DIY Dalliance

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reprinted from Fiesta magazine, issue and date unknown
I've been happily married to John for six years now. We live in a nice 
semi in Croydon and our sex life is reasonable. But, for some time I've 
had my eyes on the young man living next door. I'd often caught him 
giving me admiring glances and although adultery was the last thing on 
my mind, I often wondered what it would be like [A contradiction here? - 
Ed].
Anyway, my husband had gone away for a week on a training course and as 
a surprise for him I decided to decorate the spare bedroom while he was 
away. I took all the junk out and, with a bit of help from a DIY manual, 
I took up the carpet and removed the door handles in order to do a 
really professional job.
On the Thursday I had the windows open and was painting the outside of 
the window frame when there was a loud bang. The door had been blown 
shut by a gust of wind. I thought nothing of it until I decided to take 
a break for a cup of tea and a visit to the loo, which I had neglected 
for some time as I was so engrossed in the job. To my horror, I had left 
the door handles outside the room, on the landing, and I couldn't open 
the door.
I tried everything, but all in vain. By now the call of nature was 
desperately urgent as I unable to come up with a solution to my pressing 
problem. I couldn't pee on the floor, and there were no pots or tins 
anywhere in the bare room to relieve at least some of the pressure. I 
leaned out of the window and hoped someone would pass by who could 
rescue me. There, coming down the road, was Alan, the neighbour. I waved 
to him and he came up the garden path. I told him I was locked in and 
asked him to go round to the back door, come in through the house and 
release me. I didn't tell him about my predicament because I was 
embarrassed, but when I heard his footsteps on the stairs I told him to 
hurry up.
He asked me why and I told him that I was desperate for the loo and that 
I'd wet myself if he didn't hurry. I had my hands between my legs as he 
fiddled about on the other side of the door, and I asked him what was 
taking so long. He replied that he got really turned on by girls who wet 
their pants. I thought about this statement for a while and I realised 
that by rubbing my crotch trying to hold my pee, I was turning myself on 
as well!
As the door opened I ran out to the loo, but I couldn't get the straps 
and buttons of my dungarees undone in time, and I just sat on the loo 
and let loose my pent up pee. The door was open and Alan just stared at 
my crotch as the material darkened, and the pee poured through.
When I had finished, I could see the manly bulge in Alan's trousers and 
I was strangely turned on. I hadn't wet myself like this since I was a 
teenager and the wet fabric felt good against my crotch. He came over to 
me and casually undid the straps and buttons I couldn't undo before. The 
soaking dungarees fell to the floor leaving me in my wet knickers and 
tee shirt. He kissed me and then rubbed my clit through my soaking 
pants. I undid his trousers and stroked his rock hard prick. Then he 
lowered me to the floor and, pulling my pants to one side, quickly slid 
his tool up my now soaking cunt.
The screw didn't last long and we both came very noisily and 
satisfyingly. He dressed and said if ever I was in need again, I should 
go and see him. I didn't tell my husband anything when he got back, but 
he was pleased with the room! I sometimes see Alan, but we have never 
had the opportunity to repeat the experience.
Tina, Croydon