I'm getting ready to go out, and I'm wearing a skin tight pair of jeans matched with a green partially-translucent crop top, which I'm hoping will gain the attention of some club hottie who will come home with me for some fun tonight. If my fantasy for later comes true, then I'll need a somewhat presentable place, and my kitchen sink is full of dirty dishes. I rush into the kitchen, and already I'm bouncing up and down a bit with the obvious need to pee, but I roll up my sleeves anyway to start washing the dishes. I grumble about the task, while the "potty" dance become slowly more intense, which I demonstrate: by bouncing; with frustrated movements and grunts; with my knees bowing in and out; and with my head being thrown back a couple of times. But I persevere -- or so I think -- it's kinda hard to tell with my bladder feeling like it's going to pop!
When I pause to dry some of the dishes, I accidentally grab my jeans crotch without drying my hands first, making it look like I've already started to pee myself, and making myself grateful that it's only just water. My bouncing turns into occasional pacing, and my knees start bending down even further when I fold in around my bladder to relieve some of the stress on it. There's also much more crotch grabbing (with dry hands this time) and urine-sack cradling. I comment on how it looks as if my bladder is bulging, but I won't go to the bathroom to relieve myself yet because I gotta finish this chore if I have any hopes of achieving my booty-call goal tonight. However, simply psyching myself up like this turns out to not be enough when a "little" spurt of piss actually escapes my potty organ, wetting my crotch even worse than when I grabbed it with my wet hands.
Looking down and sighing in annoyance, I decide that I'll have to just change out of these super cute jeans before going out tonight, and sighing again, I resume washing dishes. That little squirt of pee ends up not being enough to alleviate the urgent urination urge, and my peepee dance soon resumes with even more intensity. My bladder is so completely full that urine repeatedly trickles or squirts out of it, which causes the wet spot on my jeans grow exponentially. Resigning to the fact that the seal has been broken, I decide I might as well experience some relief from this fervent need. I've tried holding it in, but my bladder apparently has other plans, which appear to be running the show.
Since I've already started wetting myself by the previous pee-pours, I reason that it should be fine to finish what I've started by soaking my jeans with what's left -- which happens to be from a bladder that is overflowing with yellowy liquid. Nevertheless, I'm not able to fully let go right away, so the wiz starts coming out in intermittent jet streams, and after so many short-lived bladder spouts, my jeans are soaked from my crotch down to about my knees. Twisting in my efforts to just allow it to all come rushing out, while simultaneously, and subconsciously, trying to hold it in, I end up perfectly modeling off the front and back of the (progressively) sopping wet jeans -- multiple times. It's almost like the more I try to keep it in, the more it persists on coming out of me. With my bladder still hurting from its fullness, and while pressing my knees together and squirming about, I sigh, groan, and moan each time more urine rushes out to soak my jeans further. Believe it or not, I manage to continue doing the dishes throughout all of this, which probably isn't helping me with all that running water.
Eventually, I'm able to fully give into my desperate urination need and I'm able to finally allow the rest to flow freely, which then runs down my inner legs to thoroughly soak my jeans. As the wetness spreads downward all the way to my ankles, it also spreads outward towards my hips and outer legs, drenching my jeans past the vertical midpoint of both legs. Oh, and not to mention, I STILL have more! Now that I've accepted that this is what I want, and have, to do, I completely relax my bladder and I release whatever is left. This happens to be 2 MORE solid streams of piss into my already sodden jeans, which somehow manage to drink it up like water. Out loud, I murmur to myself that I think I'm finally finished urinating -- I mean, I feel like I have to be at this point. I've peed so many times that it looks like I dumped a bucket of water down my front.
Slowly, I start peeling off the jeans, which stick stubbornly to my pee-logged legs, but I manage to wiggle out of them, before holding them up in front of me so I can check out the 'damage', front and back. Impressed at how they're basically dripping with just -- SO MUCH PISS -- I turn them around a couple of times to give them a nice thorough inspection, which elicits little nods and sounds of approval from me. Holding them up high, I groan about how I should probably let my friends know that I'll be late meeting them to go out tonight. I perk up as I increasingly notice how utterly better I feel, which significantly decreases how much I care about being somewhat tardy! They can just deal with it! I feel great -- even though my jeans are sopping wet -- so who really cares!
