My morning jog started out well. The sun began to hide behind the clouds after awhile, and half way into my planned 10-mile jaunt, it began to rain some. Meanwhile, I was beginning to feel the affects of the coffee I had that morning. For some reason I felt compelled to drink an entire pot. Now, my bladder was beginning to send me some insistent signals.
I tried to determine where the next restroom would be along the park trial. But a wicked idea was born instead. I had always liked to play with my wee-wee, sometimes pissing in the shower. Now, I might be able to pee right in the middle of the park with no one suspecting.
The park was emptying of people, as the rain came down harder. I was drenched by now. I started to slow down as the pressure against my stomach built. Eventually, I crouched, right along the path, watching as people scurried by. My spandex running shorts rubbed in a mildly irritating but not unpleasant way. I decided this would be my moment of golden glory.
I tried to relax my bladder muscles, and even though I was at the bursting point, it took some effort. Then, I felt nothing. Then, it started. Slowly at first, my piss began to trickle out. Suddenly, I felt a muscle deep inside give way, and my piss came out in an angry hiss, but no one took notice. It was raining so hard, most probably just figured I was some nutty jogging-obsessed woman catching her breath.
