Carlene and I

I remember the first time I had let go in public. It took a while although I have regularly witnessed Carlene’s “purposeful accidents” since the first time I had seen her do so. Several times my courage was just sufficient to wet my panties, not having more than one or two drops fall down between my legs. For a long time it has not been before my return home that I had the courage to completely relax my muscles – on the toilet or in the shower, of course without taking off my pantyhose, skirt or panties.
It was on a Saturday. The whole department had a training seminar on our new customer care software. We had the training organised in a conference Centrum downtown, followed by a common dinner with the three trainers.
I was a bit unsure what to wear that day. It was relatively hot that summer day, above 90 degrees, so that I was unsure whether I would wear nylons under my skirt. Eventually, my vanity decided, so I decide to put on the only 12den pantyhose I had in my nylon drawers. It was a pair of black hose without reinforced heels or toes that I had worn at a wedding of a friend a few weeks ago. Except for a ladder at the right heel, I had managed to keep it fairly intact then. I chose low–heel pumps, for a comfortable day.
Carlene’s pantyhose was in slightly less perfect shape than mine – a light gray, fairly thin pantyhose that seemed not to be the cleanest one any longer. She had not worn it for more than the past week, but I had noticed a significant change from Tuesday to Wednesday. I remembered that I had to think of the phrase “40 shades of gray” when I saw her pantyhose under her knee–long skirt.
I had asked her about it during lunch break, and she told me what had happened on Tuesday. After work, she had decided to eventually do the weeding in her garden that afternoon, as it was dry but the ground was still muddy enough to rip the weeds out together with their roots. So she had taken off her shoes and skirt but not her hose.
Kneeling between the flowers had then very quickly turned her hose muddy, and the paved parts of her (small but nice) garden had slightly ruined the soles. Carlene was smiling when she told me that at that time she had decided to take a shower with her pantyhose on after weeding, as she didn’t want to change pantyhose already after two days.
After Carlene had made that decision, she said she had felt even more relaxed about getting her hose dirty. She just sat down in the mud for breaks and wiped her hands with her hose. And of course there was no point in going to the toilet when she could just do it through her panties and hose. According to Carlene, she had not done this at once – she had just let go whenever the next bit of pee would come. She then described her feeling of a completely relaxed bladder so enthusiastically that I had suddenly felt the urge to let go myself– however I could not do that in the office.
During the last couple of months, I had increasingly got used to not pulling down my pantyhose for peeing. I just snatch my panties through the pantyhose; move them to the side and pee through the thin fabric of my hose. This is far faster, and it does not smell– as pantyhose do not keep that much pee. That very day however, after having listened to Carlene, I did not move my panties to the side on the toilet. I have to add that I am not the kind of girl that does this to come to a climax – the way I felt was rather to be compared to lying at the beach and relaxing completely.
Back to that Saturday: Most of Carlene’s left toes seemed to have made it through her hose already – the hole could be seen just above the edge of her cute black ballerinas, with a ladder going half up her shin. Both knees and her left heel were ornamented with smaller ladders as well. And I had the impression that her pantyhose had a few even darker (yet dry) stains between her thighs – her black pleated skirt was short enough to show.
The training itself was as boring as expected, except for the afternoon’s coffee break that we spent with sandwiches outside the building. Carlene was chatting with me, as we often do. She took a dry handkerchief out of her handbag and held it between her legs. A few seconds later, she threw a completely soaked cloth into the next bin. Although nobody could see anything, the indirect experience was quite nice.
When we left for dinner, I could see the expected dark patch on the back of her skirt. A few hours had passed after that coffee break, though, and it was hardly visible any longer. In the restaurant we went to the toilet together with 2 or 3 other girls before going to the big table that was reserved for our department and the 3 trainers. I was very fast due to using the explained technique (just wetting my panties a bit) on purpose, and I was really in the mood to do more that night. Carlene had been even faster than me. She later told me that she hadn’t taken any effort other than trying to get as much of the pee as possible into the toilet. A few drops on her ballerinas and a thin stream along one of her legs were witnesses of her limited success in doing so.
However, we had a very nice Indian dinner. I guess nobody other than me noticed the smell indicating what was going on below Carlene’s skirt, as the food was very spicy, and Carlene sat at the end of one table with me sitting next to her. Everybody was drinking beer, so that I kind of had to do so as well. This and the red wine I had for dinner may not have been the best combination. So I felt a bit tipsy soon, and I got this “I can conquer the world” feeling that you can just laugh about when you are sober again.
When we left the restaurant the sky was just cloudy but we saw that it must have rained heavily during the last 2 hours. It was getting dark, and the city lights were reflected in some patches left over from the last rain. Most of the colleagues headed for some pubs or discos in small groups, and so did Carlene and I. When we entered a pub that we knew from a previous visit, we had fairly wet shoes and our nylons were partly wet as well, just because it was impossible to avoid the wetness on the roads and sidewalks. Even the door in the pub was wet already, especially where people were sitting that had been caught by the rain. We waited to get seats directly at the bar, which we got when a couple with very wet coats left. We found that they had left considerably huge puddles of rain water below their stools. After we had looked down, Carlene looked at me, and she had her “little girl” smile on her face. She slid a bit forward on her stool, bent slightly forward and moved down. Then she just started peeing, as if she was on a toilet. She didn’t bother moving the back of her skirt out of the way, so that the pee ran down the inside of her skirt before it joined the rain water on the floor.
Meanwhile, I had another few drinks in the pub, so that my rationality was weakened, and there was no inhibition left. For the first time in my life, I decided to cross the border between imagination and action. I tried to let go, but nothing happened – I was just blocked although I had done the same on my toilet so many times before. Carlene saw my desperation. “Stand up” she whispered, and I did. I looked at my glass, trying to relax completely, and not to start thinking about what I was about to do. And it worked – I felt my panties getting wetter and wetter, until they could no longer hold the pee. The first drops fell down to the floor. That helped me open the gates. Half of the content of my bladder went through my panties and the pantyhose crotch. In order not to look too suspicious I did not straddle very much, so that most of the pee ran down my legs rather than falling directly down to the floor. I have to admit that I really enjoyed that feeling, and being in public gave it the final thrill. This couldn’t compare with my bathroom experience!
We had another few drinks (I switched to water because I wanted to keep the ability to tell the taxi driver my home address…) before we left the pub. Now we did not try any longer at all to avoid the puddles, and once we had found a very big and muddy one directly under a lantern, we stepped in, with Carlene’s ballerinas nearly disappearing in the water. She squatted down and I straddled. We were giggling but I don’t recall any meaningful conversation between us, we just looked at each other and really emptied our bladders. I was happy as if I had had a hormone boost, and I enjoyed every drop. Carlene had drunk quite a lot as well, that is why she lost her balance while squatting, falling over, ending up in the puddle with her knees, the hem of her skirt and the ends of her sleeves. As the water was not cold (at least we did not feel cold), this was not really a problem for her. In my drunken solidarity, I immediately sat down next to her, not caring about ruining my fairly expensive skirt.
Of course, my skirt shared this fate with my pantyhose. A splint in the chair had already ripped the right backside of this ultra–sheer hose during the training session. In the pub, I had toyed with a small hole at my right knee so that it had grown to a considerable size when we left. At that time, I was not at all interested in what the other guests may think. I just felt like tonight I was free to do whatever I wanted. Once we had left the pub, the darkness helped, as well.
Somehow we managed to catch a taxi. We drove to my home first, and Carlene promised to pay. I stepped into the living room, got a blanket in order not to wake up my husband and fell asleep immediately. The next morning, I woke up at about 10. My husband was not at home, probably out jogging as usual. I watched myself in the mirror, with the previous day flashing through my mind. Then I had my morning pee – of course before I peeled off my dirty and ripped clothes to have a long shower. Then I put on new clothes and waited for my husband to come home.
By: Anni