Caught short - Sex Stories

Caught short

Usually, I’m quite able to hold my drink and rarely need touse the men’s room while I’m out, but for some reason, this particular day I got caught short. I’d had a couple of beers with my lunch, which was not that usual, but I’d been meeting Julie, my on-off girlfriend and we’d had another row. This time I got the impression it was final. She’s a fiery red head with not only the most gorgeous figure, but also the most vicious tongue you could ever wish to be on the wrong end of. ‘You don’t care for me any more, you bastard. You think more about your fucking football than you do about me!’ This was a common refrain and yes, I have to admit that playing football, talking football and watching football were my three big passions in life, although fucking Julie came a close fourth! Okay, yes, I was a bastard where she was concerned, taking what I wanted, when I wanted it and having little thought for her needs. When she stalked out of that bar I kind of knew it was all over. So I had another pint – and that was my undoing. An hour later, as I walked unsteadily back through the town, I just knew I had to piss urgently. I briefly toyed with the idea of going up against the nearest wall, but held back for fear of being caught with my todger exposed. As an employee of the local police force, albeit in a civilian capacity, it would absolutely screw my career to get hauled before the courts for pissing in public. Lewd behaviour they called it. The fact that many cops of my ...

... acquaintance did it all the time, especially on night patrol, was beside the point! Then I spotted the coffee bar, one of those ubiquitous national chains found on every street corner and in every shopping mall. This was one of the older establishments and looked in need of a bit of TLC. There were hardly any customers and the moth-eaten furniture, with ragged cloth chairs and scratched wooden tables, could definitely do with a makeover. Nodding at the baristas on my way out to the facilities at the back, I mouthed, ‘Need a pee, then I’ll have an Americano,’ as I shuffled past them, virtually cross-legged. The door to the toilets led to a small lobby area with two doors leading from it. One had both the male and female symbols on it, indicating a single WC for use by either gender, while the other was reserved for disabled customers. Leaning against the wall was an attractive older woman, probably in her mid-forties, so a good ten years older than me. Nice figure, dark curly hair and wearing a thin cotton summer dress with a bright flowery pattern on it. She gave me a weak, apologetic smile and said: ‘That one’s out of order,’ nodding to the unisex toilet. ‘And there’s someone in this one,’ indicating the disabled facility. ‘Are you . . . ?’ I asked tentatively. ‘Bursting for a pee? Yes, afraid so. How about you?’ ‘Desperate!’ I said, with feeling. ‘I might have to do it here if they’re much longer in there.’ She grinned at me, a more confident smile that lit up her lovely face and made ...