Gina's Accidents

I am nearly 40 now but over the years I have had many little, and sometimes not so little accidents in my knickers. Most women do in my experience, though few are keen to admit it! We all find, both as teenagers, and as we get older that laughing or coughing with a full bladder causes little leaks and damp knickers, as can waiting to long for the loo when desperate, especially if you have had children. In fact I think it must be more common to leak when bursting than it is to lose control completely. If I have to hang on for long time I often find my pants are damp and sometimes quite wet when I finally get to the loo, though rarely do I notice the leaks as they happen! Which reminds me of the time that I wet myself while sitting on the sofa at home watching TV and didn’t even know that I had done it. Having showered earlier I was wearing only knickers, bra and a dressing gown. I lay with my feet up, my husband in the armchair as we drank a beer or two and watched a film. When the program ended I stood up to go up to bed and it was then that my husband noticed the big wet patch where I had been sitting. He immediately asked me if I had wet myself. I didn’t even feel wet and so denied it vigorously. He felt the wet spot on the sofa and sniffed his fingers telling me it smelt like wee, and then felt for a wet patch that he saw on the back of my dressing gown. I looked at it but still denied that I had wet my pants. Pulling me towards him he felt between my legs, saying that my knickers were soaking and how could I deny that I’d sat there and wet myself. I just looked at him, still maintaining that I was dry. It was only when he made me feel my pants myself and I had taken them off and seen that the gusset and seat were sodden that I accepted what had happened. Without being at all aware of what I was doing I had sat there and completely wet my knickers, I hadn’t even been desperate so that wasn’t the reason. It just happened, my bladder had emptied itself so slowly that I had had no idea that I was leaking.. This was actually quite disconcerting and I was worried that it might happen at work. Its one thing to wet yourself when you are bursting and can’t make the loo in time but . . . . This had happened to me once at college when trying to finish an assignment late one night when I had put off going up the corridor to the toilet just that bit too long. That time I had felt the first hot spurt in my knickers and had made a dash for the loo. I didn’t quite make it. By the time I got into a cubicle I had weed all down my legs and although I managed to pull my fawn trousers down I finished off by weeing through my knickers as I sat there. I dried off a bit before going back to my room but my trousers were stained down to my knees and it was obvious that I had wet myself. Something similar happened a few months later but luckily I was wearing a loose skirt. I was working in a bar one busy lunchtime and simply didn’t have time to use the loo. At closing time my husband came to collect me. I was just about to leave when I felt a wetness in my pants and realised just how desperate I was – I had forgotten about my need while working but was just about to make an embarrassing puddle on the floor! I rushed for the Ladies, which unfortunately was upstairs. I didn’t have time to even think about pulling my knickers down, there wasn’t time. I just lifted my skirt, sat down and weed myself through them. Later, outside, I told my boyfriend that in my rush I had forgotten to take my knickers off and had wet them. He loved it, especially as we spent the next two hours in town with me walking about the crowded streets in wet knickers. My skirt was dry nothing showed so I doubt that anyone else knew what I had done except him. Writing about those little accidents in my knickers has brought back some other memories, including a couple of incidents during holidays. One involved publicly weeing in my swimsuit, the other was more private when I wet the bed in a hotel. In the first instance I was with my husband and young children on a small but popular beach. I hate using dirty public loos so simply held on, knowing that at some point I would go for a swim and deal with things then. My husband had also told me that the loos were rather unpleasant. Eventually I decided I just had to go, but realised that the tide had gone out leaving a 200 metre walk to the water. That walk was quite a struggle but I just about held on. Well, actually I was feeling rather damp. I had intended to go straight in up to my waist but the youngest child was frightened of the water and wouldn’t go to my husband or be left on the sand. I was ankle deep in the rather cold water and that did it. My bladder just gave up and despite several people around me and a child in my arms I just stood there with a hot yellow stream of wee pouring from the crotch of my swimsuit and down my leg. There was just nothing I could do about it. I was a little embarrassed but my husband was very aroused if the size of the bulge in his trunks was any guide! The second accident took place a couple of years later. My husband and I managed to get a weekend to ourselves and stayed in a country hotel for a couple of nights. A storm kept us awake much of the first night and on the second I slept very deeply. In the early hours of the morning I half woke from a strange dream, wondering why I felt wet. “What’s happening, what’s going on, I’m all wet”, I mumbled, nudging my husband awake. With a grunt he asked me what the matter was. “I’m wet, why am I wet”, I replied as still dozy I got out of bed. Standing there looking at the bed I still didn’t realise what I had done. I felt my satin shorts – the seat, leg and crotch were wet. Oh god I thought, I haven’t have I. Wetting the bed was not something I did, well, once when pregnant, but then I often had damp knickers then. I reached down to feel the bed and with growing horror found a large wet patch where I had been lying. “Oh my God! I’ve wet the bed!”, I blurted out. “What have you done?”, asked my husband, “You can’t have”, as he felt the wet patch himself. “I’ve wet myself, oh God I’ve wet myself, I’ve wet the bed! How bad is it, can you check it”, I sobbed as I sat on the loo, door open and in full view as I emptied what remained in my bladder. Leaving my wet shorts and top in the bath I put on a dressing gown and came back to inspect the damage. We threw back the covers and found the wet area little bigger than a dinner plate. Lying on my side in a soft bed the wee had pooled by my thigh and been absorbed by the thick under–blanket. Fortunately I had woken up before I totally lost control. Stripping off the sheet we found the mattress almost dry. To dry things off a bit we hung the sheet over a radiator and the under–blanket in front of a fan heater. We snuggled up on the dry side of the bed and by the time we were ready to leave in the morning the wet bedclothes were dry so we put them back on and said nothing, hoping that the stained sheet and faint smell of wee wouldn’t be noticed. My husband found the incident a great turn on but I was simply embarrassed.
By: Poseidon