Anonymous
Sat, 27 Oct 01, 7:55 PM
I had more than two nice cups of tea for breakfast at 8:15AM. At ten
o'clock, I had an appointment with my tax accountant downtown, and I had to
write the outlines for several letters and to prepare one professor's lesson.
I was too busy to go to the loo, but didn't feel much of an urge. At ten
minutes to ten, I hastily gathered my stuff for the accountant, and I met my
old friend with just a two-minute ride by streetcar. Step by step we
proofread the documents, and while we were doing so, the sphincter of my
bladder suddenly tweaked me and I perceived an uncomfortable pressure
building in my abdomen.
I wore an elegant new suit with trousers, vest and blazer coloured
green-grey, and I was quite unwilling to soil this suit, nor would I want to
damage the Persian rugs in the accountan't plush office. I willed my body to
control the urge and went on with my business. At 10:50AM we finished our
worksession and I left the office. I had no pain, but the little pinch was
there again. My next stop was one of two Swiss banks to collect documents
that I needed. I was in a rush to take care of this business, so I put off
seeking a public toilet. At Crédit Suisse, a handsome, friendly young clerk
was helpful, and by 11:05 he had found all six of the missing documents and
began to print them out for me. Now I had the fidgets, and in vain did I
look around for a toilet. There was no door indicating a loo, and I did not
feel comfortable to ask. After 15 minutes I had my documents and I left.
Now, I felt an insistent urge to pee, but there was one more missing document
from Kantonalbank. I crossed the Parliament Square, and in the cool, quiet
bankhall the female booking clerk was busy with an older lady. In my mind ,
I shouted at her silently, "Pottering old hag, I have to piss badly now!
Please hurry up!"
After another endless 20 minutes, I had the last document. It was now 11:30.
I should have asked directions to the nearest public toilet, but I knew that
the
authorities had closed about 50% of the "long johns", and I saw my
tramway coming. I just jumped in and was angry - in this suit without a
raincoat I
couldn't give my hardon a pinch. Everybody on the tram would, I thought, see
this greybearded gentleman standing by the door, grabbing his cock and balls.
To let my pee go was too risky - the suit was new and expensive, and the
trousers thin. I had to wait.
I wished it was an illusion, but a boy close to me was doing a pee dance. I
watched as he grabbed his crotch through his jeans pocket. Wasn't that a
gorgeous bulge under his fly? I was jealous that he dared to control his
bladder that way and I could not. Arriving at my station, I hurried up the
stairs. The pain in my bladder was terrible. Leaving the elevator, I
hastily opened the door - I was safe! I managed to slip off the trousers and the rest of the suit and went to the toilet bowl.
In this moment, a devilish idea embraced me. I turned nervously back to the bedroom and grabbed my new digital camera. Again in front of the toilet
bowl, I held it at arm's length focused on my own white dry crotch. My hardon within had grown to an impressive bulge. Suddenly I felt a spurt - the first real spot of wetting on this long morning - and as I let go, the torrent was like the Geneva fountain , but very, very yellow....and the wetness spread through the whole crotch of my Calvin Kleins. What a wonderful feeling of relief, and with the appearance of a photographic experiment!
o'clock, I had an appointment with my tax accountant downtown, and I had to
write the outlines for several letters and to prepare one professor's lesson.
I was too busy to go to the loo, but didn't feel much of an urge. At ten
minutes to ten, I hastily gathered my stuff for the accountant, and I met my
old friend with just a two-minute ride by streetcar. Step by step we
proofread the documents, and while we were doing so, the sphincter of my
bladder suddenly tweaked me and I perceived an uncomfortable pressure
building in my abdomen.
I wore an elegant new suit with trousers, vest and blazer coloured
green-grey, and I was quite unwilling to soil this suit, nor would I want to
damage the Persian rugs in the accountan't plush office. I willed my body to
control the urge and went on with my business. At 10:50AM we finished our
worksession and I left the office. I had no pain, but the little pinch was
there again. My next stop was one of two Swiss banks to collect documents
that I needed. I was in a rush to take care of this business, so I put off
seeking a public toilet. At Crédit Suisse, a handsome, friendly young clerk
was helpful, and by 11:05 he had found all six of the missing documents and
began to print them out for me. Now I had the fidgets, and in vain did I
look around for a toilet. There was no door indicating a loo, and I did not
feel comfortable to ask. After 15 minutes I had my documents and I left.
Now, I felt an insistent urge to pee, but there was one more missing document
from Kantonalbank. I crossed the Parliament Square, and in the cool, quiet
bankhall the female booking clerk was busy with an older lady. In my mind ,
I shouted at her silently, "Pottering old hag, I have to piss badly now!
Please hurry up!"
After another endless 20 minutes, I had the last document. It was now 11:30.
I should have asked directions to the nearest public toilet, but I knew that
the
authorities had closed about 50% of the "long johns", and I saw my
tramway coming. I just jumped in and was angry - in this suit without a
raincoat I
couldn't give my hardon a pinch. Everybody on the tram would, I thought, see
this greybearded gentleman standing by the door, grabbing his cock and balls.
To let my pee go was too risky - the suit was new and expensive, and the
trousers thin. I had to wait.
I wished it was an illusion, but a boy close to me was doing a pee dance. I
watched as he grabbed his crotch through his jeans pocket. Wasn't that a
gorgeous bulge under his fly? I was jealous that he dared to control his
bladder that way and I could not. Arriving at my station, I hurried up the
stairs. The pain in my bladder was terrible. Leaving the elevator, I
hastily opened the door - I was safe! I managed to slip off the trousers and the rest of the suit and went to the toilet bowl.
In this moment, a devilish idea embraced me. I turned nervously back to the bedroom and grabbed my new digital camera. Again in front of the toilet
bowl, I held it at arm's length focused on my own white dry crotch. My hardon within had grown to an impressive bulge. Suddenly I felt a spurt - the first real spot of wetting on this long morning - and as I let go, the torrent was like the Geneva fountain , but very, very yellow....and the wetness spread through the whole crotch of my Calvin Kleins. What a wonderful feeling of relief, and with the appearance of a photographic experiment!