Anonymous
Thu, 25 Oct 01, 1:02 PM
The most unexpected thing happened to me yesterday:
I was standing in a huge crowd of people, waiting to cross a large, metropolitan street. Next to me waited a tall African-American woman, whom I had been walking along behind for several blocks. She was a little bony, with practically no breasts, although her nipples poked prominently through the spandex of her gold halter-top. She wore her hair in a shoulder-length cascade of hundreds of bead tipped braids, from under which dangled several earrings on each ear.
At this corner, we had just happened to wind up standing arm to arm. But what had caught my attention about this lady was the fact that, for the last half an hour that we had been walking in the same direction, I had noticed that she momentarily paused every few minutes to look into store windows, though she did not appear to me to be looking at the merchandise which was displayed therein. It seemed to me that she was watching her own reflections in the glass.
The lady would stop her walking for a few moments at a time as she tugged at her skintight denim Capri pants, or smoothed the fabric of her pants against the tops of her thighs. Once she sort of half stooped over, and, as she was standing up again, she pressed the palm of her right hand against her belly below her navel, which could be seen above the top of her tight pants. Then she would immediately begin walking again, mincing along very quickly in her high-heeled shoes.
Now, as we stood together on the curb, I couldn’t help but notice the strong fragrance that emanated from her. The perfume was very sweet, and smelled expensive. Her long fingers were tipped by very long, curved artificial nails, which were painted gold. I noticed that she was wringing her hands as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A second before the traffic light turned to green, I heard her whisper, “Oh, no…”
Then the entire group of us began moving. In a few seconds we were reaching the median strip in the center of this large boulevard. I saw that all of us were not going to be able to make it to the opposite curb before the traffic light turned red again. The light had just now turned yellow. Besides, I was now trying to keep pace with this interesting black woman, suspecting as I did that she was desperate to urinate.
She had fallen behind the rest of the crowd and seemed to have difficulty stepping up onto the concrete curb of the center median. She seemed able to only take small steps and actually winced when she had to open her legs a little wider to step upwards out of the street.
I stood nonchalantly beside her, observing her out of the corner of my eye. Now she stood with her eyes closed and one hand poked into her crotch. She was poised in a knock-kneed stance with one hand repeatedly clenching into a fist then open again while her other hand had only it’s thumb visible outside the tight “V” of her upper thighs. That gold tipped thumb was busily working itself up and down against the front of the zipper as she frantically squeezed her privates through her pants.
Through clenched teeth I heard her whisper, “Oh, God—not here, hot here—“ She lowered herself into a half-squat still with her hand jammed between her thighs. The entire ass of her super-tight Capri pants immediately turned dark as she groaned out loud. A stream of pee splattered to the concrete below. Then, grimacing with the effort, she said to herself, “Come on, Tamika—control yourself, control, control, control…” then she slowly stood upright again and looked at me shamefacedly, then looked away again. And, indeed, she seemed to have conquered her urge to urinate. Her pee stopped, thought there was now a huge wet stain over her entire ass and halfway down the insides of her thighs, as well as halfway up the front of her pants.
At that moment, the traffic light turned green again. I didn’t start across immediately because I anted to stay abreast of this woman, whose display of desperation was really turning me on. She took a step to the edge of the curb, then just froze. The seat of her pants glistened up and urine gushed over her bare calves and high heels. Her hands crept to the “V” of her thighs as if to hide her accident, which was of course, impossible. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as the puddle of piss around her feet rapidly expanded till it rolled over the edge of the curb and flowed into the gutter.
After a few moments, her urine slowed, then stopped altogether. Upon opening her eyes, the tall, black woman bent at the waist to see how badly she had wet herself, the stifled a sob when she realized that her humiliation was complete. It seemed to me that she was hoping that from the rear it wouldn’t be as obvious that she had pissed her pants, because she gingerly let her claw-tipped fingers drift over her round bottom.
It only took a few seconds for her to understand just how absolutely plain it was to anyone glancing her way that she had totally peed on herself. She kicked off her shoes, looked in the direction of oncoming traffic, and then launched herself out into the street at the earliest break in the flow of cars. Upon reaching the other curb, she hopped up onto it at full gallop and raced down the sidewalk. Her huge shoulder bag banged against her side as she ran and her shoes bobbed madly in her hand as she went, till she finally disappeared into the crowd of pedestrians.
I was standing in a huge crowd of people, waiting to cross a large, metropolitan street. Next to me waited a tall African-American woman, whom I had been walking along behind for several blocks. She was a little bony, with practically no breasts, although her nipples poked prominently through the spandex of her gold halter-top. She wore her hair in a shoulder-length cascade of hundreds of bead tipped braids, from under which dangled several earrings on each ear.
At this corner, we had just happened to wind up standing arm to arm. But what had caught my attention about this lady was the fact that, for the last half an hour that we had been walking in the same direction, I had noticed that she momentarily paused every few minutes to look into store windows, though she did not appear to me to be looking at the merchandise which was displayed therein. It seemed to me that she was watching her own reflections in the glass.
The lady would stop her walking for a few moments at a time as she tugged at her skintight denim Capri pants, or smoothed the fabric of her pants against the tops of her thighs. Once she sort of half stooped over, and, as she was standing up again, she pressed the palm of her right hand against her belly below her navel, which could be seen above the top of her tight pants. Then she would immediately begin walking again, mincing along very quickly in her high-heeled shoes.
Now, as we stood together on the curb, I couldn’t help but notice the strong fragrance that emanated from her. The perfume was very sweet, and smelled expensive. Her long fingers were tipped by very long, curved artificial nails, which were painted gold. I noticed that she was wringing her hands as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A second before the traffic light turned to green, I heard her whisper, “Oh, no…”
Then the entire group of us began moving. In a few seconds we were reaching the median strip in the center of this large boulevard. I saw that all of us were not going to be able to make it to the opposite curb before the traffic light turned red again. The light had just now turned yellow. Besides, I was now trying to keep pace with this interesting black woman, suspecting as I did that she was desperate to urinate.
She had fallen behind the rest of the crowd and seemed to have difficulty stepping up onto the concrete curb of the center median. She seemed able to only take small steps and actually winced when she had to open her legs a little wider to step upwards out of the street.
I stood nonchalantly beside her, observing her out of the corner of my eye. Now she stood with her eyes closed and one hand poked into her crotch. She was poised in a knock-kneed stance with one hand repeatedly clenching into a fist then open again while her other hand had only it’s thumb visible outside the tight “V” of her upper thighs. That gold tipped thumb was busily working itself up and down against the front of the zipper as she frantically squeezed her privates through her pants.
Through clenched teeth I heard her whisper, “Oh, God—not here, hot here—“ She lowered herself into a half-squat still with her hand jammed between her thighs. The entire ass of her super-tight Capri pants immediately turned dark as she groaned out loud. A stream of pee splattered to the concrete below. Then, grimacing with the effort, she said to herself, “Come on, Tamika—control yourself, control, control, control…” then she slowly stood upright again and looked at me shamefacedly, then looked away again. And, indeed, she seemed to have conquered her urge to urinate. Her pee stopped, thought there was now a huge wet stain over her entire ass and halfway down the insides of her thighs, as well as halfway up the front of her pants.
At that moment, the traffic light turned green again. I didn’t start across immediately because I anted to stay abreast of this woman, whose display of desperation was really turning me on. She took a step to the edge of the curb, then just froze. The seat of her pants glistened up and urine gushed over her bare calves and high heels. Her hands crept to the “V” of her thighs as if to hide her accident, which was of course, impossible. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as the puddle of piss around her feet rapidly expanded till it rolled over the edge of the curb and flowed into the gutter.
After a few moments, her urine slowed, then stopped altogether. Upon opening her eyes, the tall, black woman bent at the waist to see how badly she had wet herself, the stifled a sob when she realized that her humiliation was complete. It seemed to me that she was hoping that from the rear it wouldn’t be as obvious that she had pissed her pants, because she gingerly let her claw-tipped fingers drift over her round bottom.
It only took a few seconds for her to understand just how absolutely plain it was to anyone glancing her way that she had totally peed on herself. She kicked off her shoes, looked in the direction of oncoming traffic, and then launched herself out into the street at the earliest break in the flow of cars. Upon reaching the other curb, she hopped up onto it at full gallop and raced down the sidewalk. Her huge shoulder bag banged against her side as she ran and her shoes bobbed madly in her hand as she went, till she finally disappeared into the crowd of pedestrians.