This just in- worth the lengthly read! Ian and I went out to a Seattle club Friday night. Between the two of us we drank enough beer to sink the USS Abraham Lincoln, and were not terribly successful on the dance floor, i.e. neither of us picked up a trick. Ugh.
At closing Ian invited me over to his place for -you guessed it- weed and more to drink, just what I needed. It was about a two mile hike (we were too cheap to pay for a taxi) and naturally about a half mile on, both of us had to pee, quite seriously. As I complained, Ian said ‘well why didn’t you pee at the bar?’ I countered with ‘well why the hell didn’t YOU pee?’ So we walked on, but I was rapidly getting into trouble, as was Ian.
Another half mile or so (cannot really recall), there were drips in my underwear, and a dark spot the size of a grapefruit materialised around my crotch. Ian thought this was so funny, but I noticed that he was having trouble holding it also. Long story short, we both thought it would be cute to just stand there and piss our pants. The evening wasn’t very cold and it felt really good. We both got a good soaking.
Now here is where it gets interesting: when we were pissing our pants, I briefly smelled something that indicated that Ian had taken it a step further. And as we keep walking, Ian at one point stopped to light a cigarette, but it was becoming fairly obvious to me that Ian was filling his underwear up. I didn’t say anything and pretended not to notice.
When we got to Ian’s place, he graciously lent me a pair of his briefs, socks and jeans, and said I could use the shower. (Ian has a slightly larger waist, but my suspenders kept the pants from sagging.) I didn’t take very long in cleaning up, but when I emerged, the smell permeating the apartment was unmistakable and I just blurted out ‘Ian, you shit your pants!!’ He mumbled something like ‘yeah, I did’ and promptly went into the bathroom. He took a long time to clean up, and I heard the toilet flush a few times.
He eventually came out of the bathroom and went into bedroom to put on fresh clothes. When Ian went out on the balcony to smoke and text, I snuck into the bedroom and noticed that next to his laundry basket he had put his badly soiled underwear into a plastic grocery bag.
We stayed up into the wee hours watching videos, but I never said anything. I am still unwilling to admit to Ian that I occasionally mess my underwear, but I didn’t really have any opportunity to join him: I had taken a fairly decent dump before going out.