NYC Accident

The MD80 touched down at LaGuardia airport, fifteen minutes late. Rebekah was, as usual, stuck in the back half of the plane in 20A, waiting with her body half in the aisle, half in the seats for the passengers in front of her to get off the arriving plane. The flight hadn’t been too bad, a couple of hours in the air, no major problems. Rebekah wasn’t terribly fond of flying, but nothing that a few drinks at the bar wouldn’t help. After a few minutes of waiting, she got off the plane and walked up the airway to the gate area. She’d been to NY before, but usually had driven; flying in was something new. She was surprised by how small the airport was compared to the one back home. It was good to be away, she thought. Her recent marriage ending in divorce recently, her job going badly, and her life being in general chaos really made her decide on a quick weekend getaway. At 26 years old, she thought she should have been through all the bad luck by now, but the past few months were anything but fun. So she decided to take off for NYC, spend a weekend taking dance classes at one of the famous NYC studios and maybe catch a show if she could get a cheap last minute seat at the TKTS booth. Anything to get her mind of her failed marriage and job stress, which were depressing her to no end. BUMP. “Excuse ME,” the lady said when Rebekah accidentally walked into her, not paying attention too well as her mind drifted as she walked down past the gates. First stop, she thought, the bathroom. The two beers she had before the flight along with the 3 cups of coffee she drank during the flight were beginning to make their presence known. Rebekah hated airplane bathrooms, so while she had realized the growing fullness of her bladder, she didn’t have to go THAT badly and had held her pee in during the flight. But now, with her standing up and walking about, she noticed the twinges of pressure from her bladder. Ahh. The ladies room, she thought, heading over to the door. Walking into the small bathroom, she noticed a line of other passengers waiting for the stalls. Looking around, Rebekah sighed and thought to herself that she’d just wait until she got to her hotel in Manhattan. While she certainly noticed her bladder, she was far from desperate, and surely, she thought, the taxi ride couldn’t be that far into the city. Sighing, she picked up her overnight bag from the floor and headed out and back to the terminal, searching for the ground transportation. She headed to the taxi stand, and waited in the warm sun for the next cab. A few minutes pass, and Rebekah inwardly wonders if maybe she shouldn’t have waited for the bathroom as she noticed much more acutely how bad she has to pee. The taxi pulled up, Rebekah climbed into the backseat and gave her destination to the driver and they head off. As the cab sped along the busy thoroughfares, she mindlessly stared out of the window, wishing the cab’s air conditioning worked better than it did. She rummaged through her dance bag and pulled out a liter of bottled water and starts to sip, staring out the cabs window at the dirty cityscape. “How far is it to the theater district sir?” She asks the cabbie, wondering if he speaks English. “A little less than an hour miss, depending on the traffic over the Triborough Bridge, with no problems,” mumbles the cabbie in an accent Rebekah couldn’t identify. “One hour,” Rebekah thought silently, suddenly noticing her bladder’s growing fullness. One hour until she could check into her hotel and relieve the morning’s pee that was still building inside her. “Well, nothing I can do about it now, should have gone to the bathroom when I had the chance”, Rebekah thought to herself, pressing her legs together unconsciously to help stem the growing pressure in her abdomen. Still in a daze, she drank more water, now almost half way through the liter bottle, not thinking, as she would later admit to me when she told the story, how it was adding to her discomfort as the minutes went by. The cab sped along the highway. The mid day sun streamed through the window on Rebekahs long blond hair and fair skin. The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror at her, mentally evaluating her as being quite pretty if maybe a few pounds heavier than he’d like. What size would she be, he thought, maybe a 7 or 9? Either way, the cabbie thought, she looks pretty good in those tight faded blue jeans and that tank top. Was she even wearing a bra, he wondered? No, doesn’t look like it, and she wasn’t one of those ice skater types he ferried in the other week. This girl had some boobs. Not overly huge, but definitely looking good with her nipples erect through her yellow top too. He giggled silently. The cabby’s fantasies were stopped by the sudden traffic jam as they approached the bridge. Figures, he thought. Always have to sit here for a while, as he put the transmission in neutral. The sudden stop jolted Rebekah out of her daydreaming. She looked around, nothing but cars on both sides. Nobody moving. They were stuck in a mid day traffic jam on the bridge. “What happened?” she asked the driver. “Traffic. Every day they work on the bridge and it slows down. Shouldn’t be too long miss,” the driver replied. Rebekah took it all in. Suddenly alert after daydreaming and staring in space the past 15 minutes, she suddenly realized how badly she had to use the bathroom. She looked at her watch. It had been 5 hours since she used the bathroom, and since then a few beers, some coffee, and that water for breakfast and the water she was drinking suddenly wanted out. “Great”, she thought silently. “Why didn’t I pee when I had a chance? Now I’ve got to sit here with my legs pressed together in this stupid traffic jam.” Rebekah pressed her thighs tighter together. She really had to urinate now. Badly. Her bladder’s fullness was apparent by the way her tight jeans were now too snug. The stinging sensation of pressure was starting to be noticeable, signaling her bladder’s urgent desire to void, and soon. “How long do you think this will be?” Rebekah asked, her hands shooting down between her legs and against her crotch of her jeans, trying to reduce the urgent sensations she was experiencing. “Depends. Maybe 20 minutes? Hey, at least we are moving now,” the driver responded. Moving, but at maybe 2–3 mph every minute. Rebekah tried to look off into the distance, anything to take her mind off her throbbing bladder. She had to pee so badly; she normally would have immediately stopped whatever she was doing to go relieve herself, even if that meant leaving a movie midway or excusing herself from bible study. She really had to go, and as the minutes wore on, stuck on the bridge, Rebekah began to get worried. The passing minutes wore like eternity as the cab inched forward. She was in distress now, trying to hold her impending flood from releasing. The pressure in her bladder was strong now, and that stinging sensation of pressure overcame her body at times, as her bladder continued to send distress signals to the poor blond girl desperately stuck in traffic on the bridge. Rebekah hoped she could make it without wetting herself. That was her biggest fear. Too many times she had driven somewhere and almost wet herself because she had held on to the last minute. And right now, the pain and pressure in her body from her swollen throbbing bladder was greater than anything she had felt before. Finally the cab started moving. Rebekah bit her lip and let loose a small sigh of relief, thankful to at least be moving, even if slowly. Anything to help her get to a bathroom in time. As they crawled along, Rebekah couldn’t take her mind off her screaming bladder. She longed just to be able to pull down her jeans and underwear and just pee for days. She had never had to go the bathroom this badly before, and the pressure and discomfort was almost more than she could bear. If just somehow she could just pee a little so it didn’t hurt so bad, but there was nowhere to go. She was stuck in a cab in mid–day traffic on the verge of peeing in her jeans and she knew it. “Just hold on, it can’t be much longer,” she thought to herself as she shoved her left hand in between her thighs and pressed hard against her crotch. She was starting to squirm now, having problems sitting still, and the cabbie looked in his mirror and wondered what was up with his passenger until it dawned on him, looking at the way she was sitting knees pressed together, hands shoved between her thighs pressing on her crotch, fidgeting in the seat, that it looked like she really needed to use the bathroom. Rebekah’s nipples were fully erect, not from sexual excitement but from the tenseness and awareness of her body while she dealt with her swollen bladders urge to void into her clothing. A few more miles. All the water was really catching up, and just when Rebekah thought she might have a handle on it for a few more minutes, the pressure increased. Rebekah gasped inwardly suddenly when she felt a sudden sharp wave of pressure overcome her, seemingly like the oceans of pee trapped in her bladder wanted to come out, and now. The pain during that wave was intense, causing her to lose all concentration on anything except for her extreme need for relief. She tightened every muscle in her body and held on while her bladder contracted, silently praying she could somehow manage until she got to the hotel and then quickly find a bathroom. A few more miles to go. Rebekah started to really worry. She couldn’t sit still, her poor tortured body tense as she squirmed in total desperation from having to go to the bathroom so bad, she felt like she would flood her jeans any minute. “Please, oh Please, don’t make me wet my pants God,” she prayed. The last time she had an accident was when she was 14 in gym class, and she didn’t want to have one now. Finally they arrived in the midtown area. Rebekah was squirming, beads of sweat on her forehead, hands jammed into her crotch, trying to do anything that would ease some of the pressure. A few more blocks to go, she thought. SHRIEK! Suddenly the cabbie locked up the brakes to avoid a wayward bus, the cab skidding to a stop in the middle of the road. Rebekah’s hands instinctively went up to keep her from hitting the seat in front of her, but her body flung forward against her seatbelt. Just then a huge wave of pressure overtook the poor girl and she rapidly flung both hands back into her crotch, but the sudden movement caused her to momentarily lose control and as the pressure overcame her, she felt her crotch muscles loosen just slightly and she peed a small spurt into her underwear before she managed to get it under control. ‘OH God,” Rebekah cursed out loud, thrusting her hands deeper into her crotch. She felt the second stream of pee escape and was petrified. She was slowly losing control, and tried to hold it in. Just a few more blocks. Just a few more blocks, she thought. Shaking uncontrollably, her knees shivering from the intense pain of her bladder, Rebekah relaxed her thighs and looked down at her crotch, hoping none of her pee would show. Unfortunately, the sudden unexpected spurt had darkened the light faded blue jean in a somewhat obvious wet spot maybe an inch or two around. Rebekah tried wiping it, hoping it would dry before she had to go to the hotel lobby, and secretly hoping nobody would realize how incredibly badly she needed to go to the bathroom. She leaned forward, pressing her legs back together, wishing the traffic light would change. One more block, and she’d be at the hotel, where she could find relief before she lost control and wet her pants right here. The pain grew with every second. Another wave overtook her; Rebekahs will was barely enough to hang on. She wanted to pee SO badly, it hurt SO much to hold it in, but she was resolved to not wet her pants. The cab finally came to the front of the hotel. Rebekah sighed as the cabbie told her the fare and she rummaged through her dance bag, coming up with the cash. She could hardly sit still, her dance bag in between her legs with the passenger side rear door open, and as she paid the driver, she felt another wave of pressure overtake her. She almost controlled it, but another small slip of hot pee escaped the poor girl’s clenched crotch lips, and her wet spot grew. The cabbie looked over at her and instantly noticed the wet mark on her jeans and looked back at the seat to see if she had wet the seat any. Thankfully, he thought, she hadn’t. A shame, the cabbie thought, this one was cute, nice tits with her nipples fully erect through her blouse and desperate to pee. Rebekah hurriedly stood up, and headed towards the lobby door. As she walked, suddenly the weight of her pee became obvious. Standing up straight somehow made her urge to urinate twice as strong. She paused for a minute, hands quickly shooting towards her drying crotch, her lungs gasping for air as another violent wave of pain overtook her. The stinging sensation, the pressure, and the dizziness all overcame her for a second, and she couldn’t completely hold back. Her legs clenched together, knock–kneed and her torso half bent over, a tear sprang to her eye as her distended bladder rebelled and a small jet of hot pee flooded into her tight clothing. “OH GOD, NO, NOO”, Rebekah cried loudly, to nobody in particular. She clenched her muscles tight, realizing now that the last spurt had caused a slight damp area on her right inner thigh, which would be obvious to anyone looking at her what was happening. She tried to put her bag in front of her to block the view, and rushed into the lobby, her bladder screaming to continue its release against her every will to hold her pee inside. She stood in line, wishing the people in front of her would hurry up. Her eyes scanned the lobby for a bathroom. Nothing. She couldn’t stand still, hopping back and forth; her legs still pressed together, her hand in between her legs and the other on her bag. Another wave. Tears sprang to her eyes as her bladder released ever so slightly again. She felt the hot pee rush out for just a fraction of a second before summing her every will to hold back the urge. The pee however now dampened her underwear and she felt a small trickle run down her right thigh, on the inside. She was on the verge of completely wetting her pants, and she knew she had to find a bathroom NOW or it was going to be over. She awkwardly walked over to the line formed in front of the check in desk, hoping two thoughts: one, that nobody saw the wet marks on her jeans and two, that she could check in before the next wave overcame her. She wasn’t sure she could hold back the burning pressure in her bladder any longer. The line moved slowly. Only one clerk on duty. Rebekahs breathing was short and quick, her body tense, her nerves shot. She had to pee so badly, and was stuck waiting for the one clerk to get through the line of people. Tears came to her eyes as she felt another wave start to swell inside of her, her bladder sending yet another distress signal desiring release. Crying, Rebekah tried to hold it, and almost managed, but at the last minute the pain was so great she couldn’t quite control it, and another jet of pee escaped her clenched lips, the sudden warmth dampening her jeans between her legs. She felt the inside of her left leg go damp, and managed to clamp the pee stream off before she completely lost control, her muscles tightening as she tried to prevent any further embarrassment. She glimpsed down at her legs quickly to see the damage. Sure enough, a moderate size wet mark was visible on her left inner thigh, and the previous wetness on her right thigh was noticeable too. “Please, please, please”, she thought to herself, “Just let me get a room so I can pee. Just don’t let me pee right here, please let me hold it just a few more minutes”. Rebekah was next, and wiped the tears from her eyes as she tried to walk in a controlled manner to the counter, her bladder completely at it’s maximum holding capacity and a small wave of pressure beginning to build up inside of her. “Yes Ma’am”, the clerk acknowledged her. “I. I’m sorry. I’ve got a room reservation”, Rebekah stammered, her words jumbling as she felt the next wave of pressure overtake her tortured body. She clenched her legs tight together behind the counter, pressing with every muscle, trying to keep her pee inside for a few more minutes. “Hmm. I don’t have a reservation under that name, Ma’am,” the clerk replied. Rebekah’s eyes went white with fright. “What? I reserved it last Thursday!” She replied in panic, her bladder then screaming with relief. The pressure increased. Rebekah couldn’t control herself, and tears sprang to her eyes again and she felt a slow trickle of pee escape from her crotch. All of her concentration was in trying to stop the flow, but her tormented bladder battled and she peed a slow trickle of warm pee into her blue jeans for about 2 seconds before she regained control. Her breathing became even quicker, tears obvious in her eyes, and her heart racing as her desperation reached maximum intensity. She felt the pee warmth flow down her clenched legs, and glancing down, she noticed the twin streams of wetness on her jeans where her legs were clenched together. She was slowly wetting herself, and these idiots had lost her room reservation! “Please, Please, I really need a room. It’s an emergency,” Rebekah pleaded with the clerk. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but the hotel is completely full. A convention overbooked. I’m afraid we have no record of your reservation. Perhaps you have a confirmation number?” the clerk replied. Rebekah felt another wave overtake her body. She started to cry and stammer. She reached into her purse, fumbled around, found the slip of paper with the number scribbled on it, and was desperately hopping back and forth, feeling her bladder about to empty into her already dampened jeans. “Hereherre, here’s the nummbber”, Rebekah muttered, suddenly trying to battle a sharp pain which caused her to involuntarily again lose control. A three second jet of pee emptied into her damp blue jeans, now fully soaking her crotch. She felt her underwear flood with the wetness and cling to her private parts as she struggled trying to stop the flow. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but I don’t show any record of this reservation in our computer. Perhaps you have the wrong hotel?” the clerk replied. “But pleaseppplease. I I II need to use a bathroom please can you just give me a room I’m starting to wet my pants!” Rebekah, now crying, stammered back to the clerk as another wave overtook the poor blond as she started to again pee a small stream into her clothing. “Oh god. Noooooo. Please, please I have to go to the bathroom,” she wailed, unable momentarily to stop her peeing. Pee ran down both legs to her shoes. A few droplets dropped onto the shag carpet of the hotel floor. Tears were streaming down her face; sweat beads on her high forehead, her long blond hair sweaty and straggly from the stress and torture this poor girl was enduring. “Well, I’m sorry Ma’am. We don’t have bathrooms in the lobby and we don’t have a room. Please step aside and let the next person in line forward” tersely replied the clerk. “Oh noo. Pleaseplease can I use the employee bathroom anything. Please don’t let me have an accident heeere,” Rebekah begged, her voice trailing off as her bladders intensity increased yet again. She burst into tears, the pain beyond her control. The pressure in her bladder and the weakening of her crotch muscles left her uncontrollably peeing in small spurts. Jet after jet started to come out against the poor girls will. She felt her underwear flood and the pee stream out of her tortured body, and crying, turned around, walked to the middle of the lobby, looking in vain for the bathroom that wasn’t there, and slowly lost control of her bodily functions. “Oh god oh GODDD oh NOOOOO” she wailed, tormented by the pain in her abdomen as she lost all control. Her pee exploded out of her clenched lips, thrashing through the cotton underwear and soaking her jeans. Flood after flood of pee streamed down her jeans like waterfalls, the river of pee obvious to anyone looking. The lights reflected off the flowing moisture streaming down the insides and backs of her legs as she completely wet her pants in the lobby. She sheepishly walked outside, totally unsure of what to do. She leaned against he wall of the building, and crouched down. Pee again exploded into her jeans, streaming in torrents through her soaked clothing and dripping down between her crouched body onto the sidewalk, streams of pee forming along the cement and a huge puddle forming. Rebekah hadn’t wet her pants as an adult and the humiliation, the embarrassment; the utter pain from her desperation was too much to bear. She was crying uncontrollably, her face in her hands, and she sagged down to where she sat on the ground, her soaked jeans sitting in her pee puddle, her knees up, her wet jeans crotch in plain sight as her legs were apart, and she emptied the rest of her bladder into her clothing in shame on the street, people walking by and staring at the large stream of pee flowing from the poor girls soaking wet crotch of her jeans. Alone in New York City, no hotel room and totally soaking wet from the most humiliating pee accident, Rebekah’s life was in shambles. Being recently divorced by the husband she loved so much, being alone and now totally soaked with nowhere to change was beyond her ability to cope and she had a nervous breakdown, crying and shaking uncontrollably as she sat in a puddle of her wet pee on the city sidewalk. Nobody stopped to help, but many people stared at the huge puddle between the blond girls soaked legs. Postscript: Rebekah ended up walking all the way to the dance studio (too embarrassed to take a taxi, she said) where she had intended to take class and they offered to let her use the shower to clean up and change. The embarrassment of having to walk into the studio with fully soaked jeans was almost as embarrassing as peeing her pants in the hotel lobby. Worse yet was taking the dance class while having to listen to some of the students who had seen her entrance snicker as they joked about the blond girl who had peed herself on the street. When Rebekah told me this story, she confided in me that she has had problems ever since and because of the stress of her life that she has occasionally wet the bed, and has had problems holding her pee when she drives long distances and has wet herself a few other times, but not as embarrassing as this. She told me she had seen an urologist and a psychiatrist to deal with her incontinence and depression and had been feeling better but is still occasionally having accidents. I had hoped she would be interested in the sexual aspects of wetting, but for her it was completely a humiliating experience that she was almost too embarrassed to tell me. To this day she doesn’t know how much I was excited about her story, and how excited I was a few months later when she had another accident, this time in my presence.
Gillian