I’ve been a pants-less shitter since early childhood. Even way back then, the idea of sitting with my pants around my ankles felt claustrophobic, with my feet feeling trapped, so off they came.
I also became a shirtless shitter from my early teens, for various reasons — fear of getting shit on the back of my shirt (especially when wiping); staying cool (especially in cramped and stuffy toilets, and I can break into a sweat just by changing my mind); comfort (it just feels better going shirtless); and being relaxed. One of life’s simplest pleasures is a calm and unhurried (and, for me, naked) dump, while one of life’s worst discomforts is a hurried and stressed dump (and also one that has to be cut short).
This has caused much amusement for my family — especially after I began working in my late teens, and they wondered if I would take naked dumps at workplaces. I think initially I may have begun as a shirt-on shitter (while remaining pants-less), but after a short while I went shirtless again. Why not? I wasn’t hurting anyone — and especially if it was helping me stay calm and relaxed at work, even better for me and my employers.
As to where I put my clothing while I’m on the throne when there’s no stall-door hook, there’s several workarounds — the door handle, if it’s big enough; the top of my backpack, propped against the door or a wall, if I have it with me; hanging or draped carefully over the top of large toilet-roll dispensers; and (rarely, fortunately) folding my clothes and holding them in my hands.
