The Rugby International (revisited)

The Rugby International (revisited)
As a divorcee of 30, Lindsay was flattered when one of the younger men at work asked her to join a group of his friends going to the rugby match. The group consisted of two other couples who were all in their 20’s. The other two girls were Tracy, about 25, slim with dark hair and thick glasses, which spoiled her looks, and Belinda, well built, a blonde about 28. Both were casually dressed, Tracy in the tightest pair of jeans you could imagine, and Belinda in a denim mini–skirt, which was both short and tight. Lindsay had also gone for the casual look, wearing jeans, not as tight as Tracy’s with a sweater and anorak. As you might expect from a rugby crowd, they met in a pub for a few drinks before walking to the ground. Everyone drank pints of bitter, and Lindsay struggled to keep up with this unaccustomed volume of drink. She noticed that both Tracy and Belinda had no trouble with their drinks, Tracy drinking bitter like the men and Belinda drinking pints of lager. In the pub, Lindsay was not only struggling to keep up with the rate the others were drinking, she was embarrassed to find she was needing to visit the loo about twice as often as anyone else, even the other girls who were clearly as used to drinking beer as their men. Lindsay was trying to make a deliberate effort not to go so often, but she had to hold on until she was literally bursting before she went.
Before they set off for the Rugby ground, everyone, naturally, went to the loo, which was the first time Lindsay had been in the tiny pub loo with the other two ladies, and it was so small that she could hear what was going on in the other cubicles. She could not help taking an interest; neither of the other girls had been to the loo for a long time and she had been wondering how they could drink so much and not need to pee, when Lindsay had drunk much less and was nearly bursting. Tracy let go a short blast of pee and it sounded like she was letting a lot out very quickly, as if she had wanted to go very badly. Belinda, must have either been holding on more than Lindsay was, and was really desperate, or she had an enormous bladder, because she was peeing for ages, far longer than Lindsay did and she had been wanting to go quite badly enough.
It was a cold, damp, day, and they had not been walking long when Lindsay felt the need for a pee, nothing serious, but she would definitely have liked to go if there had been a chance. But they were walking through suburbia; endless, featureless streets of houses, and not the place you would find a public loo. There was nothing she could do except wait and keep quiet and hope she did not want to go any more badly. In the back of her mind there was the nagging feeling that she had drunk a lot of beer and this would make her want to pee more than usual, so, she tried to press her legs together as she walked, and crossed them tightly whenever there was a chance to stop. They were not walking very fast, which was making her predicament even more uncomfortable as the need to go increased remorselessly, and she longed to find a loo. They were walking next to a river, no sign of a pub or public loo, so there was nothing for it but to hang on. Lindsay was to having to make a real effort to hold herself back, and the beer was filling her up at a frighteningly fast rate.
They were still miles from the rugby ground and Lindsay was frantic; they were walking faster now, so while she would get to the loos quicker, it was more strain to hold on until she did. A sudden urgency hit her, and she just had to stop and cross her legs or she might have wet myself. She pretended to have something her eye, fiddling with a tissue while keeping her legs tightly crossed. The spasm passed and she hurried to catch up with the others. Soon she was just as desperate again, and the effort of waiting was making it difficult to walk normally. She was mincing along with her legs pressed together and clenching myself shut as hard as she could. She was absolutely bursting and didn’t know how long she could hold out like this. Twice more Lindsay had to make an excuse to stop, so she could cross her legs and ease the stress on her bladder.
Soon Lindsay felt she was more desperate than she had ever been in her life. Walking along a path with a river on one side was a bad situation and to her great misery it was taking most of her strength to hold on, and she felt that if it got any worse, she might not be able to wait. Desperate, she had to do something, so she pushed her hands down into her anorak pockets, and tried to hold her crutch. The jacket was not quite long enough, and even stretching it to its limit, she could not reach far enough between her legs to have any real effect. However, it was better than nothing, so she staggered along like this until she saw one of the men staring at her, when she realised how peculiar this looked. Lindsay pulled her hands away and tried to walk normally again. Walking normally, or even walking in any way, was becoming more difficult as her bladder filled remorselessly. Lindsay had been simply bursting, absolutely dying for a pee; that had been bad enough, but she could cope with that. All she had to do was to wait and they would soon be in the Rugby ground where there had to be loos. What she had never expected, because she was not used to drinking beer in the volume she had that day, was how quickly her bladder would fill, as the beer passed through her, as her body demanded that she release the enormous volume of liquid she had drunk. Her bladder was throbbing, as it reached it’s full capacity and demanded to be emptied. She was nearly going frantic, beginning to think she just had to find somewhere for a pee because she might not be able to hold out until they got to the stadium. What had been a nagging, but bearable discomfort from her abdomen (bladder) was becoming an insistent, urgent, demand to release the pressure building inside her. Pee! Pee! She had to pee! And very soon, the need was becoming so intense and urgent that she began to doubt he ability to control it much longer, and wetting herself, could become an awful possibility. Poor Lindsay was reaching a frantic stage and all she wanted was to be able to sit down and cross her legs. Oh to be able to cross her legs so tightly that this terrible urgent need to pee became bearable. She wanted to press her hand between her legs and stop her pee from leaking out. Oh God, she wanted to go so badly she could hardly wait; she had to do something to help her bursting bladder before she lost control and committed the ultimate disgrace for a lady of her age: publicly wetting herself.
It was a situation that Lindsay had no answer for, she desperately wanted to pee, but there was nowhere she could pee; so what choice did she have? Only to wait, to hold on, clench her bladder shut and keep all that pee inside of her. She did not have any choice; she had to make herself wait. Her bladder was bursting, absolutely bursting, worse than she could ever remember wanting to go before, but she was not used to drinking like she had that day, and she knew that drinking too much beer made you want to pee. And how she wanted to pee. She was desperate… desperate, her bladder throbbing with the pressure of pee inside demanding to be released. Struggling to hold her pee, she let out a gasp of “Oh God!” as the pressure in her bladder seemed to build and build to an unbearable level, which was taking all her strength to control. She told herself she had to wait, there was no loo she could use, so she had to hold on, but the pressure was almost too much for her to contain. If it got any worse, she though, she would never be able to wait, she would… wet herself? No! That was unthinkable, somehow she had to make herself hold on, something would happen, and somehow she would find a loo. There had to be one at the rugby ground, she had to make herself wait until she got there. She tried to console herself with the thought that everyone else with her had drunk more, so how on earth were they managing to wait? Men, she knew, had better bladders than women, but how on earth Tracy and Belinda were waiting she had no idea, only that if they could wait then she had to as well. She did not think she had ever wanted to pee so badly, so desperately, in her life. Her bladder area was aching, throbbing where her jeans were pressing on it. She had not realised how tight her jeans were across her tummy, but now the waistband seemed to be cutting into her and causing her agony.
Somehow she managed to wait until she could see the end of the path, but how far from where they were to the Stadium? She could see the floodlight towers, which seemed miles away. She asked Belinda “How far to go?” meaning how far until she could go, and was told, “they were nearly there.” Lindsay was hoping desperately that the entrance would be nearer and there might be the loo she so desperately wanted. If not, this was becoming a nightmare, something she had never imagined happening to her. Lindsay was not used to drinking a lot of beer and had never been in such an awful situation before; wanting to pee so very, very badly and yet seemingly nowhere she could go. Women of her age did not get in this situation. When they wanted a loo, they waited until they found one. Simple, if they could not find a loo, they just waited until they found one. Where? There would be loos a plenty in the Rugby ground, or if she was lucky there could be a pub outside the ground, just a few minutes nearer. If only there could be… Lindsay was reaching the limit of her ability to wait and she was afraid that every second it took her to get to a loo was going to be crucial. She tried to convince herself that she was going to be able to wait; if she could just hold on a bit longer she would get to a loo…. If… How on earth was she going to be able to walk far when she was absolutely desperate, frantic, almost on the brink of wetting myself? What on earth was she going to do if she couldn’t manage to wait? She tried to summon up some more strength, and absolutely clenched her insides shut, gritting her teeth and telling myself that it was unthinkable to wet myself. By making some superhuman effort, she did not know how she managed it, Lindsay somehow managed to walk another 50 yards before the need to wee became too much to bear any longer. She felt myself giving way, and almost as a reflex action, with a sob of despair, she was forced to grab at her crutch to control myself. That stopped her peeing, but drew attention to her plight. Quickly she pulled her hand away before anyone could see what she was doing. A woman of her age didn’t walk about holding her crutch like a desperate child; she had to be capable of waiting until she got to a loo. But she really had reached the end of her tether, and no matter how hard she tried to stop it; it felt as if some pee was so close to leaking out into her knickers/jeans. Her jeans were tight between her legs, so wet her knickers and it would show on her jeans. With a sob of despair and desperation, she tried with all her strength to stop myself, but she had gone past the point of no return, and she couldn’t wait. She could almost feel that little dribbles of pee were leaking out down the inside of her legs. Poor Lindsay was horrified that she was wetting her knickers in public, and she had to stop herself. Somehow, she did not know, or care how she stopped it, she had to get control of herself again, and the only way she knew was to hold herself between the legs. Lindsay was almost in tears with the shame of what she was doing. Her pee felt as if it had escaped from her bladder, had reached the little opening between her legs and was going to soak into her jeans for everyone to see that she was wetting herself. She was clenching her bladder shut with all her strength, but it was not enough to contain her pee. The only possible way she could wait now, the only way to avoid the disgrace of a public jeans wetting was to press both hands between her legs. For a moment’s panic she could only think of one thing: if she pressed hard enough surely she must be able to stop any pee leaking out. Poor Lindsay was mortified to have to behave in such a way, but the thought that she was on the brink of pissing herself forced her to take drastic action. She simply had to make herself wait! She could not pee in her jeans– she had to hold it! And how! She had never tried so hard to control her bladder, and had never wanted to pee so urgently in he life. Never since she had been a young girl had she been in the situation where she could not stop herself wetting her knickers, and she was pressing so hard between her legs it did not seem possible that any pee could leak out. But it was, or it felt as if it was about to leak out, and nothing she could do could stop her pee. She pressed with all her strength with both hands between her legs, thinking, or rather, hoping, she was pressing so hard it had to be impossible for anything to leak out. But the pressure in her bladder was enormous, worse than she had ever imagined possible and beyond her ability to contain.
This was, she thought afterwards, the worst moment in her life. She was frantic, absolutely frantic to pee, wanting to go so badly that it seemed as if nothing she could do could hold it back. This was a nightmare situation that she had never imagined would happen to her. She wanted to pee so badly she could not wait, but was going to pee in her pants! Wetting herself in public! She was a grown woman of 29, and grown women did not do things like that. They made themselves wait. She must! She had to make herself wait… and behave properly too. Women of her age did not hold between their legs like little girls wanting to go wee–wee. She tried to get herself under control by twisting her legs a tightly as she could and then, pulling her jeans up so they were pressing hard between her legs. That was almost as good as holding herself, in fact better because she was not actually holding her crutch, so she might not look such a fool. By making such an effort to wait, she did actually manage to stop the flood of pee that had been heading for her knickers. Pressing with all her strength between her legs had stopped the pee right on the brink, just before it came spurting out into her knickers and down her legs. She was twisting her legs together so tightly she could hardly think of it as something so simple as crossing her legs; no, she had to plait them, tie them in a knot, do something to help herself wait, all she could think about was to hold in the unbearable need to pee that was dominating her world. Her body was screaming at her to pee, to ease the unbearable pressure in her bladder before it exploded and she died of a burst bladder.
At that moment Lindsay felt as if she had almost completely lost control of her bladder, and pee was almost leaking down her legs, but she had, had to fight it, fight to get herself under control. In absolute desperation, trying everything to hold back the seemingly irresistible need to pee, she twisted her legs so tightly she could not stand up, but went into a half crouch as she tried to twist her legs tighter together and press so hard between her legs that no pee could ever leak out. Nobody anywhere Lindsay could have been in any doubt that she was absolutely desperately in need of a pee, and both Tracy and Belinda stared in horror as she contorted herself in an agony of absolute desperation. This was the awful moment when Lindsay realised that she was not going to be able to contain her any longer and that she was going to pee.
“Oh God, NO!” she sobbed in despair as she felt her bladder spasm and try to force some pee out to ease the unbearable pressure. Lindsay simply could not press any harder between her legs; she was using both hands to hold herself and to try to contain the frantic need to pee that she had been fighting. Twisting her legs as tightly as she could, trying with all her strength to find some way of holding back the pee that was about to spurt into her knickers, she had to face the awful fact that thee was absolutely no way she was going o be able to hold back her pee until she reached the rugby ground and the loos there. All she could hope for was to be able to hold it for a few more seconds until she could pee anywhere, in the open, behind a bush if only she could find one, but really all she cared about was that she did not pee own her legs, wetting her knickers and jeans.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, I must have a pee, I can’t wait any longer,” she sobbed in despair as she ran off the path they were walking along and tried to hide behind a tree growing by the river.
Red faced with the humiliation and the effort she was making to hold her pee, Lindsay was still sobbing “I’m sorry, I can’t wait, please excuse me, I’m desperate, I must go! “ as she struggled to undo her jeans and pull her clothes down and squat by the tree that she was making a token effort to hide behind. She had hardly managed to drag her knickers down to round her knees and start to crouch down when he bladder completely gave way and a torrent of pee poured out of her. Seeing the men were staring at her in amazement Lindsay almost burst into tears with the shame of what she was doing and could only cry “please don’t look, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Then Belinda and Tracy overcame their surprise at her actions and moved to stand between Lindsay and the watching men, who turned away and pretended they had not been looking. Lindsay had never felt so ashamed in her life and she tried to crouch lower as if to hide herself. A steady stream of pee was pouring out of her tortured body as her distended bladder emptied at last. She had been so desperate and so full of pee that she felt she would pee forever, despite her shame at going in so public a place.
Even though she was trying to force her pee out as fast as she could, it seemed to Lindsay that she was crouching down, knickers round her knees, peeing for ever, and she could only think to herself ‘Never have I wanted to pee so badly,’ and ‘I don’t know where it’s all coming from; No wonder I was hurting so much with all that pee inside me, my poor bladder must have been absolutely bursting.’
Seeing how distressed Lindsay was a being forced to pee in the open, Belinda and Tracy were all sympathy as she pulled her knickers up and did up her jeans and let out a heartfelt sigh of “Oh! That’s better.” Still embarrassed, Lindsay tried to apologise to the men who were making a studious attempt to pretend they were not interested in her antics, but her red–faced mumblings only made the situation worse for all of them, and nobody was sorry when they reached he rugby ground. Lindsay took some comfort in finding that the ground entrance was further away than she had imagined and that she would never have possibly managed to hold her pee until she reached a ladies’ in there.
Once they were in the stadium, the other girls were heading for the loos, Tracy admitting that she was going to burst if she didn’t pee soon. There was a queue in the Ladies’ and Lindsay realised that even if by some superhuman effort she had actually managed to hold out until she was on the grounds, she would never have survived the agony of having to wait in that queue. Despite the crowd in the loo, she needed to go again, and surprised herself with the volume of pee despite the enormous amount that she had already done behind the tree. To her shame she noted that her knickers were damp between her legs; either she had leaked in the last panic or was sweating from the effort of holding so much pee for so long. There were cans of beer to drink while watching the game, so, by half–time she was in such need of another wee, despite having her legs twisted together for much of the game, that she was almost wetting her knickers again. The steps in the grand–stand and the queue for the ladies’ were too much for her over–worked bladder, and she had to hold between he legs as she walked to the ladies’. She had drunk far more than she was used to, and she was feeling quite drunk and totally unable to summon up the will–power needed to control her bladder, which had been hurting all the game she had been wanting to go so badly. She was horrified to feel the wetness in her knickers and on her jeans between her legs, but nothing showed and she did not have the disgrace of everyone seeing that she had wet herself a bit during the match, as well as having to pee by the path on the way to the grounds.
Her humiliation at not being able to wait was made worse by overhearing Tracy and Belinda talking in the pub after the game; Tracy was saying, “I could not believe she was just squatting down and having a pee. She was showing everything and she didn’t seem to care. I could never do that; I would have made myself wait somehow. I would rather die than have to pee with all the men seeing me like that, with my pants round my knees.”
“She must have a weak bladder or something,” replied Belinda, “I know we had a lot to drink, we always do on rugby days; but that was no reason for behaving like that, I’m always ‘breaking my neck’ when we walk that way to the ground, but I have to wait, and so do you.”
“I nearly died having to watch her pee like that, when all I wanted was to let it go like she was. Talk about bursting! I was in agony, nearly pissing myself, watching her. It was a real tummy–buster that day! If the queue in the Ladies’ had been much longer, I think I would have had to pee in a sink.”
Hearing this, ad realising that she had not been the only lady bursting for a pee, and that the other two had suffered like her before and always managed to wait, only added to Lindsay’s humiliation at having to pee in the open. Lindsay never went to any other rugby match again, despite being asked several times. She was scared that she would need to pee so badly again and ashamed to face Belinda and Tracy and not be able to wait again.
Comments, ideas, and suggestions are welcome as is general discussion on the fascinating topic of ladies with bursting bladders they have to empty in embarrassing situations.
Regular visitors to this website will recognise this as a revision of an earlier story Rugby International, published last year as party of my ‘Rugby’ series, to celebrate England winning the Rugby world cup.
The earlier version of this story I was never happy with and from the lack of comment, it seemed that nobody else thought much of it either. After much thought I have completely re–written it, only keeping the same circumstances and basic characters. There is a different ending, and I think, more realistic, in that I never believed that Lindsay would wet herself as she walked to the rugby ground, but that she would either by some miracle manage to contain herself or that she would, as above, simply give up and pee in public. I hope that her struggles to wait and ultimate failure meet with approval and are thought to be moderately ‘true to life’.
Correspondence on this or other desperation fantasies welcome at Paul_Tester144@Yahoo.co.uk
By: Paul tester