Quest For Urinary Adventure

Paula was a good walker. She took herself about eight blocks from her home, in the suburban neighborhood with which she was familiar, and where many of the local inhabitants knew her. Occasionally, she would extend a greeting to someone she saw, or even stop for a momentary conversation. Farther and farther she roamed from her home. Now she could feel fullness in her bladder, but she kept going.

She passed a house where an elderly man was working in his garden. She had encountered him before, and knew him only by the name on his mailbox. She greeted him cheerily. "Hi there, Mr. Jorgenson- how are the flowers today?"

The older man stood up, recognized her, and returned the greeting as he wiped the sweat from his brow. They exchanged casual comments about the weather and the state of his flower garden. "Would you like to see the newest addition to our grove? Let me show you the trees around the back!" He motioned for her to follow him, as he moved to the rear of the house. There followed a detailed review of a number of plants he had recently acquired, including two trees he had just planted. Paula listened with polite interest, but as the discourse went on, she began to fidget noticeably, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

After a bit, he noticed her obvious nervousness, and detected its cause. "You feel OK? You seem a bit nervous. Do you need a rest stop - you can go inside--"

She shook her head, realizing that he had recognized the symptoms she was showing. She decided to have just a touch of an erotic game in the conversation. "Well, you are observant. You know I need to go the bathroom, I guess." She hesitated, as he stared at her, a bit aghast at her frank admission. "Truth is", she went on, knowing she was engaging in a lie, "I'm not supposed to; but thank you anyway!"

"It's OK - you're welcome to use the bathroom in the house - it's all right, and it's clean," he offered.

She shook her head again. "It isn't that I don't want to", she went on, continuing her fib, "I'm not supposed to. My doctor feels I have been going too often, and that I need to stretch my bladder. So I'm doing my exercises - I'm supposed to drink a lot of water, and then just hold myself as long as I can. It's to train me not to go so often."

"Must be quite uncomfortable. Anyway, you're welcome."

Clearly the gentleman was a bit embarrassed by the subject matter. Paula, meanwhile, continued to move about a bit nervously, letting him know she was in some distress while trying to do as she had said her doctor instructed.

She stayed a bit with Mr. Jorgenson, exchanging views of gardening with him. From time to time she made a subtle reference to her internal discomfort, noting that this seemed to embarrass him further. She felt just a bit titillated at his reaction.

As time went on, she was aware that her need was quite real. She was restraining herself, but at length felt compelled to make her farewell lest her composure fail in his presence. She began to make her way onward. Perhaps she should have moved back towards her home, but she was determined to test her endurance as much as possible, and continued to proceed in the opposite direction. .

She walked another two blocks, stopping at intervals to exchange greetings with residents. Her need was now approaching the limits of her ability to restrain herself, and she began giving thoughts to where she might find relief. It occurred to her that if she had worn a skirt she might be able to attend to her need outdoors while drawing minimal attention to her activity, but she was wearing jeans. She would have to lower them, or wet them. She began to have a bit of regret about having placed herself in this situation.

About a block ahead lay a small patch of wooded ground, an undeveloped island in this suburban neighborhood. It was not much shelter, and at other times she would never have thought of it, but now she was indeed grasping at straws.

She reached the place, looking around. Down the street a little, several children were playing in the street and parkways. Across the street there was a house, perhaps occupied, perhaps not. She saw no evidence of anyone about. Another house adjoining the wooded area was screened from it by a bit of thick undergrowth.

She decided she must chance it. She stepped into the area, under the trees. Ste stood beside a large tree, her back almost against it, as she looked out toward the street. There was perhaps ten feet of area filled with low undergrowth between her and the street. Her back against the tree, she reached down and unbuckled her belt. Looking straight ahead, and trying to appear nonchalant, she unfastened the jeans. With the fasteners undone, she allowed them to drop down, while she continued to stand, looking out toward the street.

The jeans fell to her knees. Quickly, she grasped her cotton panties and pulled them down in a quick stroke, simultaneously lowering herself to a squatting position.

She commanded her muscles to release. It took a few seconds for her body to respond, but it did, sending her stream rushing to the ground. Oh, the relief she felt. She held the squat, feeling at once exposed, stimulated, and relieved.

Suddenly her heart seemed to skip a beat. A man, perhaps fifty or so, walking a dog on a leash, came into view, passing down the sidewalk only a few feet away.

He passed directly in front of her. Suddenly he spotted her. He turned and stared at the sight, a bit in disbelief.

“Good Afternoon, beautiful day isn’t it?” Paula cheerily said to him, still pouring out her stream. She could hardly believe she had mustered the courage to even speak to him.

He just stared at her. Then he asked, “Just what are you doing?”

“And what does it look like?” Paula responded. She looked at the man closely, hoping she would not recognize him. She did not.

He stared, in apparent unbelief. “Lady, you shouldn’t be…” he stopped himself, shaking his head.

“You’re walking your dog, aren’t you?” Paul asked, her stream continuing. “Well, I was walking, and, well, when a lady has to go, it’s just like the dog- “

He stood, still staring. Suddenly, his head shaking, he averted his eyes and began to move on.

Paula finished her activity, and quickly drew up her underwear and pants. She failed to wipe up, having nothing around for the purpose.

“Bye, now - nice seeing you!” she called cheerfully to the man, now several steps down the road.

She emerged from the small wooded place, and quickly stepped off in the opposite direction from the stranger. By a different and somewhat confused route, she found her way back home.

The episode dwelt in her brain. She would not have sought to be seen, yet it was wonderfully exciting to be caught. She just hoped the man would not recognize her. She considered with a bit of horror the consequences if one of her neighbors should learn of her activity. She felt a strange mix of embarrassment, erotic arousal, and apprehension.

Chapter 4

Searching

Paula’s mind kept coming back to the situations in which she placed herself. She felt an almost irresistible urge to engage in the activities she had found so stimulating, knowing at her age that time was running out on her, yet she knew whatever she chose to do must be done with utmost discretion. She could not chance further episodes involving someone like Erwin, or another co-worker. Also, if she continued to engage in outdoor activities as she had done on Saturday, surely she would be seen and word would get back to Stan or others who knew her well. As exhilarating as the experience had been, she knew she could not safely continue it. Somehow, somewhere, she wanted to find an opportunity to engage in something just a bit wild, something that would test her physical limits and would play to her psychological needs. Something, she knew, for which her husband would not have either sympathy or enthusiasm.

Gradually she realized her best opportunity would be on her frequent business trips. She was a frequent traveler, though in the not so distant future she would be facing retirement and her opportunities would fade. Just now, though, she had several trips scheduled over the coming several weeks. Surely, somewhere is those places she was scheduled to visit, would be a place or an event in which she might indulge those fantasies that kept running through her head.

She went over the little booklets she had picked up in her travels - those that listed activities, places of interest, and scheduled events in local areas. She had saved these when she traveled. She scanned personal ads in the newspaper, looking for something that might suggest the opportunity she sought.

As she had the chance, she began to scan internet sites on places of what seemed to be called alternative life styles. Many of these looked frightening, but she was intrigued. She found sites describing clubs and events which, at a younger age, she would never have found of interest, but now they seemed strangely attractive. None could she find, however, that seemed to fit the profile of a sixty year old female looking for a very special kind of experience in a setting that would be both safe and deeply erotic in her special way.

She found message boards that seemed to speak to some of her interest. Over several days, she scanned them, looking for an indication of some coming activity that might relate to the needs she perceived. She found few, and never did she respond, feeling a strong inhibition against entering into the discussions. After all, these were, it seemed, younger people, and who knows what kind of reply she might get if she indicated any interest in the subjects?

For two weeks she monitored boards and sites, looking for something that seemed to fit her interests. Finally, she mustered her courage, and posted a brief comment on a board that seemed to have most appeal. Her short message, simply said, “Older woman interested in experiencing alt life experience, esp mild bondage, maybe urinary control. Can travel. Any places in…” she added several geographic regions where she might travel, but not including her home locality. She added no e-mail address, but signed with a pseudonym “Pauline”. Now, she thought, that wasn’t Paula, but close enough she could relate to it.

Nervously, a day later she opened the site. There were several replies, generally courteous but not specific. Three suggested web sites she might visit. Two simply said they would reply if she would post an e-mail address.

Nervously, reluctantly, she decided to add her e-mail. She took the precaution of obtaining a new mail box, for which she gave the name of Pauline Inquirer. She thought that would sound like the pseudonym it was.

Within a day she opened her mail box to view an assortment of messages. Many were SPAM directing her to pornographic sites. Several made crude overtures which she quickly deleted. She began to regret making her address available.

Nonetheless, she visited the suggested web sites and links which took her to others. Discouraged and frustrated, she gave up the effort and stopped looking at the e-mail in the Pauline box. For days she never opened it.

Then, one evening, a bit bored, she decided to check it again. Wading through junk messages, she found little of interest until almost the end. Then, she opened a message addressed to Pauline.

“Pauline. Perhaps we can show you something that will interest you. If you are truly interested in an event and an adventure that you will find safe and stimulating, among people who will respect you and protect your privacy, contact me.” A location was mentioned that was in one of the areas she had listed. The message was signed simply “Mitch“.

She thought carefully. In two weeks she had a presentation to make in an area near the city mentioned. The message intrigued her.

She drafted her reply several times, rethinking after each effort. At long last she came up with one that seemed to convey her thoughts, but with a suitable degree of reserve.

“Mitch”, she wrote. “Your suggestion is of interest to me. Your location is indeed an area which I might reach in the near future, but perhaps you will tell me more of the type of experience you might offer. Safety and privacy is of great concern. I must tell you again I am an older person, sixty at present, and am unfamiliar with events of this type, which nonetheless interest me. Pauline.”

She waited for a response. In two days it came.

“Pauline. The society of which I am a part conducts events for our members and invited guests, usually monthly. The events we plan involve alternative lifestyles, elements of what some would call power exchanges, sometimes involving elements of bodily display, but we never permit either forced or consensual sexual contact among participants. Our events are private, and names of participants are not made known. The limits of each participant is respected, and each must consent to the activity in advance. Urinary control is a feature of interest to many of our members, and is often featured, as is bodily exposure involving mild forms of restraint. Age is not a limiting factor. If you wish to explore interest, respond as you may wish.”

Paula’s heart leapt. She could hardly believe she had reached such a group, in reality. It seemed somewhat like a dream.

Then she thought carefully. “What am I getting myself into?” she wondered. “Is it safe? Even though he says so, what will I really experience? How can I be sure?”

She hesitated another two days, then dispatched a carefully thought out reply.

Quickly she had a response. The pace of the exchange picked up. She found out that there was indeed an event planned for a Friday evening of the week she was to make her next trip, to a location only a few miles away. The event was set for eight o’clock on Friday evening, to run until well past midnight. Mitch had indicated she could visit, as a guest, if she chose, and observe the proceedings.

“But not”, Mitch added to his message, “as our Special Guest. To be a Special Guest you would need to consent to some very special arrangements that would be made just for you, and this we would only do after you had visited with us and decided you wanted to participate in this way.”

Paula wondered just what the “Special Guest” status might involve. She had an idea it would be considerably more than just being an observer. Mitch did make it clear, though, that as a visiting first time guest, she would incur no cost, be under no obligation, and could leave at any time she chose.

Paula was still uneasy about the situation. Acknowledging she could be in the area, she asked how she might get to the place of the event, and indicated she would prefer not to go alone or in the company of an unknown man.

In response. Mitch assured her a woman could meet her and pick her up, and would give her the exact location before they departed. If she then felt uncomfortable with the arrangements, she could opt to decline attendance.

She debated the wisdom of what she was doing. None of this, of course, had she made known to Stan. He knew only that she would be leaving on Wednesday and would not be back until some time on Saturday. She started to work out her itinerary around Mitch’s invitation.

She planed to depart early Wednesday afternoon. Her seminar and presentation was scheduled for Thursday. Friday morning she had tentatively scheduled a meeting with two clients. She knew she could well finish and return home Friday evening, but she elected to stay over Friday night and schedule a flight home on Saturday. She could devise a plausible reason for her delayed return to explain to Stan. Her company would care not at all as she would not again be in her office until Monday anyway.

She made her arrangements.

Chapter 5

Trial and Invitation

Her trip went much as planned. Late Friday morning she concluded her client meetings and prepared to return to her hotel.

She had been given by e-mail a telephone number she should call, once in the city. In her room, she looked at the telephone and at the card on which she had written the number. Twice she picked up the telephone, started to make the call, then put it down again. She realized she was opening the door to an adventure fraught with uncertainty. She sat down and thought over what she was doing.

“It is now or never”, she said to herself. Steeling her resolve, she picked up the telephone a third time. She dialed the number. She heard it ringing. A part of her hoped there would be no reply, but it did come. A female voice responded.

“Hello, this is Mrs. Jameson. May I help you?”

Paula was uncertain whether she had reached some kind of business or whether this was a home. “I am Pauline Inquirer”, she began, her voice shaking. “I was told to call this number!”

“Oh, Pauline!” The voice on the other end suddenly seemed warm and enthusiastic. “We have been awaiting for your call. Will you be with us tonight?”

She hesitated a moment, but then, reassured by the warmth of the friendly voice, replied. “Well, yes. I am back at my hotel. I had planned to attend this evening. How shall I do it?”

“Pauline, you can call me Hilda. If it is OK with you, I will pick you up this evening about seven. My friend Iris will be with me. We will take you to the party in our car, and we will bring you back to the hotel when it is over. Have no fear - you will be quite safe, and we hope you like our event. Mitch has told me a bit about you!”

They exchanged a bit of information to insure recognition. Paula inquired as to appropriate attire, and was told to come in something casual. Again she was assured of her safety, and that she need have no real cause for concern.

Paula felt better. She relaxed a bit in the afternoon, reflecting that it might be a long night. Around six, she took a shower and began to dress for the evening. She chose dark blue slacks and a print blouse, with casual flat heeled shoes and no stockings. She fixed her hair in a rather casual look, and draped a colored scarf around her neck. She smiled at herself, thinking her appearance neither too young and foolish for a woman her age, nor was it seeming to show signs of senility.

She went downstairs at the appointed hour to meet her hostesses. Just a bit after seven, a car pulled up to the front of the hotel with two women in it. One stepped out of the passenger’s seat and approached her. The woman was in a denim shirt and jeans - light hair, perhaps thirty something. She looked at Paula.

“Mrs. Inquirer?” she asked.

“Yes, I am. Are you Hilda Jameson?”

“That’s me. So glad to see you! You are right on time. Here, I want you to meet Iris, who’s driving us tonight!” She indicated a slightly older woman at the wheel.

They started off immediately, exchanging casual comments about the weather and the local area. Then Hilda asked Paula, “I am going to assume Pauline Inquirer is a pseudonym - a sort of nom de guerre! Many of our visitors prefer to give such names when they first visit us - I’m not critical! It’s perfectly OK. I just want you to know that Hilda Jameson is my real name, and it is in the phone book, should you want to check!”

Paula did feel a bit reassured. The women did seem friendly, and certainly not threatening. They told Paula little of the coming event, but indicated it was being held in a private facility a bit out of town. “Allows us to have some outdoor events. Most of the time we meet in a place in town, and some of our things you just cannot do with the neighbors watching! Pauline, you know we are not a swingers’ club- nothing like that goes on, but we do, well, kind of cut loose - we do things that might seem exhibitionistic or rather kinky to some. Tonight you won’t be expected to participate in any of that, but you will be able to watch, if you care to..”