I was out on the hills on my own. The day was brilliant, not just sunny but hot as well, not a combination that often go together in the hills of England. I was away from college for a few days. My best friend had not been able to come which was a shame in many ways. I was heading over to Ennerdale to camp.
The top of Great Gable seemed a good place to stop for lunch in every way except there was no place for me to relieve myself. I have always hated the idea of openly peeing or pooing which has meant that over the years I have often wet myself and often messed my pants as well.
There were at least twenty other walkers on the summit. I found a place amongst the rocks and sat down with my lunch and looked at the view down Wasdale and the route I had followed to get to the top. It had been a good scramble and I was hot, my underpants and shirt soaked in sweat like I had already wet myself. Being on my own for several days was making me horny and my eyes homed straight in on two lads about my age sitting on a rock nearby. One in particular I could have eaten and my cock was trying to force its way through my shorts. The pleasure was short lived and they walked off, shorts sagging and white underpants well displayed. I was now needing to pee and it was serious. My sandwiches were good but my concentration was all on holding back the flood. I was squeezing and moving my legs every way but it was making no difference. I was in pain and at bursting point. The heat of the gushing pee was amazing. The force surprised me. It burst through my shorts like a geyser until it gradually subsided and flowed normally until becoming a trickle. My accident was visible at the front around my zip and crotch but my backside was soaked to my waistband. Once I stood anyone seeing me would see what I had done but honestly it felt so good I did’nt care. Very discreetly I slid my zip down but as soon as my hand felt around my sodden Y Fronts I ejaculated. I walked off down to Kirk Fell and into the valley that is Ennerdale.
I sat on a pile of logs and wet again. I no longer cared. My shorts would look dry at the campsite. The breeze was warm and drying. I needed to poo but was certain it would be a long way from firm so I hung on. At the campsite I was relieved to get to poo but sad as well because it was firm and would have been nice in my pants for the last few miles.
It had been a very public wetting experience but I did’nt mind. Oddly I had enjoyed it and wondered what the people who had seen me soaked had thought.