Here's an excerpt from one of my short stories, that deals with toilet paper (or the lack thereof). This was during an overnight hike during boys summer camp, 1957, following some skinny-dipping in a creek in the woods:
Back at our campsite the counselors showed us how to build a cooking fire, and taught us other outdoor skills. We were assigned sleeping spots to clear away for our blankets, the only cover or bedding we'd have for the night. Then we lit our fire, and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows, and continued to sit around the crackling blaze and tell stories as it got dark, and until the flames died down. Finally we all went to "bed."
I remember staring up at the stars through the leafy canopy above, and listening to the strange sounds in the woods, feeling a bit afraid after all our fireside fright stories. For just like at our big weekly bonfires, when the entire camp gathered around the blaze on the big lawn at night, we had told classic tales of ghosts and monsters. And about that decade's new threat from the sky: flying saucers and spacemen, factual stories all guaranteed to be absolutely true.
So I scanned the stars for suspicious moving lights, and wondered what earthly threats might be making the noises all around me. Or had a saucer already secretly landed on the other side of the hill, its weird occupants making their way through the woods towards us with death rays at the ready, and abduction in mind?
But also keeping me awake was the growing discomfort of not having had access to a toilet since morning. The intestinal cramps were getting stronger, until I knew I couldn't wait for dawn, and would have to immediately avail myself of the "field toilet" method our counselors had explained.
I remember they said toilet paper was somewhere in the supply truck, but I was far from it. The ground presented a minefield of sleeping boys scattered between me and it, and, to make matters worse, my flashlight was failing.
I, on the other hand, was located on the very edge of the woods. And I also remembered the counselors saying a wide leaf could substitute for toilet paper in an emergency. This was rapidly becoming an emergency.
I'll spare readers any graphic details and trust to the imagination. Suffice to say I was able to get comfortably to sleep before too long, after a revoltingly earthy experience.
But not until I had first braved the full terrors of the dark woods, that grew ever greater as I stumbled blindly around, far from the protection of the campsite, my flashlight growing dimmer and dimmer and finally dying, just when I needed it most. Following that highly eventful first day and night, our return hike to the main camp the next afternoon was so anti-climatic that I have no clear memory of it at all.