Chapter Fourteen: GERALDINE'S INQUEST....
....AND ANOTHER CHALLENGE
There was a general interest in all matters pertaining to peeing and loos among the All Day Girls so they were always on the lookout for evidence of others girls in desperate need of a pee, or having to hold out for exceptionally long times. So it was not surprising that Geraldine making three desperate dashes to the loo in a morning had been noticed.
Once a few of the girls had talked together about this, they realised that something very unusual had been going on, because no girl of 17 should have needed to go that badly that often, particularly not an All Day Girl. She had been seen holding between her legs, so there seemed no doubt what she wanted to do, the great question was, why? Stephanie, Geraldine’s best friend knew, but she had been sworn to silence. The rest of the girls could hardly wait for their next meeting, when she would have to explain herself.
Before allowing Geraldine to begin her story, Pauline formally introduced Louise as a new member, though her interest in desperation was well known to many of the girls, and the efforts she had made to expand her bladder so she could join had entertained the other girls for several weeks.
“I don’t think anyone has ever tried harder to become a member, and the struggle she had to wait all day was more that some of the Champion Bladder contestants made to hold.” Pauline looked pointedly at Caroline, who they knew had given up before she was absolutely desperate, then continued, “Louise might have only just qualified, but her passionate interest in our activities will make her a worthy member.”
“Don’t forget we have to qualify for both all day and 24 hour membership every term, so I hope she is up to making this super-human regularly,” replied Caroline, resenting that she should be singled out as a girl who did not try to wait. This business over, they then came to the main reason for the meeting.
Knowing she could not avoid telling her story in every detail, Geraldine decided to do it properly, and came to the meeting dressed in the skirt and knickers she had worn for the train journey, so she could demonstrate just how difficult it had been to hold herself without showing her knickers. She also brought her precious supply of diuretic pills, untouched since that traumatic morning. She told the story in full detail, demonstrating all of her attempts to control her bursting bladder, only stopping short of actually wetting herself, but describing, as best she could remember, how each spurt of pee had gone, and how her skirt, and the train seat, had been soaked. She finished by telling how she had only just been able to hold out during the morning’s classes, being virtually on the brink of wetting herself three times.
Detailed as her narrative had been, the girls had plenty of questions as soon as she finished. Tamzin voiced the most obvious.
“Was there, really, absolutely, no way that you could have held on, to have kept your pee back a bit longer, until you reached the station loos?” Tamzin’s recent experience on a coach had seemed to indicate that, with their superior bladder control, All Day Girls could somehow manage to last out until the found a loo, however desperate they might get.
“I swear to it,” replied Geraldine, “there was absolutely no possible way I could have held back that pee another second. I was fighting it with all my strength, doing everything I could possibly think of to hold it, and I just could not stop it leaking past my fingers. Literally, if you had held a gun to my head and threatened to shoot me if I pissed myself, I still could not have held it any longer. Good God, I was so ashamed of what I was doing, particularly with those dirty old men watching, it was almost a fate worse than death.”
“Logic and scientific reason says that this is the obvious end to trying to hold your pee,” said Annette, latching onto her favourite theory. “You have only proved what I have always said, it simply isn’t possible to wait for ever, there has to be a limit to what every bladder can hold. It may be more than most people would care to hold, but eventually, as you showed, you just have to pee.”
Geraldine continued to explain herself, “I’ll tell you something else. It does not matter how hard you press your fingers against that little hole you pee from, there comes a time when you cannot stop it coming out, because it’s somewhere inside of you that is actually holding back your pee, and when it leaks past there you have had it, it’s going to leak out into your knickers as soon as the tube, urethra, or whatever it is called, is full. It is obvious when you think about it, but on the other hand, pressing there really does help more than anything else. Believe me, that morning I was pressing harder than I ever have before. Until it happened, I didn’t think it was possible for me to leak, I was pressing so hard.”
Janet wasn’t prepared to let Geraldine off so easily. “We all know from the Internet that there are people who get a thrill from wetting themselves, even doing it in public, deliberately, like we get our kicks from holding it. Are you sure you aren’t one of them, and just making some excuse to indulge, maybe because you don’t want to admit to it. After all, you do seem to have exhibitionist tendencies.”
She looked pointedly at Geraldine’s skirt, and how her blouse seemed to have lost two or three buttons.
“No way!” Geraldine denied this violently, and then rather diffidently confessed “I did actually try wetting my jeans once, at home, alone, after I had read what a thrill it was supposed to be, and it did absolutely nothing for me. It was just wet and yuccy, and rather horrid, sorry to disillusion you.” She continued, “My thing, apart from the accomplishment of holding my pee for ages, is sex with a full bladder; it is absolutely out of this world, five star multiple orgasms, lights, bells, and whistles. I only wish I had the courage and opportunity to pee when I come, because I think that could be even better. Alternatively, I love the surge of relief when I finally let it come blasting out, the more pressure the better. This train episode was double misery, because I had a bladder absolutely stretched to the limit, far beyond when I could have considered any sex, and then it was coming out in little spurts, all the time I was trying to hold it, when I should have done an absolute gusher of a pee and really enjoyed it. At least the three pees during the morning were real torrents, nearly enough force to lift me off the loo. When I have been deliberately making myself wait at home, I sometimes, if I am alone, squat in the bath and pee, instead of sitting on the loo, because I seem to get more pressure squatting, and for me, the more pressure the better it feels.”
Erica had been listening to this discussion in silence. At her age, sex, with a full or empty bladder, was something still to be experienced. She was wondering how much longer she, with the champion bladder, would have been able to wait if she had taken a tablet.
“We seem to be straying from the point a bit. Isn’t the question now, what do we do with these tablets that Geraldine had got? Even for the biggest bladders among us, they would seem to be an over-dose, more than we could cope with.”
She was hoping that no-one would suggest that she try to last out a morning’s lessons after taking a tablet. For the first time for years she was afraid she would be in a situation where she could not hold her pee.
“By my estimation,” said Karen, “the one tablet that Geraldine took resulted in six bursting bladders full of pee, in four hours. If we assume they work according to the dose, then a quarter or third of a tablet would be about the right dose. I doubt if any of us could hold more than one and a half times Geraldine’s bladder stretched to its absolute limit (Pity you didn’t measure one of those torrents). So, what about it, should we divide one up and four of us try it next weekend?”
Geraldine agreed to divide two tablets up, one into four, one into three, for the girls to try, and there was no shortage of volunteers until Pauline set the rules for partaking.
“These things are too valuable to waste just taking and then having to pee a lot. Anyone can do that by drinking loads of beer or cider, half the scrubbers in Packton do that every Friday and Saturday night. The great thing about these tablets is that you don’t expect to want to go, so anyone who takes one has got to act that out, duplicate what happened to Geraldine, to see what will constitute a just manageable dose for us, All Day Girls, but too much for the hoi polloi to cope with. I rule that anyone who tries this cannot go to the loo for at least two and a half hours after taking one. If they can’t last that long, then they will have to go in their knickers, in public, like Geraldine did.”
“Ideally, you should set up a situation where you can’t pee for that time, a long bus ride or something, so you are in a real wait or wet situation,” added Karen. “You also want to end up somewhere where you can time and measure your pee.”
“Count me out, I afraid,” said Erica, “I would love to try, but I’m playing hockey this Saturday, in goal, so I’ll be wearing track suit, which would really show up if I wet myself, and pads which will stop me crossing my legs.”
“Ideal,” said Susan spitefully, “then you will have no choice but to hold it, show us just how good you are.” Erica shuddered at the thought of keeping goal with a bladder about to burst.
“We’re playing the old enemy, Packton Grammar, so if I do anything to jeopardise our chances, I’ll be lynched. Let me try on Sunday, I can cope with being desperate in matins, it will keep me awake during the sermon.”
“I vote that Caroline should have to try one,” said Geraldine, “she admits that she gave up in the Champion Bladder competition before she was really at her limit, so this is a chance to go all the way there. I also think that someone, preferably me, should observe her pee when she does let go, because it should be the ultimate gusher, torrent, whatever we call it, even more than her pee in the competition.”
Geraldine was proud of the tremendous pressure she could pee with, but reluctantly admitted that Caroline’s pee then was better than any she had ever done.
“Accurate waiting time and pee volume measurements please,” said Annette, “We need to know just what these things are capable of. The potential is enormous, and so is the temptation to feed one to some unsuspecting victim in a situation where they simply cannot get to a loo, like Geraldine.”
“Assuming they work as we think, or hope,” added Janet, “the end of term coach outings really have potential. Who is going to dare to take a dose before one of those? Say the British Museum trip, which is about two and a half hours.”
“That really would be a test,” said Rachel, “and you really would have no choice but to hold out. I mean, what would the alternative be? Hobble down the coach, holding your crutch, and tell old Dixon-Smythe that you need the loo so badly the coach has got to stop that very minute, and if there isn’t a loo in sight, then it’s still got to stop and you will crouch in the gutter, because the alternative is wetting your pants. Could any of you do that?”
“I could pee in the gutter,” replied Michelle, “but never could I ask Dixon-Smythe to stop the coach so I could do it. Somehow, I would have to hold it, or just go on the floor. No, somehow, in those circumstances, you would manage to hold it.”
Geraldine joined in the discussion. “No you could not. I’ve been there, I know what it is like to reach the limit, to feel your pee leaking past your fingers with a load of strangers watching. You would not care if it was D-S, McKenzie, or even the head mistress in the coach, when you find you cannot hold your pee any longer, you would rather stop the coach and go by the back wheel than in your knickers. If you don’t believe me, then try it, find out what real desperation is. And find out what it feels like to piss yourself in public, in a situation where you really have no excuse for doing it.”
The girls considered this. It would be an awesome challenge to their bladder capacity and holding abilities, but as All Day Girls, and particularly the 24-hour girls, they felt they ought to try.
“If we try it, we cannot afford for anyone to fail,” Pauline reminded them, “the staff are not stupid. After years of school outings that have never had anything worse that a few girls crossing their legs, jigging about as they get out the coach, or hurrying to the loos, suddenly to have one, or even more, senior girls having to stop the coach and pee in the gutter, it’s going to be obvious something is going on. If they realise that all the peeing girls are members of the Water Conservation Group, then there will be lots of embarrassing questions asked.”
“It will be a new challenge,” said Annette, “we have got to try something on these coach outings, it is too good an opportunity to miss. If we don’t use Geraldine’s tablets we will have to find some other way of testing our bladders.”
“I nominate you for a third of a tablet this Saturday,” Emma jumped in suddenly. “You are big on telling other people what they should be able to do, and how long they should be able to wait, but we have not seen any action from you. You didn’t even try for a 24 hour wait, so it’s about time you really stretched you bladder.”
“In fact,” she continued, “you can spend Saturday with me. Mother is coming down to take me to London shopping for an outfit for my sister’s wedding, and you can come along too. It’s at least a two hour drive, and mother has a decent bladder, so there won’t be any stops. We park somewhere in the London suburbs and get the tube in, and there’s never any loos on that now, so you are going to have the famous two choices we love to give people, wait or wet. You will probably be able to go when we get to Oxford Street, but you might have to walk a bit to find a loo, and there will be crowds of shoppers to see you if you wet your jeans.”
Annette was caught. She had carried her Miss Logical act too far and annoyed too many of the All Day Girls, to be able to back out of this challenge, but she shuddered to think how desperate she was likely to be if the tablet worked as she predicted. She had met Emma’s mother, and she was not a woman who would laugh off a girl of seventeen wetting herself during a two hour journey. She could only hope that Tamzin’s theory that the bladder could expand to accommodate the situation and the pee was correct, rather than the alternative she advocated, that any bladder had a finite, definite limit that you could not go beyond. Would she, she wondered, be able to get away with wearing either a skirt or black trousers, which would not show any leaks?
As if she could read her mind, Emma said, “Don’t think you can wear a skirt and leak down you legs like a Jane Austen character, because we are both going casual, faded blue jeans or grey trousers, that will show any wetness, and no long coats you can hold your crutch under, it’s not cold enough for that yet. If I can borrow Michelle’s digital camera, I’ll get some wonderful pictures for the Group archives, or to post on one of those desperation web sites.”