Submitted by PooMaster (Austin, TX) on 08.19.12

Standing in the doorway of a skydiving airplane, immediately before my first parachute jump. Oops, I shit myself.
Skydiving was not my idea, but I agreed to the suggestion of my much-younger girlfriend after a few too many beers one night.
It’s not clear to me that I would have found the bravery to actually jump from the plane had I not soiled myself like a newborn. Tethered to my instructor, and desperately trying to conceal my raging fright in front of my girlfriend, I realize that my body has unexpectedly produced a high-altitude steamer without my conscious participation. Holy. Shit. Now, my fear of splatting on the ground below is surpassed by my fear of everyone knowing that I’ve just splattered poo in my rental jumpsuit.
During a skydive, I imagine most people think about their lives, what they’ve accomplished, what opportunities they’ve missed. Me? I’m calculating the physics of my underwear’s ability to retain my rectal chili at high speed.
Would my Jockeys hold, or would my instructor and people on the ground see me streaming crap, like some kind of 3rd world fireworks display from the country to Turdistan?
While I previously feared death itself, now I feared the aftermath of being the guy who shit himself while skydiving. Certainly the forensics team from CSI-Myshitty would do some kind of post-mortem on what’s left of my body, concluding without a doubt, that my bowels emptied pre-jump. Fuck.
How would they talk about my at the class reunion? “Hey, did you hear about John shitting himself before his tragic death? I heard he shit BEFORE he even jumped.”
For better or worse, the parachute opened and the three of us (me, the instructor and my trouser-pet) landed without further incident. I’m going to start dating women my own age.

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