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Hey, look, the semester is over! Honestly, I've lost a few ideas from the ridiculousness of this year and laziness in not writing them down. This one stuck ? 

****

    “It’s a strange city, Ali! We can’t just walk back alone!” 

    “We’re not alone,” Ali argued, exasperated. “There’s three of us.” 

    “We’re women!” Hattie cried, almost shrieking in her drunken state. “We’re vulllllllnerable!” 

    Next to her roommate, Myra snorted. “Vulllllnerable,” she repeated. 

    Ali rolled her eyes. Neither of her teammates were as intoxicated as they seemed, but they were all tired and giddy after a long day at the conference championship meet. Nationals weren’t for another few weeks, so most of the swim team had gone out to local bar to celebrate. Now that it was after midnight, Ali wanted to leave, but her two relay teammates didn’t want to walk back to their hotel.    

    “It’ll take ages to get a Lyft,” Ali insisted. “And the surge pricing will be ridiculous. Come on, it’s less than a mile.” 

    Hattie opened her mouth to reply, but out of the corner of her eye, Ali saw the potential for a last-ditch desperation play. 

    “Look, Jordan is leaving!” Ali pointed to the tall junior strolling toward the door. “We’ll just walk back with him!” 

    “Jordan won’t go with us,” Hattie slurred, but she and Myra were already following Ali through the crowd. 

    “Jordan!” 

    Jordan Clark paused at the sound of Ali’s shout. She was striding toward him with a smile. It was a sight he was thoroughly unaccustomed to. 

    Undeterred by Jordan’s black face, Ali approached the team star. “Are you heading back to the hotel?” 

    “Yeah.” 

    “Perfect! We’ll just walk back with you,” Ali beamed as if she hadn’t just more or less demanded assistance from the least-sociable member of the entire swim team. 

    It wasn’t the Jordan was mean, per se – he was just selfish. He’d been one of the most highly-recruited freshman to join the squad in years, and when he’d arrived on campus, he’d made it clear that he wasn’t there to make friends. Jordan was all business – first in the pool, first in the showers, never hanging around to chat with his teammates. He was an individual medley specialist but was so dominant at the breaststroke that he’d broken two conference records in his sophomore year. Now, as a junior, he was considered a lock for the next Olympic team. Until then, of course, he was a member of the university team. Nominally, anyway. 

    Most of the other swimmers would never have considered asking Jordan to accompany them on a walk back to the hotel – it was just understood that Jordan had no interest in altruism. He only looked out for himself. He was militant in his training and nutrition, and after his freshman year, teammates had all but stopped inviting him out. The fact that he had come to the bar at all was stunning, but then again, he had just won two of races and qualified for nationals in all four events he swam. 

    Ali knew Jordan’s brusque personality, of course, having been on the team with him for the past two years, but she wasn’t particularly bothered at the moment. She just wanted to convince Myra and Hattie to walk back to the hotel. If Hattie was worried about their “vulnerability” as women, then surely having a male future Olympian walking with them would ease her alcohol-infused anxiety. 

    Jordan stared at Ali for a second, almost bemused. He’d come to the bar at the insistence of one of the team captains and had ended up staying far longer than he intended, just sitting and nursing a beer. When he’d seen how late it was, he tried to slip out unobtrusively. 

    No such luck. 

    Now, three of his younger, female teammates, two of whom looked quantifiably drunk, were gazing at him expectantly. 

    He looked back at Ali. “I’m not carrying them.” 

    The corner of Ali’s mouth quirked up. She hadn’t really expected her impromptu plan to work. 

    “They’re fine,” she said. “It’s not that long of a walk.” 

    Jordan didn’t reply; he just turned and walked out the door, letting the girls follow him. He knew it wasn’t a long walk – that’s why he was going to take it himself. It was also why he didn’t bother coming up with an excuse – he could manage 15 minutes. 

    He held the door, letting the girls spill onto the sidewalk in front of him. The hotel was on the same street, so it wasn’t like he had to worry about them taking a wrong turn. It should be a fairly quick trip. 

    It had to be a quick trip. Jordan had to pee. 

    The combination of the exciting day, the loud bar, and the beer made him lose track of time. By the time he finished his pint and looked at the clock, he realized his bladder was way fuller than he would have liked. Now, the idea of having to slow down for Ali, Hattie, and Myra made him distinctly uncomfortable. He knew he’d be fine, ultimately, but he was also nearing the point of squirming, and he didn’t want the girls to see. 

    Hence, the walking behind them. 

    To Jordan’s mild surprise, they were all moving along at a decent pace. No one was trying to engage him in conversation, though Ali occasionally looked back, as if she thought he would somehow vanish. 

    They walked in peace (not silence – Myra and Hattie were gabbing mindlessly) for about five minutes until they were in a quiet part of the street, where any remaining businesses were closed for the night. 

    “Ladies…”

    Jordan and Ali stopped far more abruptly than Hattie and Myra, who were too deep into their giggly conversation to immediately notice the leering young man who had stepped out in front of them. 

    “Where’re y’headed so late?” the man slurred, either drunk or just awful or both. 

    Every cell in the man’s body radiated creep, to the extent that even buzzed, fairly naïve college sophomores could notice it. Hattie and Myra stopped, inching closer together. Ali spoke up from behind them. 

    “Jurgens? Back off, man.” 

    Jurgens smirked. “So my reputation precedes me.”

    “We were at the same pool, jackass,” Ali snapped. “The fact that you seemed to care more about your pecs than your split time was memorable.”

    The rival swimmer curled his upper lip. “Wasn’t talking to you, State,” he sneered. He clearly didn’t know any of their names – just their university affiliation. 

    Ali rolled her eyes and grabbed her friends by their arms. “We’re leaving.” 

    Eerily, but almost predictably, two of Jurgens’ teammates stepped out from the alley. 

    “Oh, really?” Jurgens sneered, now backed up by two equally fit college students. “What if we don’t want you to go?” 

    Ali’s heart rate spiked. She didn’t know Jurgens or his teammates personally – just their names and faces from conference meets. Three of them were too many to shove away, and she didn’t know how fast help would arrive if they screamed. 

    “Let them go.”

    Ali did a double-take. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten Jordan was with them, exactly; she just hadn’t actually considered him as an asset in their current situation. 

    Nor had she ever heard him sound quite so threatening. 

    “Clark,” breathed one of Jurgens’ lackeys, and Ali almost smiled. She knew they didn’t just recognize him from earlier that day – everyone in college swimming knew who Jordan was. 

    Jurgens glared. “And what are you gonna do about it, golden boy? How about we just take care of you, and then enjoy some time with the girls?”

    Slowly, almost casually, Jordan stepped in front of his teammates. “No.” 

    Jurgens drew himself up, but he still didn’t match Jordan’s height. “Like we’re gonna give you a choice.” 

    Jurgens reared back and swung, a punch that Jordan easily ducked. He responded by grabbing Jurgen by the shirt and shoving him back into the alley. Jurgens’ friends followed, looking bewildered but angry. 

    “Ali!” Hattie looked at her friend with wild eyes. 

    Still holding onto Hattie and Myra’s arms, Ali pulled them across the alley entryway, briefly glancing over to see Jordan surrounded by the opposing swimmers. The sight was enough to make Ali pause when they were in front of the next building, out of sight of the alley. She really didn’t want to stick around, but 3-on-1 wasn’t a good situation, and she didn’t want to leave Jordan in danger. 

    Hattie and Myra clung to her arms, all three of them listening to the grunts, moans, and punches coming from the alley. At one point, Ali heard a sound like wood breaking. 

    They stood for about a minute until Ali finally pulled herself together. “We should-“ 

    “Jordan!” Myra yelped, pointing as their teammate stepped out from the side street. 

    He looked ruffled – literally, his hair was mussed and his shirt wrinkled – but otherwise unhurt. 

    Ali’s shoulders slumped with unexpected relief. “What-“

    “Let’s go.” Jordan jerked his head in the direction of the hotel. 

    Myra and Hattie, harboring no desire to stick around, turned and started walking down the street, still clutching each other’s arms. 

    Ali turned as well but stayed next to Jordan as they walked. 

    “Will they follow us?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to worry her friends. 

    “Probably not.” 

    Ali looked hard at their unexpected protector. There were no visible marks on his face, but he seemed to be walking stiffly. 

    “Are you-“

    “Fine,” Jordan interrupted, maintaining his string curt responses. “Just keep walking.” 

    Torn between wanting to sigh in exasperation and wanting to thank Jordan for literally saving them, Ali decided on a middle ground of leaving him alone. She sped up to join Hattie and Myra for the last few blocks to the hotel. 

    Behind her, Jordan let out a slow breath. The fight hadn’t been long, but three in-shape guys (albeit ones who didn’t really know how to fight) were still enough to get in a few shots. One – Jordan wasn’t sure who – had smashed a wooden board against Jordan’s side. Plus, the delay and the adrenaline from the fight had his bladder in overdrive. He was still pretty sure he could make it back to the hotel, but not without some external efforts. 

    They walked for another five minutes, barely slower than their previous pace. In the distance, Jordan could finally see the brightly-lit sign atop their 15-story hotel. It was still several blocks away, but at least they were getting close. 

    The journey was oddly quiet at this point. Hattie and Myra were no longer chattering, and the particular area of town where they were staying wasn’t well-populated after midnight. In the quiet, Jordan did his best not to make any noise as he reached his hand between his legs, squeezing for a brief sense of respite. He did this a few more times, quickly, making sure to stop before Ali turned around and saw him. 

    Jordan’s intermittent holding was keeping his need at bay, just barely. Breathing deeply didn’t help, since his side hurt so badly, and he felt shaky from the adrenaline crash, but now they were only about two blocks away.

    He was focused so intently on holding it for those last couple of blocks that he failed to notice the ill-kept sidewalks. His foot hit a pothole in the sidewalk, and his ankle turned sharply, pitching him to the side.

    In a half second, Jordan went down on one knee, one hand braced against the brick wall to his left and the other on his raised right knee, heart racing and breathing hard. 

    To Jordan, that half-second felt like ages. He felt his ankle turn. He felt himself fall. He felt his knee hit the ground and his hand hit the wall. 

    He felt himself start to have an accident. 

    Over the rushing in his ears, Jordan heard the girls stop and turn at the sound of his fall. He was looking down, but he could tell they started walking back toward him, but just as quickly, they stopped. 

    They could see what was happening. 

    On the quiet street, the sound of trickling was unaccountably loud. He wasn’t directly under a street lamp, but the ambient light glistened off the growing wetness down Jordan’s left thigh. 

    “Jordan!”

    “Oh my god.” 

    Ali’s concerned cry was cut off by Hattie’s stunned murmur. Collectively, the girls stopped, each unable to keep from staring. 

    It occurred to Jordan to try to stop himself, but in the same instant, he knew any attempt would be futile. He was trembling, his side was throbbing, and he really didn’t want to prolong the situation with any unsuccessful attempts to stop the hot stream soaking into his pants. 

    It was far too many long, horrible seconds of nothing but the completely unfamiliar feeling of going to the bathroom through his pants accompanied by the sounds of liquid pattering onto the sidewalk and Hattie and Myra’s stunned muttering. Jordan hated every second. Not that you could see it on his still-blank face. 

    The trickling slowed to a stop, and now the only sound was Jordan’s labored breathing. He knew he would have to move, and soon, but he couldn’t get his thoughts – or body – in order just yet. 

    Before he even had time to try, Ali was kneeling in front of him. 

    “You OK?”

    Head still down, Jordan raised his eyes, fixing Ali with a contemptuous glare that very clearly said Are you fucking kidding me? I’m a 21-year-old man who just pissed himself on the street. Does it look like I’m OK? 

    Ali dropped her head in a momentary apology for her ill-phrased question. “Can you walk?” she amended. 

    Jordan straightened his back slightly and flexed his ankle. It panged, but he could tell it wasn’t serious.

    “Yeah.”

    Ali pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand, but Jordan ignored it. He swayed when he rose, but ultimately stood up straight and took a tentative step forward. 

    Even Hattie and Myra read the mood in the air correctly and resumed walking toward the hotel without saying a word, staying in front of Jordan. Ali stayed back a few steps but knew better than to try to walk directly next to Jordan. 

    Through instinct or luck, Hattie led them to the side door of the hotel, circumventing the front desk. Myra had her room key ready to open the door and activate the elevator. She pressed the button for the sixth floor and Jordan reached up to press the 8.

    When the elevator doors opened the first time, Ali hesitated before she stepped through. She felt like she should do or say something, but Jordan was staring at the floor. 

    So she just looked back as the doors shut, obscuring the man who, 20 minute ago, had been nothing more than her selfish, obscenely talented teammate. 

    Back in his room, Jordan winced in the bathroom as he peeled off his drenched pants and underwear, but he truly cringed when he pulled off his shirt. A dark, mottled bruise covered the entirety of his right side, and he ached with every move of his arms. 

    He’d known the moment it happened, but the bathroom mirror confirmed it – at least one of his ribs was broken. 

    Jordan closed his eyes and breathed as deeply as he could without straining his ribs before stepping in the shower. The hot water felt good, and he was ashamedly relieved at the feeling of stickiness being washed away from his legs. 

    Washing and drying himself took longer than usual, obviously. He pulled on some pajama pants and reached for the first aid kit he always traveled with. He also paid for his own room, a luxury the coaches allowed because he was the best. Jordan had little patience for roommates, and tonight, he was extra grateful for the isolated setup. 

    As he pulled out the ace bandage, he heard a knock on the door. Anticipating the identity of the guest, Jordan gingerly put on a t-shirt. Looking through the keyhole confirmed his guess, and he opened the door to a somewhat hesitant-looking Ali. 

    Ali stared for a moment. Seeing Jordan in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, hair wet from the shower, made him look miles more vulnerable and relatable than she’d ever witnessed. Realistically, pjs and a t-shirt weren’t that far off from the university-issued sweats that he wore to and from practice, and she’d obviously seen him with wet hair before, but apparently, Ali wasn’t done seeing Jordan in a completely new light yet. 

    “I wanted to say thank you,” she spit out, unnerved. 

    Jordan blinked, his face not betraying any emotion. 

    Ali inhaled. “You saved us tonight, and none of us thanked you, and you got hurt, and-“

    “I’m fine,” Jordan lied, cutting Ali off yet again. 

    Jordan’s characteristic monosyllabism was enough to put Ali more at ease. “Then what’s the ace bandage for?” she challenged, looking past him into the room. 

    Jordan turned to look back at the bed where the incriminating first aid kit was sitting, astonished at Ali’s gall. The movement was too quick, though, and he pressed his lips together in pain. 

    “Jordan!” Emboldened by the events of the night, Ali pushed past an even more stunned Jordan into the room. She spun back and looked at him as he shut the door. 

    “You’re hurt.” Her eyebrows raised in bewilderment. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed it on the street. Somehow, in the chaos of the moment, even with the accident, she didn’t pay attention to the way Jordan was holding himself. Now, in the brighter light of the hotel room, she could see him favoring his right side, clearly in pain. 

    “It’s fine,” Jordan said, altering his earlier claim in a subtle but important way. 

    Ali rolled back her shoulders, absorbing the impact of Jordan’s words. 

    “Let me help.” 

    Jordan reluctantly sat on the bed and pulled out the instant-activation ice pack from the first aid kit. He squeezed it a few times, then handed the ace bandage to Ali. She sat next to him and paused for just a second before lifting off his shirt. 

     Ali gasped, and Jordan shook his head, preparing to argue. 

    “Your ribs are broken-“

    “I know.”

    “It looks really bad!”

    “It’s not that bad.”

    “I didn’t know-“

    “It’s not your fault.”

    “Jordan!” Ali cried, her voice at least an octave higher than usual. “You won’t be able to swim at nationals!”

    Jordan sighed and looked into the tear-filled eyes of the girl sitting next to him. 

    “I know,” he repeated softly. The ice pack was now cold in his hands, and he pressed it against his side. Ali took the unintended hint and started wrapping the ace bandage around his torso. 

    “Jordan-“ she started, thoroughly unsure of what to say. She shook her head, smirking mirthlessly. “Coach is gonna be piiiiiiiiiiissed. He’d rather you just let us get rape-“

    “Don’t,” Jordan snapped, putting his hand on Ali’s elbow. He looked alarmed. “Don’t say that.” 

    Ali stared back, her face a mix of pity and resolve. “You’re a more valuable asset than all three of us combined. And if I hadn’t forced you into walking back with us, you wouldn’t be out of commission.” 

    “But you would be.” Jordan looked genuinely perturbed. 

    Ali shrugged as she attached the end of the bandage. She was still processing the fact that Jordan had not only voluntarily taken on three guys to protect her, Hattie, and Myra, but that he’d been fairly seriously wounded in the process, and she hadn’t noticed, or at least hadn’t pushed the issue. She dealt with this process by being acerbic. 

    “At least that wouldn’t have lost us any points at nationals.” 

    “Jesus!” Jordan pounded the bed with his left hand. “Ali, stop it. This isn’t about fucking points at a goddamn swim meet!”

    Cowed, Ali leaned back.

    “I know I’m not Miss Congeniality,” Jordan said, staring down at his hands in his lap. “It’s just…logical on my part. I get in the water first because I’m the fastest, so I should be in front. I shower first because I don’t like small talk, so there’s no point in me hanging around.”

    He raised his head, looking Ali straight in the eye. 

    “That doesn’t mean for one second that I would think of letting you, or any of my teammates, or anyone get attacked for the sake of…just to make sure I can…swim better!”

    Ali gazed back at Jordan’s earnest, incredulous face. She was overcome with the urge to kiss him but decided against it. 

    Jordan wasn’t a selfish jerk – he was just an introvert, and a pragmatic one, at that. She hated the situation that had led to that realization, and she hated having thought of him as a dick for so long. 

    “Well, thank you,” she said softly. “I really don’t know what we would have done without you.” 

    “I don’t regret it,” Jordan insisted, anticipating Ali’s thought process. “This is the best possible outcome for what happened tonight.” 

    Ali smiled weakly, standing. She knew it was time to leave; they were both tired. “I’m still gonna let myself feel bad for cheating you out of a national championship. Probably more than one.”

    Jordan held the door as Ali stepped into the hallway, returning her half-smile. “I’m just a junior. There’s always next year.” 
 

Edited by Sapphire3619
Formatting didn't paste correctly (see edit history)
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On 5/30/2018 at 6:14 PM, Pilly Christal said:

I liked it! I like that in your stories there is always something more than an accident, your stories have souls, just as your characters. Jordan was really nice, I liked him. And I'm happy that I could read the conversation at the end too. ?

 

I agree with user above. Good story and I became more and more the fan of male wetting stories ?.

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On 5/27/2018 at 3:19 AM, Melificentfan said:

Jordan the hero man that was a excellent story 

Thank you! 

On 5/27/2018 at 7:09 AM, bazinga said:

I’m so glad you’re back! I love the positive twist in Jordan’s personality towards the end. Excellent writing as usual ?

Thanks! This was based on a random tumblr prompt (totally non-omo, but you know how it is ? )

On 5/29/2018 at 6:12 AM, JT Bull said:

I think I'd like to see a male witnessing another male have an accident, since I've noticed that in your posts, the people who witness the main character's wetting are usually female-just saying.? Anyways, love this one!

I've written some of those before (Roommates, Not Friends is all male-male, and The Game is Unfair, Til We Get Home, and The Most Powerful Organ are all males), but you're right; it's been awhile since I've written one! I guess that'll have to be my next project ?

On 5/30/2018 at 12:14 PM, Pilly Christal said:

I liked it! I like that in your stories there is always something more than an accident, your stories have souls, just as your characters. Jordan was really nice, I liked him. And I'm happy that I could read the conversation at the end too. ?

 

Thanks, Pilly! I feel like if I don't change up the characters and motivations, then I'm just writing the same scenes over and over again!

On 6/1/2018 at 2:38 AM, Manowar said:

I agree with user above. Good story and I became more and more the fan of male wetting stories ?.

Thank you so much! That's good to hear, especially since I pretty much write only male wetting stories!

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