So, I decided to try a long hold last night on my way home from work. It’s not really a big deal for me, usually. I’m that girl with the iron bladder, the one who doesn’t use public loos because she doesn’t really need them. I can resist the strongest of urges. I can walk past a toilet with a full bladder and not flinch.

I maybe overestimated my talents a little?

I usually start my holds by using the bathroom. You know, starting from empty, letting the desperation build gradually. I find that sensation of becoming increasingly worried about whether I’ll make it very appealing. But my commute is only maybe two hours in the worst traffic. And man, Friday night traffic flowing into Seattle is bad, but not Monday morning bad. I figured that no matter what, I would definitely get home before I got to the point of losing it. Heh, youthful optimism, eh?

So I filled up my water bottle, swung by the dollar store to grab a couple bottles of something sweet and lightly caffeinated, and was on my way. I thought since I didn’t have long before I got home, I’d be fine. I chugged the first bottle of pop before I even got on the bus. 

My first bus is a long bus. It’s never less that 45 minutes. I take it from its first stop to its last, straight through to downtown. I got on the bus absolutely fine, and thought nothing of that first soda I finished. Fifteen minutes into my bus ride, I had to jam my fingers between my legs to keep from flooding the seat. I wasn’t really continuously desperate yet, just getting these waves of pressure every now and then, so I popped open my other soda and finished that too. 

Half an hour into my bus ride, I felt my first wet spot. I didn’t even realise I had wet myself a little until I felt a hot rush on my fingers, and when I looked down, the corner of my shirt that I had accidentally pushed down between my thighs was soaked.

I was starting to panic a little at that point. I wasn’t expecting to get so full so quickly, and I was starting to doubt my ability to make it all the way home before I lost it. You have to understand, I’m not usually one to have problems once I’ve broken the seal. If I feel I can’t hold it, I can let out just a little, carefully, and just wait for the wet spot to dry. I’ve voided full bladders like that in the summer, lying in the sun. Just wet a tiny bit, wait until the spot doesn’t feel too damp anymore, wet a tiny bit more, and by the time I’m done, it looks like nothing ever happened. In black pants, anyway.

I decided to just let a tiny bit out. Just a little spurt to tide me over until I could run into Target or McDonald’s or wherever, I didn’t care at that point. Unfortunately, I had overhydrated. I let out just a little bit, but to my complete horror, I found I couldn’t stop. I clamped down on the flow as much as I could, but I was still releasing a slow, steady trickle. Just enough to keep my panties hot and create a slowly spreading puddle under my backside. I tried so hard to hold back. I put a sweater in my lap and tried to hold myself inside my pants. I tried sitting on my heel. I tried crossing my legs real tight and praying. Nothing helped.

Now, I’m a real fan of public wetting, but not so much a fan of wearing wet clothes home, so I like to keep a disposable diaper in my purse. Nothing fancy, just a Depends night diaper. Next to useless for a full wetting, but enough to make me feel like I’m doing something taboo. Unfortunately, it was a pull-up, and I was still only halfway home, on a brightly lit bus, and wearing black skinny jeans. There would be no passing it off as adjusting myself if I put that on under my sweater. I decided that the only option to avoid completely ruining the bus seat was to tear the sides out and stuff it down my pants to try and absorb the slow drip I still had going on.

I managed to inch it into a semi-secure position maybe five minutes before I got off the bus. I had, however, misjudged the situation. I’ve used diapers as a last resort so many times, that as far as my bladder is concerned, as soon as that padding pushes up into place, it’s time to GO. I barely managed to avoid letting go completely, but the tiny leak became a steady dribble. And I was just getting off the bus downtown.

I had decisions to make. I was slowly losing control, so I needed to go somewhere private fast, but I’d have to take a bus to get home as quickly as possible, and I wasn’t sure the bus driver would let me on if he realised I was wetting my pants. And worse, when I stood up, gravity had made my need that much more intense. When I hopped off the bus, the shock of landing forced out enough pee that I was starting to feel drips down the inside of my thighs, torn up diaper or no. I decided to make a bolt for the light rail, which doesn’t have actual people taking fares, and hope it got there soon enough to keep me from making a mess. 

I was lucky; no sooner had I gotten to the platform than a train showed up, and for once, it was even going in the right direction. I got on the train and sat down, wet pants or no. I was not doing a potty dance in front of the other passengers. When I sat, it forced another spray of pee out of me, so hard you could hear it against the padding between my legs before I regained control of myself.

It takes 8 minutes to make it from the downtown stop to the stop closest to my house. It takes another twenty minutes on the bus from there. I was four minutes in when I realized I was going to have to walk home from the light rail, because my bladder didn’t care about my plans anymore. I was leaking steadily, and getting even more desperate with every moment that passed.

My stop on the light rail requires you to take an escalator, elevator, or stairs to get back up to ground level. The elevator was crowded, and the escalator was slow. I picked the escalator, but started climbing, because the only thing more mortifying than what I was trying to get some privacy for would be soaking my pants in front of everyone standing behind me. Every single step squeezed more pee into my already half full diaper. And since it was so badly secured, at least half of every spurt wound up rolling off the padding down my legs. I got to the top of the stairs, and had to stop and hold myself, because by then, my bladder was so full that it was cramping continuously, and every step felt like it was going to force me to flood my pants. 

When I recovered enough to walk, I made my way across the street. I was aiming for a small trail that isn’t very well lit once you get a block or two away from the light rail. I didn’t make it that far. I had to climb a small flight of stairs to get to the trail, and the last step was too much for me. My foot touched the asphalt, and my bladder released, whether I liked it or not. My diaper held on just long enough for me to turn the corner so I wasn’t in full view of the traffic and kick my shoes off. I peed so hard and so fast, that it actually pooled in my pants a little and when I shoved my hands down my pants to try and hold back, the piss flooded over my hands and spilled out my fly. The diaper probably didn’t help. I managed to get control of myself around the time my bladder was half empty. But by that point, I was soaked from my asscrack down in the back, and my shirt in the front was ruined up to my belly button. So i just pulled the diaper out of my pants, threw it away, and let the rest of it go in my pants, right where I was standing. 

I walked the rest of the way home. My poor overstressed bladder was so tired that I was physically unable to hold back anything the whole rest of the way home. I trickled pee down into my shoes until I got home, where I squatted by the front porch and forced out as much as I could, to try and spare my carpet the drips.

All in all, it was fun. This has been one of my biggest fantasies forever, and even though I didn’t plan to fulfil it, I was insanely turned on by it. When I peeled my clothes off, I was so wet that you could see it dripping down my thighs. Who knows? I might do it again on purpose!