AliasnameTO

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About AliasnameTO

  • Rank
    Dribbling
  • Birthday 05/20/1990

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Sexual Orientation
    Pansexual
  • Location
    USA
  • Interests
    writing, video games, history, sci-fi/futurism, omo :P

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  1. female

    First six chapters of the sequel are up. Check here:
  2. You seem to be fully aware of this account's magnitude. You are right about it all. I never thought I'd read anything quite like this, but here it is, smashing every expectation. I am in awe and have very few words. Thank you.
  3. By popular demand, a sequel to my first story about Shelly McGill, Getting Her Feet Wet. I'm really excited about this one. At the time of posting, it's not complete, but even in its unfinished state it's a lot to chew on. Enjoy The Sleepover at Swiftbrooke. 1: The Others 2: The House on Haunted Hill 3: Truth or Scare 4: The Descent 5: A Bump in the Night 6: Open Water ...Work continues! Check here for updates in the near future.
  4. female

    Two of your favorite things, huh? It appears we are of like mind. And wow, thanks for the other compliments too. I tend to take my writing very seriously and it's great to see someone enjoy it on such a level. In other news, an update is on the horizon! I'm currently working on the sequel which revolves around a sleepover (thanks again Jippy for the idea :D) and it is gonna be big. Coming soon...
  5. Hmm, that is most unfortunate. I guess they've got someone to talk to about that? Lol likewise. Although now I know you're hungry for views, I'll look you up so you get at least one more. ;)
  6. On several threads it shows "0 views" under the amount of comments, which appear to be showing up correctly. And you know that there have been more views than that if it's got comments by multiple members. It's not the case for all threads, but at least many. Is a fix for this in the works?
  7. female

    Yes I did have it written out completely before posting. Unless I can write with all the fury of a demon. :p Thanks for the kind words. A sleepover is an exceptional idea!
  8. female

    Thanks :D Unfortunately this story is done, but I might revisit Shelly and Erica sometime in the future.
  9. female

    5: The Yard In the side yard, the second stage of the party had gotten underway. People chatted and played games while Mr. Montblanc manned the grill. Since the sun had emerged again, Erica’s sister had set up a slip-n-slide. The guest house sat across the yard. However, no walkway or stepping stones led to it. The only paved path wound back to the front of the main house and down the sidewalk-- certainly the scenic route. With the way her bladder muscles were trembling, doubt in her ability to hold it crept in. Panic began to rattle her. But the alternative to the long walk was a huge span of grass; a shortcut was out of the question. Shelly got one step down the path before Erica grabbed her again. “You don’t need to go all the way around. We can cut across this way before you have a bigger accident.” “I don’t want to crush the grass, though,” was Shelly’s second transparent lie. Erica would not let it go. “My parents don’t care, we run around out here all the time. Come on!” Shelly’s stomach twisted, but protesting was useless. She stood with her toes right at the edge where concrete gave way to green. Her bladder tossed inside her. If she did not do something soon, she would probably lose control anyway, grass or no grass. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Erica dragged her to her destiny. Focused as Shelly was on the door across the lawn, and on her tenuous ability to hold, the grass had little effect. She was numb to it, stepping left-right-left with it brushing her pink soles just as before. Although she registered the tickling, there was no total weakness to it as before. She grinned while looking down at her progress. She was doing it! All while having to go far worse than she had the last two times in this situation. She was not sure what had changed. It happened at some point after she entered the grass and before she got a hand on the facing doorknob. Whatever immunity she had gained just as suddenly abandoned her. Her progress halted and she caved to the full force of grass tickling between her toes at the slightest move. She went from zero to peeing all-out, making a splashing sound that changed pitch as it filled her panties and kept coming. She bent over and crossed her legs. Her feet brushed the grass more during the move, making the disaster running warmly in her jeans spray out even a little harder. The sun glimmered on the wet trails extending to the hems of the pink skinnies. For the second time today, Shelly got a considerable soaking. But this time, it was only below the waist, and instead of pure water, consisted of acrid piss. The whole experience felt worse than she remembered or imagined. The jeans, obviously wet in a fan shape extending from her crotch, clung to her thighs, and already began to cool by the time she had shed the last drops. It did not matter that people around took little notice; Shelly had not ever prepared herself for the possibility of a total accident, in front of everyone no less. There was no hope for recovery or escape. Her face burned. And against her resolve she had pummelled Erica’s pants. A lump rose in her throat. She refrained from loudly sobbing, but still sniffled. Keeping it together now was not going to happen. Trying to hold back the tears worked for only a moment before they spilled onto her cheeks. She looked up at Erica, who had turned around with a stunned expression. The girl must have gotten an idea. “Hang on for a sec,” she said, running off. Too late for that. Shelly now had no one with her. All manner of bad things haunted her mind while she stood there wet to the ankles. Erica had run into the backdoor of the garage. Moments later, sprinkler heads popped up all over the yard and began hosing the area. The sprinklers would not do any real damage. All the sensitive property like speakers and food were out of range. But the water was cold and people ran away from them regardless. All except those who escaped immediately suffered a good spray on their lower half. In the mayhem, Erica came back and beckoned Shelly the rest of the way to the guest house where they both ran inside and sank against the wall. Present when she first discovered her problem, another sprinkler now gave her deliverance. It was Shelly’s turn, tear-streaked face and all, to hug Erica. “That was genius!” she said, squeezing water-- clean water-- out from her clothes. “Thank you so much. And sorry about your pants.” Erica beamed, and then shrugged. “They’re my sister’s pants,” she confessed, “So I don’t care if you pee in them.” She shared a laugh before continuing. “You’re welcome. I just got an idea to help you and ran with it.” “Why, though?” Shelly asked. Her shame returned with a vengeance. “I thought you were going to get mad and kick me out. I’m not a part of your group anyway.” Erica’s features knotted in sympathy. “Well, you seemed cool but never talked to me after that one project. I left you alone because I thought you didn’t like me. Until I realized you were just shy, or introverted! That’s it. But then you said yes to the invite, and I had a lot of fun with you today. And you wanna know something? I had another reason to help you hide your accident.” Shelly wiped her face, curiosity overtaking dismay. “Oh?” she said. “One of my friends knows your brother Carson, and told me about how when you went barefoot on grass you peed your pants right away. I wanted to see if it was true.” Erica held up her hands. “But please don’t get mad, I didn’t do anything to you! Everything I just said about having fun was the truth!” Shelly had her heart lifted and summarily thrown down. Her invitation had been, at least in part, a mean-spirited test. “The truth still hurts.” The sweetness Erica had shown all day made up for the brush with betrayal, but there need not have been any betrayal at all. “I’m sorry,” Erica said while Shelly decided what to think, “Maybe this will make it a little better. I actually can’t believe I’m about to tell you this. But I will because I saw you do it first.” She leaned in and whispered, “I... wet the bed. Like, a lot. You’re lucky if you end up with peed-in panties once instead of all the time and have to wear a glorified diaper to sleep.” She gripped Shelly’s hands. “I felt like I needed to believe the story. And when I saw your wet spot earlier, I couldn’t describe it. It was like, ‘she might be somebody a little like me.’” Shelly could not believe her ears. Glamorous, popular, talented Erica, with the capacity for casual meanness, wet her bed well into high school. And while Shelly interpreted her own presence at the party as a sick joke, it had been Erica’s way of seeking someone who would listen. “It’s okay,” she finally said, “Apology accepted.” The girls stayed in the guest house until they dried enough to walk without dripping. Shelly’s mom came by soon after to pick her up. Erica returned the wet clothes and empty tea jug while saying goodbye. “You can bring back my stuff whenever,” Erica said, hugging Shelly once more before she left, “See you in school.” “Yeah, see you.” Shelly closed the car door, a profound sense of fulfillment settling in her. Erica used to be a celebrity she slightly envied but mostly wished away. Today she had turned into someone real, to be cared for and missed. After everything, were they friends now? “How was the party?” her mom asked. Shelly gestured to the clothes in the bag and on her body. “Wet,” she answered, giggling. “I can see that. Glad you had a good time.” “Me too.” The day had not changed Shelly. She still liked drawing, rainbows, cats, and solitude. But her comfort zone had expanded, with Erica’s help. She had gotten to be barefoot around others, away from a swimming activity at least, for longer than ever. Someday she might tackle the ability to put her feet on grass without peeing herself. But for now, she had gotten her feet wet when it came to making friends. And when the time came for further achievements, she would have someone at her side. --------------------------
  10. female

    4: The House Not a moment too soon, they reached the Montblanc residence. Theirs was the first car in the impromptu convoy pulling up behind, but none were pressed for space. The palm-lined driveway accommodated plenty, and the cavernous garage, still dwarfed by the house proper, certainly offered more. “Come on,” Erica said, “I’ve got some stuff for you to change into upstairs.” Shelly’s toes sunk into a lush carpet across the threshold. Despite the house’s palatial exterior, the same carpet harbored a considerable amount of grit, not all of it having been that she brought from outside. The soil was part of a scene of chaos which took Shelly by surprise. She expected statues and classy furniture, and there were both of those things. However, a lot of it held a thick layer of concrete dust like that in the rug, with the rest being obscured by tarps and plywood. Erica apologized again. “Sorry about the house, we’re renovating. Upstairs is fine though.” Thank God. Upstairs to a toilet and salvation. Her bladder tossed in her abdomen, but Shelly was willing to climb the steps. She followed Erica in the home stretch. Now was her chance to catch Erica before anything else happened. “Uh, I kinda have to go to the bathroom,” Shelly said, aware of how awkward it sounded while kicking herself for understating things so gravely. “Hold on a sec, my room’s right here. Let me get some stuff out for you.” Was it odd to be told to wait in a host’s house like this? Granted her social experience left something to be desired, but it was not the answer Shelly expected. Frustration flared in her; it was hard enough to tell the popular girl her body cried out to release buckets. Now she got blocked again. Erica rummaged through a dresser while her guest tried to stand still. The attempt did not last for long, though. Another wave of piss rushed forth, making Shelly squeak and cross her legs. A runnel still forced its way through. “What’s wrong?” Erica repeated. She had retrieved a white printed T-shirt and pink skinny jeans, looking up just in time for Shelly to answer. “Nothing,” she automatically replied. When she most needed a lie to work, as always and now, it failed. Erica’s incredulous expression dispelled her nonchalance. Shelly had run out of ideas to get out of appearing babyish. Her facade crumbled, and she bent over in a pleading posture. “I’m sorry, I just have to go so bad.” Erica was now free to picture her carrying a ton of pent-up urine and running out of strength to hold it. Shelly’s face grew hot again, but abandoning secrecy alone gave some relief. “Me too actually,” Erica said, making a show of squeezing between her own legs. “But the water’s shut off until they’re done with the pipes. We have to go in the guest house.” Hearing the news made Shelly’s urine seethe at the gates. She could not prevent a moan of desperation, but made no effort to cut it short. She had already surrendered her shame and joined at least one ally in having to go. Before showing her the bathroom, Erica had other plans. “You can change up here first if you want,” she said, “How are you comfortable being that cold and wet?” The description caught Shelly for a beat until realizing it was rainwater Erica referenced. Her shorts were certainly spotted if not soaked through in places. But with their navy color and how wet she was from the deluge, only a very determined observer could speculate she had been wetting her pants a little at a time. Shelly managed a smile. “I’m not,” she admitted, “Being dry would be nice.” Never mind it’s not all raindrops. The words served as enough of a decision for Erica. She had her tank top over her head without hesitation, shedding her jeans right after. Shelly caught the hint and began to peel off her own clothes, the unfamiliarity of doing it with company making her skin that much more averse to light. There was nowhere to hide. To make things worse, Erica homed in on Shelly’s white briefs, a grin building in her cheeks. Shelly followed the girl’s eyes downward. As she feared, a yellowish blot in the gusset revealed they had absorbed a fair amount of moisture. Erica pointing to it, asking, “Is that wet spot from…” In better privacy, Shelly might have carried on wearing the chill panties, unperturbed by the odd bitter whiff or by how they rubbed her skin. It had to be normal, and they would dry. After all, who in the world could wear underwear their whole lives and never get pee in them? Erica’s eyes being where they were challenged that blasé opinion. Shelly lived a little eternity that moment. She stood frozen in place, close enough to naked while maintaining eye contact with Erica Montblanc, the fabric full of her piss in full view. And worse, unless she got to a toilet, the wet spot’s renewal was on the way. This is it. Erica was going to cease being friends with her before spreading Shelly’s indignity throughout the school, returning the upstart to loner-dom where she belonged. Erica’s hand flew to her mouth and she nearly bent double giggling at such a spectacle. She must have seen the fright in Shelly’s face, though, because she started to compose herself. “Aww, Shelly, you said you kinda had to go, not that you’re literally peeing yourself!” she said, doing her best to keep her reaction under control, “Come on and finish changing so we can go.” Finally, a real prospect for relief. The shirt Erica lent was tight under Shelly’s arms. Similarly, she had trouble with the fit of the jeans. The fabric was part elastic, so putting them on was not a challenge. Buttoning them, however, would not come so easily. They probably would have fit fine if not for her distended belly. In forcing the button closed, another shiver rocked her, as did an accompanying leak. Shelly put new vigor into holding on. Peeing in her own clothes was one thing. To do it in someone else’s occupied a new level of unacceptability. Under no circumstances could that happen. “Sorry if they don’t fit just right,” Erica commented, “But I bet they still feel better.” “Mhm,” was Shelly’s response. Stopping more leaks now took all of her effort. The snug fit of the jeans, since they squeezed her from beneath as well as at the waistline, actually helped somewhat after she had gotten the button closed. What an impending accident felt like remained in the realm of imagination. But the amount of pain she was in mounted, and her lower region began to tingle from the constant exertion. Her heart thumped. She breathed deeply in an attempt to stave off panic, putting one foot in front of the other following Erica downstairs. Entertaining thoughts of losing it all did her no good.
  11. female

    3: The Game A little while later the group took a walk around the park. The tea was catching up with Shelly. It was easy to miss while sitting down, but now each step made a twinge down below. She could never announce her need for a bathroom to the cool kids, instead using furtive glances in an attempt to spot one. But before long, someone discovered the volleyball court before some woods at the park’s edge, filled with sand to be like playing at the beach. A volleyball was produced and people were talking about getting a game going. “Yeah, let’s do it!” was the eventual cry. The group of would-be players excitedly tore off their shoes and hit the sand. Erica was among them; Shelly, having chosen the facing bleachers instead, took a note of the girl’s glossy hair and tan skin contrasting with her yellow tank top beside the net, for drawing purposes later. She is too freaking pretty, from head to literal toe. “Come on, Shelly!” Erica yelled to her. Crap. She didn’t know how to play volleyball, nor did she really want to learn. Plus, in an ironic twist, they had all dug their toes into the sand and the girl who wanted to do so the most had to remain stubbornly shod, especially now that needing a toilet caused her some concern. There would be no unplanned peeing to ruin the occasion. Erica had been too nice to her, though. She lacked the heart to say no, so steeled her bladder and proceeded to the court. “What’s with the shoes?” Erica asked, pointing out the offending things. Everybody looked quizzically at Shelly. She really was the only one still wearing them. “Maybe she’s shy about her feet,” someone suggested, which started another flash of heat in her. Being reserved had made her the center of attention for the second time today. The angel on her shoulder reinforced her shyness, even after it was called out, and reminded her of the pressing danger of a pee disaster if she stepped on grass. The devil told her to give in and take her shoes off. It would divert some focus away. Nobody would care about her feet if they were all doing the same, and she would get to revel in the rare sensory treat. Grass was all around, but she was safe on the sand. While everyone else had put their shoes under the bleachers on the pavement, she could place hers right at the edge of the court. That would let her put them on again without crossing even a few feet of grass. Today, the devil won. She unlaced her sneakers and peeled off her socks in turn, placing them inside the shoes. To half-mocking applause at having joined the barefoot group, she returned to her spot on the court. Dealing with the rising heat and knowing what to do in the game took a lot of her attention. But neither of those damaged her mood now. The sand she was used to was not this fine. The warm powder beneath and the breeze touching her previously suffering toes was nothing less than joyous. Eventually, the sun gave way to an overcast sky, making the temperature perfectly cool. She even forgot her urge to pee until the odd sudden lunge made it harder to hold. That status quo could not continue, however. Her need to go to the bathroom got worse as the game went on. She had to hold with all her might to keep from leaking when the ball came her way. In a flailing attempt to save it, she sent it careening into the woods. A chorus of disappointed “Awws” came from her side. “You hit it, you get it,” someone called. Her judgment had been given. It was across so much grass. She went to put her shoes on. “You don’t need shoes, just go,” Erica urged, “I’ve been in there barefoot before and it’s not that bad.” The image of Erica playing out the fantasy in her drawing did not help her ability to resist. A light drizzle began to dust the group from above. Some others had chimed in, telling her to hurry up and get the ball before the rain got too bad to play. “I just wanna put them on, okay?” Shelly insisted. She finally got her feet stuffed into them, and skipped tying the laces to appease the players. The shoes flopped clumsily while she crossed the distance, hopping the muddy ditch before the treeline. Tracing the ball’s path into the woods helped her find it quickly. But it was not quick enough. As she reared back to throw the ball, the clouds opened. She was mostly sheltered by the tree canopy, but the rain pelted the rest, who retreated at full speed to an awning over the concession stand. What luck. She whined at her sorry state-- alone in the trees during the downpour, with untied shoes, rain-flecked glasses, and wet hair stuck to her face, all while dying to pee and holding an orphaned volleyball. No other choice but to go after the other kids. She fled the woods with all the speed her loose shoes allowed. When trying to hop the ditch to get out, she slipped on wet leaves. Thankfully, she avoided a fall, but caught herself by dropping her other foot in the ditch’s lowest pit, leaving her in ankle-deep slop. “Eww!” she cried more in frustration than actual disgust. She wrenched her foot from the mud, which emerged covered in only a sodden striped sock. The sneaker was still in there. After her initial outburst, she acted with clarity. Bracing herself on the bank, she dipped her hand in and pulled out the shoe. It was so evenly coated with dark muck she was certain it would never be clean again. At least with her sock protecting her, she would be yet immune from the tickling danger going back. She grimaced and started jogging with the drenched thing toward the volleyball court. As quickly as it had come on, the rain stopped. The park took up a silence broken only by the leftover drops falling off their various perches. The other kids’ shoes had all been protected by the bleachers, and even their clothes had mostly been spared when they ran for cover. Shelly had not been so lucky. Everyone stared at her saturated clothes, the only dry areas on her being under the arms and the crotch of her shorts. And in her current state, the latter would not stay dry for long either. But she had yet to find the bathroom. A shiver shook her. It was likely from the chill of her wet clothes, but with it came a strong, half-second jet of pee into her underwear. She gasped and pressed her thighs together, not daring to check for a visible wet spot. It’s okay, she reassured herself, You can’t tell I just went in my pants a little. She had been at least this desperate often enough through the years. Losing a spurt or two just like that when needing to go was just something that happened. Outside of the incidents with the grass, she never once had a full-on accident growing up. There was no reason to believe she would run into real trouble this time. She would find the bathroom before her mom came to pick her up and the party would end having been a mostly positive experience. After Shelly returned the volleyball to its owner, Erica hugged her again. “Sorry,” she said, “There wasn’t supposed to be any rain when we checked the weather!” “I think I’d actually be better off if I stayed in the trees,” Shelly answered, wringing out her shirt. She deliberately dripped some water onto her shorts to hide any incriminating spots. Perhaps she could have gone into the woods a little deeper and squatted while away from the others. “Your shoes are wrecked!” Erica noted, her mouth drawn at the pitiful sight, “Should have left them with ours.” “I know, and now I’m paying for it. It’s alright though.” “No it isn’t,” Erica asserted with her hands on her hips for mock-authority, “You can come to my house to dry off. I know I’m gonna change when we get there.” She gestured to the pattern of raindrops on her pale yellow top. It was wet enough to stick to her, but nothing compared to the redhead’s waterlogged clothes. Shelly chewed her lip. “Alright,” she finally said. She meant to include “Just let me find the bathroom first” but failed to get the words out. “Great,” Erica answered, giving a white smile, “Let’s go now, my parents already said it was fine.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and announced, “Party at my house!” The group erupted in cheers and trooped toward the parking lot. Erica told Shelly, “You can ride with us,” and locked a hand onto her wrist. To the parking lot they went. Shelly gritted her teeth in following, never having found the bathroom at the park. The poor girl tried to keep pace with her legs tightly together. She tried to blame her new friend for the ordeal, but it was her own failure to express even once the need for a bathroom in hours that led her here. Former queen-of-cool Erica was being a total sweetheart, on the fast track to earning enough trust for Shelly to confide in her about her bodily needs. And with Shelly’s dwindling control of things, the luxury of staying quiet had run out. But it was too late. Erica beat her to the first word. “Could you, like, maybe get your socks off before getting in? I’ve got a bag for your stuff. It’s just that my parents don’t want to get the car dirty.” “Yeah,” Shelly thoughtlessly answered. She had already been barefoot around Erica once and wanted little more than to get the sopping things off. When gyrating to strip her dripping footwear without a place to sit, her need to go spiked. It would look really weird to change her mind and put the squelching socks back on. And despite having decidedly adventurous peds, the floor of a public restroom was still off-limits for her, even in as dire straits as these. Erica’s far-off bathroom stood as the only remaining chance. Already she dreamed up catastrophic scenarios of peeing a river in Mrs. Montblanc’s car. The girls reached the parking lot. After Shelly updated her mom on her status, she was left to enjoy the moment. The feeling of wet pavement on her bare soles gave her a significant mood-lift. Despite it all, that sensation alone caused a buzz, enough to get her heart going and ease her pulsing bladder. She temporarily forgot her shyness and shared some giggles with Erica while splashing in puddles. When Erica sat next to her in the back seat of the Mercedes, Shelly could breathe a little. Her urge had settled into a manageable ache. There was nothing to worry about. The contentedness resulted before they started moving. In gear, that relative comfort fled. From the first speed bumps to leave the park, the road tested her stamina. And that was in a luxury car; were it her dad’s jeep, who knew if she could have made it. She sat board-straight for the longest time, with her hands clasped in her lap and her knees locked together. Somehow she made enough small-talk to deflect suspicion of a problem. The car rounded some sinuous curves a little aggressively into the Montblancs’ gated community, pressing Shelly against the door and Erica’s elbow into her stomach. That was when the next bladder-charge hit her. With the other girl extricating herself from Shelly’s lap, another leak started in her shorts. It was not a forceful one-- just enough trickled through to make a continuous flow. But it caused Shelly two or three seconds of panic until she twisted in her seat and pressed her crotch for dear life. “Are you okay?” Erica asked. “Yeah,” Shelly answered through gritted teeth. When she righted herself, dampness warmed her in new places. A blush was coming on already; she had to think of something to say. “It just hurt a little when you fell on me.” “Sorry. At least we’re almost there.” “It’s alright.” Although if Erica were not telling the truth, the chance for it to be alright disintegrated.
  12. female

    2: The Party “Shelly,” her mom called, “Your party’s in twenty minutes! Are you ready to go?” “Almost,” she answered through her bedroom door. From the rainbow headband atop her rebellious red pile, to the black t-shirt with a cat on the front, to the dark blue shorts with a studded belt and a sketchpad in her back pocket, to the collection of cute bracelets on each wrist, she was ready. She sighed, because out in front stretched her white toes, yet adorned only with freckles. In an ideal world, her outfit would be complete. In her world, the unfortunate truth was ‘almost’. She pulled on socks and laced her shoes, making the whole package remind her of going to school. She wasn’t going to school, though. It will be fun. That’s what Shelly’s mom kept reminding her in the car. “I just want my dispenser-jug back after everyone kills my peach tea!” she warned. Shelly promised to return it. Her mother did make a stellar tea, from scratch with leaves and peach juice. “It’s okay if you tell Erica you made it though.” That got a grin out of Shelly. “Thanks,” she said. Her mom waved away the gratitude. “I’m just glad you’re making new friends. Is Erica the one on the dance team?” Shelly nodded. She and her mom had gone to a show put on by the drama department not long ago. Erica was a freshman like Shelly, but already landed a solo in the production. In Shelly’s opinion, it was not what the girl’s ego needed. But perhaps she had changed since middle school. The car pulled into the parking lot in front of a pavilion full of picnic tables. They had arrived a bit early. The tables on the end were piled high with all sorts of treats and accompanying supplies. Erica was among the handful of adults arranging the goods. When Shelly got out of the car, the brunette ran over and hugged her. “Hey, glad you could come,” Erica said. She also exchanged greetings with Shelly’s mom. Sunlight caught the glitter in Erica’s eyeshadow, which she was never seen without. “Thanks for the invite,” Shelly answered, still reeling from the affectionate greeting. She hauled the jug from the back seat, plainly presenting it with, “I brought tea.” “Alright, cool.” Erica whisked it away to one of the tables. This was going too well. Thankfully, she was not the only one there for long. More people arrived in minutes, one of whom had a bluetooth speaker and cranked up some music. Another produced a frisbee, around which a group rallied in a big circle, tossing it to one another. Shelly joined in and with the food and drinks flowing, it felt like a party. Maybe her mother was right; this was good for her. She never had a problem with bullies or anything, but no matter the gathering, always skirted the periphery and avoided digging into socializing. Making art was easier than finding things to talk about. But here at Erica’s party, people threw the frisbee to her and complimented her tea. She also got compliments on her drawings when she pulled out the sketchpad. At first she showed people only her good ones, but eventually they yanked it away and flipped to her crappy or embarrassing ones too. She pleaded for it back while her face burned. This was why pets and fictional characters made better company. “Ha, she’s blushing!” a boy holding the pad called out. All eyes turned to her. Stay cool, she told herself, they won’t hurt it and haven’t said anything bad about the drawings. “Hey, don’t be mean,” Erica said to him, “That’s her private stuff.” Confirming that she needed Erica to defend her only made the feeling worse. The boy approached with the pad in hand, but not before taking a final look. He surrendered it with the back page plain for all to see. On it was a colored sketch of a red-haired girl in a flowy dress balancing on a fallen log, one set of five slender toes ahead of the other. “This is actually really awesome,” he confessed, getting agreements from a few who caught a glimpse. “Thanks,” Shelly replied, her eyes locked to the ground while trying to will her blush away. Then the realization hit her that she got away with it. Nobody teased her about the girl in the picture having gratuitously bare feet. Maybe it didn’t cross their mind at all. She was the one with the hangup, and made more of it than she should. She pocketed the notebook, breathed deeply, and relaxed.
  13. female

    This story came together pretty quickly, and for how long it is I actually finished it! After seeing the moderate fondness for bare feet on here I decided to include some strong focus on that. But rest assured, it's an omo story through-and-through; the rest is plot devices. Enjoy. 1: The History Shelly McGill huffed and tucked a red curl behind her ear. Absorbing the lesson about ancient Greece already strained her attention, and when her phone vibrated in her purse, that was the end of it. Her mom would not text while she was in school; a message from someone else was likewise a rarity. She made sure the teacher's eyes were elsewhere and stealthily read it. Beside Erica's picture read, "party nxt Saturday at Simmons Park, wanna go? :D" Incredulity gave way to a big grin which threatened to burst through. The only reason Shelly had Erica Montblanc's number in the first place was for a group project last year. That she, as the "quiet one" with thick glasses, would be invited to her first real party by the most popular girl in her grade seemed a miracle. A cool draft traced Shelly's socked soles, which she had slipped from the heels of her shoes. She stared down at the black canvas sneakers, misshapen and frayed on the backs where she did the same heel-slip at every opportunity. To go without the stifling things, or any others, was less a simple pleasure for her than a mission. Being barefoot gave her a satisfaction bordering on a sexual thrill, especially outside. Its explanation escaped her. The ballet flats or flip-flops worn by many of her classmates would have done for a compromise, but only the exquisite sensitivity of no shoes at all struck that particular spot in her soul. But of course, the solution would not be as simple as ditching the shoes and letting others get used to her choice. Two obstacles stood between her and the flood of feelings that came with raw contact of her soles with the ground. For one, her enthusiasm for barefootedness was equaled only by her shyness about it. It had its place and that was that; what kind of dirty weirdo got such a kick out of not wearing shoes at any other time? And especially that it meant exposing her feet. The bricks on the ends of her legs exhibited none of the curves and overall "ladylike" aesthetics she envied on lots of other girls, and some genetically-gifted guys. Shelly stood at 5'9". Not terribly tall for a high school freshman, but enough to put her half a head above most her age. And it was certainly enough to give her the feet to match the rest of her reedy frame. She had long despised their pointed ankle bones, low arches, and knobbly toes that were crooked thanks to overstaying her welcome in ill-fitting footwear. Since she could remember, her family took to calling her "snowshoes" for their sprawling size and spindly shape. She was not the only victim of the nickname, as naturally a good number of her relatives also fit the description. But the benign barb had met the mounting body insecurity of the gawky teen, and left a lasting effect. Unless she had no other choice, it was socks and shoes at all times. However, double the severity even of her self-consciousness was a problem more practical: what happened whenever she did steel her nerves and indulge her fancy. Maybe because of how rarely her soles saw daylight, they were intensely, cripplingly ticklish. In certain circumstances, ticklish enough to take her bladder control. Google told her it was "stress incontinence." She never considered herself to be weak at holding it. She could laugh or do other things with confidence and stay dry, even when people tickled her on purpose. But somehow it was connected to walking barefoot. What never failed to do her in was stepping on grass. Her earliest memory of it happening was at her fifth birthday party. She and her friends had worn their bathing suits to play in the sprinkler in the backyard. She had stayed on the patio until it was her turn. On her first run-through, the smooth, bendy ribbons of grass had brushed her soles and between her toes in just the right way to make her whole body spasm. She squealed with laughter and only noticed something was amiss when she returned to the safety of the patio to a hot stream running out of her one-piece. Being that it happened in her swimsuit and she was dripping wet already from the sprinkler, no one noticed. At five years old, the idea that the reaction might cause problems for her never arose. Pure luck meant she did not have to step barefoot on grass for years after. By that point, she had doubled down on wearing shoes and all but eliminated the risk. But on one trip to the beach when she was about eleven, city workers were renovating the bathrooms and had planted porta-potties-- on a grass field. She had meant to relieve herself in the water, but her family was already on the way out. She caught up with them, flexing her legs against a constant push from her bladder and playing with the button of her white shorts by the time they came into view. Having felt bold enough to leave her sandals in the car had come back to haunt her, causing a wave of dread from remembering what happened last time. It was too risky. She would just have to hold it for the ride home. Until her little brother ruined it all. "I gotta go pee," Carson announced, holding himself unabashedly. The weak little runt. If Shelly had to hold on while being at the edge of leaking, surely the second grader could handle his own liquids. "Buddy system," her father declared, ever on top of safety. "Take C to the toilets, Shel." Shelly tried protesting. "Ugh, dad," she said, writhing in a sort of exaggerated temper tantrum to hide her pee-dance. "He can go on his own!" The man put his hands on his hips. "Yes, but it's good practice to look out for each other. And don't be ridiculous. You're bouncing around like a jumping bean too. You can both go. It's a long car ride." "Come on, Shelly," Carson urged, wiggling more obviously. The older sibling groaned while battling her own forceful need. And now that they all knew she also had to go badly, a blush warmed the tips of her ears. The porta-potties were right there, not thirty feet away. She sucked in a big breath and conceded, "Fine." Her heart raced as she approached the edge of the concrete walkway. The grass stretched out before her, an expanse of breeze-blown snakes ready to bite. Could it happen again? Carson, with his flip-flops protecting him from perhaps a similar fate, trotted off carefree. Shelly brushed one foot through the grass, wincing as the tickly feeling came on. Unrelated to the move came a hefty squeeze from her bladder, which forced a dribble into her striped bikini. No matter how gross the portable toilets might be, she would have thrown herself into the second one-- were it not for the dreaded grass! "Here goes nothing," she told herself, and held her breath. To run like her kid brother would be too embarrassing. She was in sixth grade; she didn’t have emergencies. The lawn received the heel she had dug in with conviction. Neither the effects of the prickly blades, nor the pulsing of her bladder, acted with an instant's delay. The brush of that green menace against her feet struck her like lightning. It was all she could do to stay standing, let alone keep moving, which would have only made it worse. Keeping her surging pee contained never crossed her awareness. It had already begun pounding out, forced through her bikini to pour from her shorts in a shimmering yellow stream. She reflexively pushed her hands into her crotch as hard as she could. If it did slow the flow, it did not help her any. A more noticeable effect was for the hot, sharp-scented liquid to spill between her fingers and coat her inner thighs before finally dripping into twin mud puddles where her feet stayed planted. Given the circumstances, her parents had not gotten mad at her for making the minor scene about going with her brother, nor for abandoning him in that particular case. She let them assume she just could not hold it any longer, rather than admitting she had fallen victim to this peculiar secret weakness. Her last saving grace was being already equipped with a towel to sit on in the car, so even the back seat avoided mistreatment. Shelly had managed to get away from a huge accident with only damp shorts and a little teasing from Carson. The feeling returned to her when recalling the beach trip that she had gotten very lucky. And luck never lasts forever. Three years after that fateful day, here sat the dorky quiet girl who twice covered herself with urine, invited to a party by Erica Montblanc. Occasional surges of anxiety hit her stomach, coming more frequently as the date drew near. There would be nothing to fear, though. Erica was clearly willing to overlook their differences in the social hierarchy-- a new school meant a clean slate, it seemed. And the party would take place at a park. Some blissful souls at the party, unaware of their fortune, might run around after shedding their shoes. Her heart leapt at the faintest chance she might join them, but vast swaths of the green piss-triggers were a certainty. Shelly would have no reason to so much as loosen her laces until getting home. But that was okay. Not a drop from her would go anywhere except a toilet. Everything was going to be fine.
  14. male

    Loved it. The idea of someone dignified and collected having to deal in this way is a treat. :D
  15. female

    The best part was waking up after having really peed in your sleep.