Search the Community

Lyle’s college campus, including his first-year residence, did not appear to have much space for parties. The bedrooms were small, the hallways had no furniture, and the cafeteria closed at 9 PM. During relatively brief chats with the other students in the hallways and cafeteria, Lyle heard a few rumours of party-focused fraternities and sororities in the area, but he couldn’t find any way to locate or contact such places. The only remotely promising local venue he could actually find on a map was the campus bar. He couldn’t imagine much of a party happening at a bar, but after a week with no other leads, he decided he might as well check it out. Lyle wasn’t sure if the bar would serve meals, so he had dinner at the cafeteria before heading over. He didn’t bother dressing up for the evening; he wore the same t-shirt, khakis, and sandals that he had been wearing all day. When he arrived at the bar, he took a minute to walk around the tables to see if he could click with any of the groups there. None of them seemed particularly welcoming, though, so he sat down at the bar and ordered a soda. As he drank it, he tried to think of ways to approach some of the other students, and he also listened for conversations that he might be able to contribute to. He didn’t have any breakthroughs by the time he finished his soda, so he ordered another. Nothing changed as he drank that either. For his third drink, he decided to try something alcoholic; the daily special posted on the wall would do. When he tasted it, he found it to be sweet, with the alcohol barely noticeable, which was pretty well what he was going for; his interest in alcohol was minimal. But even this new drink didn’t change the fact that no one was talking to him. After sitting there for an hour and a half sipping on several more sodas and a few more alcoholic beverages, Lyle decided that this was a failed experiment. He had to pee from all the drinking so he figured he’d use the bathroom there (they had to have one, right?) and then head back to his room and maybe play some computer games. He stood up, but as he turned around to start looking for a bathroom, a female student suddenly came up to him and said, “Hi! I’m Cynthia.” “Hi,” Lyle responded uncertainly, “I’m Lyle.” “Hi Lyle!” Cynthia said, smiling brightly. “Can I buy you a drink?” Perhaps this wasn’t a failed experiment after all. It was a bit ironic to be offered a drink after having nothing but them for the past hour and a half, but this time Lyle would have someone to talk to, so he cheerfully accepted and they started chatting. There was no need for computer games now, and he wasn’t going to go hunting for a bathroom right after meeting someone who wanted to spend time with him. And they did spend quite some time chatting. Cynthia seemed very friendly and outgoing. When the drink she had bought Lyle was finished, she eagerly bought him another, and when that one was finished, she just as eagerly bought him a third. She said this was her third year of college, so perhaps that had given her a chance to get used to bar etiquette; Lyle himself had never been to a bar before and couldn’t even imagine having the nerve to offer a drink to someone he had just met. Unfortunately, all these drinks, coupled with the duration of their conversation, were making Lyle’s need to pee more persistent. He worried that Cynthia might leave if he stepped away to find a bathroom, but eventually he decided he would have to take that risk. He finished the drink he was working on and was just about to excuse himself when Cynthia said, “This place is pretty slow. Let’s go somewhere better.” “Sure,” Lyle said. “Just let me use the bathroom first.” “You can do that when we get there,” Cynthia said. “I can’t stand this place any longer. Come on, let’s go.” She turned and started walking toward the exit. Lyle would have preferred to use the bathroom before leaving, but since Cynthia wouldn’t wait for him, and was inviting him somewhere with a bathroom and a party, he decided to follow her. The trip would be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t last too long. Cynthia continued to tell stories as they left the bar and walked down the road. Lyle didn’t feel that he could contribute much to the conversation given how badly he needed to pee now, but Cynthia didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed even warmer than she had been earlier. “I’m so glad to have met you!” she would often say, smiling broadly, and Lyle felt the same way about her. None of the hundred other students Lyle had met in the hallways and cafeteria over the past week had shown anything close to Cynthia’s vitality. He just wished Cynthia had been willing to wait the two minutes for him to find and use the bathroom at the bar; his need to pee was getting progressively worse as they walked, and the walk seemed like it was taking a long time. After making several more turns, Lyle asked Cynthia, as gently as he could, “How much farther are we going?” They were walking away from his room, so if it was much farther, he might have to forget about the party and head back to his residence to use the bathroom there. Maybe he could get Cynthia’s contact information and see if they could meet up some other time. “We’re about halfway there,” Cynthia responded. Halfway there. This evening was starting to feel like more than Lyle had signed up for, but after a quick assessment he decided that it was still worth staying the course. He would definitely need to use the bathroom as soon as they arrived, though. Cynthia became quieter, which was just as well because Lyle no longer felt able to absorb her stories. Lyle was breathing heavily now, frequently tensing and occasionally bobbing up and down. He worried that Cynthia might find his behaviour off-putting, but each time he looked at Cynthia she seemed to somehow be getting even more excited. This confused Lyle, since they were no longer socializing, but maybe Cynthia was looking forward to what awaited them at the end of this interminably long walk. Did one really have to go this far to get to a decent social venue? How difficult would it be to build a party house just across the parking lot from the academic buildings? Looking at how widely Cynthia was smiling by now, though, it occurred to Lyle that maybe there was a more central option, but the place they were going was better. That thought kept Lyle moving forward each time he considered giving up and heading back to his room. If he could even find it again after all the turns they had made. It was getting pretty bad, though. Lyle was starting to instinctively grab his penis to try to keep from peeing. Given how far Cynthia was taking them, why couldn’t she have waited for Lyle to use the bathroom before they left? She was still too enchanting for Lyle to ask that question out loud, but he didn’t think he could cope much longer, no matter how fantastic this place was. This wasn’t going to work. Lyle was going to have to pee behind one of the trees lining the road. Just as he was about to ask Cynthia to wait a moment for him to do so, though, they rounded a corner and a lit-up mansion came into view. A number of students were drinking and chatting in front of it, but as Lyle got closer, he could tell that most of the noise was coming from inside. Cynthia was walking directly toward the building, so clearly this was their destination. Finally, Lyle would be able to use the bathroom he’d been craving for what felt like an hour! The fact that he had also located the party he’d been seeking for the past week felt secondary at this point. He gave his penis a tight squeeze and then let go in order to appear presentable to the other guests. Cynthia walked up to the front door, opened it, and then invited Lyle to go in ahead of her. Lyle gratefully did so, but a few steps in, a female student blocking his path looked at him and said, “Who are you?” Unsure how to respond, Lyle turned back toward Cynthia as she came in behind him. “That’s Esther,” Cynthia told Lyle. “She’s working the door tonight.” Coming up beside Lyle and turning to face Esther, she said, “This is Lyle. We’re in a bit of a hurry.” She winked at Esther. Lyle didn’t understand the wink, but he was glad that Cynthia finally seemed to be showing a sense of urgency. He turned to face Esther once more. She now seemed to be examining Lyle more closely. Lyle tried to appear dignified in order to make a good first impression, but he really needed to pee now and wasn’t able to stand still. Had he blown his chance? Was he going to get kicked out? Or, worse, was Esther going to insist on thoroughly questioning him before even letting him use the bathroom? Esther smiled. Somehow, she seemed not merely satisfied but actually impressed. She turned to Cynthia and said, “Nicely done! Don’t let me slow you down any further.” She stepped aside and Cynthia walked past her. As Lyle started to follow, he saw Esther press a button on the wall. He realized it activated an audio panel when he heard Esther’s voice from speakers throughout the building saying, “We have a guest!” Lyle didn’t know what could possibly have impressed Esther enough about him to want to brag to the whole building, but this was not the time to try to figure that out. Cynthia had paused in the entrance hallway, and now that they seemed to have the run of the place, Lyle caught up with her and quietly asked, “Do you know where the bathroom is?” “I’ll take you there,” Cynthia answered. “This place is a bit of a maze.” She started walking again. As if the walk to the place hadn’t been long enough, Lyle now found himself following Cynthia through quite a number of intersecting hallways. Would this exercise never end? Was the bathroom he had waited so long for still not close at hand? He got excited when they approached a door, but when Cynthia opened it, Lyle saw that it led to yet another hallway. At the end of this hallway, they went up a short flight of steps, through another door, and then instead of walls on either side of them there were thick black curtains. A few steps later these curtains ended and the space opened up a bit, although there were other curtains farther away, and then finally Lyle saw a door with the symbol on it for the men’s bathroom. Now that Lyle could actually see the bathroom, he started running toward it, grabbing his penis again to try to hold on for just a few more seconds. As he ran, though, he could see people in his peripheral vision from other parts of this more open space running toward him. At the same time, a curtain that formed one edge of the space appeared to be opening. Well before Lyle reached the bathroom, he found himself surrounded by about five female students, on a stage, in front of a seated audience of about thirty people, who at a glance also appeared to all be female students. “Surprise!” the girls surrounding Lyle shouted gleefully. This unexpected delay, on top of all the waiting Lyle had already done, made his need feel even worse, and he tightened his grip on his penis and lifted a knee to squeeze his thighs together. Speaking quickly, he said, “Hi, I was just on my way to the bathroom. I’ll be out in a minute.” The girls maintained their blockade and seemed to be holding back laughter. Lyle turned to look for Cynthia and was surprised to see that she had actually kept up with him and was now part of the group surrounding him. Addressing the other girls, Cynthia said, “I’d like you all to meet Lyle.” “Great job!” one of the other girls said to Cynthia, seeming just as impressed as Esther had been. “I think this is our best one yet!” But the girls all continued to keep their positions, and Cynthia did not appear to be making any further effort to convince them to move. Lyle’s exasperation now outweighed his affection, and he said, “Cynthia, I wanted to use the bathroom at the bar. But you insisted on coming here first. The walk was a lot longer than I was expecting, and now I have to pee really badly. Could you please tell these people to let me past? We can do this live theatre thing when I get out.” “It’s true,” Cynthia told the other girls. “He’s been wanting to pee for a long time. He had a lot of drinks sitting by himself at the campus bar before I joined him and bought him several more.” Lyle didn’t remember telling Cynthia his drink count at any point, but that didn’t matter right now. Cynthia continued, “I didn’t give him a chance to use the bathroom before we left the bar. Instead, I told him he could use the one here. I guess I didn’t think about how long the walk would be, or the fact that you would set this ambush. How could I have been so thoughtless?” An excellent explanation, Lyle thought, relieved. He started to turn back around to see if they would clear a path for him. Before Cynthia was out of his field of vision, though, he saw her grin. Lyle froze. How had Cynthia known his approximate drink count? Had she been watching him since he arrived at the bar? As Lyle was wondering about this, one of the other girls said, “Wow, you’re good!” With horror, Lyle realized that Cynthia had not been defending him or apologizing. She had been bragging. This entire evening had been a setup. Lyle finished turning to face the bathroom and was no longer surprised to see that the others clearly had no intention of stepping aside. He tried to force his way past them, but he wasn’t able to overpower multiple people at once, and since they were surrounding him, he couldn’t dodge them either. Desperately trying not to wet his pants, Lyle started rhythmically squeezing and releasing his penis, alternating lifting each leg to squeeze his thighs together, and also alternately bending down at the waist and bobbing up and down at the knees. He wasn’t quite at the point of losing control, but he had no idea how long they would keep him trapped on this stage, and he had already waited far longer to use the bathroom than he ever would have chosen to. “Aww, look at his cute little pee dance,” one of the girls said. “He really is desperate! Cynthia brought us a real treat tonight!” A real treat? Lyle took a longer look at the seated audience and saw that many of them appeared to be masturbating. As predatory as the girls were being, a part of Lyle felt warm and fuzzy knowing that he was bringing them a rare level of enjoyment. He may have been meat, but at least he was tasty meat. He would not hold a grudge or seek disciplinary action when this was over. At the moment, though, he still hoped the girls would let him use the bathroom soon. For all of his emotional warmth, his condition was neither physically pleasant nor sustainable. “Come on, let me through!” he begged. “I can’t hold it much longer!” “Aww, are you going to wet your pants for us?” one of the girls teased. “Are you going to lose control and start peeing helplessly down your leg in front of everyone here?” “Let’s get his sandals off,” another girl suggested. “Keep them safe, at least.” She bent down slightly and unstrapped the sandal from the foot Lyle currently had lifted in his effort to hold his pee. Lyle didn’t bother trying to stop her as she removed the sandal and placed it on the floor behind her. He didn’t need sandals either to get to the bathroom or to enjoy the rest of the party. He would need them in order to get back to his residence, but he would also need a guide or a map, so if the girls were trying to kidnap him then he wouldn’t stop them by keeping his sandals. When Lyle instinctively switched legs in his pee dance, the girl closest to his other foot unstrapped and removed his remaining sandal and placed that one out of the way as well. One of the girls untucked Lyle’s shirt and slid her hand under it to caress his bare abdomen. “Mmm, such a full bladder,” she purred. “Maybe he really can’t wait much longer.” Smiling mischievously, she gave said bladder a squeeze, making Lyle jerk away. The girl laughed, as did at least some of the others, but their demeanor remained playful rather than cruel. When they were done laughing, Lyle felt another hand land on the front of his pants to find a part of his penis that his own clenched hand wasn’t already covering. The new hand originated behind Lyle; he turned his head to see that it belonged to Cynthia. Making eye contact with Lyle as she gently rubbed his penis through his pants, Cynthia said, “Is this poor penis anxious to release all those drinks you had at the bar? Does it desperately want to feel all of that liquid flowing out of your body? Is your frantic dancing and squeezing going to be enough to keep all of that pee from flowing out through this desperate penis and into your pants?” She removed her hand. Panting, Lyle turned his head away from her and made another unsuccessful attempt to escape in the direction of the bathroom. More girls slid their hands under the bottom of Lyle’s shirt, and this time they started tickling Lyle’s bare waist. While doing this, they also leaned in and started licking his neck. This was not what Lyle needed right now. He had to pee so badly and the tickling and licking felt like it was taking him right to the edge. He clenched his muscles as hard as he could. His penis was trembling. He knew that pretty soon his body would take over and he would start peeing right there into his pants no matter what he did to try to stop it. The girls kept up the tickling, but the licking didn’t last too long before they moved their heads back away from Lyle’s neck and started saying, “Psssss…” with smiles on their faces. Lyle stared at them with dread. This seemed to excite them; they started laughing again, all the while continuing their tickling as Lyle continued his frantic pee dance. Lyle made yet another attempt to push past them but was again pushed back. Was there anything special he had to say or do for them to let him use the bathroom? Or did he just have to wait for them to decide on their own that the time was right? His time was quickly running out, but he couldn’t think of anything to add to what he had already said. The girls already knew how badly Lyle needed to pee. That appeared to be the whole point of the exercise. Lyle could feel his control slipping away. This could not be happening. He was about to wet his pants at the first college party he had been able to find. He made one last vain attempt to elbow through, and then, in a panic, he turned to face Cynthia, who was laughing and tickling along with the others. “Cynthia,” he said breathlessly, “I’m about to start peeing, please tell these people to let me through now!” Cynthia’s laughter turned into a huge open-mouthed smile. She stopped tickling Lyle and gently cupped her hands around the back of Lyle’s head. Then she leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Her tongue slid between his lips, then between his teeth and against Lyle’s own tongue. Cynthia slowly caressed all sides of Lyle’s tongue with hers while also caressing the back of his head with her hands. It felt amazing, but the warm moisture and gentle motion of Cynthia’s tongue and lips, along with the other girls’ continued tickling, made it impossible for Lyle to hold his bladder any longer and he felt himself starting to pee in his pants. There was no longer anything he could do to stop it, and as the bathroom was still half a stage away and he had made zero progress trying to get free of the ambush, it was clear that the struggle was over. Deciding that he might as well enjoy the kiss, he released his grip on his penis and embraced the back of Cynthia’s head with both hands. “Ooh, look, he’s peeing!” one of the girls said excitedly. “You really can’t hold it, can you?” another girl said. “You just have to pee so bad that there’s nothing left you can do to keep from peeing in your pants.” Cynthia continued to swirl her tongue around Lyle’s as Lyle continued to helplessly wet himself. The other girls eventually stopped their tickling, but that no longer made a difference; any control that Lyle might have had left was being taken away by Cynthia’s gentle tongue. Lyle could tell from Cynthia’s enthusiasm, though, that that was not the sole purpose of the kiss. Cynthia was hungry for Lyle, as one might be for an ice cream sundae. And she didn’t stop when Lyle finished peeing, nor did she cut the kiss any shorter than Lyle would have liked. In fact, in the end it was Lyle who first removed his hands and started to pull away. Cynthia actually pulled him back to continue the kiss a little bit longer, but when Lyle pulled away a second time, she let him go. While they had been kissing, the other girls onstage had all moved off to one side. Cynthia glanced at them, then looked back at Lyle and said, “This is my sorority. My sisters and I love college boys who desperately need to pee, and I have to say, you did not disappoint.” Addressing the audience in the seats, she said, “Let’s hear it for Lyle!” The audience gave a standing ovation. Looking at them, Lyle saw that they were all smiling, and some of them were licking their lips. Lyle was embarrassed to have wet his pants in front of so many other people, but they seemed to really appreciate it, so he managed to give them a bow – not a deep bow, but he hoped enough to be polite. After straightening back up, he took a moment to enjoy their excited expressions, then turned back to Cynthia for further guidance. Cynthia waited for the applause to die down, then gestured toward the bathroom and said to Lyle, “The bathroom over there has a shower, laundry machines, and clean towels and robes. You can throw your clothes in the washing machine, get cleaned up, and then put on a robe. Don’t start the washing machine yet; we want to wait until we have a full load. If you’re anxious to leave, you can wear the robe you pick back to your room and we’ll get your clean clothes back to you tomorrow; if you stay, we can get them back to you at the end of the night. It looks like someone’s left your sandals just outside the bathroom door; you can put them back on once you’re done cleaning up.” So they had a detailed and efficient clean-up plan. Lyle’s night wasn’t ruined by his wet pants. He was glad now that the girls had taken the trouble to save his sandals, since he imagined sandals would be more difficult to clean than clothes, and the pee had indeed reached his feet. Lyle took another look at the audience; they had sat back down but were still smiling and some appeared to have resumed masturbating. Then he turned toward the bathroom; the path was now clear, the girls who had been surrounding him still casually standing off to the side. “Go ahead,” Cynthia said encouragingly from behind Lyle. “We’ll mop the stage while you’re in there.” Cautiously, wary of more traps, Lyle started walking toward the bathroom. None of the girls moved to block him this time. Lyle gradually started to feel more at ease as he approached, then reached, the bathroom. He opened the door, entered, and then closed and locked the door behind him, all without any issues. Everything Cynthia had listed was laid out before him. The room was deeper than it was wide; two parallel walls extended away from the stage on either side of Lyle. Against the wall on Lyle’s left were first the laundry machines, then a transparent shower stall, then beyond that a toilet, a sink, and a mirror. The wall on Lyle’s right was covered with shelves holding various folded fabrics, which fit in with Cynthia’s mention of towels and robes. Since they were folded, it might have been another trick, but Lyle didn’t really care if he had to spend the rest of the party naked and wet. He found an empty spot on a nearby shelf, emptied his pockets onto it, then took off his clothes, put them in the washing machine, and entered the shower stall. He didn’t bother looking for a washcloth among the folded fabrics against the far wall; he found washcloths awkward to use and rarely bothered with them. There were a number of squeeze bottles on a shelf inside the stall, and at least one appeared to be the body wash Lyle would need to clean himself properly. He had his shower, then turned off the water and looked through the clear door of the stall at the shelves on the far wall. There were folded towels immediately across from the stall, and the room was narrow enough that Lyle could probably reach one without stepping out. The towels were all different colours; Lyle looked at them for a few seconds before settling on a beige one. He opened the stall door, grabbed his chosen towel, dried off, and then stepped out of the stall. He then wrapped the towel around himself and started to investigate the wall shelves more thoroughly. The section closest to the shower was filled with folded towels and washcloths; nothing in this section resembled a garment. Walking deeper into the bathroom, away from the door, however, Lyle found a section of thinner folded fabrics, also in a variety of colours and several with patterns on them. Were these the robes? Lyle picked a fabric with a design he liked, took it off the shelf, and unfolded it. It did indeed appear to be a garment of some kind. It wasn’t fluffy like a bathrobe, and it didn’t open at the front like a kimono; it was more like a long t-shirt, although it had pockets at the sides about halfway between the neck and the hem. Lyle put his head and arms through, then removed his towel and pulled the hem of the garment down. It easily covered his knees, but did not appear to be in danger of dragging on the floor. Lyle turned around to look at himself in the mirror. He had never worn such a garment before, but it looked like a reasonable thing to wear to a party: casual, but not sleepwear. Having reached the end of the room, Lyle turned back toward the door. The toilet was no longer useful to him, and he didn’t need the sink, having just showered, so he walked back to the front of the room. He put his towel in the washing machine as he didn’t see another receptacle for it and didn’t want to be carrying it around, and he retrieved the contents of his pants pockets from the shelf where he had left them and placed them in the pockets of his new robe. Then he unlocked the door and opened it to look back at the stage. The curtain had been closed, and a “Wet Floor” sign had been placed on the stage. Lyle’s sandals were still next to the door; he put them back on now that he was clean and dry. The girls from the “performance” were still there, chatting with each other off to the side. Despite what they had done earlier, Lyle didn’t feel particularly threatened by them, and the night was still young, so he made his way toward them. Cynthia, who was in the group, noticed Lyle approaching and turned to face him. “Are you done?” she asked, smiling pleasantly. “Yeah,” Lyle said. He closed the rest of the distance between them and then Cynthia gave him a tight hug. After a few seconds, Cynthia released the hug and asked, “Want to come check out our dance floor?” “Yeah, that sounds fun,” Lyle answered. “Great, let’s go!” Cynthia said. She led Lyle off stage, and the rest of the group went with them. Lyle was really looking forward to the rest of this party.

Walking past a row of shops one afternoon on his way home from work, Trent noticed a sign above one of them that read AMiss McMillan=s Milkshake Parlour@. He was not familiar with that particular establishment, but he did love milkshakes, so he decided to go in. The parlour was about ten feet wide. The front wall, including the door, was completely paned with glass. A counter ran the width of the parlour about fifteen feet from the entrance, preventing passage past that point. In front of the counter were five round tables, each of which had four chairs around it. Behind the counter stood a rather attractive woman, and behind her was a wall with a door leading into a back room and, beside the door, the milkshake menu. Trent looked at the menu and was completely floored. One hundred and sixty flavours of ice cream, any possible percentage of milk fat in the milk, five different thicknesses, five different glass or cup sizes, and seven different methods of preparation including stabbing the milk-submerged ice cream repeatedly with a hot knife. Trent studied the menu carefully from just inside the door, trying to figure out what everything meant. While he was doing this, the woman beckoned him to the counter. ACome on up,@ she said pleasantly. AUm, I haven=t decided yet,@ said Trent uncertainly. AThat=s okay, there=s no one else here,@ the woman replied. It was true; Trent and the woman were the only ones in the parlour. Trent approached the counter cautiously, looking away from the menu just enough to avoid colliding with any tables or chairs. When he reached the counter, the woman introduced herself. AI=m Miss McMillan. Welcome to my milkshake parlour. Take your time, and let me know if you need help deciding. I have a knack for matching people to milkshakes.@ Trent could feel Miss McMillan=s eyes on him as he continued to read the menu. It was not the passively expectant gaze of someone waiting for a decision to be made; Miss McMillan appeared to be examining him. Perhaps she was merely trying to, as she said, match him to a milkshake, but it made Trent feel a bit uncomfortable. He tried to read the menu (and thereby make a decision) more quickly, but Miss McMillan=s stare was making it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate. AI=m having a bit of trouble deciding,@ Trent finally admitted, hoping that Miss McMillan could help him speed this process along. ADo you have any dietary restrictions?@ asked Miss McMillan. AI won=t eat mushrooms or olives, but that=s just because I really don=t like them.@ AAnd how are you for time?@ AI=m okay for time.@ Miss McMillan glanced around the parlour quickly, then leaned in close and said quietly, AI=m about to offer you something that is not on the menu, and is not available to just anyone. I don=t want you advertising this. Is that understood?@ AYes,@ said Trent. A definite answer seemed best, even though he had no idea why Miss McMillan would make such an offer. AIt=s my own personal creation. I call it the McMillan Shake. It=s basically a vanilla milkshake with a few extra herbs and spices mixed in, but believe me, it tastes fantastic. It would be on the house. The only condition is that you can=t take it out of the parlour; I can=t risk having you analyze it and figure out the recipe. So what do you say?@ ASure,@ said Trent, not wanting to spend any more time or mental power making a decision. AGreat!@ said Miss McMillan, straightening up and smiling brightly. AI=ll go make you one.@ She went into the back room. Trent thought he heard a click behind him. He looked over his shoulder but didn=t see anything unusual. Perhaps someone had dropped something on the pavement just outside his field of vision. It didn=t really matter; noises in the city were as common as grains of sand on the beach. After a few minutes, Miss McMillan came back out with a glass of white milkshake, complete with a straw and a paper napkin. AHere you are,@ she said, handing Trent the milkshake and smiling. Trent thanked her, brought the milkshake to a table, sat down, and took a sip. Whoa! Miss McMillan had not been exaggerating when she had described the McMillan Shake. It was by far the most delicious thing that Trent had ever tasted. He looked back at Miss McMillan in amazement. She was smiling at him. He smiled back, then broke eye contact and continued to drink his milkshake. Why was she doing this for him? Trent wondered. It was not as though she knew him personally. Perhaps she thought he was some sort of celebrity. If so, then correcting her might cause unnecessary embarrassment, so he decided to leave that issue alone. Glancing back at Miss McMillan, Trent noticed that she was still watching him, and that her smile had widened. She licked her lips, and Trent thought about the witch from AHansel and Gretel@, who fed children candy to fatten them up so that she could eat them. This had to be some sort of trap. Trent could think of no other reason why someone would give the world=s best milkshake to a complete stranger for free and then watch with an ever-widening smile as the stranger drank it. He looked around the parlour, but could not see anything suspicious, other than the grinning woman behind the counter. He looked out the window and watched the rush hour traffic go by. Would Miss McMillan risk doing something unethical in front of so many potential witnesses? Trent briefly considered simply getting up and walking out, leaving the milkshake unfinished. But he couldn=t actually prove that this was a trap, and the milkshake was so good, so instead he merely tried to drink it more quickly, hoping that, if this was indeed a trap, he could get out of there before it sprang. Through the window, Trent saw a man who looked to be in his seventies walk up to the door of the parlour and try to open it. The door wouldn=t open, even though the man seemed to be pulling pretty hard. The man gave up and walked on. Trent had not found the door particularly difficult to open when he had entered, so it couldn=t simply have been a matter of the man being too weak. Trent turned to Miss McMillan, who was smiling even more widely. AAre you trying to close?@ he asked. He did not think that he could drink his milkshake any more quickly than he already was, but perhaps Miss McMillan would offer him a shortcut. Of course, if she was setting a trap for him then it was unlikely that she would help him to escape, but he had to try. ATake your time,@ said Miss McMillan, without the slightest hint of impatience. No shortcut there. Trent, of course, had no intention of taking his time. He finished off the milkshake as quickly as he could, then brought the glass and napkin back to the counter, handed them to Miss McMillan, and said, AThanks. That was truly delicious.@ Miss McMillan took the glass and napkin to the back room while Trent quickly walked to the front door. The front door wouldn=t open. There did not seem to be a mechanism for opening the door from the inside when it was locked. Trent turned back to the counter. Miss McMillan was coming out of the back room. She was starting to giggle. Trent deliberately kept his tone casual as he asked, ACould you unlock the door?@ ANot just yet,@ Miss McMillan replied, still giggling. AI want to have a little fun first.@ ASo you lock me in a store,@ Trent said quizzically. AYes,@ Miss McMillan responded without missing a beat. AAnd guess what? One of the ingredients of the McMillan Shake is a powerful diuretic. You=re about to have to pee really, really badly!@ Her giggle turned into a laugh. AWhat?!@ asked Trent, horrified. But he was only half surprised. He had been fairly certain that Miss McMillan was up to something, he just hadn=t known what. Now that she had revealed the nature of the trap, or at least part of it, he could fight it directly. AUnlock the door now or I will scream,@ he said firmly. AI don=t think you want to call attention to yourself with the rate that your bladder is filling right now,@ Miss McMillan said, shaking her head but still laughing. She was right, Trent realized. He was already feeling a rapidly intensifying need to pee. Not wanting passers-by to see him in this condition while he negotiated with Miss McMillan, he started taking small steps towards the counter, staying alert for further traps. ACome on,@ he said when he reached the counter, trying to sound reasonable. AUnlock the door.@ AYou=re feeling it, aren=t you?@ Miss McMillan asked, starting to laugh harder. AYes, I=m feeling it. Unlock the door,@ Trent said impatiently. Still laughing hard, Miss McMillan chanted, ACute guy drinks a special shake Delicious as can be But something in that special shake Makes him have to pee!@ ACome on! Please?@ Trent begged, grabbing his penis tightly. He really needed to pee soon. Miss McMillan started to laugh even harder. AAww,@ she teased. AYou have to pee so-o-o bad, but you=re locked in a store and you can=t get out. Whatever will you do?@ Trent, still holding himself tightly, scowled at Miss McMillan, who just kept laughing really hard. AWhat do you want?@ Trent asked, irritated. AI want to watch you squirm and dance, trying not to wet your pants,@ Miss McMillan chanted gleefully. AReal clever,@ Trent said sarcastically. ASeriously, though, what=s it going to take for you to let me go?@ AYou want me to think of something I want more than a man who needs to pee really bad standing right in front of me?@ Miss McMillan asked with apparent incredulity (though her laughter did not diminish). She shook her head. AI=m sorry, I can=t.@ Trent tried to think of an amount of money that might impress Miss McMillan without putting him into debt. AI=ll give you $300 if you unlock the door right now,@ he said desperately. Miss McMillan seemed to consider this, then said, ATempting. But no, I can=t buy situations like this for $300. I can=t buy them at all, so don=t bother raising the amount.@ Maybe if Trent could get behind the counter he could wrestle the key from Miss McMillan and use it to unlock the door himself. He looked along the counter, but it stretched from wall to wall with no visible gaps or hinges. He looked along both side walls of the parlour, but could not see any doors in either wall. (He probably wouldn=t have wanted to go through a door anyway, since it might have led deeper into the trap.) The only way he could think of getting behind the counter would be to leap over it, which would be difficult considering the state of his bladder and the fact that Miss McMillan would almost certainly not cooperate. He briefly wondered how Miss McMillan had managed to lock the front door between the time he had entered the parlour and the time he had finished his milkshake, but he quickly realized that trying to figure this out would be a waste of precious time. AYou can=t keep me here forever,@ Trent protested. ANot forever,@ Miss McMillan replied casually. AMaybe thirty, forty-five minutes tops.@ Trent felt certain that, by the time thirty to forty-five minutes had passed, he would have wet his pants uncontrollably, they would have dried again, and he would be ready to call for help (it would still be rush hour, so he needn=t fear a shortage of witnesses). So Miss McMillan wasn=t really offering him anything. Unless C AIs there any chance that time could be shortened?@ Trent asked hopefully. Miss McMillan shrugged. AI might let you go sooner,@ she said offhandedly. AIf I get bored.@ What could he do to bore her? Trent thought frantically. Well, he could let go of his penis, for one thing. But if he did that, he didn=t think he would be able to prevent himself from peeing. Another thing he could do would be to stop complaining. But was he really supposed to just stand there and do nothing to end a situation that was getting worse by the second? AWhat if I get bored?@ he asked, frustrated. AAre you bored?@ Miss McMillan asked, surprised. ADo you want me to tell you some stories to pass the time?@ ASure,@ he said, exasperated but hoping to throw Miss McMillan off by going along with a stupid suggestion. AAll right, let=s see . . . Oh, here=s one. I went whitewater rafting a few weeks ago. You might think that, being on a floatation device, one would stay more or less dry, but I can assure you that is not the case. There was water splashing all around us, and quite a bit of it ended up on me. Of course, that was nothing compared to when I actually fell off the raft and ended up completely soaked, with the rapids still splashing C@ AStop!@ yelled Trent. This was not helping. ADo you have any other stories?@ ALet=s see . . . There was one time when I went to a museum on one of my days off. I don=t remember much about the museum itself, but I do remember that I had decided to walk because it was a nice day. When I was about two thirds of the way to the museum, though, clouds started to fill the sky really quickly, I heard a few rumbles of thunder, and then rain suddenly poured down, drenching me in seconds. I tried to find some cover, but there weren=t any trees and the only buildings around were private houses, so I just kept walking. By the time I got to the museum my clothes were saturated with water and it was dripping onto the museum floor C@ AStop!@ Trent yelled again. He could feel himself starting to pee in his pants and there was nothing he could do to stop it. AI=m starting to wet my pants. Unlock the door now!@ Miss McMillan=s laughter reached a crescendo to match that of Trent=s desperation, then subsided. She watched Trent intently as his pants became wetter and wetter. Trent let go of his penis so that his hand wouldn=t get wet. He didn=t bother to say anything further as his bladder emptied; any attempts to convey the seriousness of the situation only seemed to amuse Miss McMillan further. Trent wanted to close his eyes and pretend that he was somewhere else, somewhere safe, but he needed to stay alert in case Miss McMillan tried any more tricks. Trent hoped that the tables and chairs would hide what was happening from people outside. He looked out the window and was relieved to see pedestrians walking past the parlour as though it didn=t exist. (This is what they would do normally; an independent shop in the middle of town does not tend to draw much attention.) As Trent continued to wet himself helplessly, he looked around the parlour continuously, hoping to catch the next part of the trap before it sprang. He still could not see anything suspicious, but he continued to look until his bladder was completely empty. At that point, Miss McMillan, presumably noticing that Trent=s pants weren=t getting any wetter, clapped her hands three or four times and said, in an impressed tone of voice, ANice.@ Trent looked at Miss McMillan. She was smiling ecstatically. Trent had never seen anyone smile like that before, and it was beautiful. It made Trent think of a rainbow after a ferocious storm. And it was because of him. He instantly forgave Miss McMillan for what she had just put him through. He also stopped worrying about whatever else she might have had planned; that smile was worth anything he could imagine her doing to him. He smiled back, faintly. For a few moments, they simply gazed at each other. Then Miss McMillan seemed to come out of a trance and bent down to reach under the counter. AI=ve got some goodies for you,@ she said. AGoodies,@ Trent said, chuckling. ANo more tricks, I promise. I need to get home too.@ She took out a spray bottle and handed it to Trent. AThis is a deodorizer for the smell. Spray it on wherever you see wetness.@ AYou really think the smell is the first thing that people will notice?@ Trent asked incredulously. ANo,@ Miss McMillan replied evenly. ABut it=s the first thing you need to take care of.@ Shrugging, Trent took the bottle and sprayed it on the wet parts of his pants, then held the bottle out for Miss McMillan to take back. Miss McMillan was already bending down to reach under the counter again, though, so Trent put the bottle on the counter. Miss McMillan straightened up and handed Trent something made of cloth. AThis is a kimono to cover up the spot,@ she said. Trent took the kimono, unfolded it, and put it on. It was quite a nice kimono. AIt=s yours to keep,@ Miss McMillan continued. AYou deserve it.@ Miss McMillan then put the deodorizer back under the counter and took out a booklet. She tore a page out of the booklet (they were apparently perforated) and handed it to Trent. AThis is a coupon for a free milkshake of your choice,@ she said. ADon=t bother using it for a McMillan Shake; that one=s always on the house.@ She winked. AIf you decide not to come back, you can give the coupon to a friend C or an enemy.@ She put the coupon book back under the counter. ALet me get the door for you,@ she said, then turned and went into the back room. Trent heard a vaguely familiar click behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see what it was, but he couldn=t see anything that C then it struck him. The door! She had a power lock on the door so that she could open or close shop from her side of the counter C or trap unsuspecting customers in the parlour. Miss McMillan came out of the back room. AThe door=s unlocked,@ she said. AHave a good evening.@ AThat=s it?@ Trent asked, surprised. AI told you, I need to get home too.@ Trent turned, walked to the door, and pushed on it. This time the door opened easily. He left the parlour, letting the door swing closed behind him, and started walking the rest of the way home. He would not make any more stops; he wanted to get home as soon as possible so that he could change his pants. As he was walking, he heard the familiar click of the parlour=s power lock. He smiled to himself, relieved to have finally been released from the parlour and also glad to have been such an immense source of entertainment.