How do I have to pee this bad? It's been years since I've felt the level of desperation and pressure that I do now. Years since I really even had to think about the tug of war between my bladder and time. But here I am, hoping that I can wait out the final mile walk home, the urgent pang of urine sloshing around my bladder.
The night had started so well. I met a long-time friend at a restaurant for dinner and a couple of drinks. We spent the night catching up, talking about our lives, our hopes, the future. Throughout the evening we shared stories that made each other laugh and shared advice on how to handle the light difficulties that life had presented us both as relatively affluent suburbanites, living just outside the city.
Kelsey, my friend spent a good chunk of the night complaining about her job and I did the same. And while she wouldn't be classified as terribly attractive, our personalities always seemed to gel just perfectly, often making me wonder about what a more physical interaction would be like. At about 5'5", she was a little on the heavy side, with short blonde hair, wire glasses, large breasts and a big bottom. She tended to stay away from the details of her romantic entanglements, but every now and again would share a detail that would add a piece to the puzzle of her sexuality.
We had three or so drinks with dinner and, instead of taking an Uber, we decided to walk home. Despite living in roughly the same neighborhood, we had agree to check out this restaurant a few miles away. As we both decided we didn't want the evening to end, we kept ordering drinks.
As we got ready to leave, I decided to go to the bathroom once more, just to be sure I could make it.
But that was then.
After a few drinks everything seems closer than it really is. So here we are, half-way home and I have to pee like I haven't in years.
At first, I thought about stopping to just go behind some bushes. But Kelsey and I never had that kind of relationship. While good friends, we were never comfortable enough with each other to even divulge details of our sex lives, much less public urination tips. Besides, it'd be embarrassing to have her know I couldn't control my bladder enough to get home.
So we carried on, her not knowing I had to pee and me clenching my teeth in hopes of making it another mile.
We moved another couple of blocks before the need, the urge returned in force. I flinched slightly, clenching so as not to let the coursing urine river free.
Kelsey carried on happily chatting about her perfect job and her ideal set of circumstances to thrive in the city. I was present as I could be, but the gnawing yellow menace jumped on my bladder.
The first outward sign of distress came about a half-a-mile from her house, 3/4 mile from mine.
The pressure disappeared for a few minutes, leaving me to feel like I was in the clear. But, out of nowhere came the sudden force, like tsunami headed for the tip of my member.
I stopped, suddenly.
"Are you okay?" Kelsey asked.
"Yeah," I responded, "just a cramp."
After a beat, the pressure subsided and we carried onward towards her house. Knowing the hands of time were pressing directly on my bladder, I picked up the pace, moving towards Kelsey's house.
Yet, it wasn't another two blocks before the pounding pressure returned, with a shot of adrenaline so stiff, I could feel it in my neck and taste it in my mouth, like a computer with a virus, freezing. I crossed my legs and stuck my hand in the waistband of my khaki shorts.
This time, it was obvious. Too obvious. Again, Kelsey tried to help me, "everything okay?" She asked again, clear that she wasn't going to state the obvious.
"Yep, I just have to--"
"Pee?" She cut me off.
I nodded quickly in agreement.
"Well, go!" Kelsey encouraged, "Go ahead, I won't look."
"It's okay," I said, "I'll make it."
She looked at me, then down at my hand in my khakis and offered a simple, "You sure?"
Never would I admit it, but the fact of the matter was that I didn't exactly feel well-endowed. And Kelsey had a mixture of quiet and satisfaction without much of a real sex life, that it could be assumed that a 9" dildo awaited her by the side of her bed. My 6" grower, even from behind a tree would look and sound small.
I put on a brave face, reassuring her, "It's okay, really I'm good."
And we were. The urgency subsided. I was going to make it. Until we got to her driveway.
We were saying goodnight, chatting about the next time we were going to hang out when piss rushed in so harshly that I swear my molars were drowning.
"Can I please use your bathroom," I cut her off mid-sentence. The urgency outweighing my manners.
A spurt of hot piss shot into my boxer briefs.
"Please?" I pleaded, losing all sense of dignity.
"Erm, sure," She acquiesced.
Now, Kelsey didn't really like people in her house, that included friends and strangers alike. But this was an emergency and she knew she really had no choice in the matter.
She unlocked the door and headed in. "Bathrooms on your right," she shouted over her shoulder, putting her purse down on the sofa.
Taking small, measured steps, I followed behind. I didn't notice her decor or her landscape photo wall art or her cluttered bookshelf or her couch that looked like it's never been sat on or any of the details of her home because the moment I stepped through the threshold and into the kitchen, I knew I had a problem.
Three...two...the clock in my head was going off, the alarm was flashing red, sirens everywhere. I wanted to run to the bathroom. Rip off my pants if necessary. Hell, briefly, I had the feral thought of pissing in her sink.
One.
