Going at the Match

This happened several years ago now when I was going out with lad who was a real football fanatic. Fortunately I enjoy the game as well, especially as most Saturday afternoons found us in the stands at our local ground. Nothing exciting – only second division, and not just the team. The facilities at the ground were limited and basic with few toilets for either sex. Those that were provided were scruffy, dirty and best avoided unless absolutely desperate.Of course, having had a jar or two in the pub before the match, sitting or standing in the cold were a simple recipe for desperation. Many times I found that I had to push through the crowd at half–time and again before we left, often queuing for a while in increasing discomfort. How I envied the blokes – they simply peed into their empty beer bottles, something accepted as OK, even with women nearby.My only option would have been to squat down, pull my pants aside and pee on the concrete terrace. My boyfriend actually suggested this, but somehow I don’t think this would have been accepted in the same way. Women aren’t expected to act like men and anyway, I really didn’t like the idea of exposing myself in this way so continued to endure the crush and filthy toilets.Then it happened. We were at a pre–season friendly with a major team and as I didn’t need to go too badly at half–time decided to hang on till the end. With a few minutes of the match left I really did need the loo badly but knew I could hold on. Then, with seconds before the final whistle our team scored the winner. Everyone, including me, was out of their seats and leaping about with excitement. Now jumping up and down with a full bladder is not sensible, and I promptly wet my pants! I didn’t lose control completely and managed to stop a flood but my knickers and tights were soaked and I could feel it trickling down my leg.The whistle went, but there was no way I was going to be able to reach the loo quickly. There I stood, wet knickers and still dying for a pee. I quietly told my boyfriend of my plight, though not about the state of my underwear. He was quite the the gentleman and helped forge a path through the crowd only to find a long queue for the Ladies loo. I just stood there, legs crossed, bobbing up and down wondering what I was going to do. Then Jim suggested the pub, which was only 400 metres away. We moved away from the crowd but my bursting bladder was making walking difficult.I stopped and told Jim that there was no way I would make it and almost had tears in my eyes as I admitted that I had already weed in my pants and was in danger of making a puddle. His response surprise me totally. He pulled me to him and told me to just go ahead, pointing to a van parked in a quiet alley which would provide some screening. Well, it certainly would’nt be the first time I had wet myself like this. There had been several occasions when walking home from a drunken night out with the girls we had all been caught short and rather than bare all had simply squatted or stood in a doorway or alleyway and wet ourselves – it was the obvious solution to the problem.I quickly moved behind the van, spread my legs and let go. What sweet relief. A torrent poured from me, a hot stream running one leg, a large puddle forming round my feet. Jim, who had most politely turned his back on me, looked round as I finished, passing me a handkerchief with which to dry my legs. He admitted later that he had actually watched me in the door mirror of the van!We quickly walked back to the car and were back at my flat in 20 minutes. As I got out I realised that there was a large wet patch on the seat where I had been sitting but Jim didn’t seem to mind. I soon found why. As soon as we were indoors he grabbed me to him, kissing me passionately, his hand sliding up my damp tights to the soaking knickers between my legs. The result was electrifying. Holding my pee for so long and the rubbing of my wet pants had already made me feel quite randy and as he kneeded me through the wet material I was ecstatic and came almost instantly, as did he. Wow!Discussing it later Jim admitted that he found my desperation a real turn on and had often wondered if my pants were wet after a match. Actually they had been rather damp several times but I had always changed into a spare pair in the loo. I hadn’t noticed it at the time but he had almost come in his pants when I had admitted that I had started to wet myself. My deliberate accident behind the van had been the most exciting thing he had ever seen. We talked about it for a long time and I mentioned the times I had been caught short in my knickers on the way home from clubs.Anyway, I showered and changed and we went out for meal and a drink. I was about to use the loo before we left but Jim stopped me, saying we would be home in under a half hour. So we left. Of course, I was soon bursting and decided to play with Jim, telling him I was desperate, stopping with crossed legs, dancing about and complaining that I was going to wet my knickers if I didn’t get home soon. Amazingly I made it almost to the door when suddenly my bladder muscles just gave up. A hot wetness in my pants and I just lost control, standing there weeing my knickers and tights for the second time that day. As soon as we were in the house we threw ourselves on the bed for the most fantastic session.We played this game many times after this. It certainly solved my dilemma at the matches as I found that by keeping my legs together and letting go slowly I could wet myself without anybody noticing, provided that I wore dark tights and skirt. There weren’t many times that I went home with dry knickers. I split up with Jim eventually, but continue to find solo pleasure in my wet activities. And I still wee in my knickers rather than use filthy public loos or when I simply cannot be bothered to search for a toilet.
By: Poseidon