I've shit myself at least once a year, every year I've been alive.
When I was an infant, this was normal, in fact, this was normal until around age 7, when I began to master my bodily functions. With those under control, I learned to enjoy dominating a shit, something I still enjoy to this day.
But regardless of my gastro-intestinal mastery, I have shit my pants at least once a year, every year. Sometimes more. Now don't get me wrong, it's been a long time since I allowed a full-size shit to leave my ass while clothed. In the past decade, all of my pants-shittery has been in the form of the deceptive and dangerous "shart" (tried to fart, shit). Sometimes it's related to illness, and when that happens, I don't feel as bad about it, because we've all been too sick to control our bodily functions, and when those sharts happen, I'm ususally at home, and it's easy to deal with. The sharts that plague me so are the confidence sharts. I call them confidence sharts because they happen when you're feeling your most confident, that is, nothing can stop you and you've got things to do and we're all going to a party and let me just fart real quick and FUCK I SHIT MYSELF. These sharts are the worst because they usually occur miles away from a place where you can deal with it privately. Luckily for me, these sharts have only happened to me: a) with my friends, whom I inform immediately and we all get a good chuckle, or, b) when I'm by myself, usually still miles from home or a private bathroom, but still less horrifying than doing it in front of say, a girl and/or her parents. I've had the decent fortune of being able to deal with these sharts fairly easily for the most part, save for having to drive home with a pair of less-than clean boxers in my trunk and my zipper chafing my sack.
Allow me to share some of the more memorable pants-shittings of my adult life:
-March 2002: I was at boarding school. At boarding school, illnesses often effect entire dorm wings at once, due to the close quarters. My wing, like many others that month, had been suffering from something we called "the black tongue", a very nasty stomach bug that would make you vomit up everything, even the water you tried to drink, and after about 12 hours you would continuously vomit up your own stomach juices, which have the side effect of turning your tongue black on top. Anyway, after being restricted to my room for about 3 days, I was allowed to go back to classes, sports, etc. This news was given to me the morning after I had first been able to eat, around 8am. Upon hearing this news (about which I was quite happy) I happily went back to my room, took a leisurely shower, put on my snazziest dress-code clothing and began to stride confidently out of the dorm to class. About 5 or 6 confident, powerful strides past the nurses office, I stopped, raised up my left leg like I was Capitan Morgan, leaned forward and let out what I thought would be an amazing and satisfying fart. Smooth move, Ex-Lax. As I half-stepped back, to my room trying not to let the shit make contact with anything other than my boxers, I swore I would never again fall victim to the confidence shart. However, my asshole would fool me again...
-June 2006: I was riding high here, literally. I had been sharing a couple grams of coke with some friends at a bar. For once, the coke-fueled antics began early in the evening, so by 10pm, with a full bag of blow in my pocket and about half a gram lining my sinuses, I was in full-on rage mode. By about 10:30, we decided it was time to leave the bar for another bar, where there were girls to be had (and we wanted to get while the getting was good), so we finished our drinks, did a couple key-bumps in the bathroom and stormed out the door like the 4 horsemen of the highpocalypse. My buddy's car was parked out back of the bar, so, in my coked-out state, I decided to beat my friends there and began running out the door, around the corner, and down the driveway towards the car. About halfway down the hill, it happened. I was running, I was high as fuck, I was confident, I had to fart....and I shit my pants. Realizing what had just happened, I quickly dropped both layers of pants to the ground, and scuttled to the car with my ass ( and junk for that matter) exposed to the world. Luckily, there was no one in the parking lot. When my friends reached the car, one of them was awesome enough to run back into the bar and grab "about a million napkins" (my words, apparently). I cleaned myself off, and thanks to my quick trou-dropping, didn't have to remove my underwear. And after all that, I still got laid that night.*
-March 30th 2008: This one caught me seriously off guard. I was driving around, taking care of some errands before work, and I happened to drive by a Wendy's. I love Wendy's, and I wanted to try the new Spicy Baconator (awesome, by the way). So I ordered my food, pulled a park'n'eat, and began to pull out of the plaza. Confident in the work I had done that day, I leaned over and....shit. I wasn't sure right away if I had, in fact shit myself, or if it was a hot fart trapped in my butt cheeks. After finding a secluded corner of a Stop'n'Shop parking lot, I discovered I had, in fact, shit my pants. However, I had used my glove-box napkin stash to eat my delicious burger, so I was forced, pants choked with poo, to walk into and through the Stop'n'Shop, ask twice where the bathroom was, wait for a kid and his dad to vacate the bathroom, and then finally clean myself up and leave (without my boxers, which I deemed unsalvagable) and drive home commando style. Not the worst shart of my life, but certainly the most difficult to deal with.
The thing that sucks the most is I know it's gonna be at least 50 more years before shitting my pants is acceptable again.
"May your life be long, and May your farts be shit-less."- Benjamin Franklin
* that particular night continued in a most interesting way. after cleaning myself off, we went to another bar where there were girls waiting for us. one of them came home with me. on the drive home, she vomited in my car. we still had sex. the next morning, she paid 60 dollars for a high-end car wash (interior and exterior). what a night.