Not-So Cliche Summer Part III

Part III:

After I enlightened her on my embarrassing past, we spent the next several moments in silence, listening to the sounds of the forest. She then told me she had an idea. She suggested that we try wetting ourselves – on purpose. Her voice was calm and collected, but when I looked over I could see the redness of her cheeks. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I thought for a minute, and, stumbling over my own words, I asked her about our clothes. We had spent so much time letting them dry. She considered the notion and agreed with me, but she then followed up with another idea. She said that maybe we could just pee in front of each other. I could feel butterflies in my stomach, but we had already done so much that feeling embarrassed at that point seemed unnecessary. I digested the butterflies and told her with a resounding yes that we could do it. Her face lit up with my answer; I assume this was because we were not only going to perform the act, but because she was most likely worried I may have questioned it or have called her out. The worry itself was ludicrous, since I was just as deep in the game of sexual cat and mouse as she was, but I cannot blame her for feeling such apprehension – I certainly would have too!

I remember a short silence, and then I asked what we were to do. She told me we would just walk over there –‘there’ being several feet in front of us – and we would just go. It was a simple premise as well as a simple plan, but after losing a game of rock-paper-scissors and finding myself the first to go, I learned that it was much harder than first expected. I was standing in the sunlight, her next to me, staring at my penis. I remember her asking me if I had to go, and I told that I did; I had drank the lemonade she had offered me hours ago, but I just couldn’t. After what seemed to be an eternity of nervousness and anticipation, I finally felt myself getting close to release. I remember warning her that it was coming, and she watched on with great curiosity. I did my best to relax, feeling urine leave my body, pittering and pattering on the ground below. Soon, the stream started picking up, and the evident pitter-patter was replaced by a splattering as it went forward and made a stream in-between my legs. When the golden arch came to eventual drip and hasty end, I looked up at her, and she instinctively knew what my eyes conveyed – it was her turn.

I remember her spreading her legs and standing there; she was seemingly having just as much trouble as I was with release. I asked her if, after her prior accident, she had to go. She told me that she indeed did need to go; there was still a little bit left over from the event in question, as well as more that worked its way through her. I, much like she had moments ago, practiced patience and waited for her to become comfortable enough to urinate, and I can assure that each second becomes far longer when you are the observer. Finally, she did just as I had and warned me it was coming; so, with great interest, I stared at the semi-visible pink spot in-between her legs and waited. It was then I then I saw a glorious sight; it was the site of urine trickling out and on to the ground, soon turning into a stream. Just as my urine had done, it made a pool on the ground. As her bladder emptied, we both watched as the pool overflowed and soon began making a small river in my direction. Unfortunately, the entire event did not last long, but I can say that something is certainly better than nothing, and that is for sure!

With both of our bladders emptied and our curiosities satiated, we went back and rested at the spot underneath the tree. Our bodies were heavy from the perpetual nervousness, but I feel we were both very pleased with that day. We did not get long to discuss what we had seen and what we had thought, for the winds were beginning to grow restless and the dark clouds were starting to blacken out the sun. We knew a storm was coming, so with that, we dressed – our clothes at that point quite dry, if not a little crusty – and headed home.

I am happy to say that my adventures with Sam did not end, but the topic was not re-approached, despite my immense eagerness to bring it up, for another week. I had found myself invited to a sleepover at her house, and as you can figure, it was just me and her. I said once before that her dad had a fond trust of me, and I do not know if it was as simple as he thought me capable of no wrong or if he was content with the thought of me engaging her in promiscuous activities – which does seem a bit ridiculous! – but I do know that his trust in me was not misplaced; for, I felt a great respect for his daughter and would have done anything for her.

I remember us sitting together in her room, the sun already departed from the skies, playing a board game, and while I do not remember what this game was, I do remember that we had been engaged in it for quite some time. As is the norm with any boy my age, I naturally found myself becoming distracted with other matters, and a good example of this would be her vestments! She was wearing a pink tank top, with, you guessed it, no bra. So you can imagine with that alone I was granted an eye full, but she was also in the very same pajama pants that, a week prior, had been left quit sodden by her rather modest morning accident. A normal boy would be far more fascinated by her nipples, but if you think at this point I am normal than I can guarantee you are quite mistaken! I took every opportunity I could to catch a glance at her crotch without her becoming privy. I observed it closely, hoping to identify some kind of stain, and if there was not one to find, to maybe train my eyes to find them on her other articles of clothing, but I feel it is needless to say that neither of my ventures were too successful. Not only were the pajamas dark - which would make it harder to see - urine normally didn’t leave too clear a stain, and I can’t imagine her picking those pants out of her others if urine did; and of course, training my eyesight failed, given it was preposterous venture.

Our conversation was rather tame, since we had not brought up anything of a sexual nature, and out where we were, you had to really rely on a sense of humor to derive any enjoyment out of such a tepid and stagnant world – certainly a world not intended for the youth. This did not help at all my growing lust to discuss such matters, whether they be questions from me or too me. Oddly enough, it was not some sexual gratification I was after with such discussion, but rather my natural pioneering needs combined with my unique desires that created a psychological void in me. I had discovered an addiction or rather, a deficiency within my mind. It was a hole that needed filling, and sexual gratification was a convenient result.

The only reason I refrained from bringing it up was because of the fear I felt. I did not know how she viewed those events, and I did not know if she was interested in doing more similar things. So, with my doubts holding a secure place in my mind, I did not speak my mind, but spoke rather as result of it. Thinking back, I knew even then that there would most likely have been almost no consequences other than an awkward and fleeting moment, but even that left me feeling great apprehension. In the end, it made no difference, and for that, I have no reason to feel regret.

I remember her saying off-handedly that she needed to pee, and while for a split second I felt my heart leap in excitement, I quickly deduced that it was a meaningless phrase. She would merely stand and make way for the toilet, leaving me curious and quite anxious; after all, she had said it so nonchalantly! She hadn’t even looked me in the eyes – she was looking at the board game. With my spirits dying, I waited for her to excuse herself, but most curiously, she did not. As a result, my spirits started to once rise. I had never even considered her to risk such things in her own house, especially with a toilet mere feet away! Or was I overreacting? It was possible she didn’t even need to go that bad; not to mention, she could easily make way to her bathroom at any time – it wasn’t as if I could stop her!

As time progressed, so did her need for the toilet, and I watched on with fantastic awe. At first, she switched positions, and while I admit it could possibly be attributed, in part or in whole, to basic discomfort, I feel that going from a criss-cross position to on her knees was caused, or at least influenced, by her need for the toilet. I saw, as the minutes made their way by, as her hand rested on her thigh, and slowly made its way closer and closer to her bladder. It even got to the point where she was, with certain practiced subtly, bouncing in place. Even if she had, at that very moment, gotten tired of waiting and left for the bathroom, I still would have enjoyed what I had seen; even if it did not satisfy me in some divine sexual way, it did help fill that mental void, it helped satiate that addiction, and it helped offer a temporary cure to my deficiency.

When it had become painfully obvious to anyone, and not just to a keen observer such as myself, that she was in need of the toilet, I posed such a question: I asked her if she needed to pee. Sure enough, she told me that she did, and her reasoning for not going was that she wanted to finish up the game, and I must say I found that rather odd! She was, after all, not doing anything noticeable to speed it up. If I didn’t know better, I would say she was enjoying the desperation, and possibly putting on a little show – maybe even testing to see my interest because of her own doubts. Good thing I don’t know any better!

It eventually got to the point where she was standing and, much to my pleasure, dancing on the spot, a hand buried in-between her legs. She had me lift the board game to on top of her bed so she didn’t have to bend down so far to play, and I can assure you I had no problem with this. I watched on in curiosity, my heart beating fast. I asked if she was okay, and she told me that she was, but her strained voice said otherwise. She asked me why I had asked, as if she needed an answer. I told her, in honesty, that she looked like she was about to have an accident, and I said it with a bit of a laugh; for, I had no desire what so ever to make her think I had a problem with it. She gave a chuckle and told me that we had better hurry before that happened, and with that response, I knew with almost no doubt that she found these urine related proclivities of interest, and was most likely testing me.

Finally, it got to the point where she was finding it almost impossible to remove even a single hand from in-between her legs to play the game, and with that, she told me she couldn’t wait any longer. Maybe it was my lusting tendencies, that psychological void, or just the sheer testosterone flowing though me, but I summoned up the courage to remind her, with a teasing inflection to my voice, that she had said she was going to wait until the game was over. In a way, I wanted to convince her into waiting longer, but it was clear that no matter of innuendo would convince her to stay, for her desperation was simply too overwhelming. She informed me she just couldn’t do it and that I won; she then partly waddled and partly walked towards the door of her room, both hands keeping the impending waterfall from spilling over. When she got to the door she quickly removed a hand from in-between her legs. It was physically visible in her movements that with the hand gone, her control had been compromised, so she practically ran to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. If you remember, I said before that her bathroom was directly across the hall, and I, almost feeling with enough effort could develop X-Ray vision, stared at the door intently. It was almost no time at all after the door shut, blocking my view, that I had a stream of urine – loud and pristine. If she had made it, it was clear that it was by the skin of her teeth, and any added delay would have surely ended in disaster. I listened to the stream and compared it to the sounds of when I urinated. I had heard it before on previous occasions, but given the many recent escapades me and Sam had embarked on, I had a new found interest in it. I considered gravitating closer to the door, but I concluded that the ends did not justify the means, and the risk was just too great. If her dad caught me listening to her daughter peeing, I would have surely been in for a world of troubles!

After hearing her wipe, I heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on. She then opened the door of the bathroom, me looking casually – possibly too casually – at the ground. She entered her room and sighed. Utilizing my aforementioned tact, I scanned her clothing closely, not identifying any type of wet spot or mark, and with this, I felt my heart sink a little. She told me how big of a relief it had been, and I was, and still am, quite sure it was; although, and quite selfishly – I must admit – I secretly craved her to not make it. I wanted with a great passion to her come back, her pants soaked, or at least a noticeable spot, but I had to put my greedy desires behind me and be content with what I had witnessed.

With the event in question over with, we took a seat on the floor, the same places we had been when we were playing our game, and we decided to just chat. I surely didn’t mind since it gave me plenty of time to stare at her pants and imagine their state if she had been less fortunate in her attempts to reach the toilet; although, we did not have much to talk about, and due to this, I found an opportunity to question her. I asked her, and I assure you it was in a teasing manner, if she had managed to get to the toilet in time. I had expected a cute smile and a resound confirmation she had, and while I was granted the former, the latter was entirely different! She told that something along those lines had occurred, but this surely meant something! If she had truly made it all the way, she would have said so, and I knew this, so I pressed on and asked her to explain. She had told me that she may have had a bit of trouble holding it in once she arrived at the toilet, and I, being the sexually destitute young man I was, told her that she didn’t look that bad when she was heading to the bathroom, and as I’m sure you have already deduced, this was a lie, but, lie or not, it served its purpose of making her go on. She told me that sometimes seeing the toilet, and seeing the bathroom, or even on long car trips seeing the house, could increase the urge to go. This was something I not only understood, but could relate too, since I had on occasions prior, been rendered a victim to such the creeping specter. She also went on to tell me that when she had to open her door, that didn’t help her either, and that was quite understandable as well.

Much to my enjoyment, she had begun to digress, so I, still feeling great curiosity and mild confusion, asked her if she had indeed made it all the way. She smiled in response and told me that she had – mostly. At that point, I could not turn back. I knew I had to hear more, for stopping then would have been an affront to men everywhere! If a man embarks on a dangerous journey in search of treasure and he finds a golden doubloon, then left privy to the fact the treasure is indeed within his grasp, can he be expected to turn tail and run just because said treasure could be booby trapped? Of course not, for that would be spitting in the face of exploration and the fires of passion! So I, embarking on a journey of my own, spade in hand, began to dig for more information. I told her that she had appeared as though she had made it; after all, there were no resulting marks of wetness. With that, she finally told me the whole story.

She explained that when she had initially left the room, she felt somewhat confident she could make it, but once she had moved her hand to open the door, her confidence, as is the way with all emotions – so fleeting in nature – left her. Her need increased by quite a bit, and seeing the toilet was no helping hand either! She ran for the bathroom and upon entering she flicked on the light and closed the door behind her. She then, her hands on the hem of her clothing, dropped her pants to go, but mere moments before she had gotten her clothing off, she lost control. I could feel great arousal flowing through me, and with that arousal, I found a new aurora of bravery. I used this to ask a risky question, one that would clearly show my interest for urine related subject matter: I asked her why her pants were not wet. I then explained that if she had lost control before getting her clothing off, her stream would have clipped the edge of the pajamas, thus leaving them at least meagerly sodden! I could tell that she was a bit taken aback by the extent of which I had examined the situation, but she was also slightly impressed. I feel it is safe to say that if I had asked most other people, I would have generally been met with an unfavorable response, but luckily, she was not most other people.

She said it was hard to explain, but after losing control she quickly managed to regain it, and that was when she dropped her pants. I pointed out to her that it sounded more like she had leaked, as opposed to losing control, but she informed me that when a woman starts going, she can’t stop, and if she does, it will normally be for a very short amount of time, depending on how much she has to go. She, being at the point losing control, started going and was only able to stop it for a split second, and that was the second she dropped her pants. I asked her how many times she could do it, as in, if she could do it multiple times in a row – maybe to stop an accident. She told me that each time a girl did it, it got harder to it again, and she was actually pretty surprised she was even able to do it once. If she had lost control for any longer than she had, stopping for even a second would have not only have been rather impractical, but quite impossible!

I took great interest in every word she said and I wanted to hear more - to know more! So I pressed the matter: I asked her the results if she had been delayed for five seconds. I was nervous to ask such a question, but it was getting to the point where if she called me out about my interests, there was no excuse I could make that would serve as adequate; so my trepidation was becoming less of a driving force in my mind. She told me that if she had been delayed in the room that she probably would have still made it, but potentially with a little more damage, and I, of course, took note of the fact she pointed out the location. I then restated the question, but this time added the little specific of in the bathroom. She informed me that the situation was then a different matter entirely! She told me that given how much worse she had to go at that point she probably would not have made it. Ah, life was great!