A Wet Day in the Park

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting.
Our day in the park ended up as a wet one not only for Jenny, but also for her new friend Allison, as well for me. I certainly didn’t plan it that way, although I enjoyed the results. And no, we’re not talking about rain here. Actually, Jenny had a bladder control problem that, while sometimes embarrassing for her, brought much delight to me. To be fair, I must note that some of her problem, maybe most of it, was of her own making. She consumed what I considered excessive amounts of bottled water and, when tired and needing energy, far too much cola. I had discovered this more than a year earlier, on our second date. We had gone to a movie where Jenny drank a large cup of cola, then a pint bottle of water during the film. It had taken us some time to get out of the parking lot after exiting the theatre. We had just entered the freeway when she told me.
“I gotta pee. I should’ve gone in the theatre before we left,” she said. “Well, we can’t stop here,” I replied, noting the heavy volume of traffic. “There’s no exit for at least 10 miles, but I don’t think there are any facilities near there.” “I know,” Jenny said, as she crossed her legs and pressed her thighs together. “I think I can wait.” I looked over at her and wondered about that. She looked pretty uncomfortable to me. Traffic was moving slowly and it took us 20 minutes to make it to the exit. As I expected, there was no indication of any kind of services at the exit. “Can you wait longer?” I asked. “Because there’s absolutely nothing here.” Jenny looked worried and crossed her legs the other way. “You’re right,” she said with resignation. “I’ll just hold it ‘til we get to your place. It’s only two more exits.”
Except for music from the radio, we drove in silence for another 20 minutes. During that time, Jenny repeatedly shifted her body, crossed and re–crossed her legs, pressed her hands into her crotch and made it increasingly obvious her desperation was mounting. We exited the freeway and I told her we’d be at my place in about 6 or 7 minutes.
“There’s a McDonalds about a mile ahead,” I said. “You want me to stop there?” “Yes,” she replied quickly. Then she seemed to think better of it. “Ummm, no, maybe not. I’m starting to leak into my pants. I don’t know what to do,” she said.
Suddenly she cried out: “Oh! Oh no, oh no!” “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I’m sorry. I’m wetting my pants. I just can’t hold it. I’m peeing in my jeans.” I glanced down at her crotch. A shiny, dark stain was quickly spreading outward in all directions. She squeezed her thighs together tighter, but that only forced the warm liquid upward toward her waist and out along the creases and onto the tops of her thighs. She sensed the problem and relaxed little, allowing the shiny wetness to change course and flow down along the inside of her thighs. After about 20 seconds, she regained control and the flood stopped. I had pulled into the McDonalds and stopped, but it was obvious she was not going to get out and walk inside in those soaked jeans.
“Now what?” I asked. “Let’s just go to your place,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I got the seat of your car all wet. I’m so embarrassed.” I reassured her and told her it could happen to anybody and that I’d seen such things before. We continued to my place. I parked, got out of the car and went around and opened her door. She didn’t move. “Don’t worry, no one is around. No one will see you,” I reassured her. “It’s not that,” she said. “I still gotta go. I’m afraid to stand up.” “What difference does it make now?” I said. Jenny agreed and stood up. Almost immediately she began wetting herself again. This time the shiny dark stains went straight down her pants legs and the liquid flowed off the cuffs of her pants onto the concrete drive. We headed into my place, Jenny leaving a wet trail on the way.
So that was my introduction to Jenny’s problem more than a year ago. But this time, it was a warm sunny day in late April and we were in a pleasant park with restrooms nearby. The park was almost deserted because it was a weekday, although there were a few young mothers with pre–school children at a playground nearby. We were eating and drinking and laughing, seated at a table about 200 feet from the restrooms. Jenny, as always, was drinking copious amounts of water. She had said she needed to pee a half hour earlier, but hadn’t done anything about it. We were looking through digital pictures on my camera when suddenly Jenny looked straight at me and said, “Whoa! I really got to go.” “There’s the restroom,” I said, pointing in the general direction. “I’ll go with you.”
Jenny stood up, clutched her crotch for a moment, and then started walking while trying to keep her thighs together. I’d seen that walk before. Jenny arrived at the women’s restroom a good 20 paces ahead of me. She yanked on the door handle. Nothing happened. She pulled harder. Still no movement. She turned towards me and in a desperate voice cried, “It’s stuck! The damn door is stuck!” “Try the men’s room,” I yelled as I approached. She moved to the men’s room door and yanked hard on it. The door didn’t move. As I walked toward her, I noticed a small sign, no larger than an index card, posted between the doors. “Restrooms closed until May 1,” it read. “Jenny, they’re closed until May,” I shouted. “Find some bushes.” “Too late!” she replied and turned towards me. She had lost control. The warm pee was streaming down her jeans, leaving a shiny dark stain in its wake. She stood there helplessly, emptying her bladder into her pants and creating a growing puddle on the concrete floor around her feet. I was becoming increasingly aroused, but there wasn’t anything I could do here, so I tried to conceal it. Jenny smiled weakly.
It was then that I saw a young woman approaching from Jenny’s rear. She was carrying a year old baby in one of those baby backpacks and she was hurrying, almost running. She was wearing light tan Capri pants and a pink, rather tight, pullover. She was quite attractive. She had almost reached Jenny when she spotted the puddle around Jenny’s feet and the wet stained pants. Her eyes and her mouth opened wide in surprise.
“Omigod, what’s wrong?” she asked, looking straight at me. She was now standing next to Jenny, who turned when she heard the woman’s voice. “Restrooms closed,” I said. “Locked. She couldn’t wait,” I said, nodding towards Jenny, who was stunned and speechless.
“I can’t either,” said the woman. Seeing Jenny’s soaked jeans and the puddle must have been the last straw. She gave a quick, hopeful tug on the restroom door, but the result was the same. Her back was now to me and I saw the telltale shiny wet stain spread through her crotch and along the base of her ass. She leaned towards the restroom door, placed her forehead against it and let out a sigh of resignation as the flood continued. The pee now flooded down the back of her Capri pants onto her bare legs and finally through her sandals into a growing puddle. The two puddles slowly merged and began to flow towards the edge of the concrete floor, then into the gravel. Jenny stared silently at the woman, then at the merged puddle and finally at me. Her lips formed a very slight smile. After a minute, the woman’s flood stopped and she suddenly turned around, facing both Jenny and me, and extended her hand almost as if nothing had happened.
“Hi. I’m Allison, and I just peed my pants,” she said. She started to laugh. Then, as an after thought, she added, “And it felt really good.” Jenny now joined in the laughter, stuck out her hand, and said, “Nice to meet you, Allison. I’m Jenny and I just wet my pants. And, yes, it felt great.” Both women were now laughing hard at their shared status. Amidst the laughter, I introduced myself to Allison. “And…” said Allison expectantly. “Yeah,” Jenny chimed in while turning to look at me, and winking. “And….” I knew what they both expected. And I began to laugh, too, as I flooded my pants with wonderfully warm wet pee. And I had to agree– it did feel good.
By: R.D. Winston