Where Am I?

My panties are at my ankles and I'm desperately trying not to look down. Salty sweat is gathering around my brow, and I've positioned my head to keep it from falling into my eyes. Holding my breath to save me from the god awful foulness that is beneath my bum, I try to keep from moving. This is not a time for stage fright. I hear a clamor of doors opening and closing, an occasional giggle of disgust. Once it begins to finally go, I shift my stance and have to look down to make sure I don't dribble down my leg. What I see less than two feet from my naked bottom will likely haunt me for years. Nothing worse than a shit stinking port-a-potty deep breath to make you remember exactly where you are. I leave the port-a-pooper, grateful I didn't just have to poop, and grateful I only got a quick look around.