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A Wet Wednesday

I don’t feel this was actually embarrassing, but I’m posting here for lack of a better spot. I thought about maybe the kinky sex section, but it isn’t really sex. Is it? Maybe. Anyhow, I put it here. It’s an act I’ve repeated in life, but not like this. This was an absolute fantasy moment for me. I figured I should finally confess something that’s such a splendid memory.

So here it goes.

My mom and I would go to the movies every Wednesday during the summers. It was her day off and we both looked forward to enjoying a day out together.

This time, the film had run long, but was so good neither of us left our seats. Looked like everybody else had done the same thing, cause when we came from the gloom of the theater, the lines to the restrooms were around the corner. All these lines intermingled with the incoming ticket lines and concession stand. Mom just gawked at it for a minute and asked if I wanted to wait in line or hold it till later. We both needed to go after the enormous sodas we each polished off, but lingering in line till we peed ourselves sounded silly. I was confident we’d catch something on the way home.

We walked outside and instead of the brilliant and hot summer sun that we left upon entering; it was a dark gray rainstorm. In a frantic sprint, we splashed to the car, and we slammed the doors as the rain pounded around us. Water had trickled in through the grommets in my chuck taylors. I hadn’t put on socks, so at least it might dry pretty quick. 

On reflection, we decided holding it might not have been a good idea. Mom grimaced. Her bladders’ the size of a pea, and it didn’t take long for it to become a major need. Mine’s comparatively normal. But with the driving rain and the theater’s largest soda pushing down, I’d be crossing my legs soon. 

It was maybe a two-hour drive home, at least. Not twenty minutes in, both of us were about to bust. The rain got harder and now the traffic was backing up on the interstate. We had a few miles to go, and then we’d reach state road 39 and that would take us straight home. Mom hated getting off the interstate if the traffic was bad, just to get back on. She was still nervous after a crash she had, and getting off and on in bad traffic bothered her.

I was at the point of tapping my feet and panting, waiting for some place, anywhere, to go. Between my rampaging adolescent hard-on that had been messing with me all day, and the fact I needed to pee like a fire hose, I was in disastrous shape. Mom was no better off, and she jammed tight her one hand in her crotch, with the other on the steering wheel. Her knees pinched together and her legs jiggled. It was so erotic to my teenage eye to watch her open desperation. Easily embarrassed, she regularly tried to play off things like this. Not this time. 

By my early teens, I was thoroughly into the idea of desperation and golden showers. At the time, I did not know it was a thing. No box to put it in, no label to put on it, but the idea was such a turn-on.

The interstate was a parking lot. Red brake lights, windshield wipers thumping at full speed, and rain drumming on the roof of the car. 

After almost an hour, we finally made it to the road home. Both of us were aching to peeing.  

We got off the interstate and parked at the first thing she could find, with a public restroom. A fast-food restaurant. It was now or never for each of us, and if there was a line or anything holding us up, neither of us would make it. 

I took a deep breath and squeezed tight. Mom wished me luck, and I followed close behind her inside and toward the restrooms. Her pretty lithe legs and ass filled her shorts perfectly, and made my hard-on even more difficult to control. The thin sandals she wore were as big a turn on for me as her legs. I’ve never outgrown enjoying women’s feet.

With a dive through the door, I ran to the closest urinal as the first squirts came. Hopping as I fretted with the zipper of my shorts, I could feel the dam give way. I couldn’t get it out fast enough. Once the flow powerfully started, I just gave up. My underpants trapped my hard prick and there was no halting the flow. No one else was in the bathroom with me. One urinal and open stall was witness to me as I gasped and dropped several F-bombs in a row as I propped myself on the urinal screen. My cut-offs sopped through in seconds, while the deluge spilled down my legs and no matter how hard I tried, ran into my chucks. 

There was no disguising the fact I just pissed my pants and was standing in the puddle. Looking down, I watched as my pee began running to the mop drain on the floor. I almost panicked, wondering if I could make it back to the car before anyone could see me. The door to the room opened, and I ducked into the stall and waited for the guy to leave. 

I stood there in the stall, squishy shoes, wet shorts, and a raging hard-on. Before this moment, I had only fantasized about wetting myself out in the world or in a highly controlled environment where no one would ever see. Now, I just pissed my shorts, and there was no going back, no way to cover the fact. With all of this in mind, I started with my hand rubbing through my shorts. If I didn’t do something about it now, my boner would be very conspicuous. I could never explain it away to mom. She did’’t know what a nasty boy she was raising. Though I never actually intended to do what happened next, it just sort of happened. 

Rubbing away, I planned on enjoying the wetness now that the guy did his business and tracked through the dregs of my lake as he left. I was getting ready to whip it out and finish it in the toilet. Instead, a few good rubs in and I sprayed off. 

If I’d been getting a BJ from my fantasy girl, I wouldn’t have squirted a better sticky or massive wad. Again I gasped, trying to decide how much more of a mess my shorts could take, or if my mom would realize what I had done.

I looked down at my shorts, felt the wet, sticky goo in my underwear and figured at this point there was nothing I could do, but make a dash for the car and tell her someone was in front of me, and I couldn’t wait any longer. That was the best lie I could come up with on demand. Besides, shortly she’d come in after me if I kept up the lollygagging.

 

I waited for another moment, took a deep breath, and then made a dash to the car. If I’d believe in anything, I would’ve prayed before dashing out.

I skirted by a couple who sat eyeballing me as they munched down on cheeseburgers. I tried to hide my front side when I realized my ass was wet, too. Not much I could do about that, and I know they totally saw what happened. I could see through the windows, Mom was already waiting in the car with a big look of relief on her face. Then she saw my shorts as I came around to my side to get in.

“Oh honey! What happened?” 

“Some guy was in front of me, and by the time I got in the stall….”

I left out the part where I rubbed off and jizzed in my underpants. That stickiness was making itself well known now, and with another couple of hours home, it might get uncomfortable. For a hot second, I almost regretted doing it. But only for a second.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

She found a towel in the back seat and arranged it for me to sit on so I wouldn’t mess up the car seat. Then she went back in and got us both a frosty and fries. Her shorts were dry, and she looked the picture of relief as she swished and swayed her ass to the order window and got our standard feel better meal. We’d learned that was the quickest way to improve our spirits together after my dad had passed, and it was always a welcome treat.  

To be honest, our lives improved so much after dad died, we should’ve never required an emotional pick me up, but that’s another story for another time. 

As usual, mom was wonderful and was ever ready to laugh it all off and I breathed in relief. We both joked about our moaning while desperate and how wet I looked. Thereafter, anytime either of us needed to go badly, we’d bring this up and laugh.

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