I had far too much to drink. I liked the giddy stage, the warm face, the light head, the excessive giggles, but this? Not so much. I'm dizzy, my stomach feels like it's got a whirlpool inside it and I've been bursting to pee for half an hour.
At this stage of drunk, I can never quite tell if I actually need to pee or not so I hold it as long as I can, then usually dash to the bathroom when I feel I'm about to dribble.
Outside in Xander's garden, a party is in full swing. I can't even remember the last time this happened so I was just enjoying myself. The smokey smell of the barbecue still lingering even though the fire had died out hours ago. There were plenty of people I hadn't talked to yet and was wanting to have a laugh with, mostly Xander's work buds who I'd heard about but never properly met, or people his new girlfriend had invited. She seemed nice, if a little too much like his mum, but it was better than the parade of flings and one night stands I was used to seeing him with. I suppose he was at the age of settling down.
I stood and made my way into the bustling kitchen, grabbing another cold beer first but changed my mind taking a can of cola instead. Sober me would be grateful.
I would never find a lover who cares for me as much as my drunk self does. Drunk me leaves snacks in my bag in my tampon pocket as a surprise for later, even though sober me never remembers where she got them. She makes sure she stops drinking when she hits 'drunk' and leaves bottles of water by my bed to hydrate. I nodded to myself. Good decision, me! I'm a grown up!
Xander's arms snakes around my middle and snuggled in, a kind of intimacy I only see when the drinks are flowing, but he put pressure on my bladder and I knew I'd have to pee soon.
"How's my bestest friend in the world?" He slurred.
"Fucking fabulous Frankish!" I replied with one of our weird and almost inexplainable inside jokes.
"Heehee, Frankish, that's me!"
He let me go and stumbled out of the room. He is such a dork. The pressure down below becomes urgent suddenly and I knew I had to hurry. Ditching my can, I headed to the bathroom downstairs but there was a queue. Dashing past them I rush to the stairs hoping most guests wouldn't know about the en-suite and that it would be free.
Reaching the master bedroom I was so grateful to see the door open and the clean white bathroom empty. I relaxed a little too much with relief, and the first dribble escaped my peehole, soaking my pants. I froze and clenched my legs together. Shit!
I twirled a little to check the mirror behind me and to check the damage. On the outside, my jeans look fine, a tiny damp patch could be seen but that could be a shadow. Yeah, it's fine, this is fine, I just need to make it to the toilet.
Instinctively I knew that if I moved my legs too much, the floodgates would open and I'd piss all over Xander's carpet. If that was to happen, there would be no hiding it, everyone would know what I'd done.
I clenched my thighs and crossed my leg, almost waddling like a penguin to keep the pressure.
Almost there, two more steps, and YES! I reached the bathroom and fumbled for my jeans button, not even bothering to shut the door but in my drunken panic it was tougher than it normally would be. My fingers betrayed me, I couldn't undo the button and I couldn't hang on any longer. A spurt of liquid escaped me. I clenched down on it with legs and my hands, but the damage was done, and the wetness was visible in my jeans.
My breathing was heavy and I had no idea what to do. I have three options and not much time to decide.
Option 1. I can keep trying my jeans button, but can potentially fail and piss myself.
Option 2. I can sit on the toilet and piss through my jeans, then at least the wet patch is in one spot.
Option 3. Keep clenching like my life depends on it but try and scoot my jeans down without undoing the button, but again I would potentially create a big wet mess.
