and she’s used to this, really. being bladder shy has given her quite the control. she isn’t concerned, really. so she’s just. unbelievably full and having a normal conversation with her friends, sitting on a plastic chair in the back yard at some friend’s party.

you’re not in the conversation, but nearby. you notice her. you can tell she’s a bit awkward in her movements. notice her hand rubbing slowly up and down her thigh. how she doesn’t seem able to sit still, and her thighs are pressed together in a less than normal way.

there are some points of the conversation where she goes a bit quiet, but you can’t hear the conversation enough to know if it’s about that or maybe about what you’re starting to suspect is a full bladder.

her friends move eventually, going to go talk to someone else in the yard. she slowly gets up to go with them, very careful in her movements. but she seems fine once standing. there’s nothing on her dress. she’s not crossing her legs. maybe you were wrong.

as she walks away you notice the chair she was in has… moisture on it? not a puddle, but definitely like something wet had been there. a few moments later she returns, and… wipes the seat with a napkin. she looks around shyly and notices you watching. she blushes but shrugs. “spilled something,” she says, “didn’t want anyone to sit in it.”

you nod and smile, but you know better. you know exactly what she spilled.

she goes to stand with her friends across the yard, and you keep watching her. of course you do. you couldn’t take your eyes off of her if you tried. and she still looks normal, but she’s still constantly moving, swaying in a way that subtly shifts her weight from foot to foot. tapping her foot occasionally. you notice her hand move to her lower stomach a few times, touching gently before moving it away. it seems like a nervous habit. a friend holds out a drink to her. she takes it, and takes a sip, but no more. maybe she’s too polite to say no?

eventually she stills, and you watch carefully to see what is happening. her posture is stiff. in the fun party lighting of the yard you notice it- a drop of liquid dripping down the back of her thigh. just one drop, sliding down, down, down leaving a wet trail behind as it goes. two more follow in quick succession, and you wonder if she’s breaking. if she’ll wet herself right there in the middle of the party. you spare a glance to her face and see that somehow, even as she leaks, she’s still talking; fully involved in the conversation. she must have so much practice with this.

your eyes trail back to her legs and you watch as the other two wet tracks make their way down her leg. you’re not at the right angle to see if there are any more leaks than that, but you can’t risk getting closer. it’s a good thing you’re known for not liking parties. you just go because your friend insists. you’ll have to thank them for that later.

a few minutes later, your eyes catch as a stream of clear liquid drips down her leg - it definitely can’t be called a drop anymore. there’s too much. how are her friends not noticing this?

she’s at her limit, it seems. she excuses herself from her friends and… goes over to the edge of the yard. you know there’s a bike path behind the house, and it turns into forest. none of her friends are going with her, and it’s getting dark. she really shouldn’t go out there alone.

you head over, too. just to make sure she’s safe. but casually, of course. you don’t want to be creepy or make her uncomfortable. as you get closer, though, she hears your footsteps and turns around. her hand flies away from her crotch as she does- seems she was finally holding herself since she’d thought she was out of eyes view. she’s blushing with exertion, but she smiles at you again. “sorry,” she says, waving her hands a bit. she’s shifting from foot to foot. “did you need something? i just had to-“ and she gestures vaguely to the small gate that leads to the woods behind the property. she’s bouncing, a hand on her thigh in a way that tells you it would be jammed against her crotch if she weren’t talking to you.

“s’fine. just wanted to tell you not to go too far into the woods. it can be dangerous.”

she nods, and her smile looks less forced, more genuine. “thanks. i’ll be careful.”

she turns around again and as she opens the gate and goes through it you can see that she’s leaking more now, several more thin streams cascading down the backs of her legs. her flip flops are wet.

you figure you’ll wait nearby the gate until she gets back, just to make sure she’s fine. you’d gotten lost in those woods before, you know they can be tricky.

what you didnt think was that she wouldn’t go far at all. you can hear through the fence a loud, splashing torrent of liquid against dirt and a relieved sigh. it sounds like she’s right there on the path, like she didn’t even make it into the woods. maybe she hadn’t intended to. she pees for a long time. you wish you were wearing a watch so you could know just how long. she must have been holding for hours.

you try not to listen. really you do. you don’t want to be creepy. but it’s so loud, and then less loud, and then a trickle, and the nothing. you’re almost relieved when it’s over, because you’re so turned on and don’t know how much more of that you could take

and then the back gate is opening again and she turns to see you, smiling. her face is still pink, but yours is now, too. she looks far more relaxed. “see, i didn’t get lost or eaten”

you laugh. you didn’t expect her to want to talk to you after that interaction you’d had. you’d figured she would be embarrassed since it was clear you’d caught onto her predicament. “i’m glad.”

she looks you over, then holds up the cup that’s still in her hand. you notice now it’s empty. “want to come with me to get a refill?” she asks, surprising you. “you know, since i spilled mine before,” her smile is telling. she hadn’t seemed like it, but she knew you were watching. maybe that whole time she had known. and now she was smirking, teasing - but it’s not mean, it’s playful. intrigued.