An unexpected sight

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I was not sure if I should post this here, or in the 'real pee sightings' thread, as it is very closely based on my memory of something I saw many years ago.

It was a summer's evening in the city, warm and still light. I don't remember exactly why I was there and it is not important now. I was in the car, waiting for someone. It was going to be a long wait but I was in no hurry and that did not matter. I was in a relaxed mood, listening to the radio.

I noticed there were two girls across the road, standing on the street corner. They looked like students, casually dressed and probably in their early twenties. The taller one had straight blonde hair, shoulder length. She wore a white button up blouse with tight, pale blue denim jeans and black high heeled shoes. She was on the phone. I guessed she was trying to arrange a lift for both of them. For some reason, I decided her name might be Gail.

The other, Sarah, was shorter. Her hair was black and she wore a dark blue polo shirt with blue shorts. It was warm so her tanned legs were bare. She wore sandals on her feet. Sarah badly needed to find a toilet very soon. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs as she waited for Gail to finish speaking on the phone.

It was a long, complicated conversation. Sarah tried to win Gail's attention, but Gail ignored her, turning away as Sarah tapped her arm. Sarah realised that she was on her own. She was now getting quite desperate. Not only was she wriggling and twisting, but she also had to put her hand between her legs and squeeze her vulva.

Gail was still on the phone. I could see that Sarah would not last much longer before she had to empty her bladder. She did look as if she were on the verge of wetting her pants. She again squeezed herself between her legs and kept her hand there, bending forward with the force she was having to use to hold in her pee. She had moved into a shop doorway - quite a large alcove, with plate glass on either side - while Gail was around the corner, still engrossed in her phone conversation. Sarah came out of the doorway and looked around. To me it seemed as if she was checking if anyone might see her if she were to pull down her shorts and squat down to piss on the ground. She was now keeping her fingers pressed in between her legs. Sometimes she would squeeze with both hands, bending at the waist and knees while pushing. Sometimes she took her hand round behind her, to reach under her bum and pull her shorts tightly into her crack. And now, as she did that, she froze for a few seconds, as if she was losing bodily control and I wondered if her pee was oozing from her lips into her knickers. As if to confirm that, on stopping the dribble, she straightened up, reached behind, and gently felt the clothing between her thighs, perhaps testing whether her denim shorts now felt damp. She also looked down at the front of her shorts, parting her legs for a better view.

Perhaps she had pissed a little into her shorts, and perhaps she had lost control briefly, but she now seemed a little more comfortable. It did not last long before she had to grab her crotch again and squeeze hard. She pressed her other hand on top of the first and pushed, bending over as she did. She took her hands away, brought her right hand under her bum to squeeze from behind and put her left hand on top of it, from the front. She parted her legs and bent her knees to allow herself to grip harder, then straightened up, pulling as hard as she could.

Standing straight, in the shop doorway, she removed her hands from her crotch, paused and wet her knickers. That does not properly describe the spectacle. A sudden stream fell from her shorts, bright and sparkling in reflected light, splashing on the hard floor between her feet, a wet tendril ran from the doorway to pool into a dark, growing puddle on the street pavement. Another stream snaked down the back of each leg to wet her feet. She had completely lost control and was going to the toilet in her underwear, in public. She didn't like the feeling of pissing down her legs so, instinctively, she tried to drop to a squat, the natural posture for a urinating woman. Her bum met the shop window behind her, so she could not squat, but instead leant against the window in more of a hovering position. Much of her pee now ran irregularly down the face of the window, but smaller streams fell from each of her buttocks, the legs of her shorts and the centre of her shorts, where she was still fast filling her pants with warm pee. More trickles still ran down her thighs and calves to her ankles.

The little puddle on the pavement outside the shop now emptied into the street gutter. Sarah had her wrists on her knees, and opened her legs as, head down, she watched as she could not stop pissing through her shorts. She was now still, after all the wriggling, jiggling and squeezing had failed. She continued to wet her pants, as yet unable to do anything to slow the unplanned release of urine pouring, gushing into her underwear, filling her knickers with warm liquid swirling around next to her skin.

I watched, amazed to have such a clear view of a young woman peeing in her pants. The streams eventually faded away to gentle dribbles. She lifted her head and looked around. She still had not seen me sitting in the car, watching her. She had regained control, and stopped peeing, but she realised that she still could pee more. She decided that the damage was done already, nobody would notice, and it would get no worse if she finished off. Perhaps too she was still coming to terms with the shock of suddenly losing control of her bladder and flooding her pants and wanted to feel the sensation again, of warmth running through her knickers, washing over her private parts.

Anyway, she began to piss again, in her pants, this time on purpose. For a few more seconds, the streams ran again, there was more splattering and splashing into the spreading puddle behind her heels. She chose to wet her knickers again, and, once she had started to pee through her clothes once more, she let it keep running until she felt empty. She looked down to watch herself puddle on the ground, through her shorts. She looked up and around to make sure she still was not seen.

Eventually she was done. She forced out a few more short squirts into her soaked knickers, staring down as she did, but then could pee no more. The dribbles from her wet shorts faded into drips. She looked up, looked down, then slowly stood up. She inspected the damage, and tried to use the plate glass windows as mirrors to see it from all around. There was surprisingly little to see. Her shorts were dark blue anyway. They were now a little darker between the legs at the front, and over much of the lower part behind. But if I hadn’t just seen her piss through them I don’t think I would have guessed that she had just wet herself.

Sarah stuck her head out of the doorway, saw that Gail was finishing on the phone, and waved her over. When Gail arrived soon afterwards, I could not hear the conversation, but there was lots of pointing and laughing, and Gail put her hand to her mouth in surprise. I could see that Sarah was telling her that she had been unable to wait any longer and had accidentally pissed into her shorts and all over the ground in the shop doorway. Gail was impressed by the size of the puddle across the pavement. She reassured Sarah that the wetness on her shorts barely showed.

I thought that Gail might decide to drop her jeans, squat and pee in the same doorway. She looked as if she was considering it, and started to fiddle with the fastenings. But clearly she decided better of it and, locking arms with Sarah, they walked off together down the street. I think Gail was now telling her about the long telephone call.