"Celebrity" Stories Part 1

Naomi Watson
Naomi was running late. She was due to appear on the Tonight Show in half an hour and she was about halfway through her second grande cup of Starbuck’s coffee. She loved Starbuck’s coffee and today in particular, she needed her two large cups after a long and tiring day. But the fact that it was piping hot made it difficult for her to gulp it down. It was definitely worth the effort so she went ahead and drank.
The studio was at the other end of town and she had to leave in five minutes. She was a conscientious driver and didn’t like to drive with a cup in her hand. So she finished her coffee as fast as she could and left the caf’. It had been raining with the result that the temperature had taken a bit of a dip. But in her black top and close–fitting light faded Parasuco boot cut jeans that she had picked up during the Toronto Film festival, she felt fairly comfortable. Well, not entirely comfortable right at that moment. She had a mild urge to pee, but she figured she could hold it till she reached the studio. Having a big bladder made her capable of holding with the best of them. Soon, she was underway and as usual caught in traffic.
Before long she was in a traffic jam. Picking up her mobile, she called the studio and informed them of her delay. She was assured that it would be no problem as she was the last of the guests and could enter fifteen minutes late.
“Well, that’s the end of that,” she said as she switched on the radio. Outside it had started to rain and the traffic wasn’t moving. The wail of ambulances could be heard in the distance. Suddenly, Naomi realized that her need to pee was far more urgent than she thought. In spite of her big bladder, she didn’t like to hold on till the last minute. She looked around and spotted a caf’. The traffic still wasn’t moving and she figured she could sneak in and out. She ran into the caf’, but was recognized by a waiter before she could ask where the toilets were. Before she knew it a barrage of critical opinions assailed her on her movies, the sort of roles she should take on and all that sort of thing. She was also assailed by a barrage of reminders from her bladder and had to keep crossing her legs throughout the conversation. Ten minutes into the conversation, she noticed that the traffic was about to start moving. By now she really had to pee, but there was nothing she could do about it. Excusing herself, she hurried to her car and was back on her way. To top it off, the heating in her car had stopped functioning and she was a bit cold, a fact not entirely ignored by her bladder. Soon she was on her way, extremely worried by her delay and by the state of her bladder. She had never wet herself before and wasn’t wearing the appropriate clothing for it now. She clenched her thighs and drove on. “Nearly there, nearly there,” she muttered, while at the same time cursing the waiter under her breath. As she pushed her thighs closer together, her bladder pushed harder resulting in a throbbing feeling.
Finally she reached the studio. Arriving at the reception, she announced herself. By now she was barely able to stand still, having to pace forward and backwards, up and down. “Just a moment, ma’am, someone will be down shortly to escort you to your dressing room.” That was the lie of the century. Seconds extended into minutes. Ten of them passed before her escort finally arrived. Naomi was bending at her knees, pacing and crossing her legs. To everyone around, her predicament was obvious. “Are you all right, ma’am?” the receptionist asked.
Naomi snapped, “No, of course I’m not all right. I’m busting for a wee.” Saying this, she bent forward and crossed her legs. In her tight faded jeans she looked hot.
The receptionist, unmoved, told her, “The Ladies’ Room is at the other end of the corridor.”
Naomi thought she could kiss this Good Samaritan and was about to head in that direction when she heard her name being called out. Her escort had arrived. She ran towards Naomi and said, “There you are. You’re on in less than a minute. Let’s hurry.”
“Oh no,” said Naomi, “I’ll have to hold it throughout the interview.”
Doing a curtsey, she started walking in the direction of the set. Suddenly, she heard Jay announce her name: “And now, the beautiful and talented Naomi Watson.”
By now Naomi was hopping from foot to foot. Suddenly she felt a few droplets of urine being released into her knickers. “Oh no,” she thought and looked to see if there was any damage. Her undies appeared to have done their job. No visible signs of dampness. Must hold on, must hold on… She walked focusing her mind on holding it in. Every step was a nightmare, especially giving Jay a hug, which required her to stretch herself a little bit, causing a bigger spurt. Hurriedly she sat down and Jay’s initial wisecracks helped her get her mind off her bladder.
Finally Jay got down to the topic of the evening: her movie on an Australian outlaw. At this point, for some reason, her bladder made its presence felt yet again and a third spurt was released into her knickers. To top it off, Jay asked her what it was like in the costume– how she managed to get all those clothes off when she had to pee and finally if she had ever wet herself on the set. Denying the last, she thought to herself, “If only you knew I’m doing it now.”
Soon the interview was over and Naomi, having exchanged the usual pleasantries, a ritual that seemed to take forever, hurried out of the studio, looking for a loo. Bad luck, she had somehow made it to the wrong end of the building where the loos were locked. The available loos were at the other end. She willed herself to hold it, but decided to find a bar or cafe as walking to the end meant risking wetting herself in public. “You can do it, you can do it…” She had to sneak out as unobtrusively as possible. Hunched forward, she struggled and after an eternity (or so it seemed) her car was in sight. Stiffening every sinew and limb in her body, she somehow managed to get into the car dry. Miraculously, there was only one small damp streak on her jeans and that wasn’t visible either. She’d have given her right limb to be able to cross her legs now. With these thoughts she hit the road and soon came to a petrol pump. Naomi, having worked in a series of independent cinemas had no inhibitions about using dirty washrooms. The washrooms on the sets of such movies were often far from clean. She started walking tiny baby steps and in the process released a biggish spurt that slid down her leg. Upon entering she found that there was no one at the counter and the washrooms required a key. Through sheer will power and a series of acrobatic gyrations, she held herself, letting out a few more drops. Finally she decided on a daring scheme. In one of the corners of the store were a series of cardboard boxes, which would serve as adequate cover. Stiffening, she walked towards them. Glancing around for a last time to make sure nobody was there, she quickly slid off her jeans and undies and crouched. Oh, the relief. She was there for five whole minutes. As she pulled on her clothes again, she noticed that there was still nobody around. Tidying up, she made for the door. At this point, the owner came in. Glancing at Naomi, he asked, “Aren’t you Naomi Watson, the actress? I’ve seen all your movies. Can I have your autograph?”
Signing her name on his T–shirt, Naomi thought to herself, “If you look behind those boxes, you’ll find something most of my fans only dream of seeing.”
Zac