Five O'clock

We had intended to stop our stories, give up fantasies, become decent members of polite society but….
Its 3 o’clock in the morning and I’ve just been for a wee. As I creep back into bed, May mumbles in her sleep rolling over to deny me even the three inches of mattress she usually allows me. Carefully I clamber over her to take her side of the bunk. The duvet doesn’t stretch to my new side because May has it all. Is it like this for everyone who sleeps with someone else?
She looks so sweet curled up comfortably that I haven’t the heart to yank the cover over to me. My ploy is to slide very close to her and put my arms around her. When she’s asleep all her actions are reflex. She mumbles again and returns my embrace. It has seldom failed, she’s so warm that the duvet isn’t really needed and by nestling below her she rolls on top of me bringing the duvet with her. Being asleep she doesn’t concentrate on the mutual aspect of the sexual feelings that are aroused. She wriggles and jiggles a few times and then seems to forget. I’ve become used to lying with her weight on top of me waiting to outmaneuver her when next she moves so that I get my bit of the bed back.
How’s this a wet story? Well I am very fond of May but she has one or two characteristic twists that take some getting used to. Whenever she feels my body against hers she starts to dribble. I think it’s involuntary but I wouldn’t be sure. Sure enough a damp feeling against my left thigh told me her body knew I was there. I whispered, “Hold on a bit longer, lovely one.” She dribbled again. I didn’t want another wet bed so I tried a second time before waking her. “Just hold on till 5” I said quietly into her ear, “and you can piddle as much as you please.”
That brought a response, “Mmmm”. She appeared to go back to sleep and I relaxed, drifted off and knew no more till the morning.
Saturday was a lovely day for boating, no wind, and warm with a thin cover of cloud. Our slow breakfast with fresh orange and toast was followed by a couple of hours along the canal through typically English countryside, all little fields with cows, sheep, yellow corn, and an occasional hump–backed bridge leading to a sleepy village. We rose our glasses to the few people we saw and stopped for an hour to enjoy the sight of some volunteers rebuilding an ancient shed. They came across and shared a pot of tea. Then we set off again. May had not peed yet.
Midday and we arrived at the back gate of a supermarket. Our shopping took half an hour and was fully successful. We celebrated with a flagon of cider. May did not pee.
After a sandwich and a pint of lime cordial we set off again. May did not pee. A delightful black and white pub was too good to pass by so we stopped for a drink. All this while May was her normal, cheerful, charming self and she did not pee– it’s something we notice about each other.
In the middle of the afternoon, say about three, we decided to stop for the day. A long cooling drink and half an hour lazing in the weak afternoon sunshine had us feeling too lazy to do more. In the distance was a red brick manor house, which we thought, would be interesting. May still did not pee. We walked the half–mile or so and looked around taking in the walled garden and ending up in the churchyard next door.
At this point May said, “I’ve got a pain.”
The natural response in our normal situation was to say, “Do you want to pee?”
She replied, “Not really.” She did seem a bit subdued as we wandered about looking at the dates on the gravestones but I put it down to thoughts of mortality. May still had not peed and as this was not a holding day, so I was a bit concerned, thinking that our games might have done some damage.
A party of tourists from Korea came into the churchyard and they were busily taking pictures and we were invited to pose against the background of a particularly ornate gravestone. They must have assumed we were local citizens. Joining in the spirit of the thing we stood either side of a stone angel and put our arms around it. Smiling and laughing with our newfound friends we tried to communicate across the language barrier.
Then the church clock struck half past four and May said, “Soon it will be five o’clock.”
“What will happen at five o’clock?” said the one who had the best grasp of English.
I have this habit of speaking without thinking too carefully and said, “Oh we English relax and start our evening then.” The Korean explained this to the rest of the party and they laughed nervously, as did May.
We left them to their photography and went on peering at the dates on the graves. May seemed more and more distracted but when I asked if she was all right she said she was. Inside the church it was cool and calm, 500 years of use had made the pews shiny and the stone floor had worn down in places. We sat for a while and May couldn’t get comfortable so we went back out. Most of the Koreans had followed us inside but a couple remained admiring the scene across the village. While May ambled off I entered a slow conversation about village life in England and how it was similar to that in Korea.
The clock struck five. In the distance May was coming around the side of the church. She looked up at the clock tower dreamily then I heard her exclaim “Ohhh!” She flexed her knees momentarily and scuttled aimlessly amongst the gravestones for a moment or two then stood with her feet a little apart and her hands up over her mouth. Then she peed, copiously, fiercely, for ages. The Koreans watched dumbfounded as this typical English woman pissed heartily all over one of the recumbent monuments.
There followed one of those halts in time. She looked up at us, eyes wide, and mouth open. The Korean and I did exactly the same. The pause lasted some time and none of us moved. Our visitor broke the silence, “She starts the evening now?” I remembered my silly quip and without due deference to my companion’s grasp of England and the English I said, “My goodness, yes.”
Hurrying across to poor May I put my arm around her and said, “Whatever happened?”
It was a silly question but she didn’t seem to notice, just looked at me in amazement and said, “One minute I was listening to the wind in the trees, the next I wanted to pee like I’ve never wanted to pee before. It came on me all of a sudden, there wasn’t even time to find a place or even try to hold it back, I was peeing before I could think. All I could think was, at last I can pee.”
We hurried out of the churchyard and waved as the first of the Koreans came from the church. As we bustled along the lane back to the canal the party were gathering round the one who had witnessed it pointing to the vast puddle and chattering excitedly. Whatever did he say to explain this curious English custom?
On the way back May was much more cheerful than I would have expected, perhaps it was the relief. I prodded her with questions. Didn’t she want to pee earlier, why did she hold on so long? She had no answers and swore that she wasn’t trying to hold it all day, in fact hadn’t been aware that she hadn’t been to the loo since the previous evening. This was most unlike her and I wondered if we should find a doctor but as she felt much better and the pain had eased off she said we should go back and have a lazy evening listening to the radio.
Later, when we had fed ourselves and heard some strange modern music we sat on the cabin roof amiably wriggling our toes and exchanging an occasional kiss, I leaned towards her and suggested we go to bed early. May suddenly lit up. “It was you, you said hold it till five.” I looked stupidly at her and she followed saying, “I remember now, you said in bed last night, just hold on till five, and that’s what I’ve done without realizing it.”
For a minute I struggled to take it in. Hypnotism, too many hold it games, my lovely trusting friend, it did appear to be my doing. To say I was sorry doesn’t get near what I felt, all I wanted was a few more hours in a dry bed and now I’d caused a potentially very embarrassing situation.
By now I felt worse than she did and it showed. May’s resilience came to my rescue and after dinner she suggested I might feel better if she set me a penance. So, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye she put her hand on my thigh, leaned toward my ear and whispered, “Just hold it till five.” Staring steadily back at her I nodded as humbly as I could.
The second part of this story doesn’t take long to tell. It was already 8 in the evening and I was an hour beyond my last leak. By nine we were curled up in bed and by ten I had gone to sleep still feeling pretty wretched. When I woke at two I was feeling less wretched but considerably more in need of a pee. It didn’t take rocket science to know that I would wake May if I tried to lie there till 5 writhing about and clutching myself but the English notion of fair play held me.
Creeping out of bed I got dressed and calculated that there were three hours to go. At my walking speed that is 12 miles and that’s the only way I can hold. Blank the mind and walk like a zombie, six miles out and six miles back. Cool night air, regular paces along beside the canal on and on, ache in the bladder, never stop, never change the rhythm count the paces, watch the dawn over the fields.
Arriving back I heard the church clock strike a single note. In anguish I thought it must be half past four so I went on past the boat intending to complete my punishment with a further couple of miles in the opposite direction. I hadn’t gone fifty yards (meters) when I heard May calling gently, “Robert don’t leave me again.” Turning back I saw her there on the back deck in the pale dawn light bronzed by the rising sun and thought I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. She doesn’t wear any clothing at night.
She beckoned to me, so alluring, “Come on its already half past five.” What a relief! Stepping onto the deck she clasped me round the waist with both arms and squeezed. It was like squeezing an orange. My valves gave in and the ordeal was over, nearly. We stood a moment or two oblivious to the glories of the dawn but were disturbed by an early morning walker. It was a Korean stepping out for a breath of fresh air from his overheated hotel. He glanced down at the puddle on the deck as I wrapped May in my arms to preserve her modesty.
He said quite amiably, “Ah five o’clock, day begins?” and marched on.
Regards to all strangers whether damp or just perplexed,
Robert