My name is Ellie, and I was an alcoholic. Not a great way for someone who’s barely 21 to introduce herself, but at least now I can say was rather than am… at least most of the time. Cut me a little slack though, growing up dirt poor in the big city isn’t easy, and I made it through mostly unscathed. Didn’t flunk out, didn’t get pregnant, didn’t get shot, and didn’t terminally damage my kidneys, though I came close to a few of those (okay, maybe most of them). However, those are stories for a different time.
At 21, I had mostly turned my life around. I was doing decent in college; had mostly stopped drinking, most of the time; and had met Dan, my first boyfriend who wasn’t a gang-banger. But my previous lifestyle had left some marks: after getting my act cleaned up, my doctor (the first I’d seen since early childhood) diagnosed me with overactive bladder syndrome – probably a result of excess alcohol consumption he said, and probably something I’d be dealing with for the rest of my life.
One night while reading online I saw an ad for a new line of “sexy” incontinence underwear. Sometimes it scares me that Google knows I want something before I even know it exists. They actually looked like underwear a normal 20-something year old would wear, although with their decent looks came some trade-offs: they weren’t designed to hold much more than very light leaks. That was fine by me. Most of the time I made it to the bathroom fine. When I didn’t, I usually didn’t leak too much, but when you’re out in public, returning from a bathroom break with even a small wet spot is still pretty embarrassing. Needless to say, I ordered a pair to try out.
The next Saturday, Dan invited me out to dinner and to a play that I had really been wanting to go see. It seemed like a very appropriate opportunity to try out my new purchase, especially because I sometimes have trouble staying completely dry for an entire movie or show. Over the new panties I wore some fairly tight faded blue jeans, which I knew from past experienced turned fairly dark when wet. It was great to be able to wear them for once without concern about leaks showing up.
At dinner I started with just water, and I had intended to stick to just water. However, after ordering my pepper-encrusted steak with sautéed onions, the waiter recommended we pair our meal with one of their in-house vintage wines. I was going to decline (really), but Dan said it sounded great to him. Sometimes it’s hard to say no… so I got a glass as well. Normally I would never drink before any situation where I wouldn’t have immediate access to a bathroom because alcohol tends to aggravate my OAB, but confidence in my new panties made me feel that I had a little extra wiggle room this evening.
Dinner was delicious, but the service was a bit slow. By the time we finished eating we were way behind schedule. As we waited for the check, Dan looked up walking directions on his phone and found that if we left immediately we could get there with about 5 minutes to spare. This was the type of show where if you were late, you didn’t get in – it said so in bold text right on the ticket.
I was starting to feel the need to pee at this point and under normal circumstances would have started looking for a bathroom, but I was caught up worrying about whether we could get to the theatre in time. For the next couple minutes we sat in tense silence, anxiously looking around for our waiter.
Finally, Dan told me he was going to get up and go look for the waiter. This was pretty unusual behavior for Dan, but we both realized how little time we had to waste. I opened my mouth to tell Dan I was going to run to the restroom while he tracked down the bill, but before I could speak the waiter appeared next to our table, set down the bill, and wished us a good evening. casino siteleri In less than 30 seconds, Dan had paid in cash (also pretty unusual), and we were out the door and rushing down the street.
The sidewalks were crowded with people going out to enjoy their Saturday evening, but we set a rapid pace despite the congestion. Google Maps told us we would be late, but of course it assumed we would be walking at a normal pace. I nervously checked the time on my phone every two minutes, wondering first whether we would make it on time at all, and second whether there was any chance of us making it with enough time for me to use the bathroom before the show. Fortunately, we made good time and stepped through the front door and into the lobby with a couple minutes to spare.
The play we were going to see that night was at one of the few theatres in the city I hadn’t been to before. The theatre building was an unusual and somewhat awkward shape, although I have to give props to the architects for managing to squeeze a building of any sort into the V-shaped lot at the corner of two streets that met at a 45 degree angle. The pie-slice-shaped building had its entrance and lobby at the tip of the V.
Immediately upon entering, I looked around for the bathroom, as I had reached the point where I would normally have stopped whatever I was doing and gone to pee. I had no trouble spotting it, but there was also already a woman standing next to the door waiting to use it. I only would have had time to use the bathroom had it been vacant, but even a one-person line meant someone was already inside. Cycling three of us through the bathroom before the show started wasn’t going to happen, so I didn’t even bother mentioning it to Dan.
The lobby had doors leading deeper into the V on either side of the back wall. I expected to find myself at the back of the auditorium when we went through the door, but instead we found ourselves walking down a straight dark hallway lit by tiny aisle lights near the floor. Moments later we emerged into the auditorium at its front, right next to the stage.
As we started climbing the stairs towards our seats, I looked back and saw a flood of light pouring into the dim auditorium through the two doors to the lobby. I understood now why the theatre didn’t allow late admittance. I almost panicked when I realized that leaving in the middle of the show wouldn’t be possible without causing a major disruption, but I managed to hold it together. To make matters worse, our seats were near the center of the row, and we had to climb over everyone who had arrived on time to get to them.
When we reached our seats I looked around for other exits. There were two at the back, but they were labeled as emergency-only exits. The dark hallways flanking the stage were the auditorium’s only link to the lobby. It would have been nice of the architects to have blocked the light from the lobby by putting a zig-zag or curve in the hallways, or even a second set of doors on the auditorium side, but I guess between the need to have two forward-facing exits for the fire code and the desire to maximum the space available for the stage they hadn’t been able to manage it.
As someone with OAB, I’m pretty familiar with the signals my bladder sends. So within about 10 minutes I knew with almost complete certainty that I wasn’t going to be able to hold it for the remaining 80 minutes of the show. I was pretty pissed at myself for having that glass of wine at dinner and for not somehow managing to find a way to the bathroom before the show… although mostly for the glass of wine since that was actually under my control. At least I had chosen tonight to wear these incontinence underwear, although they were also the reason why I told myself it would be OK to order the wine, canlı casino sooooo…
I wasn’t paying any attention to the show at this point. My eyes were everywhere except the stage, looking for some way to get to the bathroom without causing a major disruption. We had probably already annoyed most of the people in our row by arriving at the last minute and having to climb over them as the show began, but they would forgive us for that. I wasn’t willing to face the embarrassment of having to ask them to move again less than 10 minutes after the show started. I’m sure in their mind they would be thinking that anyone who had to pee so badly they disrupted the show after only a few minutes should have gone before the show started. Right.
I told myself I would wait at least another 20 minutes before getting up. Having to leave after only 30 minutes still didn’t really seem acceptable, but it was sure a lot more reasonable than having to leave after 10. 20 more minutes without a small leak or a few dribbles was asking a lot of my poor bladder, but if my underwear worked as advertised it would be no problem.
Of course, I had turned my phone off for the show, so I didn’t actually have any way of seeing what time it was or how much time had passed, but after what I thought must have been about 20 minutes I still hadn’t leaked, or at least hadn’t had any leaks significant enough for me to feel them. I did have to pee really badly though, like really badly.
In my mind I pictured how it would go: I would get up and disrupt each person in my row as they stood to allow me to pass by, and in turn the people standing would block the view of those behind them. Then I would draw everyone’s attention, audience and actors alike, as I walked down the stairs to the lobby door, and finally I would blind everyone in the audience by opening the door and letting light from the lobby flood the room. Then I would do it again on the way back.
In that moment I decided I couldn’t do it, even after I had promised myself that if I just waited 20 more minutes I would let myself get up and go. The embarrassment of having to leave the auditorium was simply too great and too immediate. Would it be more embarrassing than peeing my pants? Maybe or maybe not, but I hadn’t lost control yet, so having to get up to go to the bathroom felt like more of an immediate threat than having wet pants.
I prayed that by some miracle the show would have an intermission and save me, although I didn’t think one was scheduled. At least I had the new panties, although I really wished I had bothered to test them beforehand to see how much could actually hold. They were only advertised as being able to protect against mild leaks – a few teaspoons at most, but at that moment I was really hoping they were over-engineered. I knew they were going to get a little wet, even if the show did have an intermission, but hopefully not wet enough to show.
I felt torn between trying to stay dry for at least another 15 or 20 minutes to see if there would be an intermission, or testing the underwear right away while I still had reasonable control over my bladder. After waiting what felt like 5 more minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. Here I was, a 21-year-old college student deciding to test a new incontinence product in the middle of a crowded theatre – great planning Ellie.
Given that I had little choice in the matter, my plan to test the panties was basically the same one I would have used in private: I would pee a little tiny bit, wait for a few minutes, and then check for any leaks. I expected the panties to leak at some point, so I would repeat the process a few times until they did. There was enough of the show left that a small leak would dry by the end; I had enough experience with minor leaks to know that. Hopefully kaçak casino the panties would absorb enough for me to hold the rest until an intermission or the end of the show. If they didn’t, I would suck it up and go to the bathroom, because in my head I knew peeing myself would be a much more embarrassing and much longer-lasting ordeal than having to leave the auditorium during the show.
So then I tried to do something I had never tried to do on purpose before: I tried to pee myself a little while surrounded by other people. It was surprisingly difficult to do, despite how badly I had to pee at that point. Butterflies filled my stomach as I tried to relax. Then I felt a huge urge to pee building and quickly aborted the attempt because it felt like way too much was about to flood out.
I tried again and managed to let out a few agonizing dribbles. Less than I had hoped, but at least it was something. As I sat waiting for it to soak in I felt hot everywhere. My face was flushed and probably bright red, and my urethra felt warm and pleasant from the liquid that had just passed through it.
After a minute I stared down at my jeans to look for leaks. I didn’t notice any, but it also wasn’t really bright enough to see them very well. I discreetly rested a hand in my lap and probed with my fingers – they felt dry. Finally, I lifted one butt cheek and ran a hand under my bottom – also dry.
Winner of round one: panties. Time for round two. Butterflies built in my stomach again, but it was a lot easier to let go the second time – the pump was primed so to speak. I let loose a few high-pressure spurts. A little more than I had meant to this time, and I actually thought I heard an audible hissing in between lines of dialog. No one around me seemed to have noticed though, so I probably only heard it because I was listening for it (or maybe I just imagined it).
I stared down at my crotch again, and again it looked dry. A quick check with my hand in my lap also came back dry. When I ran my hand under my butt it felt like the tips of my fingers came back slightly damp. I checked again; they still felt damp. The panties had held quite a bit less than I had hoped they would (although to be fair, I was probably already pushing them beyond what they were rated for).
I wasn’t really sure what to do at that point, although I knew I should probably just get up and go to the bathroom like a big girl. I didn’t have to wait much longer though, a minute later I got a funny feeling in my stomach and felt a strong urge to pee coming on very quickly. I couldn’t clamp down quickly enough to stop it and felt warmth in my lap as I filled my panties with a severe leak.
I immediately ran my hand under my bottom again. This time my entire hand, both butt-side and seat-side, came back obviously wet. I had only leaked for a second or two at most, but with the underwear’s absorbent lining already saturated the pee had gone basically straight into my pants.
Now that my pants were obviously wet the entire embarrassment-equation had changed drastically. I would no longer really save myself any face by leaving to go to the bathroom, so that wasn’t going to happen anymore. I didn’t intentionally pee myself right then, but a few minutes later when I started leaking again I also didn’t try too hard to stop it. I just tried to limit the flow to keep the noise at a minimum. However, I did stop when I heard drips beginning to fall off the seat and smack into the floor. At that point though I had gone enough to hold it for the rest of the show.
The show didn’t have an intermission, and I ended up being pretty stiff by the end of it, because for the rest of the show I couldn’t really shift my weight on the seat with compressing the cushion and sending audible drips of pee down to the floor. So I ended up sitting extremely still in my wet jeans for another 45 minutes or so.
I can’t remember almost anything from the first half of the show, but the second half was good. Also the underwear do work, but only if used responsibly.