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It's been a long time since I last posted, but I'll just blame work and life for that. Luckily for me and you all, work provided me with a desperation experience that was honestly mortifying when it happened but now turns me on the more I've thought back on it.

The place I work only has two bathrooms, one male and one female, that are shared by employee and customer alike. So in the event the store is even slightly busy, the chances of having a bathroom to use when the urge arises is slim. That leads us to a day ago when, after working a good five hours before break, I was honestly bursting. I have the bad habit of letting my bladder fill up over the course of the day and find myself getting distracted by my work until the point I'm pee dancing and have a full bladder between my legs. So when I finally got away from my register and found the bathroom door locked, a hard spasm rocked my bladder and made my heart start beating super fast.

I've never peed myself in public. At least not as an adult. And I wasn't exactly looking to make that happen. So I tell myself that it's only going to be a few minutes, I'll get into the bathroom, relieve my bladder, and that'll be that. That wasn't the case... Minutes tick by and my mystery occupant still hasn't emerged from the bathroom. I'm usually too shy to knock, but I do, and hear back, "Hold your horses. Just finishing up."

I had to piss like a racehorse. I could tell. It's a frantic, panicky pulse surging up into my lower stomach and making my legs feel shaky. The toilet flushes and it happens. A hard spurt of pee bursts into my pants and I just stand there, blushing I'm sure, and look down to check the damage. Call it luck or fate or whatever, but my pants show little to no signs of what had happened. Apparently my boxers had taken the brunt of the damage and absorbed what they could before reaching my work pants. 

When the door finally opens, I politely slip around an elderly man that slowly makes his way out. My bladder sees the urinal and decides that the next few seconds it takes to undo my zipper is just too long to wait. I start peeing, another hard spurt followed by a weak dribble, my boxers feeling wet against my skin with each leak. By the time I get myself situated, the damage is done. A spot the size of a grapefruit is now on the right side of my crotch and a few errant streaks are gradually appearing beneath it.

In the moment, I don't care. All I can think about is the relief. I'm peeing so hard against the porcelain that I'm getting some splash back, but it seemed insignificant compared to my other patch. When my bladder finally expels it's final drops, I feel physically drained. A knock at the door is what makes me panic: another customer.

I have no choice but to wash my hands as obnoxiously as possible, literally splashing water on my pants and shirt as I emerge from the bathroom. My face is red. I know it is. "Hand dryers just don't work for me," I say. The guy who goes in after me seems to pay no mind to my predicament. The rest of the night is relatively uneventful.

So there you have it: that's probably the closest I've come to wetting myself in public. I can't say that I enjoyed it in the moment, but I definitely find it hot to think about now that it's over. 

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  • 2 years later...

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