Memories of the Awakening

Maggie checked her watch. Just past 5:30 and just outside her comfort zone. Six months into her job and life in New York, and she had the timing down perfectly. Two liters of water and no restroom breaks after 4:00, and let the rumbling on the subway do the rest.
It was late October, and that morning had been pleasantly chilly on the walk from her apartment to the station and then to her office at the end of the line. The overcast sky and the ever so slight nip in the breeze had gotten her thinking; maybe this was one of her special days. When lunchtime had finally rolled around, she’d known for sure. Friday night, a place of her own downtown, all that time to herself and the melancholy from the last breakup nicely faded now…yep, she thought, tonight is for me.
With all that water working its way through her, the ride downtown was doing its share, Maggie thought naughtily, uncrossing and re–crossing her legs. Usually she didn’t even try to get a seat on the subway, but Her Days were special. She was never quite sure whether the jiggling of the seats eased her pleasant discomfort or intensified it, but the ability to sit with her legs crossed tightly was definitely a plus. Maggie wasn’t into public wetting, especially not in her expensive work clothes, so keeping her bladder full but under control was the name of the game on the ride home.
And the inevitable fidgeting was part of the fun. Remembering how she always got off on seeing guys desperate for a pee on bar–runs in college, Maggie always felt a rush in spite of herself whenever some guy gave any indication that he’d stumbled onto her secret. Sweet vulnerability, she thought today as she made brief eye contact with a kid across the aisle – he didn’t look older than nineteen – who had clearly been watching as she shifted in her seat and re–crossed her legs for what was probably the third time. Resisting the temptation to look away shyly, she smiled at the boy as she smoothed out her black pleated skirt and gathered up the strap of her briefcase in anticipation of the next stop. He nodded and smiled as well. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d be jacking off to this image for years to come – the well–dressed young woman on the subway who was clearly dying to pee.
Well, maybe not dying just yet, she conceded as she exited the car and headed for the gates and the old cement stairs. But the sweet torture was coming soon. Out on the street, it was dark except for the headlights of the passing cars, the time change having come two weeks before. It was three blocks to Maggie’s apartment building from the subway stop, and the walk did a world of good. She’d been doing her best to avoid giving in to the cold weather and breaking out her winter coat just yet, and this was feeling like it might be the last evening in which to get away with it. Her wool blazer and dark turtleneck were perfect against the breeze, which blew her long skirt gently against her nylon–clad legs. The slight draft under her skirt and the movement of her legs provided the perfect foil for the delicious, not overwhelming but strong tickle now calling out from between her thighs.
So this is Maggie, she thought happily as she admired the old brownstones along her way as usual. This is what it was all meant to lead up to, all along. The mostly happy, but bumpy childhood in a rough and tumble New England mill town, fourth of her parents’ five kids and the only girl, the tomboy who switched to peasant–dresses sometime in college and now business suits; the flailing around for a year and change after college and living at home, settling on law school as a last resort and somehow striking gold there to wind up in Manhattan, all the brief relationships that went nowhere, but at least I’m finally happy with my job, this is Maggie. And so, though nobody knows it but me, is this masochistic game I sometimes play on Fridays when I need my quality time. Walking eagerly up the steps to her building, she found herself reflecting, as she so frequently did, on the origin of her favorite private pastime.
She’d been sixteen when it had happened – over a decade ago now, she mused – and she had Erin to thank for it all, though she didn’t think she ever had discussed it with Erin. She’d so often meant to do so, she recalled, but somehow she just didn’t think Erin would understand, bless her heart. If she even remembers that day at all, Maggie thought now. Somehow Maggie doubted it meant much to her, but to Maggie…She allowed that thought to go unfinished. Stopping at the top of the stairs, as she fished around in her purse for her keys and absentmindedly wrapped one leg around the other, smiling to herself, her mind’s eye summoned her eldest brother Jonathan’s room back home.
Jonathan had married Erin two years before that fateful morning. They were so much older than Maggie – nine years, to be exact – that she could barely recall a time when Jonathan had lived at home with the rest of the family or when Erin wasn’t around. He’d met her in college, and if Mom and Dad hadn’t been thrilled with her at first, they’d learned to love her just as Jonathan had. Maggie got along with her okay as well, but there’d always been a sense of distance she couldn’t quite explain. Not sisters, not quite friends, and Erin always seemed such a braniac back then, a smarty–pants from much cushier origins with beautiful clothes at a time when Maggie was still eschewing such things, and even with the beautiful clothes there was something unattractive about her to Maggie. Maybe it was her broad, manlike shoulders, or her curly but limp hair that reminded Maggie vaguely of so many teachers she couldn’t stand; she couldn’t put her finger on it in all those years, but there was something about Erin. She’d always seemed far above Maggie somehow. Always, until that late spring day when Jonathan and Erin had brought their baby up for the first visit with the grandparents.
Little Andy. He’s thirteen now, Maggie figured as she unlocked the front door, realizing she hadn’t actually seen him in several years. He was only a few weeks old on that great morning that opened a secret door for Maggie. Sixteen–year–old Maggie, despite her tough, tomboyish style in those days, was just as smitten with little Andy as the rest of the family was on that first visit. That morning, while Jonathan was out with their parents and Erin was in the shower, Maggie jumped at the chance to have a look at the baby on her own. He was fast asleep in his bassinet while his mother had a few minutes on her own across the hall, and Maggie strode quietly into the room and sat on the window–seat beside the bassinet, curling her legs up under her and adoring the boy, wanting to stroke his cheek with her finger but scared of waking him up.
She was still gazing admiringly at him a few minutes later when Erin returned to the room, in her bathrobe. Maggie jolted slightly, feeling a bit like an intruder, but Erin seemed happy to see her. “Maggie!” she said quietly but happily. “Getting to know your nephew, are you?”
“That’s right,” Maggie said a bit shyly. “Hope I’m not intruding.”
“Don’t be silly!” Erin smiled. “I’m glad you like having him here.”
“Thanks. He’s a cutie, all right.” Maggie turned back to admiring the baby. “Love those little fingers, everything looks so perfect. It must have been hard waiting to see this.”
“Oh, it was, for us both!” Erin said. “But it’s worth everything having him here now.”
“I’m sure – “ Maggie began, turning back to look at Erin – and seeing for the first time that Erin had removed her bathrobe and was standing before her stark naked. “Oh! Erin, I’m sorry–” she exclaimed, getting up to leave and turning her gaze away from her sister–in–law’s bare body.
“Maggie, it’s okay!” Erin laughed, showing no inclination to cover her nakedness. She reached out and held Maggie by the shoulders. “Mags, we’re sisters! There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” She smiled at the younger girl, who looked her in the eye and smiled, then openly looked down at Erin’s engorged breasts and still–distended tummy. Then she put her arm around Maggie and walked back over to the bassinet with her. “Relax. Jon and I want to bring Andy up to be comfortable with his body, and we’re doing our best to set a good example for him.” She looked down at herself and then back at Maggie. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And this is what pregnancy can do to you, if you were wondering,” she said good–naturedly, with a sardonic smile.
Maggie smiled as well. “What it can do to you? You look fine, Erin, really.” And she did look fine. Very motherly, Maggie thought. But what had grabbed her attention, now that she had a fuller view, was Erin’s dense and expansive bush. Dark and thick and reaching at least seven inches across the base of her belly and out onto her thighs, it was surely twice the size of Maggie’s own. Maggie was torn between pity and envy and even attraction, though she’d never had a thing for women.
Erin laughed when she realized what Maggie was gawking at. “Pregnancy can do that too,” she said, flicking the hairs lightly with her right hand. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t always this hairy. It has to do with hormones going crazy on you.”
“I was wondering,” Maggie admitted. “I was just thinking that if that were me, I couldn’t wear a two–piece!” Maggie – who had just ventured to the pool in a bikini for the first time a few weeks before – would regret that comment for years; even now, she cringed as she remembered saying it. How could I be that impertinent? She wondered, shaking her head.
But if Erin was offended, she kept it to herself. She laughed slightly, then said, “Don’t worry, Mags, there’s life after puberty at the beach. I never wear bikinis anyway, not because of this” – she flicked her big triangle playfully again – “but ‘cause I’ve never been as confident as you are!”
“I’m sorry!” Maggie said immediately. “I shouldn’t have said that, I was just…impressed.”
“Impressed?” Erin chuckled, pulling on her nursing bra. “Well, thanks. I don’t know if I was ever impressed with my body, but I’m happy with it.”
“Oh, good,” Maggie said, still feeling bad for her remark. “I didn’t mean anything…”
“I know, Mags. It’s fine, really. I can wear a swimsuit without much trouble!” By now they were both giggling loudly enough for Maggie to worry about waking the baby, but he only stirred a bit. And she was now curious as to just how Erin did look in a swimsuit, pregnant or not. Suddenly she really did feel like they were sisters, as Erin had said, for the first time.
Then, as Maggie would often recall later, including this night, Erin very casually ratcheted up the intimacy of the moment even higher. With no sign of embarrassment at all that Maggie could see, Erin pulled out a half–full package of adult diapers from her suitcase and neatly put on a pair, all the while still chatting about the baby.
Remembering her manners this time after the swimsuit comment, Maggie fought down the urge to ask. Besides, she vaguely recalled her mother warning her and her one remaining still–at–home brother before the visit, “let Erin have dibs on the bathroom at all times, no complaints!” But her curiosity was running higher than ever. Was this new? Must be, Erin had been a guest here before with no warnings from Mom…but what was up?
It must have shown. Erin saw Maggie looking at her now–covered bush again and laughed a bit, now looking embarrassed for the first time. “Oh, sorry. I’ve just gotten so used to wearing these and only Jon seeing them since we got home from the hospital. Another memento of pregnancy.” She smiled awkwardly but genuinely.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Maggie replied, trying hard to look sympathetic rather than nosy like she felt. So Erin the super–smart, teacher–like sister–in–law had a bladder problem? Then she really did feel sympathetic. In five minutes, Erin had gone from intimidating in her appearance and personality, to open and vulnerable in her nudity and frankness, to nearly pathetic. Diapers? She had to say something. “Mom…told us to let you have the bathroom,” she stammered awkwardly.
Erin laughed, and they both relaxed a bit. “That was nice of her,” she said. “Of course, I think she said she’d been through this too.” “Mom?” Maggie said, a bit confused now. “Mom wears Depends? No!”
Erin laughed genuinely now. “Oh, no,” she assured Maggie, pulling on her jeans over the diapers. “No, Maggie, sometimes childbirth can make you incontinent, your muscles get stretched out too much and they get weak.” She sounded, Maggie thought, a lot like some nurse must have sounded explaining it to her in the hospital. “It doesn’t last forever. You do exercises and usually you’re fine in a month or two. But if you don’t want to live in the bathroom until things are back to normal…” She patted her crotch lightly and smiled. “Trust me, Mags, it’s not easy but it’s not the end of the world.”
Maggie nodded. “Gosh, that must be hard. I’ll bet the drive up here was fun.” By now she was torn between sympathy and a perverse enjoyment, thinking of Erin cheerfully struggling not to pee all the time.
“Oh, don’t worry, I made your brother stop at every rest area,” Erin chuckled. “I’m actually almost back to normal. I haven’t lost control since the week we brought Andy home. But I still have to go a lot, like every hour or so, and I’m supposed to try to hold it longer every time. So I’m still wearing these just in case.”
Maggie was over her pity by now and back to feeling awestruck. “Wow, Erin, you have a great attitude. All this you have to live with for this.” She gestured to the baby. “Wow.”
Erin, still in her bra and jeans, walked over and embraced Maggie tightly. “It’s worth it, honey, it really is,” she said, looking down at Andy. “Besides,” she added with a smile, “You know men could never handle it.” And they both laughed.
The rest of that visit was a blur to Maggie now. All she remembered was doing her best to stay away from the bathroom in case Erin needed it, and being interested in spite of herself in how often she – Erin – did need it. Even before Erin and Jonathan had gone home, Maggie was replaying that wonderful encounter in her head while alone in her room, imagining Erin’s huge, matronly bush and her frequent need for the bathroom and her almost complete lack of embarrassment about any of it. That Andy was a lucky kid, Maggie often mused after bringing herself to orgasm.
It wasn’t long afterward that Maggie found herself wanting that feeling of relief more often. Perhaps it wasn’t the frequency she craved – that was more than a little bit embarrassing at school – but the intensity. Imagining Erin on that drive up, fidgeting in her car seat and keeping an eye on her watch and the rest area signs, and then the blissful relief that awaited her, never failed to arouse Maggie. Neither did the other incidents that inadvertently reminded her of Erin. In high school it was usually the girls; there seemed to be at least one in every class who always had to go. In college it was the guys, since they did so much drinking. And on those special nights, it was herself. Whoever it was, though, it never once failed Maggie.
Especially not tonight, she thought. It was a tiny New York apartment, tiny but cozy with the couch by the window, the television jammed tightly between the bookcases against the opposite wall and the lush Persian rug in between, all of it just past the kitchen–nook just inside the door. Books and CDs were stacked fairly neatly everywhere, and the lamp on the end table cast a warm glow against the dusk outside. And at the opposite corner from the kitchen was Maggie’s bathroom.
Locking the door, she kicked off her shoes and strode over to the bathroom, turning on the light inside and looking happily at the readily available toilet. In anticipation, she admired the graceful sight of the pleats of her skirt rippling back and forth in the mirror as she found herself wiggling again, the wonderful pressure continuing to build. No bus driver on a schedule, no brothers or boyfriends hogging the bathroom, no teacher on a power trip, nothing between me and relief except…me, she thought.
And it was urgent now, but she wasn’t quite ready to give in just yet. There was, she often found, something about not having any barriers to the bathroom that made it seem even more urgent no matter how badly she had to go to begin with. Here it was well over two hours since she’d downed all that water, and her bladder felt at least the size of a soccer ball inside her. The pleasant discomfort was palpable. Her vagina tingled with sheer anticipation and the tickle that seemed to vibrate from there to every far reach of her body, right out to her fingertips. She couldn’t have stopped swaying back and forth if someone had offered her a million dollars. But it wasn’t quite time yet.
With the bathroom light on behind her, she walked back across the living room – gingerly now, enjoying the urgency but well aware of what any sudden moves could do to her sense of control over the situation – and switched off the light. The bathroom light provided a nice afterglow and enough darkness to provide a sense of privacy. Watching people pass in the street below, Maggie reached behind her and unclasped and unzipped her skirt. She thought of letting it drop gracefully to the floor, and then thought better of it. Bending down to pick it up before it got wrinkled would be a genuinely hazardous thing to do right now. Instead, she held the waistband and stepped out, as quickly as she could, for she didn’t dare keep her legs spread too far for too long just now. Her hose were next, and proved even dicier to remove. Then the blazer, and that was enough. It wasn’t nearly warm enough yet to strip completely, and besides, she reminded herself, I’m standing in the window. She was, as Erin had put it so many years before, not that confident.
For the home stretch, Maggie tried to stand still. Hands on her hips, she continued to observe the scene outside and drink in the sensation of her now–tense body. She couldn’t do it for long; both hands moved quickly from her hips to between her legs. Sure enough, although she hadn’t lost any pee yet, her panties were delightfully damp all the same.
Maggie pressed all of her fingertips firmly against her vulva. It helped. She felt the pressure recede ever so slightly and she was able to stand still for just a moment longer.
Soon enough, she wasn’t moving anymore, but her fingers were. She exulted in the sensation of the pads of her fingers against the soft, nappy cotton, tugging slightly at her pubic hair and further exciting her swollen, already agitated skin underneath. Waves of gentle pleasure intermingled with the near–violent urge now calling out from within that most intimate part of her body.
The limit was reached. Maggie closed her eyes and shook her head back and forth, her dark brown mane brushing both cheeks pleasantly – a sensation she did her best to concentrate on in a last–ditch effort to hang on. She now knew without a doubt that if she stopped teasing her clit, the dam would burst for sure. Her pleasure now infused with real fear, she turned and looked to the light across the room, so close but yet so far. It couldn’t be much more than seven steps, but she’d have to remember to keep moving her fingers as well as her legs.
That wouldn’t be a problem, she realized as soon as she’d begun the trek. Soft as the rug was, each step seemed like a tragic jolt to her crotch, against which her vibrating fingers remained tightly clasped. Thank heavens I live alone, she thought as she crossed the threshold. No need to worry about shutting the door at a time like this!
Standing over the bowl, for a split second Maggie debated her plan of attack. How best to remove her panties? They’d need to be washed anyway, of course, but there was the principle of the thing. Not one drop is escaping into my clothes, she vowed, gingerly removing her right hand from ground zero and pulling down the waistband. Crouching slowly, she tried to calculate the best angle and the right moment to release her left hand and pull the panties away with her right.
She was perhaps at a 30–degree angle over the seat when she knew the time was right. She pulled the band out nearly down to her knees, and preparing to clench her muscles for all she was worth for that last split–second, she released her hand, pulled the garment out of the way, and sat down.
It wasn’t a flood at first. It was more like a trickle. Maggie hadn’t pushed herself that far in so long, she’d forgotten how hard it was to actually get started in really desperate cases like this. Laughing slightly at this realization, she relaxed and let nature take its course, as slowly as it wished. Even if it wasn’t the gusher she was expecting, it felt very, very good. Almost like there was still something trying to block the way but not quite succeeding, she thought. She was so sore as her bladder began to relax that she couldn’t push at first anyway; but it soon became clear that she wouldn’t need to. And sore or not, the sensation of flowing relief was divine as always.
Slowly, to a barely perceptible degree, she mused, the flow gained strength and momentum. It was perhaps thirty seconds after Maggie had begun peeing before her stream felt reasonably strong, but nature took its course and soon enough she could tell she was gushing at full force. Still clad in her warm top, Maggie nonetheless felt goose bumps on her arms as wave after wave of relief emanated throughout her body and the tension seemed to evaporate through every pore. She shook slightly from the sheer pleasure of the nearly orgasmic relief. Maggie was accustomed to the final second or two of spray feeling most pleasurable of all; but this time, that intense wave of almost tangible satisfaction lasted for what she judged must have been at least twenty seconds before she could even feel the end coming.
The final drops required just the slightest bit of actual effort on Maggie’s part, which in that moment was nearly all that she could muster. Thoroughly finished and empty, she nevertheless sat there without moving for what was probably at least another minute. She was done, she could tell; but her bladder still felt distended, tingly and a little sore from the exertion she’d put herself through. Total relief remained ever so slightly elusive, but for the moment, Maggie leaned back against the tank and smiled. Beautiful.
Beautiful, she thought, but unfinished. Gathering her strength and remembering her unfinished business from before, Maggie wiped her pussy gently, stood up, flushed and stretched her arms and gloriously bare legs, smiling naughtily at herself in the bathroom mirror. She’d looked so demure before in her work clothes, squirming before her image of herself. Now, her dark, modest shirt providing a dramatic offset for her long legs and gloriously bare, full bush (still smaller than Erin’s, but beautifully adult, feminine and untrimmed), Maggie the grown up lawyer had a different itch to scratch.
She hastily rinsed her hands off, quite sure though she was that she hadn’t leaked on them, and shut the bathroom light off. The living room and kitchen nook were dim but, with the pale light from the street, not too dark to see. With the radiator spitting busily in the corner, the apartment was now pleasantly warm and getting warmer. Smiling warmly to herself, now, Maggie reached behind her back and pulled her shirt off at last, setting it neatly on the floor by the bookcase. Clad only in her forest green bra now, Maggie reached below and resumed brushing one hand lightly through her thatch.
As she did so, she walked to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out her half–full bottle of 5.99 merlot. A glass a day will keep your heart healthy, they say, she thought. A lot of things are good for you once a day. The liquid poured darkly into her one clean wine glass, Maggie took the glass in one hand and herself in the other and reclined happily on the couch. The aftermath of her favorite pain still lingered on as her bladder continued to contract back to normal, but the teasing from her right hand worked wonders to divert from it. And as she worked her wrist harder, the change from relief to pleasure became clear.
Time for the grand finale to My Day, Maggie thought, setting her wine glass down a bit roughly on the end table and laying all the way back on the couch. Both hands went to work, and she rubbed her back against the cushion to jar her bra back and forth, creating a wonderful tease as the satin rubbed across her nipples. Without an ounce of pee left in her, she found herself moister than ever all the same.
She wanted it to last all night, or so it felt at first. But the rush of sensations was just too much. Memories of the train ride, the contrast of her demure clothes with her racy thoughts, the flirty glances at the kid across the aisle as she crossed her legs, the walk home, the waiting for the sake of waiting, the desperation, the relief, the sheer joy of her own body…
Maggie came so hard that for one wonderfully scary moment she was sure she’d caught the attention of the entire building and wasn’t sure if she’d screamed, or just imagined herself doing so.
Still breathing heavily, she rolled onto her side and curled up, facing across her tiny living room. Naked, vulnerable, alone, yet safe and gloriously free, she closed her eyes and smiled with silent joy. It was still fairly early in the evening, too early to think about sleeping. I could put my clothes back on and go out, she mused, or just put the television on or read. And we’ve got to eat. But, all of that could wait for now. This was her time, and she intended to go right on savoring the joy, the memory, and the intense sense of relief. In spite of her intentions, her eyelids were growing heavier by the second as her beautiful body relaxed.
God bless Erin and her weak bladder, Maggie thought, drifting off to sleep.
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