The time I soiled myself on a first date

We all have that story about a bad date, but then there are really really really bad dates that we would wipe from our memories if we could. This is one of those stories.

Ok let’s start with this, I never thought Kelly would say yes when I asked her out. She was an absolute stunner, working part-time as a bargirl while she studied at university. She worked at the bar where I was working as security. I was 21, she was 19. A mutual friend suggested that we had things in common and pushed us together, so I asked her out to dinner. To my utter amazement, she said yes.

This would have to be a special date, so I booked a restaurant that a romantic but frugal friend had recommended. I picked her up from her apartment and she looked stunning: brown hair tied up in a bun, a black dress over a body that could stop traffic. We chatted really comfortably on the drive to the restaurant, and I even surprised myself that I could be witty with her even though I was ridiculously nervous.

At dinner, she ordered the fish, and I ordered the seafood risotto. We shared jokes and talked as if we had known each other for years. For dessert, we both opted for the cheesecake. This date was going better than I ever could have planned, but then it happened.

My stomach started churning and initially, I thought I must have been nervous again. You know, I was thinking “should I try to kiss her?” and “what if she pulls away?”. But soon it was apparent that I needed to go to the bathroom, I excused myself and found the gents. The second I sat down on the toilet a flood of diarrhea left my rectum, it sounded as if someone had turned a fire hose on the toilet. Eventually, the liquid poo was depleted, and I felt well enough to go back to my date.

Upon returning to the table she said, “Are you ok?” I replied, “Yes, better than ok now”. We finished up at dinner and left the restaurant. In the middle of my hometown, there is a big hill that looks out over the city and ocean, a romantic location so I thought that might be a great place to go to round out the evening. We drove up there and stood out on the lookout. Whilst there, she put her arms around me, I looked at her and we kissed.

At that point in my life, I was not that experienced with women. I had been with a couple of women, but this one was different. Beautiful, smart, funny, and wow what an amazing kisser. I thought this might be a good point to head back to her place.

Walking back to the car, however, my stomach started to churn again. It made a very audible gurgling sound, Kelly laughed and said, “Sounds like you didn’t get enough dessert”. I laughed but also could feel my entire body begin to sweat. As we started to drive, my heart began racing and I was beginning to panic. Whatever was inside of me, wanted out, it was not waiting. There was an instant where I thought about stopping at a public restroom, but as I approached, I saw it was closed.

The pain in my stomach made me almost double over. Kelly, unaware at this point, kept asking me questions but I’d respond with only single-word answers. I was trying to concentrate on keeping my sphincter closed. The universe conspiring against me delivered every red light on my journey. The pressure would build inside and then dissipate briefly before returning. I felt my breathing getting harder as I tried to hold back the brown wave I knew was not far away. Eventually, realizing that something was amiss, Kelly asked, “Are you alright?” to which I responded, “My guts are just a bit upset”. She then started to inquire “Do you think it was the seafood? Or…” but I abruptly cut her off “I don’t know, I am just going to need to shit very soon!”

I regretted barking at her immediately, for two reasons: firstly, because I really liked her and didn’t want to be rude to her, but secondly and even more importantly was that it meant that at that moment the car fell silent and there was nothing to cover the sound that came next. It was a muffled but still audible gurgle that was accompanied by the foulest, most repugnant odor known to man. I felt the warm sensation as some liquid ran into my trousers and felt any shred of dignity leaving my body. I wound down my window in the hopes that the smell would dissipate but it did not.

We arrived at Kelly’s apartment two minutes later, she could not open her door soon enough. There was no invite to come inside, there was no request for a second date. Instead, she looked back at me with the combined look of disgust and pity, her only words were “see you around”. She was gone in an instant. My reputation and trousers were ruined by the same tsunami of poo. When I got home I removed my trousers and underwear before going inside, putting them directly in the rubbish bin.

A few weeks later, the restaurant was hit with a slew of health violations after several other people had contracted various forms of food poisoning. I was not one of the people that had complained, I felt it important to minimize the number of people I told and figured I would just save the story to share with a psychologist in years to come.

A credit to her character though, Kelly never told a soul what had happened that night. When our mutual friend enquired as to why we hadn’t gotten together, Kelly merely said, “He’s just not my type”. What I would decode from that message is that she was not into grown men that shit themselves on a first date.