First Date with Stacy: A Fantasy

This story is pure fantasy. It contains desperation, wetting, and a sex scene. This is my fantasy, as a 20-something male. I wanted to finally get IT down, that perfect fetishist encounter (for me). Fan meets fan, and a mutual interest is discovered in the most garish way possible.

(Indentation go messed up during copying. Sorry!)

I met Stacy at school. We were both what you might call “professional” students. I had recently broken up with my girlfriend of some years because the demands of my education were too much. I waited a while before getting back onto the dating scene, but I knew when I did it would have to be with someone who was similar to me. Stacy and I were the same year, gunning for the same career, so you don’t get much more similarity then that. Or so I thought.

She had caught my eye a while ago, but we never formally met. She was about 5’6 and blonde, and had what I considered to be a great body. I’d say she was somewhere on the line between thin and a few pounds extra. She wore dresses in the warmer months that highlighted just the sexiest pair of legs that I’d ever seen. She may have been a track runner or soccer player in earlier years, before academics sucked up all our time. She wore glasses usually and had an adorably warm smile.

We would catch ourselves glancing at each other, but we never talked until one night at a bar event hosted by our school we were finally introduced by a mutual friend. We hit it off right away. She was remarkably easy to talk to, laughed at my bad jokes, and I laughed at her good ones. She suddenly shifted from being some sort of mythological princess seen from afar into a real person, with interesting things to say. It always amazes me how natural these kinds of encounters can be when they are just allowed to happen and not thought upon so much. Just like that, we made plans for dinner and drinks the following weekend.

We lived in the same area, a nice suburban part of town with plenty to do, so we decided to walk from place to place. She was looking gorgeous. She wore a tight green summer dress that stopped mid-thigh and a pair of black flats with a little jewel near the toe. I also have a pretty strong foot fetish, so my heart skipped a beat at the sight of her bare legs, with her feet showing toe cleavage in those shoes. I couldn’t help but look down and I think she saw me but she didn’t let on.

We had dinner and talked about what two students of our type inevitably talked about: school. We lamented about the scheduling of classes, the instruction of certain professors, all the typical stuff. I made her laugh a few times and she did the same for me. Outside looking in, it would appear we were hitting it off pretty nicely. She was easy to talk to and I did my best to keep the conversation smooth and light.

We had gotten a few drinks in us when I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I noticed Stacy had not yet taken a break.

“What’s the matter, can’t hold it?” she teased.

I chuckled and continued on my way. When I came back, I noticed she had ordered us a couple more drinks. She smirked and asked, “How was it? Everything you thought it would be?”

“Oh yeah, heavenly,” I said. “The bladder is like a video game power bar that fills up and has to be emptied before reaching that critical point or, game over!”

She giggled. I never feel odd dropping a few innocuous lines here and there. It’s all in good fun and people don’t really question it. I trained myself to respond like most anyone would at this casual bladder talk, despite my fetish.

A few more drinks in and we began talking about one particular lesson than involved sexual relations and deviances. I forgot how we arrived there but we were both pretty loose at that point so we continued.

“Sex is a big power play for people, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. “The man has to try to seize it and the woman has to surrender it, but the way the mainstream talks about it for people our age, it’s like a game. Almost like the girl has to be tricked by the guy into giving it up.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I’m not so sure we can ever escape that, though. It’s almost like it’s built into our romantic encounters to have this play at power.”

“It should be simpler,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Yeah, for sure. Behind it all, it’s really about control. Who’s got it and who doesn’t. You see it in couples all the time. Either they are constantly at war with each other for it or one of the two has completely given up and is just sad. Even those with submissive tendencies need to feel in control sometimes. It’s a major stessor.”

“Oh, I like that! I definitely get the control thing. So maybe people just don’t realize it. What if they did?”

I was running my finger around the rim of the glass. “Well, I guess it would simplify things. If you were completely aware of it and you didn’t have to have it all all the time, then you could willingly trade off. Keep ego out of it and keep things balanced. Take sex, for example.”

She looked attentive but a bit red in the face from drinking. It was a first date conversation that could have only been inspired by alcohol, after all.

“Some people do realize the nature of the ‘game’ and use sex as sort of the silent bargaining tool. We put all these rules on sex. When it’s too soon to have it, when you’ve waited too long, how often. All this stuff. And all it does it result in pressure and stress. It’s because people are just so afraid of losing control. In all cases, right?”

She nodded.

“And yet is there no greater gesture of love and trust than to completely surrender control to someone who is special to you? Sex is just one way of doing it, but I think if you look you’ll find that we humans have created dozens of behavior to symbolize it.”

“I’m inclined to believe you, Mr. Jack. You’re kind of a smart guy,” she said, sipping again.

“Kind of?” I asked with a smirk.

“We’ll have to see!”

We decided to leave just after that and I immediately noticed her a bit fidgety when we got up to go. At the coat check, she was shuffling from foot to foot with her arms crossed over her shoulders. I didn’t ask if anything was wrong and she didn’t say anything. I was going to walk her home and we had a good few blocks to go before we got that. It was easy to see she was desperate as soon as we got out the door. We barely walked 20 feet when she said something about it.

“Oh man, I should have gone to the bathroom!”

“Ha, who’s laughing now!” I teased.

We continued walking and talking for another block. I noticed she had significantly quickened her pace. She was definitely desperate. It was a bit exciting, but I had been in this situation dozens of times before. Nothing ever comes from it and to think something will alters one’s capability of having normal interactions with his date. Play it off like any normal person would. Forget about the fetish now and maybe think of it later. But this girl, oh this girl was going to make it incredibly difficult.

“Oh my Goddd, I really have to pee. I always do this. I’m sorry!” she said, half laughing.

“Oh come on, don’t be sorry. That’s totally okay!” I replied grinning.

We continued walking towards her street. She was taking small quick steps and holding onto my arm. “Wow, I’m about to pee myself,” she declared out loud.

“Oh stop, it can’t be that bad!” I chided.

“Nooo, I’m serious! Would you never talk to me again if I did?”

Now, this was not my first casual pee conversation like this. Girls always seem to get themselves into micro-desperation situations and the subject of squatting or peeing oneself comes up for a moment or two, in jest or whatever. It’s nice to let the imagination wander and think that they are talking about pee for a specific reason, but in all my experiences it’s never been the reason I was looking for. Still, I always like my responses in these situations to be somewhat ambiguous; befitting any kind of intention the girl has in mind. And, also, I like to do some prodding when appropriate.

“I can absolutely promise you that I would still talk you. Do you really think you might?

Her tone became a bit more serious now, her voice slightly quieter. “Maybe…”

She stopped abruptly, crossed her legs, bent slightly forward at her hips and uttered a moan. “You alright?” I said.

She nodded, “Yeah, let’s hurry.” And we continued.

You see friends, in the typical “night-of-drinking pee talk” that little break in the action would have terminated the subject. If I would continue to talk about the prospect of her wetting herself, then I’d risk showing my hand and coming across as someone who was peculiarly interested in her predicament, more so than someone should be. So, I’ve learned over the years that a sacrifice has to be made at this point. A fetish isn’t the end-all be-all, and it’s simply not worth creeping out a good person to explore your kink. So, despite wanting to only pry into this situation more, I let it go.

Or, at least I would have. If she wasn’t the one to bring it up again.

“Jack…I think I’m not going to make it,” she said after about 20 seconds, with a strange tone in her voice. The desperation was there, but there was something else, too. More like something was lacking. She sounded concerned, but not as concerned as someone should be.

“Are you serious? I really think you should reconsider the whole squatting thing. And besides, we’re not that far away from your place.”

“No, I know, but now my neighbors might even see now. And I know we’re close but….God, I haven’t peed myself since I was a kid. Have you ever seen someone wet themselves before? Like totally soaked themselves by accident?”

Wow, okay so she was having a pee conversation with me. All centered around her wetting herself. Damn. I was intrigued, but I was careful not to get my hopes up. I had to keep calm. It’s so easy to let your imagination run away. I needed to keep my wits about me and stick with the plan.

“No, I haven’t actually. I mean, I’ve seen it in like movies and stuff but never in real life. I guess I’ve never been that lucky!” That was risky.

“Lucky?”

Shit. Damn idiot, couldn’t resist, could you? Okay, think.

“Well, I would imagine it’s just such an event, you know? Like what we were talking about before with everything being about control. What is more loss of control than someone peeing themselves? I would imagine there are some complex emotions going in a person that that happens to. It would be interesting to see how someone would react to that.”

Okay, not too terrible…I hope.

“Do you think someone might like that happening?”

Is she talking about the peeing or the witnessing? You know what, it doesn’t matter. This is a case where less is more. She keeps wanting to have this conversation so I’m going to keep having it.

“Yes,” I said firmly.

“Like, exciting?”

“Definitely.”

“But if I pee myself in front of you…you’ll think badly of me.” She moaned a bit in desperation after she said it, a reminder that she was still in trouble. But again, she was concerned but it was an odd type of concern. Almost…faked? Whatever, just roll with it.

“No. I can guarantee I would definitely not think badly of you. In any way. In fact I can promise you right now that you’re going to get a phone call from me tomorrow no matter what happens tonight, and during that call we’re going to make plans to go out again” I made sure my words were like bricks. It was the truth, after all.

She didn’t respond at all to that. I felt my answers were sufficient and she didn’t really seem put off by them. We were on the same block as her house at this point and I noticed she began holding herself. Her hand was moving under her dress.

“Oh my godddd,” she moaned. “Ohhh, we’re almost there,” she almost squealed.

It was this point where she began making little sounds. Micro moans, I guess you could call them. My cock was hard as a rock at this point. A beautiful desperate girl was in front of me, talking about wetting herself, and it might finally happen. And she might actually be into it. No…nonsense. It’s just talk. Still, I was pitching a strong tent. I don’t think she noticed as we were walking. She was preoccupied anyway.

We arrived in front of her house and she was hopping from foot to foot. She immediately opened the fence and went there. “Where are you going,” I asked, puzzled.

“The back door. Come on, hurry!” Just like that. No explanation. Okay then.

The path to her back door was concrete. As we neared the door, a motion-detecting light switched on. With the light on I could beads of sweat on her forehead, and her face was absolutely flushed.

Just a few steps from the door step, she stopped abruptly. “Oh Goddd…oh God Jack! I’m…I’m…! Uhnn!”

I heard a hissing noise and saw some dark spots on the concrete between her feet. “Oh my god!” she uttered, halfway between mortification and ecstasy.

She immediately grabbed at her crotch, then kicked off her shoes so hard that they slapped against the front door and fell to the ground. “Ohh Goddd,” she moaned and just stood there, grabbing her crotch and wetting, the streams running down her bare legs and over her feet, forming a puddle. Her legs glistened in the light and the purple nail polish on her toes shined even more. I watched her up and down as she peed, not knowing where to stop my eyes. My heart was racing and my cock was about to burst out of my pants. Stacy kept her hand at her crotch, he pee splashing all over it as she uttered short, intermittent moans.

When she finally looked at me, she looked straight at my pants first and saw my hand rubbing my bulge slowly. She had finished peeing and just stood there in her large puddle. I took a silent step closer to her and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close. She looked up into my eyes, her breath shallow and rapid, her face completely flushed, and said, “Do it.”

I kissed her forcefully. She moaned. My hands were all over her body. She immediately went for my belt and undid it along with my pants. They fell to the ground, soaking in her puddle which we both stood over. I reached for her soaked panties and yanked them down quickly, also dropping them into the puddle. I grabbed her leg and lifted it so that she would wrap it around me. When she did, I could feel the warm wetness on it spread across my skin. When I entered her, I grabbed her other leg and lifted her off the ground, pushing her back against the wall next to her door. She wrapped both her legs around me tightly. I held her up with both arms as I thrust, momentarily reaching back with one hand to grab onto her foot and squeeze it tightly. It made her utter a stifled moan, as if she wanted to scream but knew she couldn’t be so loud.

I was an animal. She lost all control in front of me and in turn made me lose complete control over myself. I was giving her all I had, completely driven by this savage desire she had awakened in me. After several minutes the bee on her legs was causing her to slide down and out of my grip. She lowered both her legs and spun around, bending slightly over with both her hands on the wall. I entered her from behind and firmly grasped her hips with both hands. We continued like that for some time until she reached back and grabbed my forearm impossibly tightly. I thought I heard more dripping on the ground when I heard her making a muffled sound and I realized that she had begun to orgasm and was biting her arm to suppress her screams. That sent me over the edge and I began to pound harder until the last sense of humanity and reason in me returned and I pulled my cock out of her in the last second and ejaculated all over her ass and legs.

I leaned against her on the wall, her back still to me, and began gently kissing her neck, both of us breathing quickly and shallowly. We remained in that embrace for a few minutes when she turned and began kissing me softly. She broke the kiss and step backed from me. She walked over, picked up her shoes, then walked back into her puddle where we had just stood and had sex.

I pulled up my pants, sodden with her pee. She broke eye contact with me.

“I’ve never done…any of that before,” she said quickly.

“Me neither,” I replied.

There was a strange air about us then. Something not sure, uncertain. She stepped towards her door.

“You promised you were going to call me tomorrow right?” she said quietly, looking deeply into my eyes, embodying the very definition of vulnerable beauty.

“Yes,” I said. “God, yes.”

She smiled. “Okay,” she said quietly, putting her arms around me.

I returned her embrace and kissed her softly on her lips. “Have a good night, Stacy.”

“Good night, Jack,” she said.

It was if she moved in slow motion. She opened her door, stepped inside, and looked back at me, pausing for a moment. She simply smiled, said bye once more, and closed the door.

I stood there for a few minutes, trying to comprehend everything that happened. It was difficult to process it all. It felt positively unreal. I didn’t mind that she didn’t invite me to spend the night. It was probably a lot for her, too. We both needed to marinade with this a bit.

I began my walk home with that familiar sense of longing one experiences, the telltale signs of becoming addicted to another person. I was addicted to Stacy just like that. My stomach sank as I thought about her deciding it was all too much for her and not picking up when I called tomorrow. I shook the thought out of my head and checked my phone to see what time it was. I saw that I had a text message. It was from Stacy. “Don’t forget J,” it read.

The sense of relief and suggestion that I could forget even a second of tonight’s occurrences made me laugh out loud for a good five seconds.

“If I don’t call, assume I’ve been kidnapped and send for help,” I replied.

“ lol, g’night you,” she replied.

Everything was going to be just fine.

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