The latest update in the Sarah’s Secret Diary archives.
This week, I started shopping for Christmas. One Saturday, John, my boyfriend, and I went on a trip to London’s West End. We wanted to make it a great Christmas for our families.
We got out of the Underground Station at Piccadilly Circus, and started browsing for our choices. I would rather buy some presents from the web if we had an internet-ready computer, but that cannot replace the thrill (or is it stress?) of going out to the shops and buying the presents.
I earlier made the fatal mistake of not going to the toilet before I set out, and by now I was bursting for a pee. There was a set of them at the station, but I forgot to use them.
A couple of hours later, and I was starting to get frantic. John was too busy looking at potential presents. All I needed was a potential toilet….any toilet!
We went to a bookstore, which was once part of a famous department store, and looked through shelf upon shelf of books. We were in there for at least an hour and a half, and I couldn’t tell John that I needed to pee badly. There was an abundance of toilets in the building, but I was worried that if I had told him, he would get angry. He continually reminds me of my accident in New York. I squeezed my legs together and hoped for the pressure to go away, but I have been waiting for so long.
I felt that I was going to burst at any moment, so I discreetly moved away from John to look for a toilet. I managed to find one and got into one of the cubicles, and looked the door. But I had a new problem…. Although I was able to undo the button of my trousers, I couldn’t get my zip down. I had struggled with it by trying to yank it up and down. I was getting really frantic at this point, and felt I was on the verge of wetting myself there and then.
In one last, desperate move, I yanked the zip again, and eventually, it came down. I pulled down my trousers and knickers at the last possible moment, and started to pee on the toilet. What a relief…. I must have spent at least a minute and a half in there.
When I left the toilet, I saw John was waiting outside.
“You didn’t wet yourself, did you?” he asked, sternly.
I grabbed his hand and placed it on my crotch.
“It’s not wet, see?” I replied, and with that we carried on browsing the bookstore.