Shy Madolyn

This is another little vignette that takes place in ca 1930 at the vast, pastoral estate in England known as Bish Manor.
We begin with Derrick, a tall, thin, respectable no–nonsense type. He was a handsome gentleman, and was avidly involved in the social circles, attended all the parties, and kept himself at all times blithe and charming. After all, one never knew where one’s future fianc’e might be lurking, and marrying well was an object most sought after by his crowd.
He thereby began his day, an outing to Bish Manor, with a bright and innocent temperament. There was nothing more on his mind but than to get nicely sloshed, play a little cricket outdoors with the fellows, have a good cigar and do a spot of flirting– nothing really, of extraordinary interest.
There were several of them in the party that day, including several girls, but Derrick himself was without a date. Most of the ladies tagging along were already engaged to their corresponding fellows, including one, Madolyn, whom Derrick found to be most interesting.
Madolyn was engaged to his friend Oscar, and although Oscar was along that day, he actually paid his Madolyn very little attention. The first half of the day the party was spent entirely outdoors, only a few of their crowd owned automobiles, and so they had taken the couple of vehicles they had and gone joyriding. The champagne flowed, the boys passed around those new illicit cigarettes they were smoking at that time in the jazz clubs in America, and everybody was behaving with mischief, trying their best to shed the hindrances of their repressed British upbringing.
Derrick noticed that for most of the morning, Madolyn kept to herself, only smiling prettily and answering questions politely only when she was asked. Derrick, in his haste to forget himself in the festivities, wrote her off merely as a poor sport and though he did like her, directed his attention elsewhere for the remainder of the morning.
A bit later they all piled into the cars to head back to the estate for a late lunch. The ride itself took nearly an hour; they had been out all day, since ten. It was now close to two. They rode back in two cars, and Derrick lost company with Oscar and Madolyn, so was speaking to the driver of the second car, his friend Reginald, as they drove.
He did not see Madolyn again until they reached the house. He was in the second car that arrived and soon realized, as he lit a cigarette and stretched, that the others were being shepherded straight away down a stone path laid on either side with topiary that wound to the back of the house and toward one of the rear entrances that presumably led to the dining room. Derrick, at a leisurely pace, began to follow. He was of course as hungry as the rest of them, but he thought it unseemly to appear in too much of a hurry simply for food. He took his time. He reached a series of steps that led up toward the massive wrought iron glass doors that for the moment were standing open. He could see the rest of the gang ahead, disappearing into the light and shadows of the house. At the top of the landing, just before the doors, he decided to finish his cigarette.
He had just raised the thing to his lips, when, to his right over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse or just the impression rather of somebody else there, standing just outside the entrance, partially obscured by a couple of tall plants.
He turned, his face curious. It was Madolyn. She was standing perfectly still, looking away from him. For some reason, her posture struck him as odd. With an expression approaching a scowl, he pitched his cigarette to the ground and began to walk toward the door to join the others.
DERRICK: “Madolyn, I say…come on, old thing, I don’t know about you, but I’m ravenous…” He said this without really having looked directly at her, but nevertheless, once he reached the door, he realized she had not moved. He stopped, his hand on the gate, and looked back.
DERRICK: “Madolyn…?” he asked. He barely caught a glimpse of her face. After meeting his eye for only the briefest possible instant, she shut her eyes tightly and turned away, the ribbon on her hat catching the sunlight. DERRICK: “Madolyn…?” he called again, stepping closer. His face was curious and a bit concerned, for the first time thinking that something might actually be wrong.
She merely stood there, rigid, her shoulders tense, her face turned away, her handbag and a lacy handkerchief clutched to her chest like a strap of schoolbooks.
DERRICK: “Is something the matter, dear girl, come along, we ought to join the others…” He reached for her hand.
MADOLYN: “Oh! Derrick!” She gasped sharply. “I… can’t! I… c–can’t MOVE!” Her whisper was fierce. Derrick was understandably bewildered. Female tantrum, he supposed.
DERRICK: “Nonsense, girl…” he managed to get a hold of her hand. “Now come along, ‘can’t move,’ what’s the matter with you…” he muttered, beginning to feel a trifle annoyed with her. He tugged on her arm; just firmly enough to indicate that he meant business.
Her hand shot out and grabbed his forearm very tightly, wrenching the fabric of his suit.
What?
He looked at her. He looked her up and down. Her eyes were still screwed closed, her lips parted, breathing in short gasps. She lifted one of her feet, coiled it around her ankle, and bent ever so slightly at the waist, as if she’d just been dealt a mild blow to her stomach.
MADOLYN: “mmmmnnnngghhhh…!” she made a tiny, frantic sound.
Suddenly awareness so secretive and so private and so painful hit him so strongly and so definitely, that for an instant he felt as if the world had disappeared from beneath his feet.
DERRICK: “Madolyn… Madolyn, do you… do you have to go to the toilet, is that it?”
He heard himself ask in a whisper, not bothering to select more lady–appropriate terminology. But as soon as he’d asked, he almost felt silly. There really wasn’t a shadow of a doubt. He KNEW. It wasn’t merely her posture or her desperate noises; it was rather like he had suddenly become attuned to some very specific human telepathy. Her panic was so furious it seemed downright contagious. All at once, Derrick felt sharply ashamed and embarrassed himself. All in the span of no more than a second, he became consciously aware of a number of things: First, his mortification at having found himself a part of so delicate a situation, and second, much to his displeasure, a most distinct shot of impatience– impatience, exasperation and anger. And, knowing he had no fair call to feel such things, (after all, there comes similar times of crisis for everyone), but he was aware of some anger. Knowing he had no right to that anger merely added to his shame.
But most intriguing of all was the undeniable rush of sexual excitement, the strangest flavor of arousal Derrick had ever tasted. It was all–consuming, the level of excitement he was able to derive at once from the realization of the scenario was such that it disturbed him immensely.
But, all of this occurred to him in the span of no more than a second. Madolyn had not yet answered the question posed her. She seemed presumably paralyzed. She’d claimed she couldn’t move. Judging by her agonized behavior, he believed her. But obviously she was going to HAVE to move– and the sooner the better.
She contorted herself again, bending more severely but very slowly at the waist, again, making a whimpering, pleading sound. (“DO something!!”) She seemed to implore. Derrick struggled to force all his Freudian hindrances from his mind. He shook his head as if to clear them out. He had to make a FAST decision. And she was obviously beyond the point of coherent action or ideas. It was up to him.
He took a quick look over both shoulders, he took her other hand, all at once completely certain about one thing: Something told him NOT to take her into the house. Something told him they would never make it, not in that monstrosity of a place; they would never make it as far as the first corridor. And he knew the place; it was full of exotic carpets and highly polished floors. No, he decided on his course of action straight away. He put one arm around her thin, trembling shoulders, and, trying to sound reassuring, simply said, “come on…” and began to pull her toward the steps back down to the garden.
She fought his efforts and practically squatted in order to remain in the same spot.
DERRICK: “Madolyn, come along! Now!” He jerked her upright and pushed her ahead.
With a sound approaching a small, frightened sob, she somehow managed to attain some sense of balance, and knowing deep down she really WAS going to have to move a few steps in one direction or another sooner or later, with a massive effort she found herself finally able to follow along beside him. He kept his arm tight around her shoulders as he led her. He led her more briskly than slowly, down the few steps that led to the back entrance, and onto the cobblestone path and back the way they had come through the garden.
Several times during their short walk she froze and refused to take another step. Another time she’d tried to crouch down to the path, but Derrick was too strong for her, and, knowing time was crucial, managed each time to force her back upright and kept her walking. (Amazingly, had he truly known her state)
Ultimately, he found “the spot,” just on the other side of an ornate concrete garden wall, in a slight recess, surrounded by some trees and rosebushes. The cobblestones by the wall were cold, red and dry.
Still exercising as much authority and “take–charge” as he was able, he led Madolyn’s shuddering form to the part of the wall furthest away from the path.
DERRICK: “All right…” he whispered, as he stood away from her, his voice serious. She stood, her back flat against the stone recess of the garden wall, her handbag around her arm, staring about the place with horrified, anguished eyes, never having had to urinate so badly in her entire life.
She did not move. Derrick took a step toward her.
DERRICK: “Madolyn, honestly!” he whispered, trembling himself, although he was not sure why. She began to cry. She shook her head. She began to contort even more painfully, more busily, her need a shearing agony. She practically worked herself into a knot trying to contain the deluge of angry, long–held water inside of her. Her white nostrils flared with her panicked breath. She cried. But she wouldn’t do it. She was bursting, painfully, and she wouldn’t do it.
Oh, good lord. Derrick thought, fully exasperated with womanliness– one of those, who for some reason– won’t take one’s relief out of doors. He shook his head and tried to think.
DERRICK: “Madolyn….” he whispered urgently, warning her that she simply MUST do as she was told. She shook her head again and began to slump against the wall, almost as if she were trying to disappear. Derrick didn’t know what to do.
Instinct took over yet again. Without a second thought, he stepped directly over to her.
DERRICK: “Oh, for pity’s sake…” With a sigh of exasperation as one makes in dealing with a stubborn child, Derrick reached down, grabbed the hem of her burgundy skirt and pulled it to her waist, forcing the hunk of fabric in her hands. Her legs exposed, she buried her face in her handkerchief out of embarrassment. With her skirt raised, as she was, standing, Derrick crouched before her.
He took no particular notice of her shoes, her dark stockings, or her topaz satin garters. But he was quite frankly dumbstruck when he glanced up to her beautiful satin knickers. They matched her garters. Or had. The entire front panel of the garment was soaking wet– almost black in contrast to the intended smoky gold color surrounding it.
DERRICK: “…good lord…” he gasped. Her panties were wet. Clear up to the tummy, her panties, her underthings, they… they were all wet. She must have been, well… spurting little bits of water for God knows HOW long before he intervened. He could barely believe the sight of it. His shameful excitement rose tremendously. Madolyn was clearly at the end of her rope.
Acting purely by blind compulsion, Derrick reached up and with very little finesse practically tore her underwear down to her knees. The fabric was hot and squelched a little between his fingers. In the next instant, he took her by the wrist and with considerable force, pulled her down to a crouching position, still working her wet underwear down to her calves and finally over her ankles, where he managed to pull them free and toss them aside.
Now.
There was nothing to stop her. He crouched, squatting in front of her, looking straight at her. She kept her face buried in her handkerchief, and though ready with regard to position and secluded as she could hope to have been, still, she resisted. She shuddered violently, holding onto Derrick’s shoulder for balance, her ankles wobbling on the cold cobblestone beneath her.
DERRICK: “Madolyn…” he whispered, as if she needed reminding she was there. She shook her head again.
And then it happened.
The girl’s bladder, after struggling so long to contain its contents, finally collapsed under the labor, and the torrent of urine that shot forward was, quite literally, the fastest, hardest, most copious and by far the most forceful first blast of a person’s water that Derrick had ever seen in his entire life. She did not so much stream or even shoot so as she sprayed, she splattered. Like a bloody fire brigade, with such a frenzied urgency, Derrick could barely believe his eyes, but the silver–clear liquid actually foamed as it hit the ground. The thick, chattering stream was so powerful it shot forward further than Derrick anticipated, even spattering the tops of his shoes. It came in long, surging pulses of varying strength. The puddle on the stones pooled out around their feet. It was impossible to get out of the way. Derrick felt he could do nothing but hold her steady while she had it out. At one point, the stream seemed to him to be tapering off just a bit, but no sooner had he guessed that, than another strong, pulsing current poured from between her legs, arcing so far in front of her that Derrick actually caught quite a healthy splash of it over the cuff of his trousers. He immediately shifted his foot out of the way, feeling the hot liquid seep into his sock.
DERRICK: “…hah…s–steady on…” he whispered, his heart pounding. He licked his lips. His penis was so stiff it was increasingly uncomfortable merely to maintain his position. He held onto her shoulders and glanced down. The puddle was nearly three feet in every direction. The last time Derrick could ever remember witnessing a creature relieve itself so fantastically had been when was fourteen and seen a bull elephant passing water at the zoo. But for a scrap of a girl like Madolyn! It was…. so carnal, so… base. He felt the most potent, bizarre mix of embarrassment and arousal he could ever in all his years remember.
He felt dizzy. He told himself to keep his head however. Looked down at the gradually culminating business between them, took a deep breath, and the stream began to taper to dribbles and slashes, he sighed.
DERRICK: “… there now…” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, outwardly. He slowly released her, convinced she was finished or very nearly, and turned out of respect for her privacy, knowing she would want to dry herself.
He took a step or two toward the edge of the wall and looked back to the house. They would surely be missed soon. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and tried consciously to stow away his erection before turning to face his friend’s fianc’e again. He would have been mortified if she’d guessed he’d taken pleasure in her wretched, personally desperate state.
After a moment or two of silence she took his hand.
MADOLYN: “thank you…” she sniffled. “Please don’t tell Oscar…”
DERRICK: “Oh, pish. Not a bit of it, my dear, it’ll be our secret.”
Virgo