A Very Wet New Year - One Shot

Ah, New Year’s Eve. It’s a night for celebration, retrospective, optimism and...embarrassment apparently. At least, embarrassing for me, I’m sure other people had a great laugh about it.

Let me start from the beginning though. My name is Trinity Thomas (usually Triny). I’m a 22-year-old college girl in my last year before graduating and jumping headfirst into the workforce. I’m about 5”1, petite but quite curvy; I work hard for my figure, and I somewhat enjoy the attention my ass and tits get from the boys and girls of my school. I feel the need to emphasize though, that I am a SMALL human. I have small feet, small hands, and yeah, a small bladder.

This has been to my detriment for many of my teen years and into adulthood. I have a pretty good sense of how long it takes for me to go from feeling the need to wetting uncontrollably, but sometimes things get in the way and well...you wet your pants! Happens to everyone...right?

No, I know I’m not normal, I’ve seen it, and even my friends have seen it. They always force me to sit in the aisle at the movie theatre because I have to get up at least once to pee and, depending on the size of drink I get, many times twice. While everyone else is ready to go to the next shop on a mall shopping spree, I have to find the bathroom so I don’t spurt pee into the next pair of tight jeans I try on (a true story for another time).

So yeah, I have an overactive bladder. But like I said; usually I get to the toilet on time, even if it means facing the wrath of my friend’s complaints. It’s always “Triny, you’re just paranoid” or “I knew you shouldn’t have got the large latte” or the one that embarrasses me the most: “I swear Triny next time we go to a movie, I’m making you wear a diaper.”

I always blush when they mention diapers. Not just because it’s a childish thing, needing to wear diapers to be able to sit through an entire two-hour movie, but also because my friends weren’t the first ones to suggest it.

Back home, my mom and dad took issue with my bladder. In grade 7, After coming home from school with wet pants more than what is normal for a kid my age, my dad bought some nighttime diapers and made me wear them to school for a week or until I could keep them dry. Needless to say, I started getting up to the bathroom more, and my bladder anxiety tripled permanently. While the diapers stayed dry, it’s had a pretty lasting effect on me.

I wish I could say that was the only time I was forced into diapers, but it isn’t. My family would often take long road trips, and after soaking the back seat of the car once, my dad made me wear diapers for any time we were going to be in the car for an extended period of time. And I mean any time, not just for trips. If we had to drive across town and google maps said the ride was an hour there and back, out came the Goodnites. Even today, at 22-years-old, if I went on a road trip with them, I know for a fact he would make me wear them.

The first time my friends mentioned it, I thought my younger brother had told one of them and immediately got defensive. He hadn’t, but ever since that reaction, they never fail to bring it up. Which is why when we did our Secret Santa gift exchange last week, I wasn’t surprised to unwrap a huge pack of adult diapers.

Now that you kind of have an understanding of my bladder history, I’ll get into what happened on New Years’.

It was a big college party. Jose was the host as his family was off to Mexico for Christmas, leaving behind their beautiful, million-dollar mansion for our celebration. Everyone I knew, friends, classmates, even a few regrettable hook-ups and an ex-boyfriend, were there. It was like a culmination of my college years, in a way. I had one semester left, but I was already looking forward to leaving the books behind and starting my life, so I was drinking to celebrate the new year and to celebrate the coming end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

That is to say, I was drinking a lot—way too much, in fact. By 11pm, I was slurring my words and struggling to balance. My best friend Jennifer was holding onto my arm the whole time, but she was equally drunk. Somehow our lack of balance combined to keep up upright. That balance was, of course, disrupted whenever I needed to use the bathroom. Jose had shown me all the bathrooms when I got there and even showed me a hidden bathroom for “your little emergencies,” he said. It annoyed me that apparently everyone knew about my bladder issues, but I was secretly grateful.

So after making many visits to the bathroom and downing more and more alcohol with Jennifer, It got to 11:55pm. I felt the familiar twinge in my bladder, indicating I needed to find a toilet soon, or else. I pulled my arm away from Jens, and to my surprise, she pulled me back. “No!” she said, “You’ll miss the ball drop!” She slurred her words and pulled me into the main room before I could argue much more.

Everyone was there watching the clock and awaiting the new year. I was watching the bathroom door behind me, open and ready for my release. Under normal circumstances, I could usually hold it for about 10-15 minutes before losing it into my pants. However, under drunken circumstances, 5 minutes is cutting it close. The constant drinking and peeing and drinking and peeing accelerates my bladder in a way, and I’m always much quicker from the twinge to release than normal.

I turned away from eyeing the bathroom to look at the clock—11:58pm. Once again, I tried to pull away from Jen. “Please babe; I can’t hold it!” I begged.

“It’s 2 minutes; come on Triny, even you can hold for 2 minutes,” she snarked back. Suddenly, the countdown started.

“60, 59, 58, 57…”

I pushed my free hand to my crotch and pushed hard, but as I pushed, I felt a small trickle escape into my panties. I tried to pull away again, and this time Jen didn’t even say anything; she just gripped me tighter and counted louder.

“30, 29, 28, 27…”

My heart was pounding. I knew if I didn’t get to the toilet as soon as possible, I would wet myself. I felt more pee hit my panties, this time soaking through to my jeans where I could feel the wetness.

“10, 9, 8, 7…”

I turned to Jen, my cheeks flushed, and my voice shaky.

“I’m going to pee my pants!” I yelled at her over the counting.

“What?” she yelled back.

“5, 4…”

“I’m going-”

“3, 2…”

“To pee-”

“1-”

“My...oh no…”

“Happy New Year!!” Everyone screamed, jumped and cheered. Couples kissed, friends hugged, and when Jen turned to me to squeeze me, she was greeted with the sight of my head down, watching the piss flow out into my jeans uncontrollably. A puddle formed at my feet onto the hardwood floors where unsuspecting peers stepped and danced in it. I covered my face, close to crying.

“Oh Triny, let’s get the girls and get out of here,” Jen said as if this was some sort of routine to her. She looked over the crowd and found the three other girls we came with, Kennedy, Jules and Sara. Jen leaned into Kennedy’s ear and said, “Babygirl wet her pants again!” Kennedy looked at me, then down at my pants to see the massive stain that was soaked into my jeans. Kennedy then whispered to Jules, who whispered to Sara. Sara had a jacket that could be wrapped around my waist as we quietly left out the back door, laughing once outside.

“Jules owes me $20 now, thanks Triny!” Sara joked.

“Hey, you said if she wet her pants before the new year, I don’t think that counts!” Jules said defensively.

“Dude, she pissed herself during the countdown; it counts.”

“I actually started peeing on 1, so it could be argued I started peeing myself in 2020 and finished in 2021.” I tried to joke at my own expense to make myself feel better.

“Well that doesn’t help at all!” Jules laughed.

“Look, forget the $20; I’ll give Triny $20 if she puts on the diapers I got her when we get back to the dorm. The night’s still young and I wanna keep drinking!” Jules said.

“Oh my god, yes, I’ll match that. Triny wanna make $40?” Sara said, much too excited. I blushed.

“Well…” I looked down at my soaked legs and heard the squish in my shoes as every step was saturated with pee. “I guess for $40…”