"Going" on the Way to the Theater ("Lisa's" Story)

[Dr.P 1,456]

"Going" on the Way to the Theater ("Lisa's" Story)

by Dr. P

The real world documentary of this incident seems to have generated significant interest among readers on Pee Fans, since I posted it on 11 August 2019. So I thought I would write another version of this story, told from "Lisa's" point of view, as I understood it, at the time it took place. The events are the same as those of the documentary, but it is fictional, in the sense that "Lisa" is not writing it, I am.

As noted in the documentary, "Lisa" (not her real name, of course) and I were together for several years in the late 1970's and early 1980's, a time when surveillance cameras did not yet cover most of the known world. In today's world, this story probably would not have happened, at least not without severe consequences to one or both of us.

We both enjoyed my fascination with her peeing styles and habits, which she freely shared with me, once she understood how much they turned me on. This is my recollection of one event which actually happened during that time. I am presenting it as told by her, since her point of view is much more intimate and personal, and she shares some fascinating details, some of which she revealed to me, after the fact.

Here is how I think "Lisa" might tell this story:

We often went out and spent entire evenings drinking and dancing, during which I never used a ladies' room. In my experience, they were usually filthy, and I hated them, so we actually made a pact that I wouldn't use them when we were together. Instead, we tried to find a private spot in a parking lot or garage, where I could raise my skirt, spread my legs, and pee standing up. If we failed to find a location with sufficient privacy for that, we would return to the car, which we had usually parked in a location which we had chosen for as much privacy as possible. I would sit on the running board of the car, with the door open, and pee on the pavement, or in the gravel, depending on where we were. He would always place himself in front of me, outside the car, on the passenger side, where he had the best view, of course. In this position, he also protected me by blocking the view of anyone else, who might happen along while I was peeing. The hissing of my stream, coming out of my pussy, and its splattering on the pavement or ground, seemed to turn him on even more than when he watched me pee indoors, on the toilet.

There was one incident which was spectacular and exciting, but almost ended in a wetting disaster for me, so it is worth my telling about it. We had tickets to a play at a theater which was about a 40-minute drive from where we lived. So we met beforehand for drinks and snacks in our local area. We were both dressed well; I was wearing a garter belt and traditional stockings, which he absolutely loved, under a very pretty dress. We wanted to keep our pact, and I certainly wanted him to see me pee in this outfit, so I didn't do it in the bar, before we left for the theater. We agreed that we would find a place for me to "go," on the way.

Traffic was heavier than expected, and we had a hard time finding an exit from the freeway where there would be some chance for privacy. I began to wonder if I had misjudged my ability to hold my pee long enough for us to find a place for me to "go." I had had two tall drinks of vodka and tonic at the bar, and both the alcohol and volume of fluid were causing a lot of pressure in my bladder. I was fidgeting and getting more and more desperate with every minute, as he drove. I had my hands between my thighs, pressing hard on my pussy through my dress, trying desperately to hold my pee in.

Finally, fearing a major disaster, I lifted my dress, pulled it out from under me, and gathered it around my waist, exposing my bare thighs above my stockings. In case I squirted or dribbled, my legs and panties might get wet, but my dress would stay dry, avoiding major damage. I pressed my hands against my pussy, over my panties, which were thankfully still dry, and crossed my legs, for added pressure to stop leaks. I seriously considered removing my panties, to keep them dry, but realized that they might absorb minor dribbles or spurts, and keep my legs, and the rest of my clothes dry, in the event of minor leaks. I could always remove them, and put them in my purse, if I did wet them. Besides, for some strange reason, I felt that it would be embarrassing, to let him see me remove them. I saw him sneak a peek at my legs, showing obvious admiration and excitement.

Somewhat to my surprise, I was feeling a little embarrassed by my own desperation and the extreme measures I was taking, and letting him see, to keep from wetting myself in front of him, even though I had let him watch me pee many times, under a variety of circumstances, including intentionally wetting my panties in front of him, over a toilet. But that was different. At those times, I was always completely cool, and totally in control, showing him what I wanted him to see, in the way I wanted to show it. He was the one who was nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

I was terrified now, because I was the one who might lose control and wet myself in ways that I couldn't even imagine, let alone control. I was also afraid that he might be totally turned off by my having a major wetting accident, in which my outer clothes got wet, ugly, and possibly smelly, in spite of his obvious attraction to my peeing in well controlled situations.

Finally, I told him very emphatically that he absolutely MUST take the next exit, no matter what, because I could not possibly hold it a minute longer. He could see that I was very serious, and more desperate than he had ever seen me before. He did take the next exit, and we were extremely lucky. The exit took us into a quiet, poorly lit residential neighborhood, with older houses set back from the street, and quite a few trees. He stopped under a tree, which afforded some privacy from the houses, and there was still some light from one of the street lamps, so he would be able to see me pee. I couldn't have cared less at that point, whether he, or anyone else could see me pee. I had to go NOW, without getting my clothes wet!

I had my door open, panties off, my dress was already around my waist, and I was sitting on the running board with my legs spread as wide as possible, before he could even get out of the car, on his side. When he got around to my side, I was already pissing a hot, gushing, wickedly hissing stream, which splashed on the pavement. It sprayed wildly and splattered on the street, pretty much out of my control. A few drops from my ragged, gushing and spraying stream, sprinkled my upper thighs, above my stocking tops, but my dress, stockings and shoes stayed dry, because I had spread my legs wide enough to avoid the back splatter from the street. This went on for about a minute, until my stream slowed to a stop. Then a few more drops came out, in a couple of spurts.

He was there with the box of tissue to help me wipe my thighs, pussy, and butt, where I could feel some rivulets running down. They would get my dress wet, if I sat on it, without careful wiping. I would much rather have had him lick me, as he wanted to do, but we both realized that there was no time. Besides, we didn't know anything about the neighborhood we were in, or whether we had already been seen by others, who may or may not have been friendly.

I looked at the huge puddle on the pavement, and told him I couldn't believe that all of that had come out of me! We closed and locked the car doors and got back on the freeway, continuing to marvel at how much I had peed, and how spectacular it looked, as it hissed and gushed out of me, in a raging torrent. I was amazed at the size and power of my stream, and how forcefully I sprayed, just letting it go, without pushing at all. I shared that with him, and told him how desperate I had been, and how I would have wet myself and my beautiful dress very badly, within seconds, if we hadn't stopped when we did.

I also told him how embarrassed I had felt, having him see all of the intimate details of what I had to do to keep from wetting myself. He said he was sorry I felt embarrassed, since I had nothing at all to be embarrassed about. He said I looked incredibly sexy, sitting there with my dress around my waist, showing my legs, made even more beautiful by my stockings, with my smooth, bare thighs above their tops. He said my lifting my dress, pressing on my pussy with my hands, and crossing my legs tightly, were all incredibly erotic in themselves, and also gave him a very intimate and personal insight into my nature, making him feel much closer to me, sharing my anxiety about wetting myself and my dress.

He confided that he had been feeling more than a little panic that we wouldn't find a suitable place on the first exit we took, off the freeway, but was profoundly relieved, when we did. He had no idea that I might be put in such a desperate situation, and he felt guilty that he hadn't encouraged me to pee in the ladies room at the bar we had left, earlier. That made me feel much more relaxed, and less anxious, knowing that he was totally on my side, as he always seemed to be. We remembered this incident warmly, reminisced, and chuckled about it, for months afterward.

Dr. P

 

[whiskey35 295]

Good to hear Lisa's version of this story. As always very well written.