Posted by philip on December 19, 1998 at 16:25
In Reply to: Re: wetting pants in public posted by WetLady on December 18, 1998 at 01:51
Well after that first desperate accident (and it certainly WAS an accident) I reslised that it had given me a big turn on and would often fantasise about what had happened when I went to bed. I stayed on my mind and, probably subconciously, I decided that at the next opportunity, I would arrange a situation where I had to wet my pants again. The problem was that at time of course I was living with my Mom and Dad and had to consider where I would hide/wash my wet underpants and jeans or trousers etc. after I had pissed myself.
As it turned out it wasn't so difficult because I was soon to leave school, at 17, earning a wage, soon found I was able to stay out late with the result that my parents had gone to bed long before I got home.
So, a few months after that fateful night on the last bus home (the number 40 to Castlecroft incidentally in case there is anyone from Wolverhampton reading !) came public wetting number two !
Matters were helped by the fact that Stephen was with me. Stephen had obviously fascinated by my first accident and, thinking about it, he had often talked about the subject of being desperate and "nearly wetting himself" long before my disaster on that last bus. Since that first public wetting he had mentioned it many times and whenever we were travelling on a bus etc he would comment that it was a pity buses didn't have toilets etc. In the event, over the next few years, while Stephen only peed'd himself once (in the car and that's another story..!) he was with me on a number of occasions when 'arranged' an accident. To begin with I think he assumed I just had a weak bladder but after the third or fourth occasion he must have known that I was enjoying the humiliation and yet the relaxation of pissing my pants in public.
To return to that second "accident". This happened shortly after I had started work at large tyre factory in Wolverhampton. In the department where I worked we had arranged a coach trip to London Airport and Hampton Court and Steve (who was then in his last year at school) came with me as a guest. By this time I had learnt to drive and my little Ford 100E car was parked at the factory car park. The day went well and on the way home the coach stopped at a place called Aynho where everyone got out and had a drink. Except that in my case it was two or three drinks, and of cider at that ! Needless to say Stephen was only too keen that I properly quenched my thirst ! Also while I went to the toilet after we arrived at the pub, I did not go after having drunk my three glasses of cider.
The next two hours were ones of agony and ecstacy!
We had not been going long before my bladder (already twitching before I got back on the coach) was giving urgent signals and I knew there was no way I would stay dry all the way back to Wolverhampton. Fortunately (and with some foresight) Steve and I were sitting on one of the back seats so my increasing fidgeting and leg crossing was not so noticeable as it might have been (rather like Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy).
We were about half an hour from home and I was in such agony that I could not think about anything except how badly I needed to go to the toilet. Finally as we started to come through Walsall I felt the first spurt, hot and wet, come out into my pants. By this time I was holding my crotch and simply couldn't sit still. Steven was sitting next to me smirking !
The first spurt was absorbed into my pants and nothign showed. However the next little spurt made a small dark patch on the front of my jeans and I did not have long to look at it when the main surge came on...one more spurt..a couple of dribbles and then ("this is it" I thought and then "Oh God" I said) and out it came, pssssssssssssssssss............. Once more I felt my face going crimson even though I had planned for this moment. Stephen just covered his face while giggling at the spectacle his friend was making og himself.
I felt the pee, warm and wet, flooding my crotch and then appearing a glistening dark wet patch getting bigger and bigger before a pool of pee began to form in my lap. This remained there for a while before it soaked through between my legs to join the rest of the pee which was soaking through the arse of my jeans into the seat. Psssssssssss...still it wet on as the seat got wetter and wetter and then that final moment when the splattering noise on the floor, and the spreading puddle, gives the game away to anyone nearby who cares to look.
I can still hear Stephen singig very quietly, but just loud enough for me to hear "Philip's done a wee wee, Philip's done a wee wee....."
Anyway we both sat there, me squelching on the wet seat and wondering how to disguise what had happened. When we got back to the car park you will not be surprised to know I was the last to get off with Steve gallantly walking in front to hide the state of my jeans. Suffice it say we both scuttled quickly to my little car and drove back home to Steves where I dropped him off (not before going in for a cup of coffee and to admire the state of my jeans (which Steven obligingly photographed - yes I do still have the neg !) and then I drove home. This was the second, but not the last time I crept in late at night and hid my jeans and underpants behind the hot water tank in the airing cupboard !
There's more to come if you like. Like when I have done it on the train and the underground (many times !) on the motorway during a hold up (with a hitchhiker on board to witness the event !, at a friend's wedding, during an examination, while out on my motorcycle and so on and so on...........
Email: philiplowe@enta.net