The Unremovable Unmentionables

Art was having a great time. He showed no desire to depart, and was engrossed in conversation with Alicia's friends. He made another trip to the rest room, and returned, smiling, looking at his wife as though he knew nothing of her distress.

Alicia was now not just uncomfortable, she was in pain. Her swollen bladder was extremely difficult to restrain, and the distress was showing. "Alicia, you look stressed out - are you OK?" a friend asked. She responded, as best she could, "It's been a long day and a long week - maybe we do need to be going!"

Art overheard. "Why so soon? Party's not nearly over yet!" Alicia was torn between moaning to herself and cursing. He was keeping her in this state, forcing her to choose between a seemingly hurried and ungracious exit and physical torture which was becoming unbearable.

She gave a bit of thought to trying to relieve herself, just a bit, while seated or standing. No, she decided, that tape is in the way - if I let any out, it's going to be deflected in every direction, and it will be a mess all over me. There's absolutely no way!

Finally, she turned to Art, literally begging. "Art, for goodness sake, I've got to go. I've been holding myself for hours - it's painful, and I just can't hold it! We've got to go!"

Art, seemingly unmoved, shrugged. "Well, if you say so. It's your choice. But you wanted me to stay, so I'm trying to do what makes you happy!"

"What will make me happy is a chance to pee! I've never had to so bad in my life! You taped me up so well I can't do anything about it! Now we need to go and you've got to help me!"

She looked at Art with an expression that mixed pain and fury. This time she meant business, and Art realized it.

Slowly, graciously, Art eased himself out of the entangled conversations and away from the table. It seemed he needed to stop and bid farewell to every person he had met. While others encouraged them to stay, Art deferred to Alicia, who used the excuse of the long drive home.

Gradually they worked their way to the door. Alicia slipped her hand to her crotch, pressing on her pubic region in the classic gesture of restraining a distended bladder. She looked longingly at the ladies' room as they passed it, on their way out.

The walk to the car was quite long, and Alicia was in torment. Art looked at her, in modest sympathy. "I thought you wanted me to try and fit in and stay a while. It was up to you to say when you wanted to leave - that was our bargain!"

Through clenched teeth she scowled at him. "I've got to do something - there's no way I can hold this until we get home. Have you got something to cut that tape with?"

"Well, no, that is, not with me. But there is a pen knife in the glove compartment of the car. We can try that."

Alicia, in sheer agony, struggled to the car. The lot was floodlit, and a number of people were about, mostly those leaving events at the hotel. They found their car.

"Do you want me to try to cut it here?" Art asked her.

Alicia looked around. The lights were bright, people were around, and there was no place of privacy. She weighed her modesty against her intense physical distress.

"No - no - I'll try to wait until we get out of the lot!" Art motioned her to the drivers' seat. "You're the designated driver tonight", he reminded her. She got in the car and sat in the driver's seat. She started the car and began to move it.

She drove about fifty feet, then stopped. Her hands fell to her abdomen. She turned to Art. "I've got to pee - right now! Get the knife - I don't care who's watching! I can't hold it any longer!"

She got out of the car and stood beside it, hands pressed to her pubic area, her face contorted. Art fished around in the glove compartment and finally found the knife. He came out of the car with it.

"Now - Now!! Cut the tape off!" Alicia commanded, as she hiked up her dress waist high. She spread her legs and kicked off her shoes. In the bright light she was indeed a spectacle. While no one was nearby, several persons were close enough to see her standing in the parking lot with her skirt hiked to her waist.

Art went to work on the tape. He cut through the tape and the waistband, then pulled down her panties with the residue of tape. They fell to her feet. She stepped out of them.

Not moving from her position, she kept her legs spread and her skirt hiked. Art looked at her. Nothing seemed to happen.

"I can't -- let -- go!" she said, slowly. Her face was reflecting her agony. She pushed and waited. Nothing happened.

"It won't come out!" she exclaimed, her distress unrelieved.

She waited. "Push on it for me!" she instructed Art. He placed his hand on her pubic area and pressed on her bladder. He could feel it, hard and swollen, unyielding. As he pressed, she grimaced. "No - try rubbing me - you know where!"

He put his hand on her genitals, a finger stimulating her most sensitive spot. He stood there for a moment, aware that perhaps half a dozen spectators were watching this sight from other parts of the lot.

Gradually she relaxed, just a bit. He withdrew his hand. Liquid began to seep from her. It fell to the pavement in a drip at first, then became a torrent. He stood back, to avoid the splash.

She stood, her black dress gathered up at her midsection, her lower body bare, releasing her profuse urination on the pavement. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing those she knew were watching. She felt intensely humiliated, yet pushed to the point where it no longer mattered.

After what seemed several minutes, her stream diminished. She dropped the dress and moved to the car, stopping only to pick up her shoes. She didn't put them on, she only tossed them in the car. Barefoot, she started the car and hastily drove it from the lot.

They had gone a mile or so before she glanced briefly at her husband. There was a trace of a smile on her face.

"I guess I asked for that. Did you enjoy the show I made of myself?"

Art smiled back. "Best part of the whole evening. What will you say if any of those who watched knew you?"

Alicia shrugged, smiling, now relaxed. "I'll just tell them, 'when a girl's got to go..' " She laughed at the spectacle she knew she had made of herself.

"Wait till next year. I think I'll go with you!" Art reflected.

END