So I’m in the car with a friend. We’re close and I know she’s into omo, but we’ve never done anything together. I’m feeling really sleepy and it’s warm out. We’ve been drinking apple juice which is my favourite. We’ve been driving a lot, but we’ll be at the hotel in about two hours. I need to pee, but not super badly. I can hold it.
It’s warm, and I’m getting really sleepy. She’s drinking some more juice and asks me if I want some. I have a sip, but my bladder starts to feel really uncomfortable. We drive past a rest stop. I just notice it and then it’s gone and I’m really mad at myself for not saying anything. I’m nibbling my lip.
“How long do you think it’ll be?” I say.
She tells me about an hour and forty minutes. That’s nothing, I can hold that long. I shut my eyes. I remember being a kid and having to go real bad in the back of the car, and asking them to stop but they wouldn’t. I remember a little bit leaking out and then a little bit more. It felt so warm. Uh-oh, I realise that’s the wrong thing to think about, because I gotta go even more.
I look for more rest stops, but I don’t think there are any before the hotel. We’re turning off the main road now, and onto the windy country roads with way less people and less chance to pull over. I feel kinda shy about my need even though I don’t think my friend would be annoyed. It’s better not to say anything. I nibble my thumb.
Then two bad things happen: we get stuck behind a really slow tractor for ages, and the next road we’re on is really rough and full of holes and I feel it right in my bladder. My hand goes between my legs and I really gotta go and I feel little and anxious.
“Uh oh,” I say. That’s not a very grown-up thing to say but I feel so anxious and all I can think about is that I gotta pee.
“What’s wrong?” my friend says.
I chew my lip. “I gotta pee really bad,” I say at last.
“Oh dear,” she says. “How bad?”
“Ummm.” I squeeze my hand between my legs. It really hurts now. “I don’t think I can make it much longer.”
She puts her hand on my knee. “It’s about an hour, still, to the hotel. We lost time behind that damn tractor.”
I whimper. I can’t help it. “I gotta go now. I’m sorry. Can we pull over?”
“I’ll try,” she says. The road isn’t busy, but it’s really narrow, and there are houses all round with big gardens. There’s no place I could go behind a bush, but no restaurants or shops either.
I hadn’t realised it was so bad. At first I felt sleepy and it seemed like I could just hold it. But I gotta go like burning now, and I keep wriggling. I feel almost like I might panic, you know, because it’s so bad and I can’t keep it in, but I have to and I don’t know what to do.
“There’s a towel in the backseat for emergencies,” my friend says.
I’m not sure what she means. Is she giving me permission to pee myself? But wouldn’t she be mad at me if I did that? We talked about omo a few times before, but it’s never been a reality. My cheeks are hot. “Uhh?” I ask her.
“It’s OK, you can sit on it. If you leak, it’s OK.”
“I feel like I might burst,” I tell her honestly. “I gotta go so so bad. I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK. I don’t mind,” she says. “We’ve talked about this before, remember.”
I grab the towel. I’m shifting from one thigh to the other and each bump in the road makes me feel like I’m going to let go. “But it’s different when it’s your car,” I say.
I put the towel under my butt. I’m tearing up. I don’t mean to but I just have to go so bad and it’s so sore and I don’t want it to happen. I nibble my thumb. Then I feel it, a little hot leak in my pants, and I whimper.
“Uh-huh.” My eyes are full of tears, one run downs my cheek.
“Aww, honey. You should just let go. We did drink a lot of juice.”
“Don’t talk about juice,” I try to joke. I squirm hard. It hurts so bad. Now that one leak has come out, I find myself relaxing just a little, and another leak comes out and wets my bottom. Ooooh. That does feel a little better, but once I clamp down I’ve got to go as bad as ever.
“Are you sure you won’t be mad if I get your car wet?” I say.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she says. “I’ve been there.”
I’m still looking out the window for someplace to stop. But I can’t help letting a little more out. It feels so good. I ball my hands into fists, trying to hold tight. When I move my hands away from my crotch I can see that it’s soaked, and it’s super obvious because I’m wearing thin beige trousers.
“I’m having an accident,” I say softly, as I feel another trickle come out. It’s SO HARD to hold on now that I’ve started, and I feel it running down my leg, a long warm gush.
“I know,” my friend says. “It’s OK, you can clean up at the hotel.”
I whimper again. I feel so little and so warm in the car, and so naughty. Even though she’s said it’s OK I can’t believe I’m letting this happen. I feel it run between my legs, and suddenly I’m really letting go, it’s too hard to stop, and there’s a loud hissing sound and I’m just going and going.
The pee soaks through the towel and ends up on the floor of the car too. I can’t believe it. It feels so good too, now it’s begun I suddenly feel so relaxed, so warm and safe and wet. “Uh oh,” I find myself whispering, as I feel my shoes squelch.
“Don’t worry,” my friend says. “It’s pretty hot, actually. And I’m glad you’re not sore any more.”
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” I say.
“It doesn’t feel so bad, does it?” she says.
And now I’m wet and relaxed, I have to agree with her. It feels naughty and strange and good.
