Early Memories

Hi there fellow pee–pee enthusiasts, This is my first contribution, as I only came across this amazing site a couple of weeks ago. Now I know I’m not the only secretly weird one; I had no idea there is so many others fascinated by pissing! I can’t say the idea of golden showers or shitting holds any appeal for me, but I’ve always been turned on by someone genuinely busting for a pee, preferably with plenty of dramatics, and also enjoy the odd bit of showing off of my own.
This goes back to when I was quite a young girl, and would be excited to see another kid (girl or boy) obviously in a rush and finding it hard to hold on. I usually seemed to be able to control it quite well myself if I was needing to go, but sometimes I would feel a bit randy and show off a bit anyway, as if I really was having difficulty holding on. This was only for other kids to see though; with grown–ups I was actually quite toilet–shy, and would never even admit to needing to go if I could possibly avoid it. I guess I was rather an unusual little girl actually; I frequently played with boys rather than other girls because I preferred their games, at home I would play with toy cars rather than dolls any day, and liked to fiddle about with mechanical things. In short, I was a tomboy. I have also always had what I think is probably a more “boyish” attitude to weeing – I’ve never been afraid to let my bladder fill up, unlike a big proportion of girls I’ve known who seem to feel they should use a toilet at almost every available opportunity.
By the way, especially for the fellas, I’m 27 years old, 5’ 10” tall, have fair hair, quite a solid build although I’m not actually fat, medium boobs and a neat but fairly cheeky round bum. (And I’m married. Although I am also a bit bi–sexual) Anyway, on with some of my more vivid memories…
When I was young I attended a girls’ club held once a week in the evening, along with a number of other local girls. The parents would take turns in driving us there. One night we had a party, and not being used to having treats I made the most of it, including drinking cups of several different types of soft drink. As the evening neared an end I started getting urges to wee, which was unusual as Mum had got me into the habit of going before leaving home, which normally easily saw me through my evening out. I didn’t go though (I actually didn’t even know where the toilets were) and a while later when we piled into the car that was taking us home, I realized that I actually was wanting to go quite a lot, especially when we were rearranging our seating positions and another girl briefly sat on top of me, squashing my now full bladder! By the time I was dropped off home I needed to go quite solidly, and was anxious to get to the toilet. Once inside the house Mum and Dad, who asked how my evening had gone, greeted me. I was by now really busting from anticipation, but of course didn’t want them to know, so I resignedly sat myself on the high kitchen stool and proceeded to give them a concise as possible account of the evening’s activities. As I sat down (and would no longer have the benefit of movement) I took the precaution of holding on absolutely as tightly as I could manage, even though it hadn’t seemed quite that bad. After half a minute or so I wanted to ease back a bit on this big effort, but when I tried relaxing a little I immediately felt as if I was about to wee. I quickly tightened up again, realizing with consternation that I now really hadn’t anything in reserve after all; I needed every bit of tightness I could manage. Within moments I was holding on virtually from one moment to the next, and hurried feverishly through the rest of my account of the evening’s activities. As I finished I stood up and said, “Oh well, I’d better go and get ready for bed,” to hopefully explain away my immediately leaving, and escaped from the room. As I left I heard them chuckling and murmuring. I hoped it wasn’t that they had realized I was in a hurry for the toilet, but am now sure it was; I was probably squirming quite noticeably in my desperation even though I tried not to. As soon as I was out of sight I held myself between my legs as I hurried for the toilet, but once there was suddenly so desperate I felt I couldn’t remove the hand I had clasped to my overstressed little outlet without wetting myself. I tried briefly to undo the zipper of my jeans one handed, but it often tended to grab, and of course this occasion was no exception!
Holding on for dear life and running on the spot I attacked the zipper with both hands, but probably due to my frantic hurry still couldn’t get it to undo immediately, and all of a sudden I lost control and started peeing in my jeans. With an almighty effort I managed to cut off the flow, then after some more urgent prancing was finally able to get the zipper undone. After finishing my wee on the toilet I sneaked into my room and got changed into my pajamas, hiding my wet jeans and pants under my bed. In the morning I was very relieved to find that the wet area in my jeans was no longer very noticeable. After that the memory of the episode took on an element of excitement, knowing that this time I really had been every bit as desperate as anyone else, even if no one I would have liked to had seen.
It was probably that episode that inspired me to have a bit of fun showing off a bit more dramatically one afternoon when I had a couple of friends around, and I had started having a few mild urges to wee. We were playing down the back, pretty much out of sight of the house (I grew up in a semi–rural area) and on the spur of the moment I decided to start acting like I was totally busting. I knew I couldn’t realistically just suddenly be desperate though, so I sort of eased into it – a bit of mild prancing here and there and initially brief holds between my legs. Over the next fifteen minutes or so I increased the dramatics gradually, delighting in the growing interest of the other two, until I ultimately pretended not to be able to take my hand away long enough even to climb over a barricade in the cubby house. Now with the complete attention of both the others I danced frantically as if I was really desperate and then took off around the back of the shed, saying I couldn’t wait. When I realized neither of them had followed I ran back, not wanting the drama to end. I said I hadn’t been able to go because there’d been a snake there, and finally got them to come with me. Still holding myself I led the way, to find that the ‘snake’ had now ‘disappeared.’ Now out of excuses to prolong the drama I had to resort to actually weeing, and realized that I probably really didn’t want to go badly enough to put on a very convincing show to back up all my dramatics.
To make it a bit more impressive I pushed as I weed, which certainly made quite a torrent, but it didn’t last as long as I would have liked. Apparently neither of them noticed anything amiss though, because they giggled and made comments about now realizing why I’d been bursting so badly.
Another time that year (I think) we had an older cousin of mine staying for a few days, and she shared my room. One morning I woke up at dawn REALLY busting. (I was always a sound sleeper.) I got out of bed and headed straight for the toilet, but to my dismay saw the light shining from under the door, which meant Dad was in there, and he usually took ages in the morning. I headed back to my room, and thinking my cousin was still asleep, was quite unrestrained in how much I pranced and held myself as I fought to hold on until the toilet was free. I was startled when my cousin inquired in an amused voice if I was bursting. Embarrassed, I started getting dressed, but in my hurry as I tried to put my panties on caught my foot in them and nearly overbalanced. Immediately a brief but powerful spurt of wee shot out onto the floor. “Oow–ahh! You can’t wait,” my cousin crowed in delight.
A while later that year, we took the daughter of some friends, Gail, on our summer beach holiday. We were camping in our tent, and had to walk a little distance to the toilets, which were kept locked. Each family had one key to get into them. One morning Mum announced she was just going over to the toilets with my little brother, and Gail said she’d come too. My brother was in a hurry though, and Gail was not yet out of bed, so Mum said she could go next– when he returned with the key. That seemed okay and I didn’t take any particular notice of Gail when she got up. (I wished later I had!) I only realized that she really had needed to go badly when I heard a thin crying, and looking around I saw her standing near her bed, both hands clasped between her legs and yellow wee pouring off them and down her legs. She just stood there doing it until she was standing in a puddle on the old carpet we used as a floor, and by then Dad had come to comfort her. I could hardly believe it; a girl two years older than me totally wetting her pants, just like that! She changed out of her wet shorts into a dress, and soon the matter seemed to have been forgotten. (But not by me!) For the rest of the day I frequently thought about it, and tried to see between her legs to her pants whenever I could to see if they were at all wet again, but to my disappointment they never were.
During that year my school held a walkathon to raise funds. We needed to get people to sponsor us, and one day after school I rode around to lots of people I knew to ask them to sponsor me. I started straight from school and headed in the opposite direction from home to cover that area first. Recognizing that I had come directly from school, some of the ladies gave me some afternoon tea. Some were old family friends who we rarely saw and wanted to talk, and this took more time. In all, I had about four generous glasses of cordial or soft drink– treats that I readily accepted as we rarely had such things at home. After a while I found that I wanted to pee, but I really wanted to get around as many people as I could so I just tried to ignore it. (I probably hadn’t been all day at school, either.)
Asking to use someone else’s toilet was definitely not an option for me; it was far too embarrassing! With all I’d had to drink though, I quickly needed to go worse, and I knew it was getting serious when at one place I found myself really fighting to hold on against a very demanding urge while I was talking to the owner. When I left there I knew I needed to be getting home as soon as possible but I was some distance along a side road (we lived in a semi rural area) and I really wanted to call in at one or two other places nearby before leaving that area. As I knocked on the door of the last place I was really busting, squirming and holding myself as I waited for the door to be answered, then while I was “trapped” inside was really struggling to keep holding on without resorting to holding myself in front of the woman. I didn’t, nor did I lose control, but I evidently wasn’t particularly successful in concealing my predicament because before I left she asked me with concern if I was “all right.” I assured her I was and hurriedly left, but was afraid that, and was later sure, that she knew EXACTLY what was wrong with me! I got on my bike and pedaled away fast, but with knowing I was finally finished and heading for home it seemed to have become more urgent than ever. When I came to a downhill grade I kept pedaling anyway, just to keep my legs moving. Despite my interest in mechanical things I was never very diligent on bike maintenance and consequently my chain was always loose and often came off. It came off now, probably prompted by me repeatedly pedaling forward, back, and forward as I struggled against the pressure of my wee. When the downhill slope finished I came to a stop and began feverishly trying to refit the chain, but was fumbling in my desperation and after a few moments had to abruptly break off and walk around, holding myself and hoping no one was around. (The whole episode would have made an unreal photo opportunity for anyone who was!) I returned to the bike to try again, and knowing I’d never get it done if I kept breaking off, forced myself to stay with it, ignoring the feelings of imminent loss of control. With a lot of squirming around I actually just managed to get the chain on, but then as I hurriedly stood up again the wee just seemed to be forced out of me, totally out of my control. I clasped my hand between my legs but my bladder was so full I knew I just couldn’t stop, and all I was doing was getting the front of my school uniform soaked. Thinking quickly I squatted down instead so it wouldn’t run into my shoes, and just weed and weed through my pants without even trying to stop anymore, right there on the side of the road, until I’d done it all. I looked at the long stream running away, and realizing I seemed to have gotten away with it without being seen, got back on my bike feeling very, very relieved and strangely adventurous and excited. Afterwards I thought about it a lot.
I’ve got a few more tales that I think are worth sharing– I’ll write them up and send them in soon. Please email me with any comments.
Helen