Little Miss Pee A Lot

Just a little British whimsy. A humorous slant on an autobiographical memory of linked events during my married life. 95% real, 5% literary license. You may find reading my profile adds some context and answers some question that may arise.

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"Take one, three times a day, again." my doctor said.

"This is the ninth time I've treated you for this" he continued, "you need to think about cause and prevention Jane, don't you?" he added more sternly.

"Yes Doctor," I replied, feeling a little miffed at the veiled rebuke.

He was a good doctor. We had been registered with him since we married and moved into the area over 30 years ago. He was new to the practice then, so all new patients were added to his list as the 'regulars' wanted to only see the established GPs.

As I walked home from the surgery I got increasingly irritated at what had been said to me. My throat infection couldn't be my fault, I hadn't had sex for a month, and I only get chance for passionate kissing with my fwb sex partners, which had only started in the last few years, so that wasn't the cause either.

At home, I made a pot of coffee and went up to our bedroom to lie down and enjoy it with a book. I was alone in the house, my husband at work and the kids had all moved out now. It was lovely to have the freedom, but a little lonely at times.

As I poured my second mug of coffee, and swallowed my first dose of my prescribed course of antibiotics, my mind started wandering. I had just finished a chapter of 'passionate tomfoolery' and felt some warmth between my legs, an indication of how involved I get in the plot when I read.

My eyes had closed and I was gently stroking my stimulated area. Nearly an hour had passed when the feeling hit me. I need a pee, NOW! I ran into the en-suite, hurriedly disguarded my panties, lifted my skirt and landed on the loo just as my bladder opened.

As the hot liquid poured out I cursed the effect these antibiotics have on me, an immediate and irresistible need to pee. Every time, this is the ninth as my doctor kindly reminded me, I get this sudden need, no growing feeling, just an instant sensation and uncontrollable need.

At home this is merely inconvenient but when I'm out it can cause major issues for me.

I wiped myself, flushed, went to pull up my panties, but they were no longer fresh after my time of happy thoughts. I dropped them in the wash basket, washed my hands, and returned to laying back on my bed.

My mind returned to and reviewed those times of instant need and the embarrassing situations I ended up in.

The first time was during my parents Ruby Wedding Anniversary Party, about 25 years ago. Family and friends gathered at my old family home, oversized for just the two of them now that my siblings and I had long flown my parent's nest.

It was a lovely evening. I was chatting to one of my parent's neighbours when I felt the intense need to wee. I hastily excused myself, ran upstairs to the bathroom. It was locked "Oh hell" I thought running back down stairs to the other loo. That was occupied too. I couldn't hold on, my parents en-suite was too far upstairs, I was next to the utility room.

The sink in the corner!

I hoisted my dress hem and lowered my posh party panties in one movement. My back to the sink, I pushed my bum up and over the rim as pee escaped. It was a porcelain Belfast sink, deep enough to avoid much splashback, but echoed as my pee hit the hard surface.

Fortunately the room was away from the party's populous. I was feeling safe, my urge almost relieved when, "What on earth......" my mother's voice tailed off as she held her face in her hands staring at the 'disgraceful' sight of her 34 year old daughter, mother of two, perched over her sink having a pee with the house full of her friends and our family.

I had finished and jumped down, feeling mortified, not about peeing, but at being caught by mum doing 'the unmentionable'. I was even more shocked at what happened next.

My mother grabbed one of my arms, turned me through 90' and pushed me over the tumble dryer. Without hesitation she lifted my dress hem over my bum. My panties were still around my knees as I hadn't had time to hoist them.

An echoing 'CRACK' sounded, then I squawked "Ow" as the sharp pain of mum's hand connecting with my right buttock reached my brain. She had never spanked me before, that was always my father's role.

There was an immediate repeat as her hand inflicted pain on my left buttock, followed by three more strikes on each buttock alternately.

The pressure of her hand pinning my back to the dryer was eased. As she turned to leave, in her voice of greatest disdain she said, "I am ashamed of you, ruining our party, keep out of my sight if you must stay", then she left the room.

I felt tears welling up. I'm not really a weeper but at this moment I had so many emotions causing turmoil in my mind. Tears started down my cheeks as I pulled up my pants over my stinging bum. It felt hot to the touch as well in my bum. I was clearly sexually stimulated by the firmness of my nipples and dampness down below.

The following day I managed to speak with my mum and she forgave me, eventually, after I explained.

The next occasion I was on the same treatment, the most embarrassing moment, was one Sunday morning, in Church, during a longer than normal sermon. What was worse, I had gone into the pew first and had to climb past 7 people to reach the aisle and run out for relief, which silenced the visiting preacher. The number of times after the service that I had to explain to the 'holier than though' brigade as they looked down their noses at me.

My third occasion was during a family holiday. We were out for a countryside walk, which was really nice. Then the urge arose. We were on a lane in the middle of nowhere. My husband saw my need and suggested going over the next gate into a field.

I duly climbed over the next gate and squatted behind a large bush in the hedgerow. Knowing my family, and there likelihood to try embarrassing me, I faced the gate I had mounted. Jeans and panties down as I squatted, certain anyone leaning over the gate would see nothing that propriety would balk at. As the last of my pee left my relieved pee-hole I heard voices behind me.

Looking over my shoulder I saw a group of a few people climbing through a style 100yards away. There was a footpath through the field! Squatting and turning, I lost my balanced and landed on a stinging nettle. My bare bum squashing the stinger, "AGGGHHHHHH" I squawked.

There were half a dozen strangers at the style watching me sat there. I turned to the gate and saw my family, all leaning over the gate to see why I squawked, and laughing at my discomfort and embarrassment.

I stood as quickly as I could, yanking my knickers and jeans up to cover my 'modesty' and was over the gate as soon as I physically could do it. I rushed off down the road, family trying to keep up as I sought to get away from the walkers.

My bum was stinging so much, I wanted to strip and let some cool air brush and soothe the stinger rash that had developed on my bum, but not in front of my family. They were still laughing at me and ridiculing me for my misadventure when we got back to our car.

The following day, as were deciding what to do, following a suggestion, one of my lovely family replied, "we can't do that with 'Little Miss Pee-A-Lot' along, where will she go?" We avoided problems for the next couple of days until I had finished the course of tablets and things returned to normal with my toileting needs.

The following year, during a further throat infection and antibiotic course onset, I was out shopping whilst at risk of 'sudden urinary outflow'.

I was in the changing room of one of my favourite stores, with four outfits to try on. I was just about to slide into number three, stood in just my undies, when I felt the urge.

I had been trying to control things by 'going' every hour or so when away from home. I should have gone before trying on clothes, but didn't think of it. No time to dress and take the clothes back, then find a loo! I looked around for a bag or something, really desperate.

In the corner of the room was a large leafy pot plant. Without thinking about the consequences I went to it, pulled my knickers to one side, crouched over it facing towards it and relieved my need by watering the plant.

As the flow finished, I realised what I had done.

I hurriedly got dressed in my own clothes and put the others things back on their hangers.

Ready to leave, I looked over to the plant and was horrified to see the dish under the pot was now holding a puddle of liquid. Clearly I had over watered the plant, supplied more than the compost could hold, and the colour of the liquid wasn't from the compost!

I opened the curtain, went over to the assistant and handed over the clothes muttering they weren't quite what I was after and hurriedly left the shop. I was mortified at the thought of my indiscretion being discovered and hurried back to the car park.

At home later, I realised that was one shop I could never return too, even if they didn't know my guilty secret, I did. I was ashamed, yet also rather excited. This feeling was beginning to give me some pleasure. Not the actual need to pee, or the peeing itself, but the process of realising what I had done afterwards was stimulating.

It was several years before I next needed treatment for another throat infection.

Inevitably however, an infection caught up with me. I had mastered the art of pre-emptive toileting now and all was going well with this latest episode. I had taken the last tablet at lunchtime and proud of my achievement, felt I could go to the women's group at church this afternoon.

It was a lovely day so I decided to walk the mile and a half there. A trouble free meeting, with appropriate preventative 'relief' visits.

On the walk home, the inevitable happened, but there were people around, "help" my mind screamed. Opposite was a Pub, there will be a loo!

I scurried across the road, need was urgent though and it was another 50 yards through the car park to the Public House building.

As I passed between two parked cars, I decided to squat for relief. Trousers and panties down half way to my knees as I squatted on my calf muscles, my latest stream of 'amber nectar' started a stream onto the tarmac and then under the car to my left, heading towards the pavement down the slope.

I finished, redressed, and left the car park, looking to see that my stream hadn't appeared the other side of that car yet. Relief, in both senses.

The most recent infection, prior to my current medication, was a few months ago during some lovely weather back in the summer. I had visited an elderly lady from church. She loved some company for a natter and a chance to brew tea and cut her latest home baked cake. It was a sticky ginger cake today, which was truly delicious, and yes, I did have a second slice with my third cup of tea from a fine china cup.

I had visited her 'smallest room' on arrival and again before departure. I would be fine now.

On the walk home I took a short cut through the park as it was such a glorious day. A wide expanse of grass with an occasional bench seat and the odd small tree. I sat on a bench in the middle of the park. The sun was spectacular and it was bliss to bask in it.

Then the inevitable. That urge. Desperation. I needed to pee now.

With no real trees, no bushes, no buildings, no vehicles and no chance of holding on while I left the park, there was only one solution. The bench seat was made of two planks of wood with a gap between them.

I leaned forward, arched my back, positioned my pee-hole over the gap and let it flow. Through my panties, and my jeans, straight through the gap onto the grass below. The relief as my bladder emptied again.

I leaned back and looked down at the 'damage'. Just a dark wet patch between my legs, nothing too visible when I stand up. I had managed to position my self so well. I walked home quickly feeling proud of my achievement!

Walking home I had a thought, a flash of sheer genius. My ankle length flowing skirt.

Next morning, I went out in this skirt, with beach shoes, and no panties. It felt so wicked.

When the urge arose, as I knew it would, I stood on the grass verge, legs apart, just far enough and let it flow. Wow, it worked. I could pee on demand, in public, discretely. I made use of my portable latrine three more times that day, as though I was marking my territory all over town.

My mind snapped back into the here and now on my bed, with the urgency of messages from my bladder again.

But what could have caused the infection this time? I withdrew the two fingers that had been pleasuring my swollen, slushy pussy while I had reminisced. I'd had no sex for a month, no oral, no French kissing either. Just a throat infection and a UTI. I sucked my sticky fingers clean then...