Jump to content
Existing user? Sign In

Sign In



Sign Up

Here

Dry Member
  • Posts

    3
  • Joined

  • Last visited

4 Followers

Personal Information

  • My pronouns are..
    she/her

Recent Profile Visitors

The recent visitors block is disabled and is not being shown to other users.

Here's Achievements

  1. This isn't an erotic story (to me, anyway), but @April Nine's memories of exchanging "awkward smiles" with a teacher reminded me of something super embarrassing that I've never forgotten and think my teacher probably hasn't, either. We are still in touch to this day, and she's been very supportive throughout my career and life, but sometimes I marvel at the fact that this happened and we have managed to just move on and never mention it at all. I was in grad school, taking a sociology class that met in the morning. I met my professor for coffee before class to talk about something. We headed to class together, and I put my stuff down at my desk and then went to the bathroom. Being that we were on a floor full of classes that were about to start, the bathroom was crowded, noisy, and hectic. It probably contained about eight stalls, many of which did not lock properly, so you had to just kind of hold the door closed with your foot and/or hope for the best. I was in a rush, wanting to get back in time for class to start, so I ran into an open stall. I was trying to close the door as well as I could when suddenly I heard it: my name. Not something you want to hear coming from behind you as you enter a bathroom stall! I turn around, and there, sitting on the toilet (poor thing!) is my professor, yanking her denim skirt over her knees. Thank goodness I sincerely did not see anything private, except her very nondescript underwear around her ankles. I don't know what happened next--I had kind of an out of body experience from embarrassment--but I think I screamed "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" a million times and ran like hell to a stall at the other end of the bathroom. As I entered that stall, I heard my name again. Dear Lord. Now what? I looked down the line of stalls and saw the door to the one that contained my teacher, swinging open. This time, rather than run screaming, I was so mortified that I froze. A beat passed, and then I saw the door suddenly yank shut as she must have grabbed it from inside and pulled it to. That's right: Not only did I walk in on my beloved, revered professor in a bathroom stall, but I abandoned her with the door swinging wide open, possibly exposing her to more students. "Sorry!" I cried again. I'm sure she could not hear me across seven stalls of flushing toilets. I used the stall I was now in, feeling vaguely guilty that it locked and that I enjoyed a level of peace and privacy I karmically did not deserve. I guess the pre-class rush had mostly cleared out. By the time I came out to wash my hands, the bathroom was nearly empty--most mercifully, even my teacher must have finished and left. There were a couple of other people still around and, thinking they must have witnessed my drama, I tried with a sheepish smile to make eye contact. But nobody even seemed to notice, so maybe I had no other witnesses after all. Back in the classroom, class still hadn't started yet (in retrospect, my professor was probably still recovering!). I texted what happened to my best friend/classmate, who was also a close mentee of this professor. I then told her, out loud, to check her phone. Irritatingly, she kept insisting I tell her out loud what was going on, convinced there was some kind of horrible emergency. When she finally read my text, she just exclaimed "NO!" and looked at me, her face twitching between horror and amusement. I'm sure my professor overheard that whole conversation, and I've always felt terrible about this! For the rest of grad school, every time that friend had to use the restroom, she'd turn to me and say "DON'T FOLLOW ME!" on her way, and I always also worried my professor would overhear and be embarrassed by that, too. Anyway, the awkward smile part: I had not one but TWO classes with that professor that day. At the end of each of them, I had to go up to her and hand something in and say goodbye. Both times, we exchanged this look/smile that I would like to think said the exact same thing: "I'm SO sorry, "I bet you are," "Let's just please never speak about this again," "Deal." Between those two classes, my friend and I assessed the situation. "Okay," she said, "So, the good news is, you didn't 'see' anything. It's not like she was pooping, or putting in a tampon, or shooting heroin. Plus, like, maybe a professor should not use a bathroom with lockless stalls that her students would be using, and should lock the door when taking a shit." I don't think this was at all my professor's fault! There aren't other bathrooms on that floor, and if she's anything like me, she makes a point of using the restroom before a three hour class (especially one she is teaching and after drinking coffee!). As a professor now myself, I know having to go while teaching is 100 times worse and more distracting than having to go as a student. I don't see it as anyone's fault, really, just bad luck. But I always think about how, when we were having coffee earlier, I'd noticed a pad peeking out of her bag. So I do feel really lucky, for both of us, that I did not see more than I did!
  2. I had to pee on the way home from a meeting but didn't feel like going before I left. I stopped at the grocery store for some takeout and then to pick up groceries for the week. I remembered I had to pee as I entered the store, but forgot in my excitement to buy and eat my dinner. Dinner included a ginger ale, which I downed quickly. I always start my grocery shopping in the aisle farthest from the bathrooms, which is also where the checkout line is. By the time I got over to that aisle, with my cart, and remembered I had to pee...it was too much work to go all the way back to the bathroom. Plus, I figured I'd forget about it again, the way I had twice earlier. But, every time I paused in my shopping--to read something, examine something--the need to pee struck again, and I had to wiggle around to keep from going. Eventually, I was just dancing constantly. I was lucky that I have most of my shopping on automatic pilot at this point; I didn't really have to stop moving to get what I needed. In any other store, I'd be self-conscious...but this is a weird neighborhood coop where people where bare feet and bring their dogs and very little raises an eyebrow. The only worrisome thing was that the urge was not entirely controlled by dancing, and I knew I still had three more aisles plus checkout to go. When I got to the last aisle, I was near the bathrooms, but was feeling pretty under control from all my dancing. I figured I would pay and then pee. As I neared the checkout area, I scanned for a till that wasn't as long...only to see that they were all long. This realization made me freeze with hesitation, right outside the bathroom, as a gush came out. Not feeling I had much choice anymore, I left my groceries at the entrance to the hallway where the bathrooms are, ran in, and peed. I was very glad I did, because it would have been a long ride home without space to dance like that. 🙂
  3. I'm over 18 and identify as female, but would prefer not to give descriptive details. Please imagine whatever would make you happiest ? This is my first story on here, so be nice. I don't tend to challenge myself with holding, but there was one time when I did. I was wandering around my neighborhood and put off peeing for awhile; I was maybe at a 3 or 4 by the time I got to the bookstore where I'd planned to spend the majority of the afternoon. I wanted to pick up a new book to read, and was choosing between two. I knew this bookstore had no bathroom, so I only had so much time to browse. I picked up the first book I'd been thinking of, Between the World and Me, and sat down to read it. By the time I got about halfway through it--it's not long--I had to go badly enough that I couldn't ignore it. So, I figured it was about time I started looking for the other book. As soon as I stood up, the urge got much stronger, and I had to squeeze my thighs together, and bounce for a moment, to keep from leaking. I managed, though. I started wandering around the store, looking for the other book I was interested in, Modern Love. The first thing I came across, though, was a cute coffee-table type book that a dad wrote about things his toddler would say to him. I flipped through it quickly, my legs crossed, and was relatively comfortable. But when I got to the last page, a sudden urge hit me and I had to bounce and squeeze my thighs again. I figured I'd better hurry along so I could get home and use the bathroom. Rather than keep looking for the book, I decided to head to the counter and ask. I stood at the (rather high) store counter, which came up to about my chin. My hips were cocked to one side to help hold it, because now that I was still and not distracted, my urge to pee was as strong as it had been. As I waited to get someone's attention (the staff seemed either busy or not particularly concerned with answering costumers' questions) I overheard the woman in front of me ask where the bathroom was. The staff confirmed what I knew: that they don't let customers use their bathroom. But, they tipped her off to an available bathroom at the Starbucks across the street. I found this encouraging. I could make it across the street! I just had to get that second book, make a decision, make my purchase, and head. Since I was doing well holding it with my legs crossed, I figured I'd make it. I don't struggle with leaks or anything like that normally. It took awhile, though, for someone to notice and help me, and all the while, I was squeezing my muscles hard. By the time I had someone's attention, and I asked about the book, and they finished what they were doing, and came around the other side of the counter, and led me over to the book...well, I managed to hold it fine for that amount of time, but as they walked away and I finally opened Modern Love, I guess I got excited. An urge hit me so strongly and suddenly that I couldn't catch it this time, and I felt a warm leak in my underpants. I told myself it wasn't a big deal, and might even just be sweat. But of course, the urge was so strong and persistent now that I couldn't give this book as fair a chance as I had the first one. I remember just feeling impatient with it and deciding it must be too long and boring for me to read (note: it's not! I read it a few years later, not needing to pee, and it was great--highly recommend). Anyway, I decided I'd better just go with the first option, and made my way over to the purchasing counter--same counter as before, but a different area--so I could get to the bathroom soon. In line to buy my chosen book, I was starting to feel a bit panicked. I was shifting from side to side as subtly as I could, now having little leaks every few minutes, and the fact that I could see the Starbucks across the street was not helping. I wondered if that other lady had made it. Like the staff in the information area, the guy behind the cashier counter was in no particular hurry. He was having a fascinating conversation (I guess) with someone else back there, and only turning back toward me when there was a lull in that conversation. For better or for worse, he didn't much seem to notice me, let alone be able to see that I was squirming around trying not to pee myself. I didn't feel particularly full; just like my muscles were tired. Finally, he finished ringing me up and gave me my book with the receipt and a store bookmark. Thanking him, I headed out through the glass doors. I was feeling confident now as I tiptoed across the cobblestone street toward Starbucks. I opened the door, walked inside, walked up to the door, and-- Out of Order. It was like a freakin fiction entry on one of these sites. I'd have laughed, but I was in too much pain, and very far from home. Walking back outside, I for the first time honestly wondered if I'd make it. I felt confident I would, but then, I'd been leaking so frequently for the last ten minutes that it would only be a matter of time before more came out, and faster. I started walking home, concerned that any more failed attempts to find a public bathroom would spell an accident. The way was mostly uphill, with a lot of stopping for traffic and lights, so I had to keep doing very subtle pee dances to avoid drawing too much attention to myself (I'm not into that). There were also all kinds of obstacles on the sidewalk: a young couple fighting, an old couple moving at the pace of an old couple. I could not get by either. And then, most idiotically, I decided to stop at the grocery store. It had been one of those weeks where I kept forgetting to buy what I needed when I had a chance. Or maybe I was just so annoyed with all the traffic that I figured I'd take a break. Or, maybe I wanted to challenge myself. I honestly don't know, but it was a really dumb idea. This store NEVER has a line...but that day, each register had a string of customers extending all the way to the back of the store. Having given up all hope of subtlty, I was now openly bobbing up and down as I waited my turn. I could see the guy behind the counter glancing at me apologetically as the lady he was ringing up blabbered on about god knows what. Finally, it was time for me and my three items. By the time I left, I wasn't feeling nervous or desperate--I was just annoyed and in pain. I was only a block and a half from my place, and eager to get there. As I stepped outside, I felt it: the cool breeze going up my shorts, and the moisture on my thighs. I'd leaked. Like, a lot. You couldn't see it on my shorts, and I was too numb to even feel it properly from holding in so hard. But the evidence was there. Slightly horrified, and still in pain, I bent forward and hobbled home as quickly as I could while holding two shopping bags. I longed to squeeze myself, but that would have involved stopping, which would have brought on another urge and probably a leak. I got to my apartment building lobby and had to decide between the (very slow, single) elevator and the stairs. I decided the elevator would take longer, but the stairs would make me leak, so I chose elevator. This meant now standing in the foyer for a good three minutes, which I chose to occupy by pacing and marching back and forth, and wiggling in place. When I finally got on the elevator and pushed my floor, I was relieved to be in privacy--but the elevator floor was so filthy that the idea of putting either bag down to hold myself did not seem worth it. It seemed like an eternity before I got to my floor, the door opened, and I was able to shuffle down the hall, key in hand. Once inside, I dropped my purchases on the floor, threw my other stuff on my bed, and ran into the bathroom, already unbottoning myself and not bothering to close the door (I live alone). I sat down and waited for awhile to relax enough to pee, ironically. But the entire gusset of my underwear were wet, and when I finally did start peeing, I peed for over 30 seconds which is a lot for me. Phew. That was exhausting, and so was writing about it.
×
×
  • Create New...