This is the second of the three accounts of wetting and desperation sent in from a lady to former editor Neville.
Let me tell you about last summer. I had gone to Plymouth for the day on my own. I was dressed in a pink skirt with a white top and sandals. It was the first time I had ever visited Plymouth, so I was enthralled by all the shops there to look in.
It was a hot morning so, as well as my usual half a dozen mugs of tea, I also consumed three cans of diet cola. It was a long journey on the train, so the minute I got off at my stop, I brought another drink which I gulped straight down (orangeade, I think it was), then got the taxi to the centre of town. When I got out of the taxi, a strong urge to pee hit me, but I ignored it. I’m used to holding it and I was not going to let it get between me and hitting the exciting shops I could see.
I went into a large CD shop which had a huge collection of country music. I must have spent at least half an hour in there. The moment I left the shop, I realised my need to pee was very bad now. It was bordering on desperation.
“Darn it!” I thought. “Where am I going to find a toilet from here?” I couldn’t see signs for one, only for more tempting shops.
I was lured into this huge department store hoping there will be one. A sudden wave hit me a lot harder than I’ve been expecting and I realised that getting to a toilet was my main priority, but where were they?
It was a huge store, but I could not see signs for a toilet anywhere. I continued wandering along the store anxiously looking for signs of a toilet, but I could not see any. By now I was very desperate and in real trouble, so I asked a store assistant for directions.
“There’s one on the third floor,” she replied.
I looked for the escalators to get me there. My bladder was throbbing now I was very desperate and I didn’t have a lot of time. I would’ve loved the luxury of holding myself, but in a crowded place that wasn’t possible. I found the escalators and started to go up. They seemed so slow…. I was gritting my teeth and standing cross-legged now. I was okay until I got to the top and had to move my legs to get off.
This was only the first floor now. I had to walk to another set of escalators to take me to the second floor, but, for a minute, I couldn’t move. In sheer frantic desperation I considered going into a changing room and relieving myself on the floor. I was that bad, I had a discreet rub on my pussy just to ease it long enough to get across the shop floor to those escalators.
Those things are darned slow I tried to walk up them, but that caused my bladder to give out a little and I had to grab myself tightly with both hands to stop the warm trickle of pee running down my legs. Once my hands were there, I couldn’t let go. I knew I would get strange looks from people, but I would get even stranger looks if I didn’t hold myself, because I knew I was on the brink of wetting myself.
Again, I was stable until I got to the top and had to resume walking. It was taking every ounce of strength I could muster up the final set of escalators. I could feel my hands were wet and that some pee had leaked through my fingers and dripping down my legs, but I was doing all the best I could.
I got up to the third floor and looked frantically for the ladies toilet. There was a MENS sign on this side of the floor, the LADIES were a few yards away just on the other side, but I had no choice as I felt a long spurt of pee escape past my hands and ran down my legs.
I hobbled into the mens’ toilet. They were giving me funny looks, but I guess they understood why I couldn’t make it to the other side just by looking at me. To my horror, no matter how much I tried, and what I did was only for a few seconds it would’ve taken me to get through the door to the cubicle, I started peeing myself and absolutely nothing I did at all helped. I couldn’t stop the stream from pouring down my legs onto the floor in front of these men. I was so ashamed that I began to cry.
They were very kind and understanding and one helped me to dry off a little bit before I was reading to walk through the store. another even offered to walk with me to hide the wet stain where I had been clutching frantically at my crotch.