I was taking this long hike through the backcountry in Yellowstone N.P. With about two miles to go before I got back to the campground, I felt the pressure of a big number two coming on. I couldn’t just drop trou then and there because I was with about 7 other people who I had only known for a short period of time.
Anyway, I do my best to walk/waddle the last two miles (thank God it was mainly downhill). And I’m eyeballing the outhouse in the campground like a starving dog lusting after a T-bone steak. It’s about all I can to to keep my ass cheeks together as I make my way to the toilet. Note that this isn’t exactly an outhouse, it’s what’s referred to as a vault toilet. A vault toilet is essentially a big concrete box beneath a toilet seat wherein every bit of nastiness you can imagine (the shit, piss, puke, ooze from bursting pustules, etc.) mingles and ferments for pretty much the whole year (these things are generally pumped out only once after the end of the main visitor season which was probably about a month hence). We were staying in a fairly popular campground so it’s a safe bet that the various discharges from thousands and thousands of other people were all seething beneath me as I lowered my butt onto the seat.
With the power of an anti-tank gun, I let loose and I’m fairly sure that the force of my excrement exiting my body would have been enough to clear the left field fence at Wrigley from home plate. There was a brief fraction of a second when I felt true and utter satisfaction at having relieved myself so thoroughly. Alas, my peaceful relaxation was shattered by the horrific sensation of the backsplash. The cesspool in which I just sent my load was a good 10 feet below the seat. I’m sure neither I nor the engineers who designed this vault toilet ever imagined a backsplash approaching the magnitude of the one I created.
Nonetheless, there I was–ass stinging from the liquid hell from countless previous campers. There was not enough toilet paper on the planet to alleviate that disgusting feeling. Having never felt so dirty, in the literal sense, I took off all my clothes except for the boxer shorts I was wearing and headed straight for the small creek that ran through the campground. There I proceded to sit in cold, flowing water and rub my ass and butthole until the awful sensation stopped. As God is my witness I will never use a vault toilet again.