A Cloudy Dream

When the turbulence had first started - less than an hour into the five hour flight - Liz had felt fine. Two hours later, she felt decidedly less fine under the continuous glow of the fasten seat belt sign - partly because the turbulence hadn't let up, and partly because she hadn't had time to pee since her connecting flight early that morning.

She had already turned down two offers from the flight attendant for drinks. The last thing she needed right now was more liquid in her bladder. She didn't quite understand how the flight could be smooth enough for the flight attendants to walk around serving drinks, but not smooth enough for the captain to turn off the fasten seat belt sign and allow her to visit the restroom; however, the flight attendant hadn't been willing to negotiate the point. Liz would not be allowed to leave her seat until the captain turned off the fasten seat belt sign. No exceptions.

A sudden and relatively severe drop in altitude made her stomach flip, and she gripped the armrest so hard the fabric pattern imprinted itself on her palm. She felt dizzy and found herself breathing with quick, shallow breaths. It took a moment for her stomach to settle after the plane leveled out, and she didn't need to rely on her nursing degree to tell her that her heart rate had shot way, way up.

Liz looked at the other passengers around her. They were totally and completely unfazed - every last one of them. She cursed under her breath: next time, she would just take the extra day off work and drive rather than fly. A magnificent feat indeed that engineers could keep a million pounds of metal airborne, but such a shame that they couldn't make it at least tolerably pleasant for her.

As her heart rate began recovering, her need to pee returned with even greater severity than before. She had to pee so badly now she felt wet. In fact... glancing down she noticed a wet patch on her light blue shorts, peeking out just slightly above the level of her crotch and continuing down between her legs and underneath her. She moved her hands to cover her lap as quickly as she felt she could without attracting attention.

Viewed from the top or front, the wet patch would hardly have been visible. People probably wouldn't even notice unless they looked specifically for it. However, some discrete probing with her fingers confirmed her fear that the backside was considerably worse off. Viewed from the back, no one could miss what had happened to her.

The dampness between her legs made it even more difficult to continue holding, but Liz tried her hardest. After another 20 minutes of crossing and uncrossing her legs, tapping her feet, and keeping at least one hand in her lap at all times, Liz realized she had begun to attract the attention of the other passengers around her. A couple of them kept glancing in her direction and then looking quickly away. Clearly they understood her predicament.

She forced herself to sit still, but even so she kept getting occasionally looks - perhaps people wondering if her sudden stillness meant she had lost the fight. Even though she hadn't, it still embarrassed her that they might think that.

Liz decided to block them out and pretend to sleep. She left both hands in her lap, but leaned back and closed her eyes. She found staying still and relaxing actually lessened her need to pee.

About 20 minutes later she heard the ding of the seat belt sign turning off, but kept her eyes shut and her body still. Now that she had relaxed and didn't have to pee quite so urgently, she didn't feel so inclined to walk her wet ass down an aisle lined by a hundred onlookers to get to the bathroom. It would probably be occupied by the time she got there anyway. She decided to give her shorts some more time to dry before taking her walk of shame. Whether they would dry much or not she didn't really know, but mostly she just wanted to put off the embarrassment a little longer.

She jumped a little when the man next to her poked her arm and whispered,

"You can use the bathroom now, the seat belt sign is off."

She did still have to pee, but she ignored him and pretended to still be asleep, hoping her face wasn't blushing quite as red as it felt.

~

Liz felt herself beginning to drift towards consciousness. Although not lucid enough to remember her predicament or location, she felt dread at the thought of leaving the dream and having to face reality. With great effort she plunged her mind back into the dream.

Through the abnormally large gap between the bathroom door and the door frame, Liz watched her friends dance, drink and laugh. Standing inside the bathroom, she tried to latch the door so she could use the toilet. It seemed latched, so she sat down on the toilet, but then before she could start going the door started to swing inwards - clearly not securely latched. She stood up and tried to get the door to latch again, but it simply fit too poorly in the frame for there to be any hope of it ever staying shut.

Frustration nagged at her mind and she felt an intense urgency to find a secluded bathroom. The party began to fade out. I'm at the party, she told herself. She forced herself to think of the old college party house, imagined herself dancing with her friends and drinking, and managed to re-immerse herself in the dream before slipping too far out of it.

She began searching for a different bathroom to use. She had tread close enough to wakefulness to know she was dreaming. Close enough to know that she could wake herself if she tried hard enough, and close enough to understand that she probably should wake herself before she managed to find an acceptable bathroom in her dream.

But she didn't want to wake up. Suddenly it seemed more important than ever that she find a bathroom. She sat down in a large stuffed armchair at the edge of the party. This is a dream, she told herself, it doesn't matter if you pee in front of them; it doesn't matter if you pee in your shorts, or in this chair. She tried to just go in her shorts and let the chair absorb it, but the other people in the room made her too nervous and she couldn't let go.

She walked out the back door and sat down on the steps. No one else was outside, she was all alone now. A momentary warning flashed through her mind: she knew this was a dream, knew she might wet her bed for real if she continued. Her subconscious argued back, telling her she wouldn't be able to find relief if she left the dream - this was the only way. She listened.

Beginning to pee on the steps felt great, although almost immediately she found herself sitting back in the stuffed armchair at the center of the party. No one else seemed to notice, even as she sat among them and peed through her shorts and into the chair's cushion. Moisture wicked along her shorts until her entire bottom felt warm.

It took a few seconds for Liz to fade back to full consciousness. When she did, it came as no surprise to her that she was both sitting in a warm puddle and still peeing. Not wanting to have to deal with the embarrassing situation immediately, she didn't bother stopping. Instead, she kept her eyes shut, pretended to be asleep, and finished going.