I think I’m in the minority here as a female contributor, but what the hell – I’m going to indulge myself anyway.
The first time I wet myself, I’d just come back from a fairly civilised evening out with friends (my a-level awards ceremony for anyone who might be interested). I’d arranged, at the end of the evening, to get a lift home with a guy I knew, a friend’s boyfriend. When he arrived to pick us all up, I needed the loo but didn’t want to delay him; I figured I could hold it, as it was only about 20 minutes’ drive home.
Halfway there, I realised I’d made a mistake.
I sat in the back of the car with two other people, my legs tightly crossed and perched right on the edge of the seat so even when my body tried to force me to pee I physically couldn’t. There I was, my face turning red as I strained against it, wishing and wishing that I’d had the common sense to just go before we’d left. I couldn’t even hold myself because my friend was pressed right up against me. I was burning, full, but couldn’t do anything.
Eventually we made it back to mine. I gave a very cursory goodbye and turned towards my house; as soon as my back was turned I held myself, forcing my fingers in deep so as to keep from embarrassing myself, gripping hard. I thought I might make it upstairs to the bathroom but my friend called me back, wanting to arrange a later meeting – I clenched my thighs, silently cursing her, feeling myself give, then removed my hand, and spoke to her. They pulled off, and I tried again to control myself. It was too late. As the car drove off, I felt a wet warmth in my palm. I was just thankful that they were leaving so they wouldn’t know what I’d done. I reached the garden gate, swaying on my feet with the need to relieve myself, and knew it was no good. I darted into the alley beside my house and let go. I probably should have been embarrassed at that, but I’d honestly never felt such relief. I felt it gush (I’d like to say trickle, but it was so much more urgent than that) down my thighs and into my boots, soaking the lining.
I looked around myself. I was stood in broad daylight, in a residential area, on a summertime evening, with my own piss cooling in a puddle around my ankles. I realised I was wet in more than one sense, more turned on than I could ever remember having been. I felt filthy but at the same time unspeakably aroused and didn’t know what to do. I decided quite quickly: I’d been needing to crap. I could have held it, I knew I could, but feeling incredibly horny and slightly drunk I thought why the fuck not; I’d already completely ruined my pants. I spread my legs further. I braced myself against the wall. I’d needed it enough that I didn’t have to try hard to fill my knickers.
Again, I looked around. There was no one looking at me, though people were walking past on the street. I couldn’t believe I’d got away with it. I rearranged my skirt; there was only a small damp patch on the back, nothing to suggest to anyone what I’d just done. I made my way inside, hoping against hope that there would be no one else in so I could continue to enjoy myself when I got inside. I was lucky, I was left alone. I went to my bedroom and knelt on the floor, removed my skirt so I could spread my thighs further, and strained. I didn’t really need anything else but I wanted more of a load in my pants so I forced it, rocking back and forth on my own hand with one finger in my arse to encourage myself.
With full knickers and pee dribbling out of me onto the carpet as I clenched my muscles, I rubbed myself frantically. I’ve never come so hard.