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We’ve been stuck in traffic for ages and that big bottle of water I’ve been drinking is almost empty when you first realise I’m in trouble.
What seemed at first like me casually shifting my weight has become closer to rocking from side to side. Half an hour ago we were making conversation; now I don’t appear to be listening to anything you’re saying, just nodding and “mmhmm”ing in response.
Most telling of all, my hands are jammed between my legs. 45 minutes ago, it might have looked like I was just sitting that way, but now my knuckles are white against my denim shorts and it’s pretty clear that I’m really only just winning the battle over my bladder.
My eyes are closed and I’m biting my lip. The traffic ahead of us remains infuriatingly stationary. Both of us know that there’s a good half hour to go before we can get out of this jam, and that’s if we’re lucky.
If it was you, you’d probably have peed in the bottle by now, I think, jealously. Must be so much easier. I guess that I could try - well, I might have to, at this rate - but I can’t see myself being able to aim, not sitting like this, not having to go this much.
No, it’ll shoot out of me uncontrollably, I’m pretty certain... I try not to think about the possibility of exploding. A little groan escapes my lips, despite my attempts to stifle it.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
I try my absolute best to sound nonchalant as I say, “I just kinda - have to - pee!” but the way my words are forced out between gritted teeth probably suggests otherwise.
I try my absolute best to sound nonchalant as I say, “I just kinda - have to - pee!” but the way my words are forced out between gritted teeth probably suggests otherwise.
“Look,” you say, slowly. “If you have to go that bad, you can just...go, you know.”
I’m so surprised I almost forget to hold on for a moment and have to fight hard to contain a near leak, so it’s a good 20 seconds later when I say, “what - go HERE?!”
I’m so surprised I almost forget to hold on for a moment and have to fight hard to contain a near leak, so it’s a good 20 seconds later when I say, “what - go HERE?!”
“What about your car?! And my pants?!” I say. I am a bit shocked by this, the idea of just nonchalantly giving in and soaking myself in your passenger seat. Not that it doesn’t sound great right now, but I worry that you’ll change your mind once it’s too late -
- that once you hear the strong hiss of my pee and realise just how much I’m going to flood your car, you’ll try and get me to stop. Because I won’t be able to, not once that dam is broken. I’m too full.
“Don’t worry,” you say. Smiling at me. You put a comforting hand on my thigh. “It’ll all clean. I hate to see you so uncomfortable.”
I still honestly don’t know if I would have done it, but suddenly two things happened that made my mind up for me.
I still honestly don’t know if I would have done it, but suddenly two things happened that made my mind up for me.
The first was that I glanced over and noticed a tell-tale bulge in your trousers. You were trying to conceal it, but suddenly I realised that my soaked shorts might not horrify you as much as I’d thought they would.
The second was that the car in front of us had moved forward, as we’d been talking, maybe ten feet, and now the car behind impatiently honked at us for not following. The sound of the horn made me jump, and for a second I lost control: a hot squirt of pee into my knickers.
I gasped and grabbed myself and managed to win back control, but not before a second spurt had joined the first, leaving a warm fist-sized wet patch on my shorts. Your fingers didn’t leave my thigh: they stroked insistently. Your bulge twitched.
I gave in.
“Oh, I’m going,” I half-moaned in relief, leaning back as a hot jet of piss flew out of me, puddling in the seat, running down my legs. “God, I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold it,” I said apologetically.
Your face was slightly flushed. “Don’t worry,” you said, and was it just me or were those words said in a slight groan, too? Your hand did not move from my thigh, but your other hand now slid down to your waistband and slipped underneath.
“It’s okay,” you tell me, again and again. “It’s okay. It’s okay that you’ve wet yourself. It’s okay.” I am squirming in my seat, embarrassed but still peeing.
“Let it all out. It’s okay. Keep going until you’re empty, baby.”
Your voice is the one that catches now.
Your voice is the one that catches now.
“I’m sorry I just - I had to wee so much and I couldn’t -“
“Shh,” you murmur. “Don’t worry. I bet that feels so much better.”
It does! The relief is amazing. And your fingers on my leg - which have been creeping closer to my crotch - feel great too, making me tingle.
“Shh,” you murmur. “Don’t worry. I bet that feels so much better.”
It does! The relief is amazing. And your fingers on my leg - which have been creeping closer to my crotch - feel great too, making me tingle.
