WaityKaty

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WaityKaty last won the day on May 7 2017

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About WaityKaty

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  1. WaityKaty

    Genuine reasons you have delayed peeing?

    Anxietyif other people are around. Specifically not wanting other people to know I need to pee in case I can’t pee when I’ve made it clear I want to. Just being an idiot if I’m alone. I literally came online to post this reply because I was just dancing around in my kitchen thinking, “I’m about to wet myself.” I didn’t fwiw but there was absolutely no reason not to go earlier.
  2. WaityKaty

    Anxiety

    Thanks! No worries 🙂 thanks for reading it! Obviously this is somewhat of a pick-and-mix autobiography rather than a straight-up retelling. So the better or worse question is interesting. Probably worse... but it’d depend on context I didn’t give. Like where actually am I when this story is taking place? I sure hope so! We’ll see though. 🙂 I defo have lighter stories in mind. I do love different!
  3. Thanks! It was a something a bit different :) And also thanks to everyone I apparently forgot to thank a couple of years ago!
  4. WaityKaty

    Have you managed to hide an accident...

    People are fairly unobservant to be honest. Also polite. Just don’t make a fuss and you are a pretty good shot of drawing minimal attention.
  5. WaityKaty

    Anxiety

    Thank you so, so much. It is so hard to explain! Obviously everyone's experience is different. But this is a compilation of some of me. ❤️ Thanks! I've been interested in the nature of cyclicity and choice for a very long time. I've played with those themes in a number of my stories here actually. Particularly 'Don't Pee Your Pants'. *** I don’t need to pee. I lie to myself desperately. It isn't working. I can't. I can't. I can't convince myself. I can't hold on. I should have got up when I still could. I need to pee. I'm going to pee. You know that moment when it goes from "I might pee my pants" to "I'm actually going to pee my pants"? It's not a good moment. It's a bad moment. I twist around in my chair and try to find a position that lets me last just a little longer. I can't think of anything but how much I need to pee. My mind is trapped in a loop that I can’t break. A loop where all I can think about is how much I need to pee. And that I'm going to wet myself. Definitely going to. I can't just get up and go to the bathroom. Partly because, honestly, I might not make it anyway. Partly... I just can't handle the whole situation. I just can't cope. Action requires energy. It requires will. It requires the tiniest bit of bravery. A single drop of bravery can dissolve a thousand fears. I have only the fears. Legions of them. Inaction... just requires me to wait. It's a negation. An acceptance. I have a lot of things. My bladder is full. It is so fucking full. I don't dare let my arms get anywhere near it for fear of bumping myself and triggering the flood. I'm certain I forgot to pee at lunch. I rage at myself inwardly. You stupid bitch Katy... God damn it you stupid fucking whore. My therapist says I shouldn't talk to myself like that. That it isn't good for me. That I need to forgive myself for tiny mistakes and lapses. Fuck her. She doesn't get it. She isn't me. No one understands me. Fuck Katy. Fuck fuck fuck. I want to claw out my eyes. I grind my thighs together. I need to pee so incredibly badly. I've never in my life needed to pee so much. I can feel my muscles fatiguing, the crushing pressure of my straining bladder compressing my pelvic floor. I can't get up. Just get up! Katy, you stupid lazy slut, just get the fuck up. Arrrrgh. I hate myself. I don't get up. I've always done this. My entire life. Freezing when I get stressed. It was never a huge thing though. Like... it was a thing. One of many things. I have a lot of things. Like not being able to eat in front of people. I don't eat in front of people because I'm scared. Scared they will judge me for what I'm eating. Or not eating. Scared they will laugh at me if I forget my lunch. Scared they will feel bad for me if I don't get to eat for some reason. And I like being hungry. It's a pain I have control over. I could always fix it. But if I just don't eat I get to carry it around with me all day. It's something that doesn't own me. Except that... obviously it does. I have a lot of things. That time I wet myself on the bus? I relive it constantly. Poring over every detail. Every decision that I fucked up. Every stupid mistake that no one else would have made. But you know what? I'm not mad I didn't pee at my friend's house. I'm mad I drank a cup of tea at her house. It would have been rude to refuse. But I should have managed somehow. What the hell is wrong with me? I know that isn't the right lesson to take from that experience. But it's the only one I'm allowed to draw. Most people don't think like that. Most people would... never even consider thinking like that. What is wrong with me? My thing about pee definitely got worse after that. After my luck ran out. Much worse. I've been taking tactical pees ever since. Going when I don't need to. Just in case. Whenever I can bring myself to. I haven't had another accident. Gone close. Several times. I've talked to my therapist about it. She says it's become a fixation. And I need to try to come up with ways to stop thinking about it. Yeah. Once I get into a loop I'm not going to stop thinking about it. I'm stuck thinking more or less the same stuff over and over. Even if it changes a bit in each iteration I'm still just thinking about peeing myself and how much I suck. I grip the hem of my skirt with my fist. I get the seam between my forefinger and middle finger and squeeze. It digs in under the little callus on my finger. It hurts. A lot. I deserve this. I'm really going to wet myself. Here in this chair. It's not like I haven't before. The final unstoppable spasm. The spreading pool. Everyone will see. Everyone will laugh. I almost want it to happen. To be over with. So I can look back on this for the rest of my life but not actually be here. Get up you horrible, stupid, dumb, and ugly, fat, and stupid, simple self hating bitch. You ruin everything you stupid, fucking cunt. Just! Get! Up! You will probably still make it if you just get up. I'm panicking. I'm sweating. My heart is exploding. My vision dances and whirls like I might be sick. My hands are shaking so hard I can't control them. My bladder is about to literally erupt. I can't remember what to do. A mini loop. I can't remember what to do. I can't remember what to do. What will I do when I pee myself? Run from the room? Sob uncontrollably? Lock myself in my bedroom and never leave the house again? Hurt myself? Kill myself? I have a lot of things. I feel myself starting to pee. *** I'm definitely done with this story now. Thanks everyone for indulging me! I hope... 'enjoyed' is the wrong word. But anyway. I pinky promise my next story will be much cheerier/sexier!
  6. WaityKaty

    Anxiety

    Thanks guys. For the good wishes. I really appreciate them. ❤️ I'm also really glad that people identified with what I was saying. I honestly wasn't sure how it was going to be received. 😕 I like to keep pushing the boundaries on what an omorashi story can be. And I definitely put a lot more of myself into this one than usual. I did do the listing loved ones thing every night from when I was 8 till I was 12. Though I wasn't worried they might die. I was scared that I would die in my sleep and that my last thought of them wouldn't have been a loving one. The pee aspect is pretty damn close to what 18-19 year old Katy might have written if she had the words. My anxiety is a fair bit better 15 years on. I've written a bit more to this story. There is probably a third part, though a part of me rather dreads it. 😛 This story is still entirely fictional and still maybe the most honest thing I've ever said in public. *** I don’t need to pee. I tell myself this firmly. I feel like I need to pee. That stinging pulsing between my legs is demanding. But it’s not true, I remind myself. I don’t need to pee. I sit up straighter in my chair and try to think about something else. Something I like thinking about. Elections. Plot-lines for role-playing games. Very occasionally this works. I’m able to distract myself and forget about the fact that I probably, but possibly don’t, need to pee. Usually it doesn’t work. Usually by this stage my mind is trapped in a loop that I can’t break. A loop where all I can think about is how much I need to pee. And that I might wet myself. Might, but probably won't. I'm not going to just get up and go to the bathroom. I might imply that that is because I don't want anyone to know I need to pee. That's not it. Not exactly. What I don't want is anyone to know I need to pee, but can't. For whatever reason. I would literally rather be uncomfortable. To risk having an accident. Then to have someone think, "Oh, Katy needs to pee but she is going to have to wait." I don't like people to think I want something I can't have. I find that humiliating. Literally worse than wetting myself. Somehow. I have a lot of things. My bladder is full. It actually is. I touch it lightly through my shirt. Casually. I'm definitely not just physically touching my bladder to see if I really need to pee. That would be hella weird. Who does that? I'm pretty sure I must have forgot to pee at lunch. No way is my bladder actually full this quickly otherwise. You stupid bitch Katy... God damn it. I remember vaguely that my therapist said I shouldn't talk to myself like that. That it isn't good for me. That I need to forgive myself for tiny mistakes and lapses. Fuck her. She doesn't get it. If I were just responsible I wouldn't be in this position. I'm such a screw up I can't even remember to pee when I'm meant to. I press my thighs together. I need to pee so bad. I can feel my muscles straining, the overwhelming pressure of my bursting bladder pressing down on my pelvic floor. I should get up. Just get up! Katy, you stupid lazy slut, just get the fuck up. I don't though. I've always done this. My entire life. Had a thing about people knowing I need to pee but can't. It was never a huge thing though. Like... it was a thing. One of many things. I have a lot of things. Like not being able to eat in front of people. And then having to make up elaborate lies for why I'm not eating when surely I must be hungry. And then worrying that maybe people will compare the lies I've told them and realize that they aren't the same lies because I don't plan ahead and have a consistent story because I'm so fucking stupid and if they work out I'm lying they'll try to find out the truth and I really, really, really don't want to have to talk about my issues with food with people because they'll look at me like I'm crazy. I have a lot of things. That time I wet myself on the bus? No one else would have done that. I was bursting when I got on the bus. And it's not like I was rushing to catch it or anything. I'd needed to pee before I left my friend's house to get on. Like badly. But I didn't want to use her bathroom. Because, like, we are friends. So am I meant to ask? Or just excuse myself and go? And what if she says I can't use her bathroom. For some reason. Maybe it is being remodeled or something... and she is... peeing in the backyard? I hear the irrationality. But then she would know I needed to pee and couldn't go. Nope. I would rather try and hold it the whole bus ride home. Even if I'm at risk of wetting myself. Most people don't have a story quite like that. But still. It isn't a big deal after you've got home and had a shower. It's not like anyone I know saw me or anything. Most people would shrug off that sort of random embarrassment if they somehow managed to get into that situation. I do not. My thing about pee definitely got worse after that. After my luck ran out. Much worse. I've been taking tactical pees ever since. Going when I don't need to. Just in case. Whenever I can bring myself to. I haven't had another accident. I've talked to my therapist about it. She says it's become a fixation. And I need to try to come up with ways to stop thinking about it. Yeah. Once I get into a loop I'm not going to stop thinking about it. I'm stuck thinking more or less the same stuff over and over. Even if it changes a bit in each iteration I'm still just thinking about peeing myself and how much I suck. I play with the hem of my skirt with my fingers. I get the seam between my forefinger and middle finger and slide it along the length of the hem for a bit. Then back. Then the first direction again. Then the other way. I have a little callus on my finger there now. Right on the first join. It kind of hurts. The good kind of hurt. But it doesn't help distract me. I really might just wet myself. Here in this chair. It's not like I haven't before. The final unstoppable spasm. The spreading pool. Would everyone see? Or are people unobservant enough that no one would notice? Or at least pretend not to notice? Until I need to get up anyway. Get up. You are just a lying little bitch who ruins things and hurts the people she loves. You ruin everything you stupid, fucking cunt. Just! Get! Up! I can feel myself starting to panic. I'm sweating buckets. My heart is pounding a blur. My vision is going all funny at the edges and the room is starting to wobble and spin. My hands are shaking so much I can't force them to stay still. My bladder is about to literally explode. I try to breathe like I'm supposed to. But I can't. What will I do if I pee myself? Run from the room? Sob uncontrollably? Lock myself in my bedroom and never leave the house again? Hurt myself? I have a lot of things. I don’t need to pee. I lie to myself desperately.
  7. WaityKaty

    Anxiety

    I'm going to just let you guys know right now I use language that some people might find offensive in this piece. It isn't gratuitous, but fair warning. There are also descriptions of mental health issues that could be upsetting. Fair warning. *** I don’t need to pee. I tell myself this firmly. I feel like I need to pee. That nervous throbbing between my legs is insistent. But it’s a liar, I remind myself. I don’t need to pee. I shift position in my chair and try to pay attention. Sometimes this works. I’m able to distract myself and forget about the fact that I might, but probably don’t, need to pee. Sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes my mind gets trapped in a loop that I can’t break. A loop where all I can think about is how much I need to pee. And that I might wet myself. The obvious thing to do would be to go to the toilet and pee. Maybe there will only be a trickle, even if moments before I went convinced I was about to lose control. I’ll have satisfied myself that I really don’t need to pee. But right now I can’t go to the bathroom. I mean, I can. No one would care. Or really notice, probably. Someone definitely could go to the bathroom. Not me though. I’d rather sit here and squirm, pointlessly not listening. Rather that then get up and have people know I need to pee. I'm wasting my time. All I'm thinking about is pee. This is not a good place to be. Your kidneys can process up to 4 cups of water per hour. I know that because I’ve memorized the Wikipedia article on kidney function. The average human bladder can hold only about 2 cups of urine. And it’s been half an hour since lunch... so maybe I do need to pee. I remind myself that I didn’t drink 4 cups of anything at lunch. I had a medium coffee and a half a bottle of water. I do the math... That’s probably two cups. So I should have an hour. Wait... Is that how it works? What if kidneys just process the whole two cups in half an hour? I want to pull out my phone and look it up. But I can’t. It isn't socially appropriate to just start googling stuff about pee right now. I'll have to wait. Did I remember to pee at lunch? Of course I did. I always do. But can I remember going to the bathroom at lunch? Maybe I didn't go. Maybe I forgot. Really? How could I possibly forget? I'm furious at myself. Katy... you ignorant fucking bitch. I tell myself I shouldn't talk to myself like that. That it isn't good for me. That I need to forgive myself for tiny mistakes and lapses. Besides... I probably didn't forget. I probably just don't remember going. Who remembers every time they go to the bathroom? This shouldn't be such a big deal. I clench my thighs. I need to pee. I can feel my muscle getting weaker, the relentless pressure of my overfull bladder pressing down on my pelvic floor. I should get up. Just get up! Katy, you stupid lazy bitch, just get the hell up. I don't though. I've kinda always done this. My whole life. Had a thing about people knowing I need to pee. Had a thing about maybe, conceivably, getting in trouble for needing to pee when I was meant to be doing other things. It was never a huge thing though. Like... it was a thing. But I have a lot of things. Like needing to say out loud to everyone I know that I love them before I go to sleep. Because otherwise they might die overnight and I didn't remember how I felt about them before they did. And then having to redo the whole thing because I might have forgotten someone. And feeling guilty about dropping my best friend from kindergarten off my list because I'm so tired from listing for an hour and a half and because she moved away five years ago and we haven't spoken since so maybe I don't love her anymore but how can I even think that because now she is going to die and so I have to start over again. I have a lot of things. It became a much bigger thing of mine a couple of years ago. It's pretty obvious why. I wet myself. On a bus. All over the seat. All over my clothes. I just couldn't wait. I probably should have got off. I guess. But then I'd have just been in the middle of the suburbs and bursting to pee. I'm not just going to go in a gutter so I guess if I had done that I'd have just wet myself in the street. Most people have a story like that. It isn't a big deal after you've got home and had a shower. It's not like anyone I know saw me or anything. Most people shrug off that sort of random embarrassment. I do not. My thing about pee definitely got worse after that. Much worse. I've been taking tactical pees ever since. Going when I don't need to. Just in case. I haven't had another accident. But I've been worried I might a few times. A day. I've been worried I might a few times a day. I've talked to my therapist about it. She says it's become a fixation. And I need to try to come up with ways to stop thinking about it. Yeah. Once I get into a loop I'm not going to stop thinking about it. I'm kinda OK about not getting into loops now. Better than I used to be. I still can't get out of them though. I play with the hem of my skirt with my fingers. I get the seam between my forefinger and middle finger and slide it along the length of the hem for a bit. Then back. Then the first direction again. Then the other way. I have a little callus on my finger there now. Right on the first join. It's kind of soothing. I still need to pee, badly... but my mind is oh so slightly quieter. I might wet myself. Here in this chair. The sudden warmth in my panties. The patter on the floor. Would everyone hear? Or is it distracting enough and loud enough that no one would notice? Or at least pretend not to notice? Until I need to get up anyway. Get up. You stupid bitch. You ruin everything you stupid, stupid cunt. Just. Get. Up. I can feel myself wanting to panic. I'm sweating. My heart is pounding. My vision is going all funny at the edges. My bladder is about to explode. I try to breathe like I'm supposed to. What will I do if I pee myself? Run from the room? Sob uncontrollably? Lock myself in my bedroom and never leave the house again? My mind skims darker possibilities but doesn't settle on them. I have a lot of things. I don’t need to pee. I tell myself this firmly. *** This story is both entirely fictional and maybe the most honest thing I've ever said in public. It isn't fun or sexy, even though it would clearly like to be; it's very Katy.
  8. WaityKaty

    Very Short Stories - A Forum Game

    (153 characters; 38 syllables, which matters more for this one) Today I took her memories; willow and straw the chattering creek and her full bladder a lost love: forgotten wet panties and grieving She feels like spite. (249 char) "I peed my pants once." He lies to her. He wants her to feel better about her little accident. She can tell he is lying. she can always tell. But she appreciates his gesture. She never realized the lie was not an exaggeration. but an abridgment. (239 char) By our eighth song I was dying but I didn't dare stop in case he never asked me to dance again. If you've ever wondered whether you can wet yourself under a long dress without it being obvious? You can't. He never asked me to dance again.
  9. WaityKaty

    I Think You Should Just Pee Your Pants

    Whelp, OK! I have two things I want to write first, so we’re still looking at a month or so. But I want no complaints if Sad Katy decides to take this story right into heartbreak town. :p
  10. WaityKaty

    I Think You Should Just Pee Your Pants

    I do plan to come back to it. I know it’s a favourite of quite a few people. 🙂 Unfortunately this story has a “sexy and fun” feel and right now I’m feeling “anxious and disconsolate” so I’m working on stories that better fit that vibe. If I wrote a chapter of ITYSJPYP it’d almost certainly take a turn that people wouldn’t like! 😛
  11. WaityKaty

    A Holding Contest or, A Fairy Tale

    I remember! I feel bad for her too! I get the sense you are going to feel bad for the protagonist of the story I’m dropping after this one, because I feel awful for her. Thanks! I imagine that she isn’t really a better person than the protagonist. Fairies seldom are you know. :) From a human perspective anyway. Bladder manipulation was the key thread I wanted to explore here. Not really my thing but I like this setting a bit. :) Soon! :) It’s a bit harder to write than most stories for some reason. It’s the first half. There is a second half that is currently fully outlined and about a quarter drafted. Thanks! My secret is extensive practice, eventually I got half decent :p
  12. I've started this story before but it's been fairly extensively reworked. And I've got the rest of it drafted now if people are keen. A small crowd of men and women had gathered around the fairy at the cozy dockside bar in Anderthall. She was only a few inches above five feet, pale, and slim near to frailty. Her transparent and shimmering wings were unfurled to catch the eye. In some places this might have been a threatening scene but here, out on one of those rocky islands far from the world, fairies were welcome. Welcome for their news. Welcome for their stories. “All fairies know that a good story starts whenever it needs to,” The fairy recited, “And this story starts in the dust-cracked arena of a nameless town right on the edge of the Limits." "They have a kind of a peshtak in this nameless town, a ritual competition, you don’t have the precise word.” She smiled and continued in an engaging voice that suggested long practice at telling tales, “There is gold involved on the side. And I knew that I could win." The Anders nodded sagely to each other and whispered knowingly about the perils of gambling with fairies as the barmaid placed both a stein of foaming bitter ale and a medicine glass of twice-filtered absinthe in front the fairy reverently. She didn't know what the story-teller would prefer and didn't want to break the spell by asking. Regardless the fairy wouldn't be paying for her own drinks. "But first I need to tell you about magic. About how I got my magic. I grew up down in the Folk Ghetto by the mud-banks of the great city of Mouth, before the exile, of course. There isn't anything there now, or so I've heard, just decaying shacks sliding down into the sea. Apparently the Spiteful Empress tried to get her loyal subjects to repopulate the ghetto. But they feared that we had contaminated the place with our long residence and quietly ignored the call. Those that tried were haunted by long persecuted ghosts and slid into the sea themselves. Or so I've heard. But when I was growing up in the Folk Ghetto it was filled to bursting with other fairies carrying out their lives. And filled with decaying shacks sliding down into the sea of course. Less things in this world change than people think. My mother, my sister, and I shared the uppermost floor of a narrow house near the tannery. It was an attic really. Just extra boards crowded up to make a floor among the beams. It wasn't much, though more than some had. One night I woke up with a familiar pressing need to pass water. I had always dreaded this. Our building had no interior facilities so I would have to fold down the stairs to our apartment, creep through the levels of the house, and dash across the unevenly bricked-in courtyard to the rickety outhouse in the dark. An unpleasant task for everyone. But I was an imaginative child, even for one of the folk, and in my mind all sorts of horrors lurked between my bed and the outhouse; Snatchers to whisk me away, Blighters to rip my soul clean off, common thieves to accost me for gold or virtue. I'm afraid I very seldom had the courage to brave such a gauntlet. Instead I would usually remain curled-up in my bed and attempt to hold my waters until morning. Sometimes I couldn’t. But this particular night was different. I found myself wishing. not for the first time, that instead of having to find the courage to venture to the outhouse I could simply not need to pass water. And all of a sudden I just didn't. I'd removed the liquid from my bladder with my magics. I was overjoyed at finding a most Gordian solution to my nightly dilemma. I knew my sister would be devastated that she wouldn't have my bed-wetting to tease me about any longer: for that was one of her great joys in life. And then I had a mischievous idea. If I could remove the liquid from my own bladder, did that mean I could add liquid to the bladder of another? I looked over at the softly snoring form of my sister, her wings tucked snugly at her sides. We had no windows but the roof had enough holes that in the moonlight I could just barely make her out. I'd never done anything like this before, my magic had only just started to come in, until this night I'd only practiced subtlety affecting the flow of poured water. I'd never even heard of someone changing the contents of a bladder, even yet I haven't. But still I reached out to her with my magic and... well I did the opposite of what I had just done to myself. I filled her. Even in the dark I could see her leap fairly out of her bed. The sudden pressure in her bladder must have woken her. I expected to see her dash across the boards and hear the stairs being opened beneath us. But instead she stood motionless. And then I heard it. A hissing like the end of a hosepipe under pressure but not quite clamped shut and a hard patter like rain on a shingled roof. It took me a moment to realise that my sister was wetting her nightclothes. The revenge felt so sweet. To be able to tease her for having an accident, and she two years older than myself. It felt like a drug. And like a drug it was irresistible. I'm afraid that overfilling my sister's bladder became a habit, a pastime. I got practiced at it. I learned the rate at which to fill her so that she wouldn't wake before she burst. I told her the day of the exile, five years later. Both of us young women by that time. I had my heart set on making a name in the Limits, she was going north. By that time our mother was two summers dead of a wasting sickness. She confessed the petty pranks she had fooled me with, and I confessed mine. She was apoplectic. For years she had tried everything she could think of to bring an end to her bed-wetting; limiting her fluids, foul and sweet herbs from the apothecary, dozens of hanging, whispering, charms from the charlatans on the pier. And all she ever had to do was stop sleeping near me. She spat such curses at me I'd have doubted she knew.  I had won. And I have never seen her again." The fairy laughed easily, defusing the tension she had deliberately built. Letting the men and women who had moved their chairs around the fairy's table to better listen to her story feel that diffusion. The barmaid cleared a succession of empty glasses and replaced them with fresh offerings unobtrusively. The fairy lifted her voice marginally to accommodate the people who couldn't get close enough to hear an ordinary conversation. It took me nearly a year to reach the very edge of the Limits, that wild place where the animals are as cunning as men and the men as bestial as animals. I had many adventures reaching that place, of course, but those stories are not this story. I found myself in an unnamed town perched at the top of a crumbling cliff that towered above a vast and endless desert below. I could see amongst the rubble far below the remnants of structures that demonstrated that the unnamed town had at one time been far larger, before the encroachment of the cliff. Perhaps it had even had a name. I spent the evening in a bar. Somewhat like this one, but without the people. I sat at the bar itself and mostly failed to converse with the barman, and ancient man with the horns and beard of a goat. I drank quite a bit of the rancid swill the barman pretended was beer. A lot really. Sizing up the town. Getting a feel for it. What opportunities it might present. They don't appreciate stories in the Limits. Too savage. Too incurious. "You're gonna end up pissin' on yourself if you don't take it easy on that beer missy," the bartender bleated at me. I was insulted. I had never once "ended up pissing on myself" since my magics came in. I'm sure an ordinary woman would have visited the facilities three times over but I'd been idly using my magics to drain myself. Never do anything that you don't have to. In fairness to the bartender though, he hardly knew that I would have magics. That's the thing about the simple people who live out in the limits; they don't know a thing about fairies. He would have just assumed my wings stemmed from the same profane source as his horns or his neighbors scales. "I can hold my waters better than you think!", I declared boastfully. "I can easily wait right here another hour." The bartender only scoffed. "I'll bet you a piece that I can!" I offered in a tone that I hoped suggested recklessness. His eyes lit up at that, "Ok. A piece that you can't! But if you piss all over my floor you're cleaning it up in the bargain." Of course I could have easily won that piece. I could just magic away my waters for days on end if I wanted to. But that wasn't the point. It was harder out in the Limits though. I don't know why. Less water? Less magic? Less fairies? I asked a reader once, but he didn't know. Maybe no one does. But regardless, it was still manageable. I allowed myself to get truly desperate. It was an unusual feeling for someone not used to it. I only ever did when running this trick. It came on quickly, courtesy of the many beers I had imbibed. Within fifteen minutes I allowed myself to bounce around on my stool as my filling bladder made me uncomfortable. Now, you might be wondering why I didn't just keep myself comfortable and pretend to badly need a washroom. There's a simple answer; a lie is always more convincing when it is only just barely a lie. So I sat on my stool and writhed in discomfort until I felt sure I was about to burst and make a puddle on the bar-room floor. At that point I blushed and ran out the back to a very welcome relief. When I returned the bartender wore an enormous grin, "Lotsa tough talk amountin' to nothin'!", he chortled at me. I mimicked tipsy outrage, "You just caught me on a bad day! I swear I can hold my water longer than anyone! I bet you I can hold my waters longer than you!" "I don't doubt it," He admitted easily, "I'm an old man. Complete with the bladder and prostate of an old man." "Your second then!" I declared wildly, "I can hold my waters better than everyone in this whole damned town!" I was angling for a simple holding contest. I'd won dozens over the years. Cheating makes it easy. Here no one would ever make a bet with a fairy. I live on my stories as a welcome guest. But in the Limits... I said they have no head for tales. They fell for every shakedown and scam I ever pitched. It was all too easy. I had to leave. But that's another story. The barman rolled his eyes, "So compete in the Hutag peshtak then. You've got nothing, but I'm sure you'll put on a show." I'd never heard of a Hutag peshtak. It turns out it's a local ritual. Every town has them. Like a celebration of turnip wine culminating in a wrestling match featuring stockings or a festival of cattle bones glued into monsters to scare away bigger and darker things. This particular town ritual involves the strength of a woman's ability to control her waters. Apparently it reflects the extent of her faith. But that isn't true of course. Rituals are habits. They are just a thing that is done because it has always been done. Usually. I didn't care about the justification for the peshtak. I cared that the bartender was more than happy to bet against me. "Make it 1000. Easiest money I'll ever make." I meant that. Like I said, just barely a lie. The peshtak wasn't to be held for a moon. I spent that month in the bar. Making bets. I was going to own half the town after I won. And I expected to win smoothly and easily. But I wouldn't be telling this story if the contest had gone either smoothly or easily." The fairy spread her wings wide and fluttered them like a matador's cape. The bar was packed to standing room and every ear was waiting for her to continue. But she took her time drinking her latest offering and smiling quickly at the barmaid, who blushed at the attention.
  13. WaityKaty

    This Time I'll Wet Myself

    Maybe one day! Sequel rather than a second part anyway :) Thanks! I kinda liked how it turned out as well. If you ever want to make sure you didn’t miss a story of mine I do update my “about me” page every now and then to include a catalogue of all my stories. There’s a fair few now!
  14. WaityKaty

    Accident Report

    Katy’s fashion tips: cutoff jeans and jeans shorts are the same length, roughly knee, and material, denim, but jean shorts are hemmed and cut-off jeans are not. And uh-huh. Sorry for any lack of clarity there, It’s a first draft I wrote at two in the morning. If we consolidate this project it could totally do with an edit. :)
  15. WaityKaty

    Accident Report

    Turns out it it was the former. I included some fun facts about kombucha, an Abilene paradox, and some comfort. I know that’s not normally something I’d publish here, but what the hell. 🙂 “I don’t even like kombucha!” Chrissy said vehemently. ”Wait? Isn’t kombucha, like, a drink where you are from.” Heather said in confusion. Chrissy glared. “Firstly no; even though my parents are from Korea kombucha isn’t Korean. And secondly; I’m from Ohio, bitch!” “Oh! Like in America? I just thought that was a town in Asia you were from.” Cheyanne rolled her eyes and watched the unmoving sea of cars in front of them in hope more than expectation. Heather wasn’t academically gifted. Of course she certainly made up for that in other areas, she needed yoga the least of any of them. But it was fun to all pile into Cheyanne’s minivan once a week and do some stretching together at the hippy yoga place on the other side of town. Cheyanne agreed with Chrissy about the kombucha, it tasted like fermented dish water and it always went straight to her bladder. One time last month she had only barely made it to her bathroom in time. “Kombucha is from Manchuria originally. It spread through Russia to reach the West.” Ari informed the car. ”Where is Manchuria?” Heather asked. “Please say that it’s in Ohio.” ”No... uh... it’s near Korea.” Ari answered reluctantly. ”Whatever.” Chrissy said, “It tastes like ass and it makes me need to pee.” ”Me too!” Heather added vehemently. She had just assumed Chrissy would like kombucha, personally she hated it. “Did you know kombucha contains both alcohol and caffeine? Utah had to pass special legislation to sell it.” Ari asked quickly. ”So why is it a post-yoga drink?” Cheyanne asked, surprised. Ari shrugged, “Hippies like things that you can make in bathtubs?” That was something she would have to look up at some stage. Not that she particularly wanted to know anything else about kombucha, horrid muck, but she didn’t like not knowing something. ”Do you think traffic is going to get moving soon?” Chrissy asked ”Doesn’t look like it.” Cheyanne replied glumly. “You got somewhere to be?” ”No... just... I wasn’t kidding about needing to pee.” ”Me either!” Heather added. ”Well we are stationary in the middle of the Lafayette bridge so you are just going to have to cross your legs ladies.” Chrissy tried to joke even though she was feeling like she might be in trouble herself. ***** ”I’m seriously going to wet my pants!” Chrissy sobbed, “It really hurts.” ”I’m sorry honey but there just isn’t anything I can do.” Cheyanne said sympathetically, “it’s totally OK if you do. The car will clean, it doesn’t matter.” ”You don’t understand! I’ve never wet my pants!” Cheyanne looked over to see her best friend had tears running down her face. ”Never? It’s not so bad. And you’ll feel better.” Cheyanne tried to be encouraging even though her own bladder was killing her with its steady burning throb. ”I’ve wet myself like twenty times!” Heather was open about pretty much everything. ”Once when I was like three. I got spanked.” Chrissy said quietly. ”Oh... sweetie... it’s OK.” ”Yeah.” The car fell quiet for a couple of minutes before Cheyanne became aware of a faint hissing noise and the sudden smell of urine. She looked over at Chrissy expecting to see her yoga pants darkening. But Chrissy just looked confused. ”Ari wet herself!” Heather announced. ”Ari?” Cheyanne called back. “Are you OK girl?” ”I’m sorry.” Ari whispered. “I tried to wait. At least until after...” Chrissy. But she trailed off rather than say it. ”It’s totally fine. Honestly I’m probably going to end up doing the same thing in a minute.” ”I’m doing the same thing now!” Heather volunteered Sure enough the hissing was back. Cheyanne turned her head to check on her friends. Ari was pointedly looking out the window. Heather waved. At least someone wasn’t upset. ”Feel better?” Cheyanne asked. ”Uh-huh. Wetter though.” ”Well that’ll happen when you pee yourself.” The car was suitably soaked. Traffic was still motionless. Her friends had already embarrassed themselves. Well... not Chrissy, but she was clearly going to any minute. Or Heather because she didn’t get embarrassed. But anyway, there wasn’t much point that Cheyanne could see to waiting until she literally burst when pants wetting was inevitable anyway. Still, she didn’t want people to think she was giving up. Even though it was a defendable decision, wetting yourself on purpose just seemed wrong. ”Oh no!” She exclaimed as she relaxed her bladder muscles and felt the sudden rush of hot pee soak her panties and the seat of her yoga pants. It really did feel so much better than a bursting bladder. Cheyanne looked over at Chrissy in the passenger seat whose tear streaked face suddenly morphed into shock for a moment before she covered her face with her hands and started to sob. Cheyanne reached out and touched her arm, “It feels better, right. It’s all OK.” She didn’t get any response. If the damned traffic ever started moving Cheyanne resolved to drop Ari and Heather home first. Chrissy needed a quiet talk without Heather’s... carelessness. Traffic did eventually start up again, Heather and Cheyanne talked about nothing just so the car wasn’t silent. Cheyanne did anyway, Heather would have talked to herself regardless. Cheyanne suspected she did when she didn’t have an audience. She dropped Ari off first, who all but sprinted to her house with a murmured “Thanks.” Heather didn’t move any faster then she usually would, content to let anyone look at her perfect ass, covered in soaked purple lycra/cotton/poly blend. ”You OK?” Cheyanne asked Chrissy when she stopped in front of her house. ”Not really. I just... I know you all have... but I’ve never had that happen.” Chrissy still wouldn’t look at her. ”I get it.” She didn’t really, but she wanted to. “But you got through it! And no one will tell anyone.” ”Heather probably will. She’s probably got a photo of herself on Facebook already, with us tagged. Hashtag peedmypants, hashtag friendsdidtoo.” ”I’m sure she doesn’t!” Cheyanne was not sure. But she sure hoped. ”Whatever. It’s not about people knowing anyway. I feel like I’ve let myself down.” ”Yeah... Are you going to be OK?” ”I guess so.” ”Why don’t you have a shower, you can give me a call after if you want to?” ”Thank Cheyanne. I’m sorry for making such a deal about it.” ”No no! I’m just sorry it happened. Let’s never drink kombucha again!” Chrissy smiled for the first time in over an hour, ”definitely never!”