Date: Sun, 24 Feb 2019 09:56:50 -0500 (EST) From: Five Hole Punch Subject: A Dirty Story Please give to Nifty Warning: Scatological content follows Dear Nifty Reader, As a writing exercise, I took, at first, one 100-year old photograph, and then a second 19th century photograph, off of the internet and wrote the following. A Dirty Story When my parents passed away I inherited their old house which was initially my great grandparent's. It was built nearly 100 years ago. In the attic were all sorts of old boxes. Judging by the dust, some hadn't been touched since they were put there when the house was new. I found what was obviously my great grandfather's personal diary hidden in an old trunk. I say hidden because it was placed under quite a lot of other debris; an old moth-eaten Oriental rug, out-of-fashion decorative items like pictures in ugly frames, etc. I also say hidden because of the quite shocking and wicked nature of the contents of the diary excerpted below. Some clarifying information: Clara, my mother's mother, was ten years old in 1908 and her brother was twelve; their father, thirty nine. Additionally, while the following entries have a single date, it is obvious due to the variations in the use of the pen and ink that they were written in several sessions over several days. August 22, 1908 Regina and I took Billy and Clara downtown to the photographers today. I favored a family portrait but Regina wished this time to have a portrait of the children alone. She dedicated quite an effort to put the children in an ideal state. Their blond locks were trimmed quite smartly, short given the season's heat. An all white wardrobe was sewn and white shoes and stockings were purchased. Even Clara's dolly was given a matching dress for the occasion. Regina did supervise the children's dressing, not trusting Hilda for such an important task, putting her and them in an agitated state. She took the greatest precautions that the children not dirty the immaculate white togs during our trip downtown. Of course, Billy scuffed his shoes getting on the streetcar and this drove Regina to give the boy a scolding that drew perhaps too much public attention. We waited for a period of time in the studio's anteroom, Regina's anxiety about making the appointment meant we were fifteen minutes early. Billy had been in a growing petulant state for the last few days, in part due to the pressure of having to wear his garments for their final fitting in the August heat and, of course, Regina's constant admonitions about "not behaving like some sort of uncivilized savage." The boy's demeanor was hardly "savage!" It was as it always had been, rather effeminate; Clara was more boyish than he. Regina doesn't wish to see this. Billy had at this point his "huffy" visage, as Regina put it. Lips pursed and his left eye in a bit of a squint, you could see that Billy was trying to hide his ill-temper. Billy had this "colicky" character from infancy and Regina had tried to extinguish this tendency in the boy to no avail. The boy wished to explore some of the photographs displayed about the anteroom but Regina forbade him from leaving his seat. Clara, not wishing to invite her mother's increasing anxiety, wisely focused her attention on her dolly but not before giving her brother a critical look or two. Regina had risen to question the clerk as to how soon we could expect to enter the studio. It was still just before our appointed time and she was told that it was to be but a few minutes yet. When Regina returned, Billy declared he wished to visit the lavatory. It was then that the photographer and his preceding client emerged and we were invited into the studio. Regina told Billy that he would have to wait until after the photos were taken to use the lavatory as she didn't want him to disturb his attire. The boy wore white shorts, cuffed just above the knees and a be-collared tunic top in the lightest of cotton, half-belted at the waist with a thin strip of fabric, and short, three quarter sleeves. His white stockings lead to his slightly scuffed, sandal style shoes. He did look smart. Clara had on a smock-like dress and the whitest stockings and shoes. She looked rather like a diminutive nurse. Her hair, a beautiful glossy white gold, was just longer than her brother's. Regina favored the severe style for Clara and it suited her rather masculine character. Regina and the photographer discussed what sort of pose she desired for the children and she, now being most aflutter, was most uncertain; seated or standing? The gentleman first placed Billy, Clara, and her dolly in a seated pose about a table. He arranged the children in various ways which all appeared satisfactory. Regina could not decide. These arrangements were debated and, after a suggestion of taking a set of photographs, seated and standing, which, of course, would be at an additional cost, a seated pose was taken. This took about fifteen minutes. Now I could see the boy was fidgety and Regina had admonished him to behave. I was thinking of interrupting but, at this point, chairs were being moved by assistants and the camera prepared for another photograph. I watched the boy, recalling another time and another place. Billy, having stood, rocked, weighting one foot then the other; his feet were tense as he clenched his toes in his sandals. His stance was rigid for a time until he felt the need to shift his weight again. He gave slight, anxious hops in between. I knew what was happening. I felt my generative engine awake. I took a step back into the shadows. With no one looking, I smoothed the front of my trousers to keep my organ in abeyance. The immediate leak of moist liquid caused the enrobed globe to slide about in my undergarment. Billy had gone back a step or two along the side of the table, trying to hide what he couldn't control. He grimaced and turned away somewhat. He squatted ever so slightly while simultaneously leaning a bit forward, rising on his toes. The expression on his face told me he was passing his stool. After several seconds, he gave a slight gasp and then looked about anxiously. No one else had noticed. Billy moved uncomfortably, experimentally adjusting his posture in an attempt to deal with his predicament. The camera loaded, the assistant moved the children into position, calling Billy forward. The boy took four very small steps, obviously trying to limit his movements to prevent his fresh loaf from shifting about and to avoid calling attention to his discomfort. I do not think the photographic assistant noticed anything amiss, although he may have thought all children repugnant as he was quite perfunctory in moving both of the children into position. Clara's doll was placed on the front corner of the table and Clara and Billy were told to get a bit closer together on each side of the dolly. I think that is when Clara caught a whiff of Billy's malodorous state as she scrunched her nose and tried to lean away somewhat which caused a bit of a delay as both Regina and the photographer asked for a more pleasant smile from both children. Billy had a grim look and was locked in place with all of his weight on one leg trying not to move his buttocks in the slightest. He was cajoled repeatedly by the photographer and Regina reminded Billy of the frozen confection to come but Billy's natural smile was not forthcoming. Regina began using a tone which resulted in Billy trying to smile and not begin crying at the same time. (An added note to the diary entry was found in the margin – "All of this was subtly captured in the photograph of that day if one knew the circumstance. It is one of my favorite photographs of the children, well worth the three dollars.") Regina and the photographer were exasperated but the photograph was finally taken. I asked the photographer if he was through and then called for Billy to come with me. My wife began to ask what I was doing but I said that we would return shortly and, seeing Billy walk as he did, she knew then what the boy had done. I had Billy quickly outside the studio proper and in the lobby asked where the sanitary facilities were and was given directions. Billy began to apologize, "I'm sorry Papa," over and over and then he began to cry. I told him to stop as we walked down the hall and thankfully the water cabinet was free. I locked the door and had the boy stand by the porcelain receptacle and I carefully took down his shorts and undergarments in order not to create any visible evidence if at all possible. "Don't move," I said and looked to see the mess the boy had made. Fortunately, the stool was firm and I could easily remove it. I asked Billy if he needed to sit on the commode to finish and he said no. I had the boy turn about and I wiped his nates, cleft, and upper thighs nearly completely clean. His loose undergarment had allowed the stool to fall somewhat, his gait had then smeared his buttocks and upper inner thighs. He did have an odor of excrement but not to excess; it was nearly undetectable with his garments redone. I wiped the underdrawers as best I could and, after washing my hands, redressed the boy. My generative fervor was quite high as I tended to Billy and my organ had stiffened uncomfortably and quite noticeably. It necessitated a rearrangement and Billy asked if I were "being a goat," a phrase from Hilda's vocabulary no doubt. I told Billy that this can happen to man or boy and that it should in no circumstances be spoken of in a public place and never before females. Once out of the photographer's studio, Regina, affronted and irate, repeatedly upbraided the boy for "ruining" the outing. Billy began crying again. We were to have ice cream as a reward but Regina wouldn't consider it with Billy "being in a filthy state." This lack of the promised frozen treat upset Clara needless to say and she began to cry as well. I pledged to the children that I would take them at a later date and told Regina to compose herself and stop upsetting the children in public. Regina relented but wanted Billy punished for his transgression, more so her embarrassment, and made quite the point that he should be denied such a treat at any future time which resulted in further upset for the boy. Later, I did talk to the Billy but did not give him the strap; Regina's supervising of the governess giving Billy his bath, with lye soap applied with such vigorous scrubbing as to turn the boy red for several days, was punishment enough. That evening I insisted that Regina perform her wifely duties. The events of the day gave fire to my arousal and I performed vigorous coitus, not once but twice, much to her surprise and annoyance. I insisted again the next night and the night after that. Why my arousal? I must contemplate fully anon. August 26, 1908 After the events of our family photographic outing, a memory long past and imperfectly recalled presented itself. It was a similar circumstance from my boyhood that I had pushed from my mind until it so coincidentally appeared before me with my own children as apparitions of the events a quarter century past. I intend to try to commit this remembrance herein, if I can. Father, having worked so hard to succeed in his business and having done so, wanted to have the trappings of that success. We hadn't moved to our larger house, that was two years in the future, but father and mother began to acquire the furnishings of their new status; clothing, furniture, adornments for display such as framed prints to be hung. A most rare item, it seems strange to say that today, was a portrait photograph. My father and mother decided to commission not one but three photographs to be hung on the wall, quite extravagant for the time. The first was father standing alone, the second mother seated, and a third, father standing and mother seated, near one another. After the success of this photographic session, mother asked father if the children could be photographed as well. My father agreed to do so for mother despite the expense. It was necessary for we children to be outfitted properly for such an important portrait and much effort was expended to have us suitably attired. My little sister, Nan, who was nine years old at the time, was given a lovely burgundy dress with a double row of white trimmed ruffles. Two rows of ruffles were an additional fifty cents but mother was indulged and Nan looked a little lady with the tight long sleeves also cuffed in double ruffles. Father had us, brother Alfred and I, done up in brown woolen, double-breasted coats with large buttons, an adult white collared shirt and long necktie; the necktie was our fifty cent indulgence. Our rather tight pants were cuffed just below the knee and we had three buttons as trim along the outside. All three of us had new black stockings and shoes, mine a particularly heavy lace up boot as father planned to have me work in the office regularly now that I had turned thirteen. The day before our photographic appointment, Alfred and I were taken to a barber and given a quite severe, close-cropped haircut. If one looks closely at the photograph taken, one can see the line made by the sun on our foreheads where our longer locks were removed. Nan had her long, wavy, raven hair pulled back in a bow. Mother was unable to accompany us to the photographers as it was her time. She was able to prepare Nan and father was in charge of we boys. Father took this photographic endeavor quite seriously, as seriously as our arithmetic studies, with which he was most serious indeed. As the oldest male child, quite the effort was made to bring me to a high standard of arithmetic ability, including formal tutoring, in order to assume my place in my father's business. My mathematical abilities were in accord with other boys in my school but that wasn't sufficient for father. Both Alfred and I were held to high standards in every regard and we were disciplined accordingly. Father applied the strap with regularity to we boys and it made both Alfred and I very anxious. Alfred was able to detach himself from the punishments, accepting them as a good Christian accepts the Will of God, an inevitable and inescapable force. Alfred would often wet himself immediately before or during a whipping, as did I, given the painful way in which father laid on the strap. But, Alfred soon returned to normalcy. I, on the other hand, had the added pressure of being the first born and this gave me a greater guilt and a much prolonged anxiety. I'm afraid I was prone to soiling myself in the anticipatory fear of my father's punishments. The disappointment, disgust and rage of father was certainly much greater in my case. It was not unexpected at that time that children would wet themselves with anxiety but to soil one's self was looked upon as a far greater sin. My now being thirteen and being of apprenticeship age made this a great flaw in my character. The importance of this photographic portrait was communicated in the terseness with which father dressed Albert and myself. We both found the formal clothing uncomfortable, especially the shirts, Albert more so. He, like Elijah, bore his discomfort and kept his movements to the minimum. My discomfort went farther in two ways. One, my new shoes were quite stiff and confining, having not been broken in yet. The laces were quite long and the eyelets close-spaced; once these boots were on they were not to be taken off. Two, I had begun to grow. In our family, the men all develop a "bell shape," quite early our waist, buttocks and thighs expand. This put me in a more confining situation as the suit was more in a child's straight proportions. Father made both Albert and I void our bladders before dressing and warned us of not having an accident in our new and expensive clothes. Father queried, "Stanley, do you need to use the commode?" I told my father I did not and he gave me an additional admonition, "You will not soil your new clothing this day young man." This served only to heighten my anxiety and I fretted the entire time on our trip to the photographer's studio. Unfortunately, our breakfast that morning was of heavy ground oats, apples, and cream and I was most sensitive to the effects of this particular repast. My stomach was gurgling during the carriage ride and our wait in the anteroom of the photographer was lengthy. Father, agitated by the delay, admonished us to be still so as not to disturb our careful grooming. I did not dare ask to use the commode even though I felt the impending pressure in my rectum. I thought I could hold it in abeyance until the photographic session was complete. When ushered into the studio, father had a sharp discussion with the photographer. There was an extended conversation about the way in which my brother sister and I would be posed. I fidgeted about as I could feel the pointed tip of the turd poking my anus. I desperately clenched, trying to keep the opening shut. I held my buttocks tight and moved my feet to try and hold back my urgent need to evacuate. Finally, it was decided that I, being the oldest and tallest, would be seated in a chair between Nan and Albert, who stood to either side. The positioning of my sister and brother took much re-arranging and this lengthy interval, my being in a position that one would assume on a commode, with the tightness of my new garments, and with the nervous atmosphere in the studio, circumstance overwhelmed me and I could not control the movement of my bowels. Sitting in the chair, I defecated. I rose up very slightly, leaning my weight to the right. The turd came out, mostly downward to the left, deformed in the channel between my left thigh and my undergarment. It was hot and sticky beneath me. A little was forced upward, squeezed between the cleft of my nates. It did not complete its exit from my anus due to the confining nature of my garments and it required me to bear down to fully evacuate the stool. I tried to do so silently but I grunted a little with the effort. This alerted Albert and, given a few seconds to realize what was transpiring, he froze, apprehensive and trying to hide his horror. My sister was unaware of my grunted exhalation but was soon aware of my state as an unmistakable odor wafted upwards. This occurred just before the photograph was taken. The result was not the flattering portrait that was imagined by mother and, while the photograph was displayed for a while with the prior photographic portraits of my parents, when we moved to the larger house it was relegated to a back parlor. My younger brother stood to my right. He posed well enough but his eyes were wide with alarm and his right hand clutched anxiously at the fabric of his trousers just below the hem of his jacket; Albert wet himself slightly in sympathetic fear but the ambiguous shadows of the photo make it difficult to discern. Nan stood to my left, arms straight downwards, her hands clenched. Her facial expression is terse, far from her generally fair disposition. I see my thirteen year old self; seated, pants tight around my thighs, my hands and arms, surprisingly, relaxed. My face, however, tells a different story. Cheeks taut and lips compressed, I try not to cry, while my eyes, upper lids downturned with trepidation, stare grimly, half toward the camera and half toward my father. Photograph taken, we were directed to the anteroom where father paid the bill. I walked with difficulty and stood waiting. My brother and sister maintained a distance from me, not merely because of the smell, which was mild, but out of apprehension of the moment when father would become aware of my state. This occurred immediately before the arrival of our carriage. Father, detecting my hesitant demeanor and reluctant movements walking from the studio, and then the unmistakable stink of defecation, asked if I had soiled myself. I began to cry and, unable to answer articulately, father expressed his disgust and disappointment. He then angrily promised the inevitable strapping. I rode, soiled and sniveling, the remaining distance home. Upon our arrival, father ordered me to remain in the carriage. He then took me round to the stables. I was told to go within while he unhitched our mare. He ordered me to remove my clothing. My jacket, shirt, and tie were easily removed but my new boots proved difficult to unlace in my nervous state. This enraged father. "Leave them, leave them be," my father ordered flustered with frustration, "Just get your pants down then!" I was sobbing with fear, knowing that bending over to undo the laces had further the smeared my soil in the tight area of my bottom. I lowered my outer pants which rolled at the top of my knees, I being too distracted to unbutton the cuffs. When I stood, I began to bawl in deep gasping sobs, terrified at lowering my soiled undergarment. "What are you waiting for?" my father fumed, "Stop that howling this instant, Stanley, and take down your drawers!" I couldn't stop the salty tears. They blurred my vision and ran down my cheeks. When I bent to lower my befouled garment, teardrops clung to the underside of my chin before falling away. My woolen garment was stuck to my nates by the odorous paste of the compressed turd, making its remove difficult. Upon seeing the extent to which I was besmeared, father let forth a bellow of rage. I wept uncontrollably and lost control of my urine, peeing on my pants and boots. At this my father ranted, over and over, "Are you an animal? Are you an animal?" I stood cowering and wept. Father went for a bucket of water and rag. "You have ruined your new clothes! And your new boots! You are a filthy, filthy boy!" Father bent to unlace my boots. He unshod me like a horse. My suit pants were unbuttoned and my stockings pulled off. Father made me step from my undergarment. Now, naked, he pulled me aside and scrubbed my backside with vigor, growling and grimacing with disgust. With most all of the excrement removed from my person, father had me bend over a bench whereupon he picked our old, black leather reins from the wall and began to whip my bared, still wet, buttocks. I gave forth frantic yells of pain and fear. Father did not spare the strap and my buttocks burned. I danced on my toes and begged desperately. "Please, Papa! Please!" To no avail. Eventually, father's anger abated with sufficient punishment. "Stand up, Stanley." I rose but did not turn fully toward father. My young generative member had, for some reason unfathomable to me, become stiffly erect. I was mortified at my aroused state and thought that I would be punished further for such a prominent display of such a morally reprehensible body part. "Look at me when I am speaking to you, young man." My cheeks burned with shame as I turned toward father. I gulped with apprehension. I stood at attention and tried to cover myself with my hands. My father shook his head with repugnance. "You have, this day, disgraced both you and your family," was all he said, adding with a gesture towards a stable blanket, "Cover yourself. Get inside and I'll have Matilda draw a bath." I was bathed, with Albert, whose urinary accident had been detected by then, by our governess, during which I experienced another erection. I was sent to my room for the remainder of the evening as further punishment. It was the next day whereupon I began the solitary vice. While in the water closet, sitting on the commode, I was thinking of father's furious demeanor in administering the strap the day before. The recollection of the burning sensation across my nates and thighs and the occasional strike of the strap upon the back portion of my scrotum soon had my generative organ rigid and burning, although in a dissimilar manner. I touched it and, for some reason, perhaps thinking the cool air would be beneficial, rolled my foreskin back. This gave me such a deep, hot flash that I was momentarily light-headed. I looked studiously at my hardened boyhood and its purple protuberance; an intoxicating, musty but not unpleasant, odor rose from my private area. I experimentally moved my foreskin up and received the same forceful sensation. I repeated these movements, with heightening intensity. It was here that what had been my original purpose for entering the water closet became pressing. I did not wish to stem the powerful and growing pleasure of manipulating my stiffened "pony tail," as Mathilda had termed Albert's and my male appendage, and I tried to stop my evacuation. I was only able to do so for but a short while. I tried to still my hand on my penis to hold off on my ministrations until I passed my stool but I could not, I was compelled by a deep desire, greater than anything I ever felt before, to continue. I was frantic in my attempts to both stay and satisfy these conflicting demands. My anus spasmed. My abdominal muscles clenched. I began to defecate. My turd came out in such a vigorous manner as to make me exhale with a strong grunt. The outward passing triggered a pulsation in my turgid boyhood. I now held my organ fearfully as the pulsations repeated themselves over and over. What had I done? I was affrighted. I was certain I was going to die from injuring my privates and I would be found dead in the water closet, embarrassing my parents, and humiliating and tarnishing my family forever. That did not come to pass, obviously. I experimented in the water closet the very next day to see if my organ would realize in me the same exciting state. It did. The passing of my stool did not bring the immediate pulsations as before but I manipulated my foreskin over my glans whilst putting my finger to my anus and rubbing. The pulsations began almost immediately. Thereafter, my toilet became most anticipated. I would, at times, hold my stool to assure the climatic sensations were of the most stimulating nature. With the additional time I spent in the water closet mother became concerned about my regularity and the castor oil remedy was not to my liking. I did not discontinue my water closet activities entirely but I began masturbatory manipulations while abed so that I would have sufficient time to enjoy my proclivities. I was able to bring about the anal pulsations with the use of my fingers but true defecation gave a deeper satisfaction. ---------- In the preface, I mentioned the shocking nature of what my great grandfather had written, and done, those many years ago. Dear Reader, my shock wasn't merely the surprise of finding such a sexual account from a long dead relative or the perverse nature of the memoir; no, it was that the predilections of my great grandfather so paralleled my own. Yes, the significant touchstones of my earliest sexual memories were of the same depraved focus. All rights Reserved. Copyright 2019.