A Christmas Story

The bailiff’s voice rang out as the uniformed official obeyed the Judge’s nod toward him. “Mr. Mansfield, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” Paul Mansfield nodded, his voice failing in fear. What was he doing here?? How had this happened!!?? The bailiff’s voice continued, droning on in that official monotone reserved for officers of the law. Finally the explanation of charges was complete and the courtroom grew tense, quiet, as the judge’s voice grimly intoned. “How do you plead?” Paul spat out the word “innocent!” in an exclamatory manner. How else did they expect him to plead? They, anyone, would understand if only they had been there! Paul’s mind began to replay the events of that life–changing day. It seemed only yesterday, the fateful newscast that had started it all:
It began like any of the countless mid–day newscasts he had produced over the years. Now, though, looking back, he realized something was amiss when the station’s call sign was announced incorrectly. He continued to replay the telecast in his mind.
“Good evening and welcome to KWET’s Hollywood prime time news at noon, coming to you live from the glamour capital of the world.” The big story again today in Tinsel Town is the recent flu outbreak. It is believed to have originated in Northern California, and started out like any other flu outbreak. Reports began trickling in as usual, nothing severe, mild headache, sometimes fever and upset stomach. Then, as the first to be infected began to recover and return to their normal routines, rumors of complications began to flow.”
“At first, it seemed to be attributable to the diuretic effects of the cold and flu medicines and the high volume of liquids victims drank to maintain hydration while they were ill. Eventually, though, more detailed reports of post–flu complications began to flood in and scientists could only conclude that this was an outbreak of a very different strain of flu.”
“Sufferers, feeling normal, return to their daily routines. Within 24 to 48 hours they discover a moderate to severe loss of bladder control. In the most moderate cases, which are also the most common, victims may feel a need to urinate 15 to 30 seconds before they began doing so involuntarily without the ability to stop. In more severe cases, victims simply start to urinate without warning or control.”
“It is also considered quite significant that 9 out of 10 victims simply smile happily and refuse medical treatment for these complications. Scientists have received reports of this effect lasting from a minimum of 24 hours to an apparently permanent condition. It was, of course, instantly dubbed the Pee Flu. Currently, legislation is being enacted in emergency sessions with lawmakers in 49 states to prevent development of a vaccine, with Alaska, for obvious reasons, vigorously pursuing such research. In a related story, the stock market showed record gains today, driven by increasing sales of certain paper products.”
Asked if his company intended to increase production, one executive replied: “Depends.”
“In a lesser–known item, 2 scientists at the Larry–LillyLiver Labs shared the Nobel peace prize for discovering a virus which causes people to lose bladder control.” Doctors Weiner and Heine Wetter accepted their accolades with typical scientific reserve, but giggled uncontrollably when asked what they intended to do with their discovery. Unfortunately, the virus was spilled in a local post office and seems to be missing. Postal authorities and other representatives from our government have assured us this is completely unrelated to the first story. Now, a word from our sponsor.”
(Break– Off–Air) Anchor: “Good grief, can we get someone in here from housekeeping to clean up this mess? This floor is getting really slick. Turn off that air conditioning, too, I’m freezing my nuts off!”
“Also, I need another pair of dry pants and a cushion for my chair; a dry one.” “What do you mean no more coffee; it just adds to the problem??”
(Back live– On Air) “Stay tuned for our Weather Girl’s recital of the new updated ‘The Night Before Christmas story.”
“For KWET News, this is I. P. Freely wishing you a wet Hollywood Holiday season.” (Cut to Lisa Lowecutt, KWET’s over–endowed, under dressed Weather personality, trying to stand still enough to begin reading the copy from the Teleprompter.) “Hello, I’m Lisa– Ohh! (She her grabs crotch.) Lowecutt. Welcome to KWET’s Holiday Classic Minute, brought to you tonight by Groctor and Pamble, makers of many fine products you’re going to need a lot more of this year.”
“Tonight, our updated rendition of the holiday classic ‘The Night Before Christmas.’” Fanfare and intro music plays while Lisa claws uselessly at her darkening dripping yellow crotch. (Note: give a raise to the wardrobe personnel who gave her those incredibly skin–tight white pants to wear– nice camel–toe!)
Music ends and Lisa begins speaking in dramatic, if confused, tones:
“T’was the night before Xmas and all through the house, not a creature was dry, not even my spouse.”
Lisa whispers excitedly to the stage manager as her legs began to darken in a shade matching her crotch.
“Are you sure this is how this is supposed to go?” He nods, winking at the cameraman who hands him a 50–dollar bill as he is muttering, “I can’t believe she fell for it.”
Lisa continues:
“The pissy underwear was hung by the chimney with care, in hopes it would soon dry in the warm heated air.”
Lisa struggles to avoid slipping in the yellow pool forming at her feet.
“Are you sure?” she asks again. “I don’t really, like, remember this part.”
Shrugging her shoulders as the snickering cameraman nods, she has to hold her heavy sodden pants up by hand now as she squints at the Teleprompter and continues reading.
“In bed the adults snuggled, trying not to pee pee dance, while spurts of hot piss again soaked their pants.
Smiling now with lowered eyelids, Lisa’s voice goes warm and husky as she forgets where she is and her hand finds her slick hot pissy crotch. She reads slower now, with intermittent moans as her heavy irregular breathing and wandering digits makes it hard to follow the story.
“In only my silk panties (oh!) Without even a cap, I had just settled in for a wet (Ohh! Mmmm) winter nap.”
Lisa is well into the throes of passion now, her hand deep into her panties, the wet soggy pants in a heap around her, and the cameraman’s ankles. She screams out the next verse as she collapses back on the cameraman whose own legs give way when his dick explodes in Lisa’s pissy pussy. Speaking louder now to drown out the squelching noises from between her legs, Lisa continues.
“When what to my– OH, GOD, HARDER YOU TWIT! Wandering hand should appear, but two wet hairy balls– FUCK ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT CAMERA BOY! Under a prodigious pissing spear.”
OH GOD I’M CUMMMMMING!!!
From a distance a male voice, actually several, began screaming incoherently. “CUT! CUT!! OH FUCK ME, WE’RE DEAD!! CUT!!! The Judge’s beginning questions break Paul Mansfield from his remembrance, and he begins to answer. “No, your Honour, I cannot explain how this happened. No sir, it was an isolated incident and won’t happen again. No sir, I’m pretty sure the CIA and the NRA didn’t plan this together. Yes, sir, I have arranged for Lisa Lowecutt to testify alone in your chambers– again.”
“Thank you, your Honour, for your concern. I don’t know if Lisa does still suffer the effects of the flu, Your Honour. What flu? Oh, that flu, of course, Your Honour. Yes, Your Honour, if you say so, it is wonderful.”
“Case dismissed? But your Honour, you haven’t heard Lisa’s testimony yet– I mean thank you, your Honour.”
Without warning, a thundering noise fills the courtroom and Paul’s chair begins to shake, gently at first then with increasing intensity. A voice booms from afar, loud, insistent… familiar?? Paul recognizes his personal assistant’s insistent, lisping baritone voice. “Mr. Mansfield! Mr. Mansfield. Wake up sir, it is almost time to do the newscast and you might want to clean up a little. Sir? You might want to shower and get some dry clothes on.” His short, round and somewhat malformed assistant continues as if this is all normal, which of course, it is. “I’m sure Lisa will need make–up as well and I’ll have wardrobe send her over some uh, dry clothes. Uh, Sir, do you mind if I, uh if I take her, uh, pissy panties?”
Paul nods assent, irritated by the little man’s insistence on asking every time. He mentally reviews his thoughts trying to separate his tryst with the always–desperate weather girl from the nightmare of which he has just awakened. What a horrible nightmare! Imagine! He still had bad dreams about someone objecting to the first newscast about the Pee Flu. Of course, it had not gone the way he dreamed it. No one actually had sex on the show, but Lisa had sure gotten excited. Hard to believe that was nearly five years ago! Oh well, things change. No cure had been found for the permanent loss of bladder control, and wet clothes and public peeing had become the standard, if not chosen, norm. Microsoft had gone belly–up overnight when the Internet, no longer needed for pee folk, had folded. The new billionaires were from an emerging industry, self–warming absorbent clothing and those with the foresight to have invested in the still wildly growing detergent market. Those few who were resistant to the flu had quickly realized acceptance required wetness and readily joined their friend in indiscriminate pissing. A few, holding onto archaic notions of dryness being fine, had formed small reform movements but had quickly become ostracized.
They found it necessary to go into the closet, so to speak, and try to pass for normal, accepting the new social standard and readily joining their friends in pissing themselves. It had been a time of confusion and pain for some, as taunts of “Dry Pants! Dry Pants!” rang out across school grounds, college campuses and government offices. The latest rage among the networks now, of course, was the celebrity pissing shows. Paul thinks a little more before throwing up his hands in a “who knew” gesture as a confused and very wet Lisa sits up in a cold yellow puddle in the bed, her face reflecting confusion. Again. “Fuck it!” Paul shouts to Lisa trying to shake off the nightmare. “It doesn’t matter.” Having no idea what he is talking about, she tries to smiles her Weathergirl smile but the cold pee pooling under her ass is distracting. The bed’s pee heater must be broken, she finally realizes.
Paul speaks grandly now. “This is Hollywood! I’ll write a screenplay about this and the movie will make millions.” Forgetting her previous confusion and the cold pee, Lisa wonders if she can play herself. She wonders if they will let her pee on film. She wonders if she can stop herself from peeing on film. Tired by the effort of thinking, Lisa realizes she needs to pee, and does. Lisa is a wonder. The judge thought so too. “From all the folks at KWET, have a very Wet Christmas and a Soggy New Year!”
Happy Holidays to my wet friends.
By: King Neptune