Posted by linda on December 09, 1997 at 23:19
Writing my last post about my first time was quite enjoyable for me, so I hope you all don't mind two in a row.
This one dates back to my teen years. Maybe sometime I'll tell you what happened between my first time and this incident, but for now let's just say that Crissy planted some seeds that I later watered. At this time of this story, however, the very last thing I wanted to do was wet my pants.
I was in my senior year in high school and had an after school job as a cashier in a department store. I met this guy, Frank, also a high school senior who worked in another department, and he asked me out on a date. We lived in Brooklyn, NY, and our date was a movie in Manhattan. I don't remember what time of year it was, but it must have been close to summer because it was warm and breezy, but not hot.
It was Friday night. We took the subway into the city, and saw the movie, eating popcorn and drinking huge sodas. After the movie, since it was so nice outside, we went for a long walk. Of course, in New York City, there was nowhere to go to the bathroom. The few public rest rooms that existed (such as in the subway stations) were risky and disgusting. I definitely had a problem.
Before long, I was approaching desperation. It would take about an hour to get home, even if we left the city at that moment. Frank was just strolling along, holding my hand and talking away, and especially since I hardly knew him, yet I liked him, I was terrified of making a bad impression by squirming or pressing on my crotch, so I tried to hide it as long as I could. I kept wondering what kind of holding power he had, because he drank just as much soda and hadn't peed either. Inwardly, I was panicking, because I honestly did not see any hope of getting to a bathroom in time.
It was pretty late, and the streets were pretty empty. As we walked along Broadway, we came to a sort of alcove leading to an alley, just a little nook off to the side and out of the mainstrea (no pun intended). Frank said, as nonchalantly as could be, "Excuse me a minute, love," let go of my hand, stepped into the alcove, unzipped, and peed for what seemed like forever, into the alley. My heart was racing from the sight of him peeing (as it does to this day whenever I see a man or a woman peeing), not to mention the sound, but I couldn't have been more envious. It is just not possible for a woman to pee on the streets of Manhattan with such ease. Anyway, Frank zipped up and we strolled a few more blocks. I was very aware that the hand I was holding had just held his peeing dick. But I digress...
Anyway, something had to give, because I was clearly going to have a very real, very unplanned, and very unavoidable accident very soon. We stopped at a store window with a lot of cameras and electronic devices that Frank seemed interested in, and just the act of standing still momentarily sent the first squirt of pee into my panties. I couldn't even appreciate the feeling, because I didn't want to blow my chances of a second date with Frank. And I knew it was only a matter of moments before I would pee myself totally if I didn't find some alternative. It was now or never. I had to say something.
"Frank," I said very sheepishly, "I have a problem." "What's the matter?" he asked. "I have to pee very badly, and it's not as easy for me as it was for you."
"Can you wait till we get to the subway station? I'll stand guard at the door," Frank offered. "I don't think I can make it, and I certainly can't undress from the waist down in an alley," I replied. "No, of course you can't," Frank said. "So you've only got one choice, love," he said next. "What?" I was afraid to ask. "Wet your pants right here," he said. "I'll look or not look, whatever you want."
In the fraction of a second that followed, I thought of what I was wearing and what the "damages" would be. I was tall and thin (still am). It was the age of bell bottoms, and I was wearing low-cut black pants of a rayon-type material, tight across the pelvis and butt, and with huge, wide, flowing legs--beyond bell bottoms, actually. If I peed them, I would be clearly observed by many in the brightly lit subway. But they were black, so it probably wouldn't be too bad.
As I pointed out, I only had a fraction of a second to ponder my options, because the floodgates were opening. I felt the second spurt coming on as Frank said the words "wet your pants" and before I could even reply, that second spurt turned into a gusher. I stood there helplessly, fighting back tears, and unable to move as I peed and peed and peed, staring straight ahead into the store window at the cameras and holding Frank's hand. I didn't even squat or spread my legs, just peed, frozen in position, seeing all hope of a second date with Frank vanish as my pee poured down my legs, soaking my pants and socks, and puddling around my shoes--and Frank's. He didn't move out of the way, but he did look.
Finally, I'd peed all I had to pee. Frank said, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" and resumed our stroll to the subway. It was pretty breezy, and the pants were thin and lightweight, so they were already starting to dry around the edges of the wet areas as we got to the subway. We didn't say a word about my wet pants all the way home. He kissed me at the door and went on his way.
I wish I had a happier ending to this tale. I never heard from Frank again. Next week he wasn't at work, and when I asked around, everyone else seemed to know that Friday had been Frank's last day on the job. Although I'll always remember what a gentleman he was about my dilemma, I secretly wish he'd grabbed my crotch while I was peeing, or at least placed my hand on his hard dick...
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