What had started out as just a quick drink after work had become a potential disaster by 9 o'clock.
I was in a student pub, probably 25 years older than most people there, already half drunk and wearing wet panties and tights because the journey from the White Horse, where we had started drinking had been too long for my tiny bladder.
On the good side, nobody had noticed me wetting my pants and the dim lighting would hide any wet patches on my skirt.
The pub was crowded so there was little risk of having to sit down on my wet panties.
The group of teaching students I was with were good company, so I stayed on, only partly mindful of the need to stay at least semi-sober.
It soon became obvious that I was not in the same drinking league as even the other girls and I changed from beer to orange juice or coke, at least part of the time.
To be honest, I cannot remember too many details of the latter part of the evening, only that I was finding it difficult to stand up straight and that I was going to the loo about every 5 minutes.
At some stage I remember discovering that my panties had dried out.
Eventually, of course, the pub shut, and I was faced with the reality of getting home.
Some of the original group were off to a party, others had got a lift back to the college, and there were just five of us left to share a taxi.
Marion, a tall, well-built girl, who had joined our group during the evening, had phoned for one, and as the pub closed its doors, we were left waiting in the car park.
Naturally, I had been to the loo, about my fiftieth visit, just before we left, but standing about waiting for the taxi, I was beginning to worry about going again.
I could not get back into the pub, and the brightly lit car park did not offer anywhere suitable for a discrete wee.
I was finding it difficult to keep track of the time, but I had just decided that I really did have to go, and was prepared to squat in the car park, in full view of everyone, when the taxi arrived.
I had left it too late, but I thought that if I was dropped off first then I would make it home OK.
As two of us were small, we all packed in the taxi with only minor grumbles from the driver; I was jammed in the middle of the back seat, next to Marion.
The driver, an immigrant of course, had no idea how to get to any of our homes, so Doug, in the front seat, was directing him.
I was still struggling to work out where everyone lived when the route was decided, Sheila, Marion, Doug, me, and finally Eddie.
This was a disaster for me, as my bladder was still filling quickly and I was already bursting for a wee.
We had not even reached Sheila's when I was desperate for a wee and I was trying to get into a position that would help me hold it back. Jammed in the centre of the back seat, there was no room for me to sit on my heel, which is what I wanted to do. Once I am desperate, which is quite frequently, I really struggle to hold back my wee unless I can get some help, either by crossing my legs, or preferably sitting on my heel.
I pressed my legs together and clenched my bladder shut as best I could, and just about managed to hang on until Sheila got out.
By then I was squirming about on the seat, rubbing my thighs together and then quickly knocking my knees together, and all the time tensing my bottom and rubbing my hands on my skirt.
Several times I thought I was going to lose control and wet myself, but somehow I just about managed to hold it.
In my drunken state, I was convinced that nobody would notice what I was doing and realise how desperate I was. I was fighting to keep control of my bladder and wanted
oh so much to hold between my legs, but I knew that this would make my plight obvious.
Once Sheila had gone, there was a bit more room in the back, but still no way I could sit on my heel, which I desperately wanted to do. This was going to be the only way I could possibly manage to hold out until I got home.
Because I was still in the middle, I could not even manage to cross my legs, so I was going frantic, wanting to wee desperately badly.
By turning partly sideways I was able to press my legs together a bit harder, but it was taking all my strength to hold back my wee, and I was not going to be able to wait much longer. At first I thought that once Marion got out there would be room for me to sit on my heel, and then I would be OK, but my bladder was filling so quickly that I realised that even if I managed to wait until Marion's, I would never be able to hold out until I got home.
As if to confirm this, a sudden spasm from my bladder was almost too much to control, but with eyes shut and hands clenched, I fought with all my strength and just managed to hold it. Or I thought I did, but it was such a close thing that I was afraid that I might have leaked a bit.
Being drunk did not help, and I was sitting there, gritting my teeth and hanging on with all my strength, knowing that the slightest relaxation would be fatal.
Frantic wasn't a strong enough word to describe my condition; my wee felt as if it was a millimetre from leaking into my panties, and I wasn't going to be able to hold it much longer. I cant remember how long I managed to survive like this, it seemed to be ages, but was probably no more than two minutes, and during that time I thought that every second was going to be the last I would be able to wait.
In a panic, I pressed one hand hard between my legs, trying to cover this my casually draping my other arm across my lap, whilst frantically working my fingers against my wee hole in a last despairing attempt to stem the flood.
I was fighting so hard to wait, I wasn't sure if this was just holding it back or not, but I knew that if I let go, then I would wet myself for certain. I no longer cared if anyone could see what I was doing; it was a case of if I didn't hold myself I was going to wee all over the back seat. I simply could not hold it back any longer, I wasn't ever going to be able to wait until I got home, I just had to wee somewhere in the next two minutes. If I could not get out of the taxi by then, then I was probably going to go in my panties. I was about to ask the driver to stop and let me wee at the side of the road when he stopped at Marion's. I was in such a state, drunk and very, very desperate that I had lost track of where we were.
This had to be my chance to get out for a wee and the only way I was going to avoid breaking down and flooding the taxi. I mumbled something about it will be quicker if I walk from here, gave Eddie �5 as my share of the fare and scrambled out after Marion before anyone could stop me. The taxi had double parked, so it was off as soon as I was out, leaving Marion and me, one hand jammed between my legs, frantically trying to control my bladder a bit longer, standing in the road.
" Nicola, what on earth did you get out here for? I thought you said you lived in St Paul's Road, that's miles away."
" I'm bursting, I have simply got to have a wee. I couldn't possibly have waited any longer, I just had to get out before I wet my pants." I replied.
" Oh Christ, I can't hold it, I must go right now" .
With this I ducked between two parked cars, hoisted my skirt, tore down my panties, and crouching down, let my wee come pouring out in a wonderful gush of relief. The one, probably only, good thing about a small bladder like mine, is that it empties quickly, so there is not so much chance of being caught in an embarrassing position with my panties down.
" Oh the relief!" I said to Marion, who was standing guard while I quickly pulled up my panties. " Another second and I think I would have wet my pants."
" From the look of your skirt, that's a bit of an understatement," said Marion.
I glanced down and saw a wet patch where I had pressed the skirt between my legs and then feeling behind me, realised the back was wet as well.
Oh no! I was fighting so hard to hold it, I wasn't sure whether I was leaking or not.
I lost my balance and staggered against Marion as I was feeling the back of my skirt.
" You're peeed in more ways than one," said Marion, " you had better come in and sort yourself out. You cant go walking through the streets like that."
Marion had a converted flat in a large Victorian house and she hurried me through the communal hall and led me into her bathroom.
" You can take your wet clothes off and clean yourself up, there's a towel and things. I'll make some coffee."
Twice I almost fell over trying to pull my wet panties down, then took my skirt off first and sat on the floor to remove my tights and panties, then for some reason decided to take my blouse off as well, so when Marion came to see how I was getting on, I was standing naked except for my bra, trying to keep my balance while I dried my legs.
She wrinkled her nose.
" You stink of pee," she said, " get in the shower and wash yourself properly. A good hot shower will sober you up."
I had no will to argue, nor did I think it strange that Marion stayed in the bathroom to see I didn't fall over again.
" Are you all right?" she asked as I showered.
" Yes, apart from being drunk, that is." I replied, not certain what she was getting at.
" You've been going to the loo every ten minutes all night, and you peeed your pants in the taxi. That's hardly normal behaviour for a grown woman, so I thought you must have a bladder infection or something."
We were two girls together despite our age difference, so I didn't make excuses.
" I've got a small bladder, an absolutely tiny one actually, and once it's full, its really hard to hold my wee back without some help. Jammed in the back of the taxi, I could not even cross my legs and by the time I started holding it, it was too late, I had leaked a bit.
If there had been enough room for me to sit on my heel, I would probably have been OK, though I don't think I would have been able to wait until I got home. I was wanting to go when the taxi arrived, another minute and I probably have gone in the pub car park."
" In the taxi it was pretty obvious that you wanted to pee really badly." Marion replied, " I was beginning to wonder how long you were going to be able to hold out, but I never dreamed you were so bad you were already peeing your pants."
"I only leaked a little bit," I protested, "if I hadn't been sitting down you would never have known."
Then I went on, "I completely wet myself on the way to the pub.
We had been in the White Horse first, and the bus ride was too long for me. Walking from the bus stop I let half a bladder full go in my panties, and I am sure nobody noticed."
For some reason, partly because I was standing naked, drying myself and partly because I was drunk, I told Marion the whole story of the evening.
When I had finished, she stared at me in amazement.
"Oh you poor thing, you mean you are always like this, needing to pee so often? How on earth do you manage?"
" I've learned not to drink too much, and to go to the loo whenever I get the chance. I have had enough experience, my bladder was diagnosed as being small when I was a child, and it hasn't got much better. Tonight was an aberration, I just got carried away."
Marion handed me a bath robe to wear. " I think you had better stay the night here, you cant go out in your wet things, and I don't have anything small enough for you to wear. Come and have some coffee."
I was only too grateful to M-accept, as the euphoria of the drink was wearing off and I just wanted to lay down and sleep. What had started as a quick drink after work had got completely out of hand, but so long as Marion did not tell anyone, my reputation as a teacher was still intact. I thought that after a good sleep, I could resume my normal sober life-style as if this dreadful wet night had not happened.
This story is continued in Part 3
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