Three years ago, I received an invitation to a birthday party. A girl I knew, Miranda, was just turning twenty-five, and she was having a big splash because, as it turned out, she also planned to announce her upcoming marriage to all her friends and acquaintances.

      There must have been upwards of two hundred people at that party, and while Miranda's parents' house was large, it could not comfortably accommodate that many guests. No doubt they would have made use of the lawn at the back of the house, but torrential rain had put the dampers on that idea.

      One of the problems with that many people was the presence of only two lavatories: one had been designated the Ladies, the other the Gents. There was, as is the way of these things, seldom more than a couple of men waiting for the facilities, but the queue for the little girls' room grew steadily longer during the evening as drinks were liberally consumed.

      At one point, after a few beers, when I decided to take a leak, I actually found four guys waiting for the toilet, so I made my way back downstairs and into the kitchen. I was grateful to find it empty -- no questions -- and made my way to the door leading out into the conservatory, and thence into the garden beyond.

      It was still raining, but I really needed to pee, so I ran across the lawn for the cover of an old sycamore on the far side, dived behind it, unzipped my trousers and took a much-needed piss. I blew out my cheeks as the desire to empty out abated, wincing once as rain dripped onto my neck from an overhead branch.

      In less than a minute, I was trotting back across the lawn and into the conservatory. I paused there to brush water droplets off my jacket and my face, running fingers through my hair to tidy it up a little. I drew in a deep breath to compose myself in case people had come out into the kitchen during my absence, then stepped back into the bright light.

      I almost collided with a blonde in a yellow dress belted with a broad white belt; almost a sash. She seemed to have been making for the door, and my opening it just before she arrived had evidently startled her. She pulled up short, looking startled by my appearance. I remembered spotting her earlier in the evening, and gave a big smile.

      "Hello," I greeted her.

      "Hello," she replied, the word partially distorted by her swallowing at the same moment she uttered it. She seemed flustered for a moment, then abruptly turned and crossed the kitchen where she took up a wine glass from the counter.

      "I'm Dave," I introduced myself as I closed the door behind me.

      "Diana," she reciprocated. I could not help but notice that she was standing with her right knee bent, her foot raised so that only the toe of her white shoe rested on the parquet floor. That was when it struck me that she might have been on her way outside to do the very thing that I had just done.

      Rather than return to the party, I decided to stick around and talk to her, partly to see if she started to squirm (which would confirm my suspicions), and partly because she was a nice-looking -- if slightly toothy -- girl.

      I was about to ask her how she came to know Miranda when she jumped in ahead of me. "I was just going outside to see if it's still raining," she remarked, apparently anxious to explain her behaviour. I indicated my jacket and wet hair and pulled a face. "Cats and dogs," I informed her.

      "Oh," she said, then as if lost for something more to say, she took a sip of her wine.

      "I don't think you're dressed for going out there," I observed, moving over to lean against the adjacent counter so that I stood no more than four feet away from her.

      She grinned. Did I detect a slight strain in her expression? "No," she agreed. "I would get my coat, but I was one of the first here and it's probably buried under a mountain of other coats by now."

      "Probably," I agreed.

      We stood there for a while listening to the noise of the party, exchanging glances and smiles. In the corner of my eye, I was aware that Diana was shifting her weight from foot to foot and was fairly certain that she was desperate to pee and had been on her way outside to do something about it. My arrival must have been a serious frustration for her, but she was doing her best to remain composed and polite. I wondered how many girls were queuing for the Ladies. Probably a lot, since this must surely have been what drove her to adopt such a drastic course of action.

      "So, how did you come to know Miranda?" I put my question at last.

      "Oh, um," she began, sounding distracted, "we were at school together. She stole my first boyfriend, actually."

      "And now you're friends?"

      "Well, not really," Diana said, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug to imply indifference. I had a sneaking suspicion that she was still smarting from that long-ago betrayal. "As a matter of fact, the marriage she's just announced is to the same boy -- well, he's a man now of course."

      "Why did you come here?" I couldn't help asking.

      Another little shrug. "I had an invitation," she said, taking another sip of wine to empty her glass.

      "All the same..." I began, then decided to leave the rest of my observation unspoken.

      We fell silent again, and I saw that Diana was now actually wiggling her right knee back and forth, bouncing the folds of her skirt. I could even hear her tights -- or perhaps they were stockings -- rasping against the lining.

      She set down her empty glass and gripped the edge of the counter, and I couldn't help noticing that her knuckles were turning white.

      I knew that someone else would come into the kitchen at any moment, and this moment of intimacy would be lost. Diana would rejoin the party, probably joining the long line for the loo and hoping to hold on until it was her turn. I decided to take a bold step.

      "Do you really want to stay for the rest of the party?" I asked. Diana regarded me with uncertain eyes. "I could drive you home, if you like," I offered before she had a chance to answer.

      "That's very kind... um, David, but I think I should wait for my brother. He's coming to pick me up at eleven."

      I glanced at my watch. "That's two hours away. I was thinking it might be nice to have a drink somewhere."

      Diana bent her right leg, briefly raising her knee almost level with her hip. Again, I caught the rasp of her skirt on her stocking-clad thigh. I was quite sure now that she was bursting to pee and was having trouble maintaining her composure. I was offering her a way out, but she was evidently uncertain about my intentions.

      "I think I should stay," she said, lowering her right leg and crossing it in front of her left.

      "Of course," I conceded. "I just thought you might not want to have Miranda rub your nose in it any more than she already has."

      "That's very thoughtful, but--?"

      I think she would have turned me down for a third and final time if, at that moment, Miranda herself had not swanned into the kitchen with her intended, Paul, on her arm. Catching sight of Diana, Miranda's face lit up. "Di," she said with all the warmth of a piranha moving in for the kill. "It was so good of you to come. I knew there would be no hard feelings. Isn't she a sport, Paul?"

      "Hello Diana," Paul greeted her in a subdued voice. I could see that he didn't like what Miranda was doing, but he didn't seem to have the power to stop her.

      Diana smiled wanly and merely nodded at both of them, straightening her body up with the intention of leaving the room.

      "Oh, don't go," Miranda intercepted her. "We've got so much catching up to do."

      "Some other time, Miranda," Diana replied coolly and tried to step around her host.

      "No, no. Don't just go like that. Here, have some more wine. Paul, be a darling and recharge Di's glass."

      "No, thanks. I've had enough," Diana said.

      "Just one more," Miranda insisted, "to celebrate with me." She glanced across at me. "You too, David."

      "Um, thanks, but no Miranda," I tried to deflect her. "I'm driving."

      "Oh, don't be such a stiff. One more won't do any harm."

      "Really, I--?"

      "Three glasses, Paul."

      Both Diana and I stood our ground, reluctant to be openly rude, even though Miranda was clearly toying with Diana's feelings. Paul obediently poured wine and adeptly carried four glasses over to us, urging each of us to take one.

      Miranda made the toast. "To happy days, past, and future."

      "To happy days," we all echoed, and we each sipped from our respective glasses.

      I had been keeping an eye on Diana while all this was going on, and noted that she was now standing with her legs together, probably clenching her thighs. I was pretty sure the poor girl was right on the verge of losing control. The prospect of having this happen in front of Miranda must have been mortifying. The chivalrous part of me couldn't let the scene play out to its inevitable conclusion.

      "Well, shall we?" I said to Diana. The shadow of a frown passed across her brow, so I added, "I'll drop you off on my way--"

      "Oh no, David," Miranda interjected. "You can't go yet."

      "Sorry Miranda, but I have to meet someone later on."

      "Oh, that's too bad of you. But if you must..." Miranda paused and glanced at Diana, now standing with her arms folded, her wine glass held awkwardly between thumb and forefinger and tilted over so far that the wine was almost spilling over the lip. "But that's no reason to steal one of my best friends away too," Miranda added peevishly.

      "Sorry Miranda," Diana said. "I was supposed to get a lift with my brother, but he phoned to say that he's having trouble with the car and might not be able to make it. David very kindly offered to drive me instead."

      Miranda looked Diana up and down doubtfully, perhaps wondering where the girl could possibly be concealing a cellphone. Finally, with bad grace, she said, "Fine. I hope you'll come to the wedding?" This had been directed at Diana.

      "Maybe," Diana answered.

      Miranda seemed on the point of another cruel rejoinder when she apparently changed her mind, and hooked her arm through Paul's free arm. "Come on, darling," she said to him, "the other guests will be missing us."

      As they departed from the kitchen, Diana sighed and flicked a grateful look at me. "Thanks," she said. "I guess I'm going to take you up on your offer after all."

      "Sure," I said. "I didn't bring a coat, but we need to find yours."

      Diana shook her head, setting down her glass of wine, at the same time performing a little curtsey. "No, that's okay," she answered in a tight voice. "I can pick it up some other time. Let's just go."

      "Okay," I agreed, suspecting that she needed to pee too badly to waste five or ten minutes trying to retrieve the coat.

      We left without speaking to anyone, just stepped out into the rain and headed for my Rover. I slipped off my jacket and hung it around Diana's exposed shoulders, and she nodded gratefully as she pulled the lapels together across her chest. I released the Rover's door locks as we approached and hopped straight into the cabin. Diana boarded and immediately bent forward, her knees pressed together, her hands gripping them. She was shivering.

      "It's so cold," she complained, so I whacked up the heater to full, aware that the chilly air must be worsening her need to pee. The vents blew only cold air at first, which probably didn't help either. After a minute the atmosphere in the cabin grew noticeably warmer.

      "Where do you live?" I asked.

      "Oh, North Dean. It's about twenty miles."

      Twenty miles translated into at least half an hour of driving, even at this time of night. Misinterpreting my hesitation, Diana added, "You don't have to drive me home, David. Perhaps we could just go to a pub and wait for my brother. I can call him to tell him where we are when we get there."

      "Um, yes, that would be fine," I said. Of course it would: hadn't it been my idea in the first place to do precisely that?

      "Are you sure?"

      "Yes, of course."

      "Okay, good." I heard rather than saw her swallow hard. "To be quite honest with you, I'd like to go somewhere nearby because I need to go to the loo."

      "Oh, right," I said. "I do know of somewhere not far from here. We can be there in about ten minutes."

      "Sounds great," she said, and I did not miss the relief in her voice at the prospect of being able to do something about her uncomfortably-full bladder at last.

      I drove somewhat sedately without making it too obvious that I was delaying her visit to the lavatory. This also allowed me to devote more attention to the way Diana was writhing around on the passenger's seat. She had her legs crossed and was bouncing her body up and down slightly, all the while keeping her hands folded on her lap. I speculated how badly she longed to drag the skirt of her dress up to the tops of her thighs and ram her hands against her crotch, and guessed that the impulse was uppermost on her mind, her hands stayed only by the presence of a total stranger.

      Anxious to engage her in conversation, and hoping to get a little more information about her situation out of her, I said, "It's always the same at parties like that. They don't seem to think that more than a few people will need to visit the loo during the evening."

      "I know," Diana agreed, the stress in her voice now obvious to my ear. "Especially with so many women there. We take a lot longer than men."

      "True." I paused, on the verge of inquiring why that was, then thought better of it.

      "Is it much farther?" Diana asked anxiously, leaning forward in her seat, her face turned towards me.

      "No, just a couple of minutes," I said.

      "Good. It won't be a minute too soon."

      "Sounds serious," I said, hoping my comment would not be viewed as inappropriate. If she thought I was stepping over the line, Diana gave no sign that she cared.

      "It is," was all she said in reply, simultaneously uncrossing her legs and recrossing them.

      After what must have been an eternity to her, I drove into the pub's car park and pulled into a parking space about as far away from the pub as I could manage. It wasn't purely vindictiveness on my part; the car park was pretty full.

      Diana unclipped her safety belt and climbed out, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete surface as she began to walk towards the pub. I hopped out, locked the doors and hurried after her. She was moving at a fair clip, her heels drumming briskly as she took rapid, small steps.

      As we entered the saloon bar, she said, "Right. First stop, the loo." She treated me to a fleeting grin, then hurried away.

      "I'll get the drinks," I called after her, and then stood eyeing the scrum around the bar. The place was absolutely packed. I began jostling for space, trying to work my way forward each time someone passed me with drinks in their hands.

      I'd been at this for a couple of minutes when I felt a hand grip my left bicep. I turned and was surprised to find Diana standing there, her fingers literally tugging at my sleeve. "Let's go," she urged just before turning away and marching towards the door.

      I again hurried after her. "What's up?" I asked as I caught up to her, already suspecting the nature of the problem.

      "The queue in the ladies is wrapped all around the walls. It will take at least fifteen minutes to get into a stall, and I definitely can't wait that long."

      "Oh God. I'm sorry," I offered, my tone conciliatory.

      "Is there another pub near here?" Diana asked, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete as she hurried back to the Rover.

      "Um, I'm not sure. I don't actually live around here, so I don't--"

      "Where do you live?" she interrupted, at the same time folding her arms across her stomach and bending forward as she continued to walk. "Is it far?"

      "Wycliffe," I supplied. "It's about twenty miles. Same length as your journey home."

      "Oh no," she said in a soft, disappointed voice. "That's too far. I have to find a loo quickly, David. I really can't go on like this for much longer.'

      "Okay," I said, briefly placing a hand on her exposed shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Let me think for a minute," I added.

      "Don't think too long, please. I'm just about ready to burst."

      "Oh God," I said again. "Well, at least let's get you into the Rover so you can sit down." I raised the key fob and released the locks as we approached.

      "Thank you," Diana said in a quiet little voice as she pulled over the door and climbed in.

      I circled round and hopped back into the cab beside her. She was sitting with her legs crossed and her hands briskly rubbing her thighs, releasing a little gasp with every breath. She was making no attempt to hide her desperation now.

      "Oh, David, what am I going to do? I really can't last much longer."

      "Right. Um, all I can suggest is that I start driving and we keep an eye open for another pub."

      "All right, but it will probably be crowded too, won't it?"

      "Probably," I admitted, imagining Diana dashing into another ladies and finding another long queue.

      "Isn't there anything else? A restaurant, or some all-night place like a MacDonald's?"

      "I honestly don't know. Let's just get going and see what we can find."

      "Okay," she agreed, her voice actually trembling as she coped with the terrible strain on her abdominal muscles. I felt sorry for her, but I could not deny that her dire situation was stimulating the hell out of me. I just hoped she wouldn't notice the bulge that had formed in my trousers; it would not be easy to explain.

      We drove along what looked like a high street, although I didn't see any street signs to that effect. As we cruised past darkened shop windows, Diana's head twisted from side to side as she searched for a light that would suggest something was open, something that would offer her a glimmer of hope. But it all looked dead. While we did pass another pub, we could see through its uncurtained windows that the place was packed to capacity, which almost certainly meant another long queue for the ladies toilets.

      Beside me, Diana's body was shaking like an aspen leaf in a breeze. She was on the brink of coming unglued, and I knew if she didn't find somewhere to relieve herself very, very soon, that she was going to lose it all over my car seat. The same thought had evidently crossed her mind, because she said urgently, "Please stop, David. I have to get out."

      I glanced at the pedestrians on the pavements, heading home from the pub, and from cinemas and restaurants; at the cars and lorries in the contra flow, and looked at her in surprise. "But there's nowhere...," I began.

      "I don't care!" she cried. "I can't wait any longer, and I can't do it in your car. Please, please stop. Now!"

      "No," I said decisively.

      She gazed across at me, her mouth open in astonishment. "Don't you understand? I'm about to wet myself. You have to let me out!"

      "No," I repeated. "I'm not letting you humiliate yourself in front of all these people."

      "Oh, I see, but it's all right for me to humiliate myself in front of you, is it?" she snapped angrily.

      "One person is a lot better than an audience of many," I pointed out.

      "But your seat!" she protested again.

      "I don't care," I said.

      She gave a huge, tremulous sigh and shook her head. "Well I do. I'm not going to piss on your seat. Just get me somewhere quieter and then stop, for God's sake. I'm really dying to go."

      "All right. I'll see what I can do."

      I sped up, ignoring several people who had just stepped onto a crosswalk. I heard one of them shout abuse at me, but I didn't slow down. I turned onto an intersecting road where there were fewer people and vehicles, but it was still very public.

      I kept going, casting frequent glances at Diana now bending right over so that her breasts were pressed against her thighs. I couldn't quite see what she was doing, but I could see a lot of thigh, and guessed that she had her hands between her legs, probably with her fingers pressing against her burning pee-hole.

      I made another turn, and this time the street was a lot quieter. Spotting an alleyway between several rows of houses, I swerved into the curb and brought the Rover to an abrupt stop. I heard Diana grunt as the jolt shot through her, and knew it must have almost made her lose control. Perhaps she had, for a second.

      I jumped out and hurried round to the passenger's side just as she pushed the door open and almost fell out, her body still doubled over, her dress still lifted to reveal a lot of leg.

      I grabbed her arm and urged her forward. "This way," I said. "There's an alley."

      She let me drag her into the narrow accessway, the tapping of her heels betraying that she was now taking tiny steps. She was gasping and moaning under her breath as we hurried ten feet into the shadows, then she suddenly pulled free of me and grabbed the hem of her dress with both hands. She shot me a panic-stricken look. "Are you going to watch?"

      I stood there, my mouth open ready to say, "Can I? It was horribly unchivalrous of me, but I really did want to watch her pee.

      "Oh, to hell with--?" She stopped and quickly looked down with a startled gasp. Her hands frantically clawed at her tights and knickers, and I knew she had started to wet herself. She literally tore her underwear down, and I could see, backlit by a streetlight standing close to where I'd parked the Rover, that pee was pouring out of her. It was falling in a glistening stream, some of it landing on her knickers and she struggled to get them out of the way. She bent over a little more, and a moment later I heard the splattering of urine on the pavement.

      Diana made a noise halfway between a rasp and a cough, surely a reaction as the crippling tension that had gripped her muscles for the past hour or longer suddenly abated. The sound of her pee hitting the ground was loud and powerful, and went on for an amazing length of time. I could have sworn, by the time she had finished relieving, that she had let out about two pints. I knew it wasn't really possible to do that much at one time, but it could surely not have been far short of it.

      Finally, her underwear still almost down to her knees, Diana straightened and leaned back against the wall directly behind her, allowing the skirt of her dress to fall back into place and cover her nakedness. She stood there with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths as if she had just run a mile. Slowly, she recovered herself and opened her eyes to regard me.

      "Did that turn you on?" she asked bluntly.

      "Yes," I admitted, equally bluntly.

      "Oh," was her only reaction. I suppose she had been expecting me to deny it, and didn't quite know how to respond to my frank admission.

      Slowly, careful not to expose herself again, she raised her knickers and tights and smoothed down her skirt. She paused to regard the river of pee slowly making its way into the grooves in the pavement at the edge of the alley, and then said, "Shall we?"

      I nodded, and followed her back to the Rover. She hesitated. "Despite what you said a little while ago about not caring if I peed on your car seat, I don't suppose your interest in my little accident really extends to letting me sit in it like this, does it?"

      "Certainly," I informed her with enthusiasm. "Just let me find you a plastic bag to sit on though, since the seats are not leather and difficult to clean."

      "Of course," she said, and stood there watching me as I rummaged around in the back. I found a shopping bag and carefully tore it apart along its seams, then spread it over the front passenger's seat. Diana climbed in, careful not to displace the bag as she sat down. She winced as her bottom made contact with her wet -- and by this time cold -- underwear.

      She watched me watching her legs, smiling as I raised my eyes to meet her gaze. "So, now you can drive me home."

      "Of course. You can call your brother on my cell phone if you like."

      "Yes, please. I wouldn't want him to make a wasted journey."

      I hesitated, then said, "Since you're going to call him, perhaps you could tell him that you're spending the night somewhere else instead." She raised interrogative eyebrows, and I resumed, "My place is a little closer from here, and that way, you could put your clothes in the washing machine and no one would be any the wiser about what happened here."

      "Except for you," she countered.

      "Except for me," I admitted.

      She considered this for a few seconds and said, "I'm not accustomed to going home with a man on a first date."

      "Is this a date then?" I teased.

      She grinned. "Well, it's got pretty intimate, so I think it would be better if we referred to it as one. Do you mind?"

      "Fine with me. And, just in case you're wondering, I'm not a total heel. You can have the bedroom and I'll sleep on the couch."

      "Okay," she agreed, but she was smiling as she said it, and I had the feeling that the night would not end there.