Widdling for England

I’m writing this first bit because Robert had to go on his least favorite outing to empty the toilet tank on our boat. We were trying some new ideas last weekend and one of them was a real corker. I’m a bit awkward over some words so I hope you’ll forgive me. The game went like this. First drink, we always prefer water, 2 pints, and 1200ml each in less than an hour. Next, go for a brisk walk to get the system working. Two hours after the first cup we are back and holding but not desperate. The third move is to place two chairs side by side and take precautions against flooding, such as thick towels or a plastic sheet on the floor.
Sitting on the chairs, the object is to help one another to hold on whilst we do some serious drinking, again water is what we prefer, matching each other mug for mug. When the spasms arrive we must remain seated with feet flat on the floor, knees together for my benefit. When the need to hold manually comes on we can hold each other but not ourselves. I don’t know how this would work if one of us wasn’t left–handed, but I am. Holding Robert’s…thing…pinching it shut, squeezing it in my fist makes him very hard and works well to stop the flow but he keeps pleading for me to waggle it around and I won’t. The same applies to Robert, he has to find the right spot to press and I insist that he cuts his fingernails first.
Of course all this stimulation does nothing to restrain the desire to wee. On the first occasion we managed to reach 3 hours from first drink and were on our 7th mug before I sprang a leak. That was on the Saturday morning. Trying again on Sunday evening the result was different.
This is Robert reporting. We have often found that our holding ability is far greater in the mornings than the evenings so after staying dry for the rest of Saturday, all night and Sunday morning we tried a few experiments in the afternoon. The only interesting one was to see what happened if you stand on your head and pee. Try it boys and girls, it’s amusing.
As it was growing dark we set the chairs out, drank our rations and strolled to the pub. Returning we sat down with 1800ml in the tubes already and only an hour into the game. Any hopes of improving on the previous day’s time were completely unrealistic. We were both walking on tiptoes back to the boat. I’ll tell you what May said, though she will blush to read it. ‘I’ve never felt so randy in my life, the thought of your hand down my knickers is driving me over the edge.’
We hadn’t anticipated any company but another boat had tied up behind us while we were away and they must have heard what May said as we arrived. It was the people we had met before. The daughter and boy friend were now man and wife. The parents were not there. The young man put his head out of the hatch saying ‘Hi there, nice night for it, we won’t interrupt.’ He knew roughly what sort of games we played.
It was as much as we could do to sit down with feet flat on the floor. ‘Quick, hold me’ said May. Any pretense that the game would continue according to the rules was lost. For a few moments we sat with hands in each other’s crotch and May began humming. Higher and higher went the note till I felt liquid, warm and slippery; she shuddered and closed her eyes– then again, and again. My own desire to pee reseeded to be replaced by an equally primitive urge. We looked at each other and smiled and nodded.
Standing there in the darkness we had almost no restraint. Clothing dropped to the ground and we coupled. It was very wet and May, at least, enjoyed it immensely. Her sigh of satisfaction accompanied by a splashing on the floor signaled the end of her weekend’s sports.
In my case it was different. I could produce neither one thing nor the other. My thing, as May so prettily calls it, was up for action but it didn’t perform. The object of the exercise changed. ‘Try to relax’ she said. As the minutes ticked by I became worried that some part of the plumbing had broken. It was like halting just before orgasm. The feeling just stayed the same. No climax, no return to normal only a sort of independent vibration quivering in the end. ‘Walk about, bend down, shall I suck it out of you?’ were May’s suggestions.
Before there was any chance of further ideas the floodgates opened. At the time May was holding it lovingly and so when a dribble began she cheered and reached for our measuring jug. It took a long time to reach 300ml. Any men who have tried to pee with someone else holding the python will know it’s not the ideal mode of release. However it gradually filled the jug to 900ml and it was still going. If we hadn’t spilled it I might have claimed some sort of record. I stood there and dribbled for some considerable time and that’s what prompted May to suggest I might be able to widdle for England.
I’m not sure that this should be repeated. The feeling at first was one of extreme pleasure but when it didn’t get anywhere I began to realize how close pain and pleasure are.
A final amusing part of the incident was reported to me in the middle of next morning when May had gone back to work and I was chatting to the couple on the next boat. They had gone for a stroll during our ‘event’ and overheard me say ‘Its coming, ahh’ and after a long pause May saying ‘half a pint already’. It seems they misunderstood what we were referring to.
It’s unfair of Robert to tell you that the weekend’s sports were over for me because the journey on the train that Monday morning needs a section to itself. I know you like desperation stories and I have to admit I find it quite erotic but on a Monday morning, it’s just not the done thing.
Robert took me to the station for the 8:15 train to Tamworth where there was a connection that took till 9:05 to reach my own station and I work less than 10 minutes walk away. So I had to go from about 7:30 till 9:15. Nothing to it I thought, almost everyone who commutes does the same. We had noticed that our wet weekends sometimes leave us with a ‘residue’ of un–peed pee. On this occasion I had got rid of that in the middle of the night, or so I thought. Breakfast, which we both enjoy, goes at a leisurely pace and takes nearly an hour. I suppose we had two or three cups of tea and a glass of orange and I always have a couple of mugs of water for the benefit of my health. Not realizing that I had the best part of three pints inside me I didn’t think of an early morning pee. That is to say I did think of one when it was clear that the first train had no toilet compartment. Waiting fifteen minutes shouldn’t be a problem for a champion holder like me even if my only victories were over a mere man.
Tamworth station is a bit open and windswept, you have to climb stairs to reach the other platforms and as the train was already in there was no time to find a loo. As this is a desperation story you know what comes next. The train was delayed and the loo was locked, someone was traveling without a ticket. I shuffled about on my seat, I sat on my hands, and I tried sitting on the hard edge of the seat and still hadn’t let a drop go when we pulled in at 9:30. By then I could hardly walk let alone cross the line on the over bridge. Hesitating at the bottom of the steps I knew that lifting a foot to climb the steps would be a disaster. Looking round I saw that one of the platforms had a low wall separating it from the rest of the platforms. There was no train in there and an idea came to me.
Standing behind the wall pretending to be waiting I watched as the other people filed by and let go in my pants. It splashed around my feet just within touching distance of the passengers. Some gave me curious glances but no one was aware of what was happening below my long skirt. Giving a good squeeze I joined the back of the queue and set off for work feeling relieved but soggy.
Explaining to the office manager that my train had been delayed whilst wriggling my bottom in my favorite pink panties I felt a sense of achievement for in my bag was Robert’s parting gift, a beautiful black silk pair ready for when the heat was off. It turned out to be an excellent day at work, everything dried out nicely. In the afternoon Robert rang to invite me for the next weekend and the spotty youth who had once taken me to a rave and had now grown into a nice young man asked very humbly if I would go with him to the speedway that Wednesday.
This is Robert finishing off our tale. May’s 29th birthday comes this weekend. I’m looking forward to taking a beautiful young woman to the theatre in Stratford. This will be a ‘posh frock’ do and no widdling. When I look back on the last two years and remember the shy, chubby girl who pissed on my leg on that awful day when I was mistaken for a peeping tom I see how much she has changed. Shall we be able to let each other go so she can have a normal life with the young man at work? I cannot tell. If we can I shall keep the secret and wish her well and if not then we’ll probably end up as a mismatched pair having the occasional wet weekend for old times’ sake.
Happy puddles everyone!
Robert and May