Doing Your Business with Mother Nature

There are places along popular hiking trails that over time have become a place to relieve oneself. Not too far off the trail, no briars or poison ivy and the like. Here, I would like to ask you to share your adventures of going to the bathroom, naughty moments shared with a friend or doing it solo.

My example sounds *out there* but it happened. We have a cemetery in our small town that has a few 1920's style mausoleums built by monied families. One or two of them can be gotten into, by slipping behind shrubbery and squeezing through a bent metal door. Once inside, the nave is lit by three colored glass windows and has two iron tables along the walls and three wide chairs. On the window sills about chest high were vases and various nick-knacks from other generations. There are eleven souls that call this place home, and three empty crypts. Along the fourth wall is a staircase that leads upwards to a heavy glass and iron-worked door and an open gate outside the door. One can see one of the tables and the back of a chair and beautiful light from the stained glass windows.

It looked regal from the cemetery road but the service door, long blocked by trees and shrubs was forgotten - except by photographers and adventurous kids. This place fell out mind, then remembered again and again. I can only guess at what transpired in that underground room over the decades.

If you've read this far, you can imagine what you'd do or fantasize a scene, perhaps set an infrared trail camera and document what goes on in such a quiet and solemn place. There are many such places, small rooms in large houses, abandoned house trailers where you could do your business wherever you liked and leave the mess for others to perhaps find and inflame their imaginations.

I apologize for the long (and boring) intro, and I shall include mine and my girlfriends introduction to bathroom play. I hope you all will do the same.

I've relieved myself (#1 and #2) many times in the woods, had sex in the woods twice before becoming incontinent.

It's not a big deal with me. When Mother Nature calls, she calls.

Actually, I’d have to say outdoor peeing was a lot more manageable in the big city than in a teensy rural town like I’m in now. Back in Seattle I could use a few discretionary places where a modicum of privacy was (more or less) guaranteed; and I had decent luck chancing it in some random spots. No cops or prudish types around….but I did, almost, soon after my discharge from a two-week hospital stay. They’d pumped so much water into me—dehydration was one of my problems—and while waiting at a bus stop I had the sudden and uncontrollable need to go, relieving myself behind some thick shrubbery and a sign…..when a cop car came up the same intersection, just twenty yards to the right of me—perfectly parallel! I felt so lucky nothing came of it after I quickly turned.

But moving back to a really small rural town, the luck isn’t so good. A couple months after relocating to northeast Colorado, I spent copious amounts of time in the town’s only library…..being on the ‘net was the only way of keeping up with anything resembling culture or with my various social contacts thereon. By this time my type-II diabetes was running rampant, and I was pissing like mad. Library restrooms being fixed—and in fact, the whole men’s restroom being rebuilt—I made a couple of emergency dashes out of the library and to the nearest bush in back….I ran toward the west part of the building, since it was the one area I’d be the least visible. But it being December and no leaves to be found, zilch, nada. Unable to hold it in any longer, I dashed back to the front not having any more logic (much less endurance), and relieved myself in front of the library sign. Now, while what I’ve had for display isn’t too much to see, the average female from 25 yards away can still see a bare glans emitting water. The second time it happened, one of the front-desk ladies called the cops. I accompanied the fuzz out to the lobby, and was that far off from getting the handcuffs slapped on me, when I hastily explained to them my physical condition. They relented but gave me a very stern lecture on the crime of peeing in public and exposing myself, pointing once to a little girl exiting the building and saying she could have seen me. Then they went on their way. It was another three months before I did anything about my condition and was prescribed the proper meds.

I’ve still got mixed feelings about small-town life. No same-sex couples conversing in the local diner, and everyone seems bedrock Christian in their views. Being in close vicinity to everyone else, it’s impossible to know what rumors they spread about your own beliefs and lifestyle.

I soon found a job as organist for the Presbyterian church, just a walk across the street from the library. I immediately got keys.

Hey Jon, You are right on the money about small towns and ducking behind a dumpster. I rarely get into the *downtown* part of town and stick to the sticks. I agree everyone seems born-again and arrow straight, but, that ain't necessarily so. I'm up there in years and now widowed so I hang out in the senior center, join book clubs and small gatherings that read/study a religious path. Fringe or not, the folks enjoy splitting hairs and have a good time.

Being a *safe* male in a room full of 50 to 70 year olds, maybe a 40-ish gal that impales you with a savage glare if you glance at her ankles, inspires trust. Respect that trust and with small kindnesses along the way it's possible to get beneath the scab of armor and discover almost all of the folks in the group have a sexually interesting history. Peeing, far from being a scourge of an elderly monolith is a naughty treat to be shared with friends in most amazing ways. This kind of knowledge isn't shared in a year of acquaintance, as I'm sure you know - but it may be possible.

Catching the eye of a beautifully curvy matron in jeans as she moves with speed toward the bathroom and a glance as she returns to her chair will (in my case) result in a double date to the movies and a whisper in my ear, "I have to go to the bathroom, want to come with me?" This led to what amounted to an omorashi themed orgy of bathroom play; complete with a totally protected bed.

Again, you are right about rumors. My love of pee and playing did get around but only in the circles that indulged in wetting, which in my case were gal on gal. That bothers me not at all, in fact, it is a turn-on for both parties.

Being an organist in a church, keyboard player at parties, piano lessons and wherever your artistic talents lead you, I see fantastic opportunities in your future. Long may you prosper!

I used to do a lot of backbacking. Peeing was easy, buy pooping was a little more work. I carried a large Case knife and used it to dig a hole at least 6" deep. After pooping in the hole and wiping, I burned the paper. Once when I was backpacking with a girl who was a little kinky, we shared the same hole, naked and back-to-back. We still joke about it. Now backpackers are often required to pack out their waste.

Maybe not in Mother Nature, but I peed in an alley once a million years ago. Was about to burst, had been drinking and couldn't get back into the club to use the restroom and no public facilities. It was either do that or pee myself. I had a skirt on so it wasn't too difficult. My BF at the time was not best pleased I did it. Too bad for him. "Scoppiaresti per me?" as my father-in-law would say when we chastised him for slipping out a fart.

I have used corn fields, bean fields, and even my own yard. When I have to pee it is no problem to go somewhere discreet.

Even the rare poo has happened. Grab the toilet paper container (always found in the car) or some napkins and head into the field. Quickly scratch a "hole", make the desired deposit while squatting low, but not too low, wipe, throw all in the "hole" and cover it like a cat. By the time harvest rolls around it will have decomposed enough that no one will know.