Poop Fiction

Afterword

When I was growing up, one of my favorite TV shows was the sketch comedy show "You Can't Do That On Television" and the reason was the green slime. I remember feeling all tingly inside as I watched the actors getting showered in the thick, chunky substance whenever they said the words "I don't know."

I didn't realize it at the time, but it kind of turned me on!

Naturally, I set things up to get slimed by friends—it was just wholesome, messy fun. We got it on video, but this was way before Youtube, and I'm not even sure I'd be able to play the tape if I found it.

But there was something about the nature of the green slime itself that I found grotesque, yet fascinating. Its recipe changed over the seasons, and especially in the later episodes of the show, they got it down to a very mushy, lumpy consistency.

There's no other way to say it... it reminded me of poop.

I just couldn't get the thought out of my head. I was in middle school at the time, and I'm sure you can relate to doing dumb, weird stuff when you were that age, too.

My parents had gone away for an entire week on vacation, giving me full run of the house. I'm pretty much a nudist by this point too, not yet having had the courage to break this taboo in front of friends, but quite comfortable in my birthday suit when my parents are out.

So, with them gone for a whole week I'm looking forward to a different sort of thrill.

For a few days I pooped in a bucket that I kept covered in the shed outside.

Then, I mixed it with water and gave it a really good stir. It was difficult to get it to break up at first. But once it did, it became a smooth paste full of stubborn little lumps.

This time, I didn't invite any friends over—I knew that green slime was good fun and all, but this stunt would only make me seem certifiably insane.

I stood in a part of the backyard where the neighbors probably couldn't see anything, and hoisted the bucket above my head. After many tense moments of wondering whether it was maybe a really bad idea, I just thought "to hell with it" and hoisted the bucket up over my head—and slowly spilled the contents out all over my own face. It spread through my hair like a disgusting shampoo, and then proceeded to make an absolute mess out of the rest of me.

It certainly didn't smell pleasant—it was super duper gross. But the smell wasn't actually all that overwhelming. This, I'd later learn, is because your body recognizes the smell of your own poop. If it had been someone else's, I would have probably lost my lunch...

But honestly, it felt exactly like getting green slimed. If it hadn't been for that terrible smell, it honestly would have been alright.

But unfortunately, the lingering stench is real—it caught up to me the next day. A few of my relatives had invited me to go to KFC with them, and I couldn't really say no.

Yeah... of course they commented on the smell.

Fortunately, it's a rural area, so they attributed it to farmers spreading manure on their fields. A far more logical assumption than imagining that I'd given myself a brown shower the previous day, right?

Anyways, the smell did wear off by the time my parents got home on Monday—or at least they didn't mention it. And neither did anyone at school. I never did that again, because the whole experience isn't really worth isolating yourself for a few days. And I wouldn't recommend it, because there is an awful lot of bad bacteria in that stuff. And the heat treatment process described in this story is what you might call a bit of science fiction.

Just make some cake mix and oatmeal slime, color it brown, you'll get the exact same experience.

Moving along in the story here, several years later I find myself visiting an intentional community. It's an eco-village where they believe in reusing as much as possible.

Including, as it would turn out, their poop. They pooped into buckets exactly like the one I pooped into, but they took it and dumped it into a special composting pile—not all over their heads, obviously.

Most of the other visitors passed on the opportunity to haul a bucket down to the pile and get the experience of dumping it onto the heap.

Not me, though. I couldn't resist the idea of getting so close to so much of that gross, smelly stuff.

And listen, you might think all of this makes me a coprophiliac, but I really don't believe that I am. Seriously! Because when I got right up next to that massive brown mound, I just about threw up. The gag reflex totally kicked in. The simple act of emptying that bucket took some serious willpower.

I probably wouldn't actually enjoy getting covered in it. I certainly don't take pleasure in seeing poop in the wild, or watching others poop, and the few fetish videos I've seen in this category are simply much too dark for my tastes.

For me, it's only sexy if it's sanitized and delivered in a style that's more slapstick than outright degrading.

That's why I am writing this story, because it's something I really wanted to read. I simply haven't really seen anyone else write anything similar. If this story reminds you of another one you've read, please do share. And if you feel inspired to write something similar, I support you 100%.

The story isn't finished yet, by the way. Let me know what you think should happen next in the comments!