Fairy Tale

We’ve told you most of our adventures since we first met about three years ago. Here’s one that Robert missed out.
It happened soon after we met, in the autumn (fall) when everything was damp and dismal outside. I had been persuaded to take more care over my appearance having seen what a difference a ribbon and a belt can make to the dullest outfit. Robert took me to a clothes shop called Young Miss. As I’m a poor sort of shape it never crossed my mind that anything could be done about being like a vertically compressed 8.
First he took me to a rack of jeans and slacks, borrowed a tape from the assistant and asked me to stand on tiptoes and reach above my head. He whisked the tape round my hips before I could tell him it embarrassed me. Without telling me that it had come to 37 he selected a pair to fit 35 inch hips and hurried me off to the fitting room whispering that if they were a bit tight to take off my knickers first.
It was a struggle to get them on and they bunched up at my ankles but he said we could modify them. Next he found a dark green blouse with long sleeves to fit a 35–inch bust. As I’m 36 it was also tight. He promptly undid the top button, nodded and told me to turn round. One of those exquisite girls who work in clothes shops to upset the customers came across seeing how we were getting on. Before she could say a word Robert asked her if she would have liked to look as sexy as me. Being a professional and sensing a sale she swallowed her pride and gave hearty agreement to his assessment.
He made me keep the clothes on, bent to roll up the cuffs and asked where to find a shoe shop with a good selection. He paid and we left. The shoe shop provided some brown brogue type shoes with small gold buckles and a low heel. I’ve still got them.
To complete the outing he flitted into a boutique and came out almost immediately with a big silk scarf in pale purple set off by a silver paisley pattern. Folded in half there on the street he put it round my neck and knotted it to give my cleavage some protection. Taking the bag containing the clothes I had come out in he said, “Now stand up straight and be proud of being a beautiful girl.”
I know girls like to go on about clothes but it really did make me feel like a princess. The last port of call was a hairdresser. Without giving me a chance to intervene he said, “We’ve decided that it would be a good idea to thin out this mop and trim it at or just above the shoulder.”
The smart woman looked me up and down as if I were a mountain to climb, clasped her hands saying “Yes I think we could do something on those lines, perhaps madam would consider a small fringe to draw attention to the eyes.” I was dumbstruck. Nobody ever took this sort of interest in me and I surely had no ideas to contribute.
The deed was done and Robert paid for the lot, swept me off my feet, a conjuring trick to change a frog into a princess. Walking back to the boat we stopped briefly to make arrangements to have the jeans shortened and the man said it could be done in 20 minutes. Robert looked at me questioningly but I was beyond reply. Changing back into my long skirt, slightly whiffy from the previous evening’s pee games it was like becoming a frog again.
Sitting in the cafe catching glimpses of myself in the mirror I saw someone quite elegant, the new hair style not so different that it felt uncomfortable, big brown eyes now with a slightly surprised expression and even the heavy bottom end disguised below the green blouse.
Strolling to the boat with the expertly altered jeans Robert looked me over and said, “Now when my lady pisses her pants it’ll excite the boys instead of turning them off.” He’s full of backhanded comments like that. That afternoon I refused to take the outfit off. Robert suggested we go out so that he could show me off to the public. Hiding was my more usual frame of mind but today was different.
We took a bus into Birmingham and looked around the posh shops, ate at a restaurant in a big department store and more to the point drank several glasses of something I’d never heard of called fruit cup. As evening drew on we sat watching the passersby while drinking half a bottle of wine each. To round off the day we had a large measure of Tawny Port, which was the specialty of the pub.
Being a trifle tipsy it seemed like a good idea to have a coffee whilst waiting for the bus back. Never before had I known what its like to sit in very tight jeans. Especially I didn’t know how horny it makes a girl feel, yet more I hadn’t known how much hornier still it is to sit in tight jeans when you want to pee. I only found out these things after boarding the bus.
We had played our pee games several times previously and the fate of my clothes hadn’t mattered much. They were like so much sacking to me but now a new consideration came into play. The pee would have to squirt upwards out of my ears before I would spoil my fine new clothes.
Shuffling on the seat, cuddling up to Robert I mentioned casually that it would be helpful to find a loo as soon as we left the bus. I also whispered that I wouldn’t be averse to some mutual body locks when we reached the boat. Since that day I’ve wondered whether Robert knew that his efforts as a couturier would have this effect. He seemed mildly amused and assured me that all would be taken care of.
The bus journey did come to an end more than half an hour later in the bus station at Lichfield. There were the public conveniences, clean, open and without a queue. In I went and couldn’t remove the jeans. Although I’d managed to get into them that was before a good meal and plenty to drink. Struggling with the unfamiliar fastening I found that the waist just would not come over my hips or rather it would come over them but not without so much wriggling that I would lose control of my bladder. I tried twice to slide them down but being like a second skin on my thighs meant that they would barely roll an inch above my crotch, too little to allow for a pee. I considered peeing onto my hand to deflect the flow but abandoned the idea as being likely to make a mess of my lovely new clothes.
Outside Robert waited to walk me back the half mile to the boat.
The only option was to get help with the jeans and as Robert was the only one I could turn to– there was no alternative but to go back to him and plead incompetence, or incontinence. When I told him he was surprisingly sympathetic. Encouraging me to hold it as I did during our games he linked arms with me and we tottered down the slope onto the canal bank. By now the pressure was too much to bear without whimpering. Every step took a moment and each was painfully small. Girls, if you ever wanted to pee badly think how I felt. If I wet myself it would be as if midnight struck and the ball gown changed back into rags.
“Please let me hold on,” I said over and over. We had hardly gone a quarter of the way when one of those overpowering feelings that tickle the pee hole came on me. It was like a team of furry little mice playing follow my leader round and round inside my jeans. I had to take them off and I had to take them off NOW.
Fiddling with the button while I told Robert what must happen I held on with teeth gritted, shaking and sweating. “Oh help, help, it’s almost here now.” Robert glanced about to see whether anyone was near, ushered me to a low wall of someone’s back garden and while I perched on the edge he deftly caught hold of the material by my knees giving a firm pull had the beautiful jeans to my ankles.
No knickers and instant release was possible, it was unavoidable, and unfortunately for Robert he was also unavoidable. I was already leaning back as he crouched before me still holding the jeans. He was very noble about it. He could have just let go and stepped back but that would have put me off balance and directed my pee onto the jeans. Instead he held position and caught the full flood on his chest. Making a rueful face he held his ground, arms outstretched to hold my legs still in the jeans, he just crouched there in front of me and allowed himself to be peed on.
The relief was wonderful, on and on it went, the force of the blast sending tremors through my groin and all the while I gazed into Robert’s sweet face half smiling as he screwed up his eyes against the splashes bouncing off his chest. “What a girl,” he said as he casually drew his arm between my legs to wipe me, “The Princess and the Pee.”
Putting the jeans back on took a while; they really are too tight and can only be drawn on if I stretch upwards. In all this nobody came by to see my embarrassment. However before we reached the boat a courting couple gave Robert a strange look as they passed. I heard part of their conversation as the girl said, “How could he piss on himself up there?”
Realizing that I had enjoyed one of the most excellent days of my life I wanted to be grateful to Robert that night. After all he had spent a great deal of time and money on me and so far I had thanked him by pissing all over him. He never holds a grudge and somehow can find the funny side of any event on top of which it’s nearly impossible to embarrass him.
Back in the comfort of the cabin I took his sodden jumper and shirt off, then his trousers, T–shirt, one sock and shoe leaving him with one sock and shoe still dry. I’ll remember how he looked then for the rest of my life.
It was a real life fairy tale in a wet setting. There are only a few more incidents to tell you and then our wet games account is up to date.
Yours, XX
May