So one day I was in class. Everything was dark, except for the blackboard, which was lit up by the projector. The teacher was mumbling his words and stuff. The class itself doesn’t really matter; the point is that I was in the back, as usual, and I was bored out of my mind, everything was pretty normal, and I was taking notes, but all of a sudden I felt a brutal cramp shoot through my stomach. How can I put it? It was as if a rock were pressing hard against my stomach. It caught me so off guard that I let out a small, choked gasp and bent forward slightly, my forehead just a few centimeters from touching the desk. Naturally, I wrapped both arms around my stomach, and what I felt was out of this world. I could feel my stomach twisting and growling through the thick layer of my skin and clothes, as if I were inside my own stomach. I don’t think I’d ever felt anything like that before, honestly. My stomach was burning alive.
Continuing the story, as I writhed in pain, something began to move in my intestines, something very heavy and in enormous quantities. That thing descended through my stomach at a truly terrifying speed until I felt it settle in the lowest part of my stomach, at my sphincter. I felt a horrible tingling sensation that started in my ass and ended in my stomach. Then I felt the urge to take a shit, but like really bad, the worst urge to take a shit I’d ever felt in my life. At the time, I thought it was a huge log looking for a way out, or maybe a really stale fart that had been longing to escape; I don’t know. I once read somewhere that it was recommended to fart frequently because, otherwise, you ran the risk of your gut exploding. There were people who told stories about feeling as if they were being stabbed in the flesh while trying to hold it in. I never believed that. Usually, you feel the urge to take a shit well in advance of actually doing it, but when I was in the classroom, I must humiliatingly admit that it’s true. The pain was concentrated in the lower left part of my abdomen, and I was fully aware of the reason: it was the shit I was holding in that was causing me such pain. But as much as I would have wanted to let out the most atrocious fart in the middle of class, to fill the room and everyone else with the foul smell and be heard from across college I couldn’t because I knew perfectly well that I was going to shit myself.
To be honest, there’s no real explanation for my reasoning; I just knew it, I suspected it. It’s what they call instinct, a hunch, or a sixth sense: the ability to know things even if you can’t see, hear, smell, or—in this case—feel them. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was feeling, since my body was sending me mixed signals. On the one hand, I wanted to spread my legs wide open to the point where my buttocks would expose my anus and let the foul-smelling storm emerge from it, but on the other hand, if I let even one fart out, all the others would want to come out too. And there aren’t just one, or two, or three, it’s an entire battalion, a completely unpredictable one. If I relax even a little, everyone will witness my putrid insides, and I’ll have to get rid of my light gray pants. That’s why I couldn’t let it go. That’s why I was clenching my buttocks with all my might, tensing my legs to prevent any leakage, and contracting the muscles of my anus to avert catastrophe. At some point, I was straining so hard that I started to shake and with that, to sweat.
I looked up to see what was going on in the rest of the world, far removed from my personal tragedy, and, of course, everything was just the same. I was so far in the back that I don’t think even the professor could see me. I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether that’s good or bad: if I’d had a heart attack, it would have been the end, but if I’d been sitting closer to the front, I would have gotten help—albeit at the cost of embarrassment. I wanted to scream to get attention and get help, but I genuinely didn’t know how to put my words together so I wouldn’t sound like a lunatic. Because really, how do you ask for help in that situation? “Teacher, I think I’m going to poop my pants; I need to go to the bathroom, but if I spread my legs too wide, it’s going to come out.” “Excuse me, my stomach really hurts; I don’t know if I can hold it in, could you pass me the trash can?” If it had been any other day, I would have quietly gotten up and wrecked the bathroom without much fuss, but I swear I couldn’t move or rather, I didn’t want to. People who say the mind is more powerful than the body have never been in my situation, and I hope they never are, because I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
Well, anyway, as I was saying, I couldn’t ask for help, but at the same time I was out of danger. I was debating whether to risk running away while clenching. Have you ever run while clenching your butt cheeks? Because neither have I. I’m not even sure if it’s remotely possible. When, out of nowhere, another cramp hit me, and I say “hit” because I genuinely felt like a car had run me over. I know I’ve said this before, but my stomach had truly never hurt that badly before. On a scale of 1 to 10, it’s going straight to 10 without even passing through the numbers in between. I let out another groan of pain, which I muffled by crouching even lower. I don’t think the Hunchback of Notre Dame could have been more hunched over than I was, and I hugged myself with all my might. After all, that was all I had at that moment. Now, I don’t know if there’s a nicer way to put it, but I wanted to sit down really hard—like, smash my ass against the chair as hard as I could in an attempt to stop the flow of shit and make it go back where it came from. And this time I knew it, I knew perfectly well that I was going to shit myself, that there would be no escape. The longest, grossest, loudest fart would come out of my ass, everyone would turn to look at me and watch in horror as brown liquid overflowed the chair and ended up on the floor, only to be overwhelmed by the stench of death. I knew I couldn’t avoid the inevitable, but I still wanted to fight because I wouldn’t let myself be defeated without putting up a fight first.
And suddenly… nothing. The churning in my stomach just disappeared. Just like that. If I ever told you that my stomach was bloated and about to burst, it was a lie, it was exactly the same as it was before all this. If I ever told you that I was clenching my butt because I was afraid of farting and having liquid come out, that was also a lie. There was nothing pushing against my anus, trying to get out. Nothing. All the pain I’d ever felt vanished abruptly without a trace. I could hear the teacher’s voice again, the faint murmurs of the others, and the sounds of their cell phones. I could smell my classmates again, and even though the room was dark, I could make out everyone’s shape and appearance once more. Everything seemed to have returned to normal. I sat up straight and began to steady my breathing. As I did so, I noticed the beads of sweat on my forehead, I had sweated a lot, way too much. I was so worked up that it felt as if I’d been to a sauna. Then I wanted to go back to pretending to be normal. I leaned back against the seat and, with each exhalation, relaxed my buttocks, which returned to their original state as soft cushions instead of hard rubber balls.
The funny thing was that I’d sweated so much that my butt was really wet. I’m sure you know that’s not the best feeling, so I shifted a little to see if I could ease the unpleasant sensation, but instead I stumbled upon something else. I moved in such a way that, for a moment, my butt cheeks parted and there was something between them. This sensation left me perplexed, but in my denial I wanted to believe it was just the fabric of my boxers, ruined by sweat from my anus. But no, when my butt cheeks came back together, I felt something slimy, like butter, as if someone had smeared my butt cheeks with something creamy. “What could it be?” I thought. But to cut a long story short, I’ll tell you: it was shit. Liquid, abundant shit. I knew it when I felt the foul smell rise to my nose. The strange thing was that, as I mentioned before, everything was fine. The fart I felt was about to escape simply disappeared when my stomach stopped hurting. I don’t know how dazed I was at that moment that I didn’t even feel like I’d farted, or maybe I didn’t fart at all, I just relaxed so much that my sphincter gave way, but even so, I didn’t even feel it come out. I wish I could explain that, but it’s beyond my understanding. But it doesn’t matter. I’d pooped myself in class, and I’d have to deal with that for the rest of the day.
I picked up my cell phone again and texted my roommate to come get me and bring me some new boxers and pants. I was tempted to explain the nature of this request, but I figured it was better to take it to my grave. When class ended, I waited patiently for everyone to leave and walked to the bathroom as normally as possible. I went into a stall, got rid of the evidence, and waited patiently—naked from the waist down—for my roommate to come get me.
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