The Dirty Girls

It was one of these summer evenings where it just doesn’t want to get cooler. We were sitting on the terrace of a roadside caf’, eating a salad and drinking glass after glass of juice.
We had come here directly from work, so that we were both still wearing our business clothes, i.e. blouses, skirts and pantyhose. Carlene had taken off her pumps directly after leaving the office so that two tiny runs had developed up her calves, embellishing her seemingly brand new nylons.
Carlene leaned back in her chair, looking totally relaxed and happy, and closed her eyes. I had seen that behavior a couple of times before, and I was pretty sure about what she would do right now. And yes, she just emptied her bladder – as if it was the most natural thing of the world, wetting her underwear, her pantyhose and certainly also the hem of her skirt. “I wished I had your courage,” I said, after I saw the expected stream emerge under the table. In fact, I was fairly jealous. The few times that I had dared let go in public had really paid off, but most of the time I don’t dare. At least not visibly – as often, I managed to send a few spurts into my underpants that evening, knowing that the result would remain invisible.
I don’t know whether Carlene had always wanted to discuss the following or just did it to console me. Anyway, she said she was so happy that she had overcome parts of her childhood trauma meanwhile. As I had learned earlier, she was brought up in nearly clinical cleanliness. No mud to play in, always toilet paper after peeing, taking a shower every day etc. That had changed when she left home. She started to enjoy her new freedom by getting wet and dirty regularly. But, and she said this with a visible sigh, she always felt forced to completely clean herself every evening, under a hot shower and with tons of soap. She was not strong enough to stand overnight dirtiness.
We quickly found ourselves discussing ways to overcome this problem of hers – my own cowardice was forgotten. We developed various scenarios, first fantastic, then getting more and more concrete. Finally we decided for a one–week camping holiday in the forest, just her and me in the wilderness. We quickly agreed to common rules. Each of us would go with a really nice Saturday night outfit, and no clothes to change. We calculated about two hours drive beyond the last significant settlement, and decided to buy a tent big enough for the two of us. All food and beverages for one week was expected to fit in the trunk of Carlene’s car. We did not agree anything about wetting, but I had my ideas, and I was sure Carlene had hers.
When we got up that night to go home, we had even fixed a date. I was very excited, and my imagination was already working at full speed. I had the feeling that Carlene was really committed to tackle her “problem.” This made me think that it was now up to me to tackle mine – my cowardice to wet in public. Alas, as I had had six glasses of orange juice during the evening, it was easier than expected. I stood up from the table and took off my pumps. A nice hole showed in the right big toe of my pantyhose. Somehow, this made it even easier for me, and I started to pee. The pee ran down the inside of my nyloned legs and formed a puddle around my feet.
Of course, Carlene immediately declared her solidarity with me. While still sitting, she even lifted her skirt for a short moment so that I could see pee flow through her still wet nylon–covered crotch. We left the caf’, to arrive at Carlene’s car with dirty feet. These were barely covered by our tattered nylons, after we had tried to rub our feet dry on probably too coarse ground.
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When the day of our departure came closer, I decided about my outfit for that week. What would I wear on a Saturday night out? I chose a short yet not too tight white skirt, light blue pantyhose with white patterns, a pair of ballerinas with ankle straps, a blue silk blouse over a white strap top. I decided not to need a bra, and went for very thin and cheap light–blue underpants.
Carlene picked me up with her car on the agreed Saturday morning. She wore a burgundy red skirt and a white thin blouse over a black lace bra that was shining through. She had decided on a thin white pair of nylons and burgundy cloth ballerinas. I am sure that she had had a shower that morning, but her white nylons were certainly not clean, and I could even see a run from her right toe upwards.
I asked her about her dirty pantyhose after we had departed. She smiled and said, “Yes, I have prepared properly. I have even peed a bit while I was waiting for you.” She moved up the hem of her skirt, unveiling a huge wet spot in her red underpants, shining through various runs in the dirty crotch of her sheer–to–waist pantyhose. Yes, she WAS prepared!
I wasn’t prepared for such a quick start. I looked down my clean white skirt and my new blue pantyhose. Should I really… Then I saw that the buckle of my right ballerina strap had caused a run in my new pantyhose around my knuckle, going halfway up my inner calf. The pantyhose were not “new” anymore! As quite often before, that was the signal I had needed. I let go a bit, then another bit. While I was preparing for the third small spurt Carlene was accidentally driving through a pothole – this turned the intended small spurt into a gush that I felt could by no means have been caught with my thin underpants. I mentioned to Carlene “I will have a nice spot at my butt, and I fear we will have to clean your seat afterwards.” Carlene smiled again and replied, “I was prepared for a cleaning of my car anyway”. As her hem was still moved up, I could see that she seemingly just had started to let go in her underpants, pantyhose, skirt and the seat. With the cruise control switched on, she left her shoes below the pedals and moved her feed onto her seat as well. What was our trip going to develop into if both of us were already completely soaked with pee before we even arrived at our chosen camping area?
We had about two hours of driving in front of us, so that Carlene decided to stop at a fuel station to buy something cold to drink – probably the last ice–cold beverages for the next 5 days. Carlene had slipped back into her ballerinas and went into the shop to pay and to buy a few bottles of coke. You could hardly tell whether her pantyhose were wet or just dirty, but the back of her skirt was unmistakably wet. What a pity that I was not able to see the face of the cashier while Carlene left the shop!
We found a nice place to stay, following a small way about 200 yards into the woods. We built up our tent, pretty much in the wilderness, close to a very small creek. We were chatting a bit until it got darker and the mosquitoes eventually convinced us to go to sleep. This was expected to be the first real challenge for Carlene. She would for sure have taken a shower now, but she couldn’t. This was part of our plan, and I was wondering how she would do. Well, she went into her sleeping bag after taking off nothing but her shoes, and tried to find a comfortable lying position. I could see that she didn’t feel well, but she whispered to me that she was glad that everything was dry now. Faster than expected, I heard her monotonous breathing, indicating that she had fallen asleep. I followed soon after.
The next morning I woke up and saw that Carlene was not in our tent anymore. I left the tent to see her prepare what we had foreseen as breakfast, after putting a blanket on the ground, She was just busy with a can of coffee and our gas heater. She moved as if she was desperate, and she was – she had been holding it back waiting for me. After she saw me, she called “Come, let’s have the morning pee together!” We went a bit away from the tent, spread our legs, put our underpants aside below the pantyhose and peed just through the thin fabric, as we had done together quite often before. This left my underpants fairly dry, expect for a few spots that are inevitable if you don’t have toilet paper. Carlene, however, had let her underpants flip back a second or so too early, so that her crotch was showing considerably more wetness than mine.
We opened the tent and our sleeping bags to get the ammoniac smell out, and had a nice breakfast together. Then we washed our faces in the creek and used the water to brush our teeth. We walked around a bit, along the street, into the forest and back, until the weather turned too hot for us to feel comfortable. We sat down close to the creek and let our feet dangle in the water, without taking off our ballerinas. The water was very cold but we got used to it. Later Carlene felt more and more uncomfortable, as she had to poop before noon. She had taken her pantyhose and underpants down (this was the only agreed reason to do so), but of course we did not have toilet paper. It was a bit less of a problem to me, as I have been in this situation several times before, and I new it just takes a short time to get used to it. Carlene begged for my allowance to take at least half of a bath in the creek. First I wanted to be very strict, but then we agreed to just postpone it to the third day.
We played cards and other games that day, walked around and enjoyed both the nice weather and the cool shadow of the trees. My pantyhose started not to be in the best possible shape anymore. I had a small run at my right heel and a bigger one at my left heel, both probably from walking around too much – ballerinas are not sneakers… In the evening we peed again through our pantyhose, but both of us pulled our underpants aside carefully. This made it easier for Carlene to sleep.
The third day, I woke up before her to the sound of raindrops falling on our tent. Soon after we were both awake, we stood up and discussed the plans for the day. We decided to leave the tent directly. Of course we were getting wet, yet we preferred this to the pee smell of our tent. Then the rain got less and less heavy, and we could already see the blue sky at the horizon.
We went to the creek to have our morning pee together. Our shoes and parts of our nylons had gotten fairly muddy by the time we arrived there. It was not difficult to notice that Carlene really loved that. She was far nastier than yesterday, with a certain “I am ready to do crazy things” expression on her face. She stepped into the creek until her feet were about 5 inch deep in the water. Then she let go, without even spreading her legs. She held her skirt into her crotch and peed through it as well. Then she sat down in the creek so that the water floated around her waste.
During that time I had only let out a few small spurts, being fairly aroused by what I saw. However, I decided not to spread my legs either, and after a short while I felt a stream run down my right leg. Feeling this and seeing Carlene, excited me very much. I just sat down in the mud and emptied my bladder. Then I joined Carlene in the creek, and we splashed each other under the now burning sun. Afterwards, we lay in the sun to let our clothes dry. They had not really become clean. Especially my formerly white skirt looked really well worn now. In addition, a part of the seam had ripped open on the right side of my skirt, revealing the waist part of my pantyhose and a small part of my underpants was shining through. Given the current circumstances, this rather added to my excitement.
The following night, we did not only have relatively dry clothes but it did not even smell that strongly in the tent, as we had in a way washed in the creek albeit without taking off one single garment. I even kept on my shoes that night. This resulted in fairly sweaty and smelly feet but I felt that this would fit well with the rest of my outer appearance.
The fourth day was supposed to be our last full day, as we had planned to return in the morning of the fifth day. We enjoyed the sunny and not too hot weather to explore the undergrowth of the forest. We were watching rabbits, listening to birds, picnicking and peeing our pants. Meanwhile, our pantyhose had suffered severely from the bushes. We had a lot to drink with us, and we actually were very thirsty. Eventually, all of it would have to get out of our bodies again. Among other things, we had emptied a bottle of Batida de Coco between us, so that we soon felt a bit tipsy.
As a result, Carlene stumbled and fell on her knees. She immediately decided to just pee where she had fallen. The pee ran down along the rungs of her pantyhose to build a patch around her right knee. I spontaneously decided (I wouldn’t have done that totally sober) to kneel over her before I started peeing. The pee ran down the inside back of my skirt and poured down onto her skirt and pantyhose. Carlene seemed to enjoy it. Eventually she moved a bit to the side to send the last stream out of her bladder onto my left shoe.
Before we entered the bed that night, we understood that we really had to take a short bath in the creek. Although our tops couldn’t be called clean anymore, we dove under just up to the hips, as it was too late to get dry completely. We entered our sleeping bags still wet, but my body temperature soon turned this into a warm wetness.
When I awoke at midnight, feeling the urge to pee, I decided to just add a bit to that warm wetness. That is how I fell asleep.
The next day was the day of departure. We agreed not to pee until we had everything stowed in the trunk of the car and Carlene had steered the car back to the main road. Five minutes later we started to pee on command simultaneously.
The only remarkable event during our drive back was a fuel stop where it was my turn to pay. This time I was able to enjoy the startled look of the cashier myself. In addition to my dirt wetness, the rip in my skirt had grown, now revealing more than what would have been considered politically correct.
Back home, I took off the rags, took a shower, put on clean new clothes – and just peed a little bit in my clean pantyhose, to remind me of this unforgettable trip.
By: Anni