Elliott's Brown Year Pt. 01 - Summer

A Mounds Hotel spinoff

Elliott, spunky gay man with a healthy love of poop - and of playing with himself - finds his way to a summer job with his uncles, but there's something special about this summer of brown love.

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The late-May Sunday afternoon air had a raw, ticklish quality - birds chirping persistently through the pine and maple eves, as sunbeams danced playfully off thick, new greenery to land on plush, sensuous beds of squishy moss and green-tinted mud in the creek bed behind the house.

22-year-old Elliott had just come back from his final camping trip as a college student counselor for the Outdoor Explorers club; his counselor friends dropped him off at his family's simple brick ranch-style home in a forested subdivision of the Richmond, Virginia suburbs. That was the last camping trip he'd make before his last summer break - then it would be time to move up to Charlottesville for graduate school at UVA in the fall.

After a long, hot weekend of camping in the wilderness, it was time to sort his dirty camping equipment in the backyard and take a shower. The modest quarter-acre yard was on a steep slant away from the 3 bedroom ranch house, and consisted of a tidy gravel path that hugged the back of the house at the top, a small grass lawn with a clothesline and shed, followed by an un-landscaped area that tended to turn to mud this time of year, with all of the early summer storms. The entire yard was surrounded by a thick, deciduous forest that blocked the view from the neighboring homes in the warm months. It was the kind of spacious yet humble subdivision built in the seventies where everyone was friendly but generally enjoyed their privacy and kept to themselves. Behind the family house yard was Elliott's favorite spot, the Broad Creek.

Elliott wore the classic Explorers uniform: a brown button-up short-sleeve tucked smartly around his trim waist into pleated, thigh-high shorts that drew a flattering curve around his perfectly hemispherical butt and flatted out into a stiff seam around his well-trained thighs. Elliott and his fellow Explorer counselors had a passion for nature, and knew that while the UPS-style-uniform was perhaps laughable, their dedication to the cause for education about wildlife preservation was indeed a good one.

... And these camping trips were an excellent chance for Elliott to avoid sitting on a commode.

Those 3-day camping trips, away from the creature comforts of home, away from the reassurance of a clean toilet, had sparked a certain reaction in Elliott. As a gay man raised in the Christian south, Elliott had felt a certain shame and self consciousness about bodily functions, especially pooping and farting. Even though Elliott was out as gay to his supportive parents for years - and his family were not religious themselves - Elliott could sense the need to be as clean as possible to keep face and avoid negative attention. He would hold in his poop to avoid having to go in the woods near his friends. The poor guy would hold in his farts while the other boys would joke and tease each other for passing gas, as if it were a thing to be proud of. Elliot certainly couldn't feel that free in the past. As a result of all the holding, our hero would come home from these camping trips having spent 4, sometimes 5 consecutive days without releasing a single bowel movement.

At first, using the potty at home after these long expeditions was simply a relief; Elliot would spend upwards of 10 minutes on the commode, pressing into his toes and shifting his butt left and right to coax out thick, cake-like turds into the porcelain bowel, between long bouts of explosive gas. He'd breathe a sigh of tired satisfaction, noting the long, smooth, inch-thick snaking poop that curled and curved over itself into an impressive mound, breaking well over the surface of the toilet water and filling the hallway bathroom with thick stench. The smell would inevitably leak out into the hallway of his family's single-story home; Elliott had no siblings who would call him out for it, but he knew that his mom and dad could smell it, so he would spray an eye-watering amount of apple-cinnamon scented air freshener to compensate for it after flushing.

With time, however, Elliott became aware of the pleasing sensation a heavy load of fresh poop could have, pressing gently, then persistently against his rectum from within; he started to feel a warm rush as he forced out the exceptionally large loads after his camping trips, massaging his blossoming prostate... and he came to know a swelling, bulging sense of power and newfound wonder as he stared down at his creations. He gradually came to admire his enormous post-camping poops, and liked clogging the toilet so he'd have an excuse to spend more time with them while plunging. Elliott wondered, he questioned, and ultimately he experimented when he was at home alone... first he would simply reach down into the toilet and touch his fresh poop; then he started to indulge himself by sinking his index finger and thumb into the mound and pinching blobs of the sticky, smelly stuff. In a few months, he would begin submerging both hands into the toilet, smearing poop into his palms, and started experimenting with pooping into his own cupped hands so that he could just play with it, squeezing and squishing it between his warm fingers without having to deal with the pee and toilet water.

Elliott's parents were passionate road cyclists who spent the Sundays out on the biking trails around town. As with most Sundays they were out, so he'd have the house to himself for at least another 4 hours. He sauntered into the backyard, his crusty second-hand hiking boots dropping flakes of mud and bits of pine straw on the gravel pathway. He'd eaten more than usual this weekend at the campground. A natural cook with a spot for punctuality, Elliott was always assigned the chef duties; he'd always make sure to cook generous amounts of food for the campers, start washing the dishes, and finally help himself to leftovers as he scrambled to manage the foldable stovetop and wobbly wooden patrol box containing the utensils. Elliott was considerate to avoid waste, and some sudden absences among the campers meant that there were leftovers - half a cake, an extra pan of bean casserole (meant to serve three!), a simple campfire vegetable soup that had yielded twice the intended amount... Elliott had managed to eat all of it in between cleaning, reorganizing the kitchen, and preparing for the next round of meals!

Now, Elliott could feel the familiar throbbing sensation against his rectum as he bent over and meticulously spread out his various tent equipment on the grass, then hung his sleeping bag over the clothesline, and spread his camping pack out on the shed floor next to the bicycle racks. It was best to air out the used equipment like this so it wouldn't smell like campfire smoke before going into storage. Elliott came back out to the lawn, spread his long legs to shoulder width, and released ten long, silky smooth farts that ended in wet, sloppy trills. He squatted slightly as he did so, breathing the stink in deeply and chuckling to himself at the naughtiness of his own cloud of gas. He could feel his penis tug playfully at his old pale green Hanes boxer-briefs beneath his uniform. He had had to poop since the previous day, and had resisted the urge before climbing into the camp van 3 hours ago to make the journey home. The load was admittedly painful now, his anus tight-lipped and pressed to open. Now, Elliott looked toward the house and felt a pang of shame and anticipation... He could go in, strip off his uniform in the hall bathroom, have a peaceful, long sit on the old familiar commode he'd grown up with, wipe, flush... take a shower...

Or...

He'd only tried this 3 times before, and every time had been better than the last... so immensely good it was almost scary to him. It was always such a devilish, delicious feeling that struck him in his deepest parts and made him want to spend eternity in that place.... he could probably get away with it again today...

What if Mom and Dad came home early today? What if an evening storm were to come? What if the neighbors saw?

Elliott flashed his brown eyes toward the Broad Creek. It was really a small neighborhood stormwater creek, no more than 15 centimeters deep, flowing silently along the back edge of the yard. Because it swelled with every storm, the creek carved a thick, orange-brown muddy basin that stretched for 3 meters on either side of the water. The creek drew a sudden curve beyond the left edge of the yard, leading deeper into the suburban forest. Elliott had grown up in this neighborhood; he'd explored every nook and cranny of the creek over half a mile in both directions.

Elliott caught a mineral-rich, slightly rotten wiff and felt his dick jump. It must have rained recently; he smelled fresh mud and knew what he was going to do. Our hero took one last look at the dark windows of his family home; he saw the paper-mache elephant he'd made in elementary school on the interior of the kitchen windowsill. He had always been the obedient guy, the studious guy, the tidy guy... Yet he'd felt this wild, secret attraction to produce and play with his own poop only getting stronger.

"I'm growing to be several things, and I guess that a man who enjoys his poop just happens to be one of them" Elliott muttered slowly to himself and smiled as he unzipped his uniform shorts around his bulging erection and stripped off his brown shirt. He folded his uniform neatly and laid it on the grass, and rose up in his new outfit of pale green boxer briefs, crew socks, and hiking boots.

Our nearly-nude, boot-clad hero decidedly lifted one foot forward and stepped down the slanted lawn. He moved carefully down the slope, feeling the ground yield to his footsteps more and more as the grass faded to a dark brown slop. Elliott's hiking boots sunk slowly into the mud, which was perfectly smooth and so moist it had become home to a thin layer of moss. Elliott watched the moss break under his feet as he sunk one foot into the mud, then the next. The creek bed burped and squelched noisily as the man walked close in to the water; by now the mud was coming to the tops of his shoes and cloaked Elliott in its metallic, bitter stink. Elliott looked down at his boots, with just the boot tops poking out from the cool sludge, and watched with quiet satisfaction as he proceeded to step deeper into the clay-mud, ultimately the mud spilling over the tops of his boots and seeping down into his shoes, coating a rim around his olive-green crew socks. Elliott, ever the tidy and obedient, was thrilled at this little mess; he subconsciously sent his left hand to his crotch and fondled at his hard cock, occasionally stroking his scrotum through the base of his briefs.

"PHHHFFT... Blublublublub PHHFT" Elliott farted carelessly again as he stepped to the water's edge and turned left; he was too preoccupied to stop and enjoy the sensation of it; by now his boots were covered in enormous gobs of sticky, stinky Virginia clay to the point that it looked like he might not be wearing shoes at all. His dick had tented and turned to pulse through the left side of his underwear; he had to pee but thought he might be too erect for it.

And he had to poop now, badly. He could barely stand up straight; he bent at a 45-degree angle to alleviate the pain in his abdomen.

Elliott strutted through the muddy creek-bed between the thick greenery, around the sharp curve away from the yard, and into his secret spot: a broad clearing, just far into the forest to be out-of-sight from the houses, usually free of frogs and snakes, and most importantly, a natural mud deposit for the creek. Elliott had come here to play in the mud since forever ago. He'd perfected his masturbation techniques back here in the clearing; the smooth clay was excellent for humping and sitting into and smearing all over his middle region in a fit of excitement. When he'd come home from these little playdates in the clearing, he'd been immaculately careful to sneak in while his folks were in other parts of the house, and he'd pre-wash his clothes in the bathroom before throwing them into the washing machine - no questions were ever asked.

Back here in the clearing, the actual water flowed in a small stream far to the left, and to the right was an oblong beach of pure, uninterrupted mud, perhaps 10 meters long and 5 meters across. The smooth bed of mud was unsuspecting at the surface, but once pierced it was immaculately smelly, and best of all, a whole meter deep. Best of all, a nearby sewer vent spewed an endless stream of raw methane gas, adding to the sense that this clearing was indeed Elliott's private outdoor toilet.

Elliott trudged to the edge of the mud bed; he felt his erection subside just enough to unzip his flap and coax his still-hard dick out. He directed his bossy penis toward the mudbank and release a gushing, intermittent stream of warm, nearly clear piss into the edge of the mud. The pee splattered against Elliott's shins and occasionally dribbled down his right hand and onto his briefs - the normally clean Elliott didn't care now. Watching his own pee flow around the swell of mud, and of course farting loudly, once again caused his naughty dick to swell; he had to wait a moment for the excitement to subside before he could finish his piss. Yet just as he finished, Elliot felt a dull, hammer-like thud against his rectum and knew there was no waiting now... he quickly submerged his legs in the mud patch and sunk instantly up to his mid-thighs into to mud with a little cry of joy... then he knew there was no more waiting...

Near silence. A calm, green-smelling breeze. Warm patch of wet, pee-stained briefs against his thighs. Afternoon sunlight. A dry buttox against cotton underwear...

"PFFFT" the last bit of gas was followed by a sweet crackle. Elliott's butt puckered and pressed.

His head of poop poked curiously out, paused, and slowly slid forth.

"Ahhhh-ahhhhhhh" Elliott stood up straight, groaned quietly and felt his eyes roll back as the first spot of poop bloomed between his cheeks and rolled back against his own rectum. It was the size of a large rose blossom, teasing and tickling every edge of his rim in a delicious way that no fingering or even licking every could.

The poop crackled ever more loudly and slowly expanded upward and outward across his perfectly supple butt cheeks; it was merely the size of a bar of soap but was already sending Elliott into an orbit of pleasure that seemed to stop time. He silently pushed a large orange's worth of poop into his briefs and paused, feeling the mound expanding against his right hand.

Elliott was nowhere near relieved; he could feel what would have been a distinct log of stiff poop fold back on itself and double over, as it if was laughing hysterically, and become an indistinguishable mound on top of another log that emerged at twice the speed. The poop was warm, firm and perfect; it began to fold back on itself over and over in the tight space of Elliott's briefs, and slowly and surely distend his underwear to the size of 1 and 1/2 grapefruits' worth of poop.

His dick still standing stiffly out from his unzipped shorts, Elliott sprayed another bout of piss onto the before pausing, squatting slightly, then launching a third 'log' into his rear, this one softer and more airy in consistency that flowered across his cheeks and concluded with a final, sweeping little squirt of feces. His gate had squeezed closed.

Stillness. The creek water trickled in the shallow bed, tugging strands of green algae in its wake, the 5pm sunlight dancing on its surface.

Elliott stood up straight, and felt the warm, weighty poop sink into the base of his crotch, in his now ruined Hanes undies.

His dick was throbbing and had spewed a lovely little circle of precum into his undies.

Elliott couldn't hold it back. He folded forward into the mud bed; his chest submerging with a squash. He felt the mud press back against his hard, exposed dick, and his legs spread across the soft surface and slowly sink. Elliott arched his neck so his face wouldn't go under.

The warm mound of poop was perfectly intact against his butt; Elliott slid his legs together through the sludge as if he were make a face-down snow-angel (but certainly not angelic).

As his thighs came neatly together and his dick jerked pre-cum into the Virginia mud, Elliott felt the tingle of poop against the smooth spot on his scrotum; this was too much.

Elliott burst out laughing. He stood back up in the mud, ran his hands across his sludge covered waist, and sat slowly back on the solid ground at the edge of the mud beach, feeling the mountain of poop break against the hard surface of the ground and ooze forward beneath his balls and up under his dick as he slowly sat on it and pressed his weight into the dirt. Elliott tucked his dick into his poop-filled underwear and laughed maniacally at his own reverse identity. He rolled back and forth across his poop, tickling his butt crack and testicles, working his legs deeper into the mud bed and feeling his load spread proudly around his balls and thighs. He caressed his flattened, bulbous scrotum with a mud covered left hand and rolled a cupped right hand over the head of his rod-like penis.

Our hero was drunk on a feeling of power at his own secrecy - he was the clean, perfect camp counselor, a college student with straight-A's bound for a great grad program... but he was secretly a horny gay pig who wallowed in sludge and played in his own poop to get the biggest, filthiest orgasms he'd ever known.

Elliott closed his eyes, gave one more man-cackle, and came in a massive, warm spurt that seemed to plunge through his dick at light speed and reverberate through his body in broad, deep-crested waves. The man arched his back and breathed in the gassy, muddy, shit-filled air before releasing a long, satisfied sigh. He was completely coated in at least an inch of mud (and of course, feces in his underwear) from the waist down.

The warm cum had dribbled across his muddy, poop-coated fingers and made a slimy web when he opened his palms; the creamy-white strands of goo caught the setting sun and glinted elegantly in its light.

Elliott's temporarily satisfied dick, cloaked in excrement and dirtier than ever, retired happily to its warm, brown resting place inside the poop-filled boxers, and sighed a happy little stream of post-cum piss as if to say "I'll be back soon, and I'll want more of this!"

Elliott gave his dick a comforting pat and stared upward into the pine tree eves sleepily. He thought about his place in the natural world. He just another breathing, eating, sleeping, farting, pooping mammal, finding what feels good, not hurting a soul.

Elliott jolted upward. He suddenly heard distant voices echoing through the new greenery. He could tell the voices were his parents - he recognized the pitch in his mom's voice traveling across the forest from the far side of the creek. They'd come home early!?

Elliott felt his heart jump. He still had time, but only about five minutes. From where he'd heard his parents' voices, they were certain to be cycling down the main road that their subdivision was situated upon; they'd need to turn into the neighborhood street and work their way through the winding system of cul-de-sacs, but it would only be a matter of minutes.

Elliott leapt up, turned around, and dashed across the mud as quickly as he could, boots squelching noisily. "Play time is so over" he thought to himself as he splashed through the shallow water, feeling the cooled cakes of poop still hugging and peeling back and forth against his bustling rear end.

Within thirty seconds he was back at the muddy spot where the creek met his backyard, wrists shaking in panic as he shook the muddy boots off and threw them hastily up the sloped lawn toward the house. He stripped the poop filled undies off, letting the feces fall off his exposed butt into the shallow creek bed with a loud "plop! plop!" that was not unlike the sound of pooping into a toilet.

"I'm sorry... my poor boys" he whimpered as he made large L-shapes with his thumbs and forefingers and slid his hands up the backs of his shins and thighs, across his glutes, collecting huge globs of poop - all of his beloved playmates- on the tops of his hands and throwing them into the creek bed with a frustrated sigh.

He cupped his right hand and drew it from the back of his scrotum upward through his butt crack to his lower back, scooping up the last big blob of beautiful excrement and throwing it away.

Elliott buried the mushy underwear under a large rock, promising himself he'd come back when it was dark to get rid of them properly - or find a more permanent place to hide them.

"If only this afternoon could have just gone on and on" Elliott thought to himself. But this was no time for reminiscence. He grabbed his uniform shorts and quickly slid his legs - less obviously coated than before but still very much smeared and reeking with poop -through the legs. He had no time for donning the shirt. With a single sweep of the arm he grabbed his mud caked boots and uniform shirt, and dashed up the steep lawn, his sticky balls and penis jangling freely between filthy thighs in his commando fashion.

Elliott could hear his parents on the far frontside of the house, at the top of the driveway, just as he forced open the sliding back door with his shoulder (one of the few clean parts of him) and entered the tidy ranch house from the back. The faint smell of pine-sol and air freshener in the open-plan style kitchen/living room was a stark contrast that made Elliott realize just how much he reeked of his own shit. On any other day he'd stop and revel in his own filthy glory, but now he needed to revert to being the clean boy, and fast.

He tiptoe-hightailed across the hardwood, dodging the throw rugs, and swung around to the small hallway that led to his bedroom and the hallway bathroom ("his" bathroom). He looked over his shoulder to check that he hadn't shed anything from beneath his uniform shorts onto the floor - he could only hope at this point! By now his parents were stowing their bikes and would be inside any minute.

Elliot practically dove into the bathroom, slammed the door, locked it, immediately switched on the air circulator fan, threw his boots and uniform shirt into the shower, and turned the water on high force. He began scrubbing himself and his boots, watching poop-mud water wash off his naked body. He smeared the blobs that wouldn't flow down the drain easily with his big toe, admiring how stiff and mud-like his poop was.

A gentle knock.

"Elliott, honey, you okay in there? Dad and I just got home!" It was his mom at the bathroom door.

"Hey mom, uh, yeah! Just showering and cleaning some of my gear at the same time!" Elliott called out.

"Okay! Welcome home honey. I'm going to clean up and I'll be starting on supper soon!"

"'Kay! I'll be out in a bit!" Elliott replied over the running water.

Things sounded normal - for now.

After a forty-five minute deep-cleanse, some serious scrubbing of his boots, and sorting his uniform in the laundry room, Elliott emerged into the open-plan in a fresh white cotton t-shirt and grey pajama bottoms. His still-damp hair was combed and smelled like coconut shampoo, and his fingernails were meticulously trimmed and smelled faintly of cuticle oil. He was clean. The air in the open plan smelled more or less normal, at least from the living room side where Elliott perched against the back of the sofa. Mom was busy behind the kitchen island, back turned to Elliott.

"Hey Elli, dad is out in the back organizing bike stuff but he'll be in soon. I just showered and I'm heating up some leftover soup. So, how was the campout?" She turned around and asked with an intelligent smile.

Elliott enjoyed a friend-like relationship with both of his parents. Both smart, soft-spoken, academic types, they genuinely enjoyed spending time together with their son and held an interest in each others' happiness, while also having grown to maintain a mature sense of boundaries and a respect for privacy.

"Good, good!" Elliott stopped at the edge of sofa and responded with a forced smile. He felt guilty for hiding - hiding anything - even if it was within his own right to privacy. Nevertheless, he'd cum so hard in his poopy pants and it felt so good, and now he was relaxed and happy. But did they know about his dirty secret?

"Nice! Last one before summer, must be kind of sentimental, huh?" Mom replied as she turned around to face the stovetop, back facing Elliott. Then,

Meow....

Elliott saw the family cat inspecting something on the floor by the back door and felt his heart lurch.

"Oh my god, Sniper!!" Elliott whispered.

Sniper was staring at a small slug-sized drop of something brown that had fallen to the hardwood floor by the back door.

Elliott froze in panic. There was nothing he could do but watch and wait for a chance to clean up his fecal debris without getting noticed.

"Oh, what you got there, Snipe?" Of course mom noticed at once. She turned off the stove and instinctively pulled a paper towel from the dispenser on the countertop as she walked over to where the cat was inspecting Elliott's poop.

"Hmmm. Not like you to go outside your litterbox Sniper and geez, that reeks! It doesn't smell feline. " Mom half-muttered to herself with a small, patient smile. "Elli could you grab the Clorox spray from the closet and clean this? I need to finish the soup."

"Uh, ye-, uh, uhm" Elliott stuttered.

Mom stood up and looked in Elliott's eyes. "Honey, are you okay?"

Elliott was stunned.

Mom sensed this and her gaze softened. "Listen..." her tone was careful, as though she was choosing her words. "I could smell things when I got home and... well, I'll just leave it at that. My point is, if you have a, let's say, a hobby - I just want you to feel supported and give you the privacy you deserve. As long as it doesn't make a mess. And you" she stopped to look in her son's eyes. "You are perfect just the way you are. Whatever proclivities you may have, you just remember that those are gifts that make you special. 'Kay?"

Elliott was still frozen; he gave the slightest of nods.

"Now, go grab that Clorox and help me clean up after this stinky cat!" She said with a wink before turning around and returning to the stovetop.

"Oh and Elliott, I was thinking, you should really think about spending this summer with your Uncle Fred and Uncle Ben up in DC. They'd really love to have you. Really."

To be continued...