone struggle to hold in an ever-nearing poo, I was so glad it wasn’t me.

As the battle went on, Ashley got braver. He nearly made it to a standing position quite a few times, but on each occasion, he’d fart loudly before collapsing to the floor again as if he’d been shot by a sniper. The game of football had been ended, and we were all sat down, chatting idly, occasionally stopping to go silent and watch Ashley’s efforts to make it the very short distance to my house, and then laughing as he guffed and fell down again. After about an hour, his face was purple, and he had made an imprint in the ground from where he’d been laying for so long. Still he fought the urge to soil himself. Bored, we started chanting, trying to help spur him on,

‘ASHLEY, ASHLEY, ASHLEY’ we sang in unison, but it was no use, he was still unable to make many movements.
Just when we were thinking of going in to get something to eat and leaving Ashley where he was, he spoke. His face turned to look at us,

“Get me a large stick”
“A stick?”
“Yes, and hurry”

For some reason, none of us asked questions despite being intrigued, and we went to a nearby tree to find a stick. Peering back at Ashley, I saw that he was still in the same position. I wonder what people looking from their houses must have thought he was up to. My thoughts were interrupted,

“Found one!” said my cousin.

We went back to Ashley and handed him the stick. It was about a metre long and five centimeters in diameter. Ashley rolled over onto his back and looked up at us.

“This is it; I’m going to make it now” he said, as if giving himself motivation. Still, none of us knew what he was up to but we watched excitedly, secretly hoping that he’d follow through eventually.
Ashley began to stand up again, and as before, farts flew out of him like he was a deflating whoopee cushion. Rather than collapse to the floor as before though, Ashley poked the stick through his shorts, into his sphincter and waited until he could move again. He was soon in a standing position, with the stick still held firmly in place and we were all in hysterics at what we were witnessing.

We watched as a determined Ashley waddled ever so slowly across the road and through my front door, punctuating his walk with farts that reverberated off of the stick. He was calm though, and taking his time, using the stick as a safety barrier. He had to stop every couple of paces and regain composure, but after an almighty struggle, he had made it into the house and to the toilet.
We cheered as the front door closed behind him, our eyes filled with tears of laughter. What we saw that day will never leave me; it was a true display of courage and determination. It was the talk of our group of friends for the next couple of weeks, and the stick was kept as a sort of souvenir – it rest on the green as a reminder of the event.

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Bum is the answer…

8 Jul

Like many of my childhood stories, this one happened in the Summer Holidays. I’m not sure what it is about them that meant that as kids we felt compelled to get up to mischief. Perhaps it was the sense of adventure we felt, spending all day in the park and woods, with no other cares in the world.

 

My brother, cousin, our friend Ash and I were all heading up to the woods. It was the norm for us to bare our backsides at passing cars as we walked along the roads and today was no different. Quite what the drivers and passengers of the vehicles that we flashed our pale white arses at thought of us is anyone’s guess, but I doubt many were impressed. Ash in particular was having a ball, taking the opportunity to be a real daredevil and keep his bum exposed for as long as possible.

 

The road on the hill leading up to the entrance of the woods we were going to was (and still is) very steep, so our jovial antics ceased whilst we walked the mile or so up it, mainly because we were too knackered to run away should a car stop. We walked in single file, deliberately trying to trip one another up; when from behind us we heard a car coming. We stepped off the road and onto a grass verge so that the car could pass easier, but the car didn’t pass, it slowed right down and then came to a complete stop a few metres ahead of us.

 

We were all thinking the same thing. Was this some disgruntled driver that we had exposed ourselves to that had come to tell us off? We carried on walking, heads bowed, in silence.

 

“Excuse me boys, I’m looking for the Plough pub. Do you know where it is?”

 

Phew! I felt relief at the fact that we weren’t going to get a bollocking. I looked at the driver, it was a middle aged gentlemen. Being the oldest I stepped forward to respond. I knew exactly where the pub was, it was only a few hundred yards up the road and on the right hand side. I was about to open my mouth when Ash sprung forward in front of me.

 

In one swift motion, he dropped his shorts and pants, bent forwards so that his crumpled ring piece was facing the driver, and pulled his bum cheeks apart. They were spread quite impressively.

 

“THERE’S YOUR ANSWER”, he bellowed, his beaming face looking at the driver from between his legs. The rest of us were already at full pelt, running for the sanctity of the woods. Trying to run whilst you’re pissing yourself laughing is a very hard thing to do, but when running uphill, it’s even more complex.

 

My brother, cousin and I made it to a small path just off from the road and waited for Ashley. We were all in hysterics, in awe of what we’d just witnessed. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably closer to a minute, Ash arrived; out of breath, but in good spirits, waiting to receive our plaudits.

 

“What did he say?”asked my cousin.

 

“Nothing. He just sat there and looked a bit shaken” said Ash.

 

We lingered where we were for another five minutes, hoping the car would drive pass, but it never did. After a while, we braved venturing out and we walked the rest of the way to the woods. I’m not sure what the driver did, I can only assume he turned back on himself. One thing I often wonder though is what the fuck were we doing? I do miss those times.

Damn the Dark

7 Jul

It had been a great night. Alcohol had been consumed in vast quantities, cigarettes had been smoked in abundance, and rug had been cut on the dance floor. ‘What would really top this night off’, I thought to myself, my drunk thoughts tripping over themselves, ‘would be a shag. A sweaty, lust-filled, over-in-minutes, shag’.

 

Fortunately, I had made it to the relative safety of my home with two girls, Nancy and Lisa, who I had been with all night as part of a large group of friends. Unfortunately, they were only with me as they had travelled from Cardiff (I live in Bucks) and they needed somewhere to crash for the night, and they had made it perfectly clear that they were up for no naughtiness (especially with me). We’d been sat around on sofas in my front room for half an hour or so, the girls wrapped up in duvets whilst I ate a greasy kebab (fnarr!); and all the while I was trying to charm the two Welsh ladies into bed but they were having none of it.

 

They were both tired, and had started to sober up slightly so my chances of a quick fumble with either girl had all but vanished. Then talk turned to ghost stories. Lisa started off with a story about her local church being haunted and that she’d actually seen a ghost there. Nancy got scared by this, and pulled up her duvet around her neck.

 

“Please don’t talk about ghosts”, she said quietly, “I won’t be able to sleep, especially in the dark”.

 

Lisa and I laughed and carried on regardless, talking about various clips and stories we’d seen on the internet. As we went on, I could see Nancy literally start shaking with fear, her eyes filling up with tears.

 

“Guys, seriously, I’ll need the lights on now otherwise I won’t be able to sleep on my own” she said, pleadingly.

 

My drunken brain hatched a plan. I’d cut the electric, plunging the house into darkness, and Nancy would have to have someone in bed with her. That someone would be me. I excused myself and went to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the circuit breaker. Everything went dark; lights went out, the TV went off and the kettle stopped boiling. The only thing that broke the tranquility of the dark was the screams emanating from the front room. Nancy and Lisa were shrieking.

 

“It’s ok, it’s just a power cut”, I shouted as I returned, feeling along the walls to aid me. “Happens all the time round here”, I lied. 

 

Lisa and Nancy lay side by side on the King size bed, with me on the outside next to Lisa, wearing just my underwear. Nancy had point-blankly refused to sleep in the room I had provided and Lisa was also too scared to be left alone. The dark has a habit of playing tricks with people’s minds, it amplifies the vulnerability of situations, and this had played to my advantage. All the talk of ghosts, and now the ‘power cut’ had scared the girls quite splendidly, and they wanted me around to ‘protect them’. As we lay in pitch black darkness, the only sounds I could hear was the soft breathing of the girls, and the clock ticking on my wall. I didn’t know if either Lisa or Nancy were awake, the conversation had died out 20 or so minutes earlier, but I did know that I was horny.

 

Their sweet, fruity perfume tickled my nostrils as I inhaled, and in moments my gristle truncheon was standing proud as I thought of undressing each girl slowly and having my wicked way with them. I tucked my bobbing member under the elastic of my boxers, keeping it flat against me so that Lisa would not bump into it. I would not have minded if she did, but I didn’t want her to think I was some sort of sexual pervert. I wanted to play it cool. I lay silently for what must have been about 10 minutes, fighting the urge to start kissing Lisa on the small of her back. I wanted her to roll over and feel my erection and get turned on, getting carried away with the situation, so we could hump like animals throughout the night.

 

‘Nancy would join in’, I thought. ‘Yeah, she definitely would. First she’d play with herself and then she’d join in’. We would wake in a sticky, sweaty mess, holding each other, and start all over again.

 

Then I farted.

 

It was a loud, reverberating fart, that if I hadn’t been in the company of two females, I would have been proud of. I would have laughed at it. It was a kebab-backed, deep, meaty fart; a hearty *pop*, like a shotgun. My guts twisted and churned and I placed my hands on my stomach as if to hold any further anal explosions in. Luckily, Nancy and Lisa didn’t say anything; their breathing remained constant – I hadn’t been heard.

 

My bowels felt like they were rolling over in my belly, as my sphincter clenched tightly. ‘Dodgy kebab’ I muttered and I got up out of bed to feel my way to the toilet. As it was a cold night, I reached down for my dressing gown, dressed and crept slowly and silently out of the bedroom, being careful not to stride too far in fear of fecal matter seeping from my anus. The relief as I sat on the porcelain throne was instant. Vile smelling, sticky fluid poured from my back passage, hitting the water with a great force causing splash-back. It tickled slightly. The stench was putrid. Once I was sure I was empty, I wiped and went back the bedroom, where the girls were still asleep, whimpering quietly to myself. The next thing I knew, it was morning. I had fallen asleep and missed my chance.

 

I woke to glorious sunlight seeping through the curtains. Nancy and Lisa were still in bed, talking about the night before.

 

“Morning ladies, fancy a cuppa? I should be able to find the emergency backup switch now there’s some light”.

 

Nancy wanted tea, Lisa an orange juice, so I felt down to the floor for my dressing gown. As I picked it up I span my legs out of the bed and onto the floor, and then lifted the dressing gown to cover my morning wood. With my back to the girls, I slipped it on.

 

“Erm, why are you wearing my dressing gown?” Lisa asked.

 

I looked at what I was wearing. A pink fluffy dressing gown. I looked over at the door and there hung my BHS blue dressing gown. I turned to look at Lisa and her face dropped –

 

“What the f*** is that on my dressing gown?” she shouted, pointing at me accusingly.

 

Dry, crusty poo clung to the dressing gown like a limpet. The splash-back had been powerful.

Letterbox Surprise

30 Nov

At the same time as we rediscovered our love of pulling moonies, we had another weird activity that would amuse us on a daily basis. It was literally getting ones bum out to fart. We found that when a backside was fully exposed, the pitch and tone of a fart would improve significantly, and so for a couple of months, every time someone needed to fart, they would drop their trousers before doing so.

One night a few of us were walking innocently through the town when Dan exclaimed that he needed to break wind. We immediately stopped in our tracks and watched as Dan dropped the back of his trousers and boxer shorts and then let rip with a fantastic fart that echoed splendidly. He then pulled his trousers back up and we ambled on, laughing like school children at his antics. We stopped in the town centre where we sat on a bench, chatting idly.

We hadn’t been sat down long when we saw a rather irate man approaching us, cursing under his breath. We didn’t have time to run, and anyway, we weren’t entirely sure if he was angry at us or not, so we stayed put. The man stood in front of us, and looked rather disgruntled. “Lads”, he began, “I got up to a bit of mischief when I was young. It was good fun, I admit, but trying to shit through someone’s letterbox is where I would have drawn the line”.

Trying not to burst out laughing at the risk of upsetting him more, I managed to speak up. “Sorry”, was the only thing I could think of; the image of Dan attempting to curl a turd out of his rear end and through a letterbox was at the forefront of my mind and I knew that if I had have carried on speaking, I would have broke into laughter.

“Just don’t do it again”, said the angry man, before he turned and left us, dumbfounded and confused, but with a possible idea for a future prank.

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