Kate Saves the Day

Kate shifted her weight, balancing evenly on both feet, and moved her legs about 18 inches apart. It was going to happen any second now, so she tensed her muscles and really started to concentrate. The tension was slowly killing her, she could feel her muscles starting to quiver and she knew that once it was all over she could finally take a deep breathe and relax. It was coming, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She saw movement, her brain tracked it, and she flung herself to the right, stretching her leg as far as it would go. The hockey ball struck the outside of her pad, clipping a metal buckle, and deflected past the outside of the goalpost. “Save”, she thought, as the umpire blew the whistle for halftime and her teammates crowded around to congratulate her. They still had a 1–0 lead in the regional championship.
It was a hot and humid day, and Kate had been pounding down the Gatorade for over an hour. Even though all the goalkeeper equipment made her very hot and sweaty she was starting to feel a few aches “down there” and definitely felt the need to go. She knew from past experience that she would have just about enough time during the interval to take her pads off and run to the bathroom, as the umpires would usually cut her some slack about restarting the game if she wasn’t ready. By the time her teammates backed away and they reached the sidelines a few precious minutes had already passed. Before Kate could even start to take a pad off the assistant coach took her to one side and started to talk about strategy. She was obviously going to have to grin and bear it.
At 5–11” and 155lbs Kate was a pretty imposing and dominant figure in goal – and not one of those Thunder Thighs field hockey players the other girls made fun of at college. There was no doubt she had curves in all the right places, and in another lifetime could have made a decent living as a model. She had a reputation as being very conservative, to the extent that she wouldn’t even change shirts on the field as that would show people her amply filled sports bra!
Barely five minutes into the second half Kate knew she was in trouble. The little aches in her groin and lower pelvic area had turned into pains, and the constant shuffling around from side to side wasn’t helping either. The defense was under constant pressure, so it wasn’t like she could stand around and watch the play at the other end. The goalie pads stopped her from squeezing her thighs together, and she couldn’t find anyway to put a hand between her legs and take some pressure off her peehole. She was really starting to get desperate. Finally the ball was cleared up field, and without thinking she reached behind her and swigged down more Gatorade as her mouth was dry.
She almost cried realizing what she had just done, and tried going down on one knee to relieve the pressure. Suddenly the ball came flying down towards her, with one of her opponents in close pursuit. Kate had to fly out of her area to clear the danger, with every stride putting her in danger of disgracing herself on the field. When a field player was desperate to pee she could just squat down, pretend to tie a shoelace and gracefully water the grass, with only a damp stain to show on the dark sports shorts under their skirts. A goalkeeper couldn’t do that – she had on a pair of sweatpants, padding, straps and the damn pads. Her pants were light gray – everyone would see she’d wet herself. Kate frantically ran through her options as she was forced to squeeze her bladder muscles even tighter. Pretending to retie her hair she thrust her hockey stick between her legs and squeezed it as hard as she could, that brought a little relief, but only for a minute or so.
“I’ve gotta pee” she started to mutter under her breath. Cindy, one of her defenders and a longtime friend looked over and asked what was wrong. “I’ve gotta pee so bad” Kate gasped. Cindy told her she only had to hang on another ten minutes – Kate knew that just wasn’t going to happen. “Geez, K – if you’ve got to pee that bad, just kneel down and let it go, then splash some Gatorade in your lap to cover it up.” Kate started to think that maybe, just maybe, she could relieve the pressure by letting a little bit out – but past history told her that it was going to be all or nothing. She had a few incidents in her past when she’d almost waited too long and had amazed her friends with the volume and velocity of her pee. She thought about that one time a few months ago when she had pissed so hard and noisily into the portapotty at camp that she’d received applause when she stepped out to face her teammates in line.
With time running out the other team was mounting a furious attack. One of their wings got free and smashed a low cross in front of goal. Another player hit the ball on the volley and it was heading straight for the corner of her goal. Time literally stopped, Kate’s instincts took over and she lunched across, almost doing the splits and made a catlike save. The ball rolled out to the side and Cindy smashed it up field. In the instant of stretching out Kate realized that nature would take its course. Her peehole muscles stretched and gave up the fight. Sitting on the ground with her pads in front of her, Kate’s bladder eagerly sought its long–awaited release. It didn’t start with a little dribble, or a small trickle, or even a couple of half–second spurts. Kate peed in a torrent, a waterfall, a cascade of urine pouring through her shorts, soaking her sweatpants before flowing onto the grass behind her. She could hear it – the sound of her pee jetting out from within her, and hitting the ground; she could feel it – that warm sensation around her bottom, between her legs and down her thighs; and she could smell it – that acrid fragrance of concentrated piss. Just like the tide, there was no stopping this rush of water until it was spent. Kate’s bladder capacity matched her size, and she gushed for nearly a minute.
Kate sat on the ground for so long that the bench called out to her to see if she was injured. Jerked back into reality she gave them the OK sign; checked where the play was, and then grabbed her Gatorade bottle. Casually taking the top off she “accidentally” dropped it into her lap and let the contents empty out. The cold red liquid oozed between her thighs, a sensual opposite to the hot pee, which had tracked there but a minute before. Kate got up, looked down at herself and the ground, watching the large yellow puddle merge into the smaller red one. She swore loudly – and yelled at the bench for more Gatorade and a towel.
The last few minutes of the game passed by as a dream, the final whistle blew, the bench emptied and the entire team descended upon Kate in her goal. Oblivious to the large puddle around her and her soaking wet pants, they hugged and kissed her and even lofted her up upon their shoulders as their choice for MVP. If only they knew, she thought, still dripping…
“Great Performance K”, said the coach.
“There was no way I was going to let them score”, Kate replied.
“I meant with the Gatorade” she chuckled.
Gail