(if you're not particularly interested in the narrative, skip to chapter 2)
Introduction
I sighed and rested my forehead against the car window. The old Nissan shook and rattled over the dirt road, and if I left my head in the same spot long enough, the occasional bumps and taps against the glass along with the ceaseless vibrating made that small area of my forehead numb. The strange sensation helped take my mind off what was to come, off what lied at the end of the dirt road.
I was going to grandma’s house.
I was being dragged to grandma’s house. The place I’d grown up in. The earliest place I remembered, and my only home until the 7th grade. Except back then it wasn’t just grandma’s house. It was her house, and my house, and mom’s house, but above all, it was grandpa’s house.
I tried to sigh again, but I was all sighed out.
“Almost there.” My mom said it with little emotion in her voice. The first few times she’d sounded excited, but I’d made a snide comment about how happy she sounded to be getting me out of her hair, and that had shut her up. Well, not shut her up, but it had put an end to the mocking tone.
“Mom, please.” I begged, lifting my head up off the window to behold the tall, cryptic manor in the distance.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
And then there was silence.
She didn’t even try to argue or to converse or to console anymore. She just said ‘sorry’ and stayed quiet. The silence was worse than getting scolded, worse than the ‘you should have thought about this before getting a slew of detentions.’ It was even worse than the ‘you should have thought about this before skipping those detentions.” The silence told me I was defeated.
“Ugh….” I groaned and placed my head back against the window. I looked out into the endless fields, into the endless, empty, space. “What am I supposed to do out here? There is nothing. Nothing, anywhere.”
“You’ll find something to do. If you get bored, you can help your grandmother, and you can always make some friends.”
I pressed into my eyes with annoyance. The ‘make friends’ things was my least favorite of her recycled responses, even worse than the silence. Unless she wanted to give me some mushrooms and tell me to make friends with the trees then it didn’t look there was any chance of that happening.
I remembered something, someone, but only for an instant.
No, that’s impossible, I thought with finality. She is probably long gone from this podunk place. And even if she isn't, she’s probably a native. And God knows I’m about as ‘city’ as it gets….
The thought faded as soon as it came. A moment later my head lifted again, and I was staring with dread at the house—at grandma’s house.
Only grandma’s house…. I thought, sadly. And, I suppose mine too now. For summer break at least.
It was my last summer break. The one between 11th and 12th.. I was basically an adult now, and legally I was was entirely an adult, but my mom didn’t seem to think so. To her, I was still too immature, still too ‘rebellious.’ To her and to school and to all the students—they never said it, but I could tell by there looks—I was a ‘problem child.’
But I wasn’t a problem child. I was… well, I wasn’t a good child, per se, but a ‘problem child’ didn’t fit. That label carried implications that didn’t apply to me, even if problems did sometimes follow in my wake. But was I to blame for what followed me?
It’s not like I ever hurt anybody. At least not physically. Sometimes I hurt my teacher’s with words, and sometimes I got into small altercations with other students, and sure, I’d been in a few fights, but that wasn’t so bad. Everything I did, I did for a reason. Everything I did, I did with purpose, and intent, with morality.
The teacher’s were the ones that didn’t like me. They wanted to control me, they wanted to lord over me and get off on their little power trips, but what gave them the right? In 11th grade, I should be allowed to eat a snack if I am hungry, and I should be able to piss without lifting my hands to ask, and I shouldn’t have to worry about being discriminated against just because I’ve been a pain in the ass before.
As for the fights, sometimes I just had to defend myself. Some people think they’re better than others. Sometimes they act like pricks and do it in acceptable ways, in ways where you’re the unacceptable one if you try to call them out on it. Sometimes they pick on people who don’t deserve it, sometimes they won’t shut up when they really need to shut up, and sometimes they just overreact when you finally tell them to shut up.
It’s not like I hunted them. It’s not like I wanted to fight. Normally I just argued with people, it was just bickering. But sometimes fists got thrown, sometimes people got angry and met me after school. Sometimes I just had to do something, because doing what I thought was right in the past put me in situations where I had to do what others thought was wrong in the present.
But isn’t that… right? Doing what we all think is right? And isn’t it right to argue about what is right, and about what is acceptable? I never tried to control people with my fists. I never initiated fights with people who I knew didn’t have it coming or were having a bad day. But none of that mattered, because I fought, because I didn’t do my homework and because I sometimes slept in class and because I argued with my teachers. None of it mattered because I was a problem.
My mom had threatened me with it many times. She was probably the only person on earth who had managed to weaponize the words ‘grandma’s house.’ But I never thought she’d do it. I never thought I’d actually be sitting in the back of the Nissan as we pulled up to the old, creaking two story, depressingly occupied by one little old lady. But I was hanging out with Terry one day, and he had given me a fistful of shrooms.
I didn’t think she’d come home from work early. I didn’t think she’d walk in the house and find me with my eyes dilated and my words slurring and my head bobbing around like it had a mind entirely of it’s own. My hair had been a mess, I couldn’t listen to her for any span of time, and I’d been too fucked up to change out of the shorts I’d pissed in from laughing too hard.
That was it for her. I’d told myself she’d forgive me. Part of me believed it, another part just hoped, but there was an old expression my grandpa had told me about hoping in one hand and shitting in the other, and it seemed one hand had filled up first.
She turned the car off. We sat there for several moments in silence.
“Please, mom. I get it. I won’t be a hassle anymore, I promise.” I felt the urge to cry, but I refused to belittle myself like that, especially in front of her.
The light in the car turned on as she clicked her door open. “It’s not going to be that bad.”
“It is. There is nothing to do out here. How am I supposed to deal with this and then deal with school the next year? I need a break, not more stress.”
“This is a break, honey. It may not seem like it now, but what you need a break from is the city. You’re the one always telling me how much you hate it.”
“Yes, but that’s because I hate everything.”
She sighed. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Mom.”
She swung open the door and stuck a leg out.
“Mom, please.”
She slid out and stood.
“Seriously, mom, come on….”
She closed the door and then turned away from me, toward the house.
I sighed, aggrieved, and stepped out a few moments later.
Chapter One:
I lied there on my bed and watched the ceiling fan spin. It was on high, so every second or so it creaked softly. If I listened hard enough, the sound carried me away and the spinning fan blades dulled my sensibilities until it seemed as if I didn’t exist for a few sweet moments, but I always came back to reality. Back to the boring, empty, depressing reality.
I did this multiple times, until I thought an hour had passed and I finally looked over at the clock.
10 minutes… I thought, mystified. I sat up sharply, a bit startled by the depths of my boredom
I walked downstairs and told grandma I was going to take a walk.
It’s only been four hours. I’ve only been here for four hours…. I walked out the front door and started walking down the dirt road. Only 2,156 hours to go….
I walked for a few moments, hands in my pockets, eyes downcast, when I remembered her again. Daisy….
I looked over, across the field to the left, half expecting to find her there, to find her mom or her dad, to find them in church clothes piling into their old clunker of a pick up just like they used to. But there was nobody there. Only the old, creaking house, that had seen far better days, and a similar pick up truck (or possibly the same one?) which had also seen better days. I looked back down at my feet.
Not long after my mom had left to drive back to the city, Grandma told me that she still lived in the same place with her dad, still in the house right next door to us. She’d been a childhood friend, my first crush, someone I’d always found exceptionally beautiful, somebody I’d had a lot of ‘first times’ with—someone I'd fantasized about for many years after.
We were young in those days. We hung out from elementary to 7th grade. She’d been there crying when I left, watching me as I was driven to the city.
...I forgot all about that.
I looked back over at her house, hoping to see someone there, but the rickety-looking porch was still deserted. I stopped walking and stared at the house, reliving the past.
Like I said, she was my first crush, but she was also the first girl to cry over me. The first girl I’d ever kissed. The first girl I’d ever seen in her underwear. The first girl I’d ever pictured late at night while alone in my room. The first girl I’d ever spent any alone time with, and the only girl who I’d ever spent any real alone time with.
She was also the first girl I ever saw have an-
My thoughts were cut short by a sudden… change. I was at a distance, so I could only faintly see it, but it looked as if things had suddenly gotten darker behind the screen-door of Daisy's house, as if the front door had been-
-And then the screen-door flung open. A body stepped outside, facing in my direction, one hand hanging down, the other holding on to the screen.
It’s… a girl. My eyes widened and I stared back, but turned away a moment later. Could it be… her? Could it really be Daisy? It’s impossible, isn’t it? It’s been so long, she’d probably hate me now, we’ve changed so much. I know I have, I’m sure she has too…. I looked back at her, and she was still staring. She was a bit faint in the distance, but I could tell the shape was feminine, and it looked young too.
If Daisy really does live there, then it has to either be her or her mom… and I don’t think that’s her mom.
I looked back down at the dirt, and then back up at her. When my eyes came back up, she had begun walking down the steps of the porch. I watched her and I could tell she watched me. She stopped at the bottom of the steps for a moment. I looked down again, this time for a longer period. I kicked at the dirt, like I were striking a stone. My hands were buried deep in my shallow pockets and I was picking at my teeth with my tongue like I always did when I was nervous. When I looked back up, my heart almost lept out of my chest.
She’s coming over….
I watched her for a few seconds, and then turned back down toward the dirt, trying not to seem too awkward. It's never easy seeming cool while waiting for someone to walk over to you from a distance, knowing they were watching your every move.
When she got so close that I could make out the shape of her body, that I could see the dark blond hair, half of it trailing down behind her back, the other half trailing down in front of her ample breasts, that I could see the tight, faded black jeans covering defined curves, when I could see the denim clinging to her flesh, wrapped around her wide, healthy thighs, I turned 45 degrees in her direction and looked up at her, and then back down at the dirt.
“Jacob?” Her voice rang out, more mature now, but almost as cute and petite as when she’d been a child. “That’s you, isn’t it?” I could tell she was smiling by her tone.
I looked up and involuntarily smiled back. “Yeah, it’s me.”
She came toward me, her eyes wide, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Oh my God.” She covered her mouth. “It’s been so long. How are you? You… You do remember me, right?”
“Of course I do. It’s been a long time, Daisy…. And I’m doing… alright. I guess. Doing better now, though.” I looked into her eyes, not intending to sound reminiscent or romantic, and utterly unsure if she’d heard it that way. “I just mean, I didn’t think I’d… meet anyone out here. Let alone you, of all people.”
“I know the feeling.” She looked up and down my body, as if she were verifying I was real. I went to do the same, for more reasons than just verifying her existence, but the moment I’d moved my head I realized I’d done it several times already without noticing and blushed a bit.
She’s still just as beautiful as she always was… except now she’s… really sexy too.
“How come you’re back all of a sudden?”
“Uh, well… it’s a bit of a long story, I guess.”
She looked past me and then around a bit. “A long story? Well, don’t let me impose on your standing around and your dirt kicking. I can tell it’s important stuff you’re doing out here all alone.”
I blushed a bit more. “I didn’t mean it like that. I-I mean I can tell you if you want. If you have the time I mean.”
She smiled and chuckled. “I was just teasing you, I know what you mean. But yes, I’d love to hear it.”
“Yeah?” I raised my eyebrows and smiled again—again involuntarily, something that was rare for me, especially when talking to women. “Alright,” I chuckled, “um, where to start….”
“You wanna take a walk? A lot has changed since you’ve been gone. Trees growing and other exciting things.”
My eyes widened a bit, hopefully imperceptibly. Walks through the fields and the woods, I thought. That’s where it all happened. The kiss, the underwear, and of course the…. I swallowed and quickly collected myself. “Yeah, sure.” I smiled again, a special kind of smile. The sort that for it’s length felt completely natural, completely right, almost childlike in it’s hopefulness.
It had been a long time since I’d smiled like that.
Chapter Two:
On the way to grandma’s house, I’d never have imagined it possible that I could wake up the next morning feeling anything other than depressed. The smell of old antiques and dust hung stale in the previously unused room. The blankets on the bed were stiff, almost as firm as the mattress itself. I had no wifi for my phone, no television in my room, and the windows had no blinds so I couldn’t even sleep in.
But all that aside, I woke up fast, faster than I ever did when I was living in the city, despite not being a morning person whatsoever. I got dressed and hurried downstairs to eat breakfast. I made polite conversation with grandma, but my eyes kept darting to the clock and my mind was somewhere else entirely.
9 o’clock. I thought. When she’d said it to me, I hadn’t thought it possible at first. I caught myself wondering if 9 o’clock were even a real time, if people actually did things that early in the day. But she wants to hang out again today. I told her everything…. Well, not everything, but more than I should have. And… she still wants to hang out.
She’s changed, just like I have, but deep down, it’s still Daisy.
The strangest thing about the previous day had been Daisy’s reaction to my explanation of how I ended up back out in the fields. Patient, understanding, unphased, and when I’d justified it all, when I’d told her my reasons for being the person I was, for being Jacob the Troublemaker, for being Jacob the Problem Child, she didn’t try to scold me or argue with me or try to tell me what I was doing was wrong or what I should be doing instead. She listened to me, she nodded and she agreed with him—and not just sympathy agreement, but legitimate, real agreement. Agreement by somebody other than Terry or my other friends.
9 o’clock. I thought, sitting on the living room couch now, staring intently at the clock. The walk should only take three minutes at most…. So only 15 minutes more to go.
I sat there, tapping my fingers on my thigh, watching the minute hand on the old analogue clock go in gratingly slow circles. It wasn’t that I wanted to see Daisy all that badly, but the lack of literally anything else to do made the wait almost unbearable. Five minutes later I stood.
Nothing wrong with showing up tastefully early, I thought.
After telling grandma I was leaving, I walked out and headed directly across the field toward her house. The grass was faintly wet from a rain earlier that morning, and there were a series of rapidly moving storm clouds in the air. Thankfully, I could see the sun in the horizon, and far out the sky looked clear, but for the time being it was muggy and humid and looked as if it could rain any moment.
I walked up to her front door and pulled open the screen-door. I swallowed nervously, not sure what I would say to her mom or to her dad if they answered instead of her.
Will they recognize me? Would they even remember me if I told them my name?
I knocked. I heard a human noise beyond the door, like a cross between a groan and a grunt, but too soft to be called either. A distinctly male sound.
Her dad? I thought.
The door opened a few minutes later, revealing Clark Harris, Daisy’s dad. I filled my lungs as softly as I could manage, hoping he couldn’t overhear the shock. Mr. Harris looked back at me with dead eyes and droopy eyelids barley hanging over saggy, swollen black bags—not the sort people were sometimes born with, but the kind that could only be made with years of unhealthy habits and no sleep.
He was skinnier than I remembered, and his face was unshaven to the point of almost having a beard. His hair was greasy and unwashed, and the same seemed to be true about his body, which was dark with dirt and tan. He was in his work clothes, a gray shirt stained and frayed to the point it could have only been acceptable in a manual labor job, and some blue jeans that were so faded they looked almost white.
“You Daisy’s friends?” He asked, his tone gruff, but not entirely unfriendly.
“U-Uh, yeah. I’m Jacob, actually. The kid who used to live across the street….. We went to church together a few times. Our f-families did, I mean.”
“Yeah?” His dead eyes lived for a moment. “Long time no see, boy.” He moved out the way so I could come in. “How’s it been?”
“It’s been… alright.” I stepped into the house and was immediately assaulted by the stench of burnt tobacco, stale alcohol, and unwashed man. “Just trying to get through school.”
He snorted. “Glad I’m out.”
I forced a meek chuckle. “Yeah, I can imagine…. So, um, how have things been with you?”
He looked down at me, his expression unchanging. His mouth moved oddly as he adjusted his lips and jaw. “They’ve been.” He answered finally, both after a wait and with a sense of finality. He walked over to the couch and sat down, and then laid down, and returned to watching television.
“Ahhh,” I said, my profound discomfort forcing me to ball my hands into fists. “Things tend to do that.”
Apparently satisfied with this, he coughed and spoke again. “The girl’s upstairs if you wanna see her. In ‘er room.”
“Oh! Th-Thank you.” Without another word, all too happy to get out of that living room, I began to head upstairs. The first thing I noticed was how quickly the stench wore off. Having removed him from the equation helped more than it should have, but the further I got away from the living room in general, the less it smelled like gas station drugs and the more it smelled like old wood—the exact way a house like this was supposed to smell.
How does Daisy’s mom put up with that? I thought, the obvious hitting me a moment later. Unless… she couldn’t put up with it….
I frowned a bit as I reached the top of the stairs and moved down the hall. The sour smell from downstairs was faint now, and even the old wood smell was giving into a feminine scent, something akin to perfume.
I reached the only closed door at the top of the house and approached it.
Should I bring it up? Or, is it something I should let her bring up? I frowned a bit harder. Either way, it’ll take the right moment.
I put my hand on the door knob. How long has she been living like this? How long has her dad been this way? Has it always been this ba-
The moment I began opening the door I realized that in my haste and in my distraction, I’d forgotten to knock, and the moment after that, the door was open.
The only light in the room came from the sun, which was filtered behind the thinning storm clouds. A pale gray, almost blue-ish sea illuminated the room through the open window over her bed. Daisy stood in the center of the room facing her bed, knelt forward, her butt aimed in my direction. She stood up straight, pulling her jeans up with her, over a pair of dark blue, bikini style panties, the whole things made of some kind of semi-transparent lace or mesh that left her ample butt half visible through the small, uncovered areas.
She glanced back a moment after I walked in, and once she'd gotten her jeans up to her hips and her unmentionables covered she turned to face me, still working on fastening the button of the new-looking, blue skinny jeans. Above the jeans was a tight blue tank-top, showing a small amount of cleavage through a black lacy net that covered the low-cut neck. I stood there, staring at her, too shocked to back out of the room.
“Whoops. Weren't supposed to see those....” She said, matter-of-factually.
“Shit. Sorry about that. I... I didn’t mean to walk-in on you…. I was just, thinking about something and forgot to knock.”
“That’s fine. I wasn’t naked or anything.” She walked over to her closet, looking as casual as she had sounded.
No, you weren’t, I thought. But I still somehow managed to see a good bit of your butt….
She stopped for a moment and pursed her brows, giving a troubling look to something in the closet. “Plus,” she continued. “It’s not your fault. I would have had something on my mind too.”
She turned away from me as she said this, in a way that made me think she didn’t want me to pry into what she meant.
There’s only one thing she could have meant….
I took a few steps into her room and breathed deeply. The smell of her room contrasted sharply with the rest of the house in the most refreshing way. Half of the smell was of nature and of the storm clouds, and the other half was a settled sort of femininity. There was an added sweetness to it, that likely came from having deliberately tried to make her room smell good, as an offense against her father's stench. Likely, the smell had lingered for awhile and had ample time to mix with her own, natural aroma.
“You know what?” She said, walking over to the window and leaning against her bed as she looked out “Skies clearing up. Looks like I won’t need it.” She walked past me, stopping in the door frame. “Come on, let’s get out of her.” I followed her, and she closed the door behind me.
We led the way down the steps and headed straight for the front door. She opened it and held it for me as we walked out. At no point did she say anything or so much as look at her dad.
Once we were outside, she led the way down off her porch and then waited for me. We walked together to the same place we’d gone yesterday, to the field beyond the hill. We were both silent until we’d crossed over the hill and were halfway down the other side.
“So where do you wanna go?” She asked.
I looked over at her and took a second to appreciate her button cute nose and her innocent features. “Uhhh, how about we go to the Tree like we talked about yesterday?”
“Okay, it’s been awhile since I’ve been there. But like I said, fair warning, but our trails aren’t what they used to be. A lot of it's grown over.”
“And what was so important you couldn’t dedicate all of your time to maintaining our trails?”
“Well,” she said, with a momentarily, almost imperceptible smile. “I put in a lot more time than you did, so I’d say that should get me off the hook.”
“True…. But that’s only because I was away on important business. I expected better from my woods-wife.” I looked over. The moment I saw her expression, I grinned.
“Seems like you haven’t forgotten everything after all.” She said, blushing and trying to hold back a growing smile.
“Don’t worry. I remembered the important stuff.”
“...Oh?”
“Yeah,” I replied, matter-of-factually. “Like that time you slipped while we were crossing the log and you fell in wet dirt. You looked like you peed yourself so I teased for it.”
“Oh, that’s important stuff, is it?” She replied wryly.
“I consider any time you seriously embarrassed yourself important.”
“...So you remember every time I embarrassed myself?”
“Only the serious times,” I replied with a shrug. “You get this look on your face that’s hard to forget.”
“Uh huh.”
“Yep, I’ll never forget it. It’s like this wide-eyed look of shock. I’ve only seen it on you a few times, but you wear it well.”
She rolled her eyes, cheeks a pale shade of pink.
You’re thinking of the same thing I am, aren’t you? I thought, I admiring her from the side. The first time you lost con-
“Okay, let’s see how much of our trail is still around.” She said as we approached the wood’s edge. She went forward and started to wrestle with the initial wave of vines in our way. “Alright branches, we can do this the easy way or the hard way….”
She led the way through the woods. I felt a bit self-conscious at first, feeling as though I were obligated to be the one leading in case of spiders or wild animals, but they were, in a way, her woods now, and she knew them a lot more intimately than I did.
Of course, there were worse things than being behind her as she climbed up logs and had to contort her body in all manners of ways. I felt a bit guilty for ogling her so aggressively, but all I could think about were those blue panties and the bits of her butt I’d seen through them. And then there was the cool way she’d reacted: utterly unphased, as if it meant nothing to her, even though her cheeks had turned the faintest shade red after it had happened.
Whoops. Weren't supposed to see those....
Whenever I tried to look away from her body, I found it intruding back into my line of vision, and soon my eyes would begin to follow it again.
She has such a nice ass it’s ridiculous. I was mostly walking next to her yesterday so I only saw it a couple times, but my god….
It took awhile, but we eventually reached the other end of the woods. We emerged into a long field, a hill in front of us that wasn’t particularly huge, but ascended fast, and at the very top was a lone tree, as thick as it was old.
We moved up the hill and sat down against the trunk just like we used to. It wasn’t particularly hot out, but the dirt was cool against our jeans and the shade without the humidity of the woods was soothing. I looked over at her when she closed her eyes. Her breasts had grown since I’d last seen her.
A lot.
They had to be at least a c-cup now, and looked visually artistic sitting on her chest the way they did then, kept propped up by her bra. My eyes darted toward her almost entirely exposed shoulders. During the walk, her bra straps had slipped out from under the tank top and sat soft and dark blue against her white flesh.
I turned away and swallowed. Blue panties, blue bra, blue shirt… even blue jeans. Not only did she match her bra and panties, but she matched it with her clothes. And she did it completely for herself, since she had no way of knowing I’d catch her dressing….
I don’t know how long we sat there in silence, enjoying the breeze. The air was warm, but refreshing in virtue of how strong it was. Every time the wind blew the woods around us turned into a cacophony of trees swinging to and fro, and the branches of the giant tree above moved with it, raining down occasional leaves on our heads.
“Okay,” she said suddenly, getting to her feet and brushing off her butt. “We should go.”
I looked up at her. “Why so sudden?”
“What do you mean sudden? We’ve been sitting out here for at least half an hour.”
“Well, I know that.” I answered climbing to my feet. “I just mean why you jumped up so suddenly. Honestly, what’s there to go back to?”
“Uh, well, the bathroom for starters. It’s a long walk and I already feel like I’m gonna burst.” Her legs shifted in a small, dramatized pee dance as she stared down at me. “So let’s hurry up.”
Again? I thought as she led the way. You seemed like you were gonna burst yesterday too....
I thought back to the day before, when we'd been walking and talking, Not long into it she'd started moving strangely. She'd taken inward steps through the grass, like she'd feared spreading her legs too far. Whenever they’d come to a complete stop, she’d been unable to remain still--early on she’d only grinded her thighs a bit, but within twenty minutes from that she'd started doing the most obvious and childish dance I'd ever seen out of an adult, going from foot to foot and biting her lip.
For some reason she'd stayed completely silent about her need, and only done her best to continue the conversation. Eventually, though, she stopped. When I turned to look at her, she was grimacing, one hand now pressed firmly between her legs, her hips shaking as she went from foot to foot.
“Crap.” She'd said, glancing down at her restless waist. “I'm about to pee my pants. I'd better go, but we should talk tomorrow if you're free.”
And just like that we hastily threw together a date of sorts around 9am today, and a moment later I was watching her hastily dance across the field.
I'm about to pee my pants.
I couldn't help but meditate on those words as I watched her lead the way back through the woods, her legs frequently shifting back and forth.
I can't believe she still holds her piss this long. I thought, somewhat astonished. I thought yesterday was just a fluke, but she is just as bad as she used to be....
We walked for several minutes. I made sure to hang back, letting her restless body set the pace, watching her squirm with every span of flat space. After a few difficult to pass obstacles, she started using a hand whenever she had to take a big step or climb over a branch, always removing it the moment we'd passed.
At one point she had to climb on top of a felled tree to pass. Because of the vines, it wasn't feasible to climb down, so she had to jump at least a bit. She paused on top of the tree and placed a perfectly fitting hand firmly against the crotch of her jeans. She made the jump, keeping her hand pressed tightly down the entire time. When she landed, she grimaced and bit down on her lip, and possibly cursed under her breath.
She kept her hand on her crotch now, still power-walking forward in hopes of making it home.
She seems intent on not peeing outside, I thought. But the longer this goes on the more it looks like it's going to happen, with those jeans on or not.
I pictured her jeans suddenly saturating. I could see that look on her face, the wide-eyed one whenever she was seriously embarrassed. I felt guilty for wanting to see it, to see the glimmer of urine on her pants, running down her ankles and into her shoes and onto the dirt. I pictured her panties too, the transparent blue ones that she'd chosen to match her clothes.
Those might actually be wet.... The face she'd made after jumping off the log, and her hand, too. She hasn't removed it from her crotch since.
She stopped and bent forward, hand between the legs still, hips shaking with every inward step, just like the day before. “Yeah.”
“...Yeah?” I said back.
“I'm starting to lose control.” She started to walk off into the brush. “Gotta pee here.”
I watched as she awkwardly shuffled toward the nearest tree trunk, hand still pressed down on her pussy. On the way, she tried to use her free hand to undo the button of her jeans, but it was too tight to do with one hand. Most of her body disappeared behind a tree trunk, but I could see her sides poking out.
One of the hazards of waiting so long you don't have the liberty of choosing your tree....
Her elbow moved as she yanked her hand free from her tightly pressed thighs and went for the button with both hands. She undid it and pulled the jeans down with impressive speed. All I could see from my position were the sides of her butt cheeks that the tree trunk were too narrow to block, but it was enough to see that she initially pulled the jeans down to her thighs and stuck her butt out a bit, and only then eased herself into a squat. The sound of piss splattering on damp leaves was immediate and powerful.
She started pissing the moment she got her jeans out the way.... I thought. Or... possibly even sooner.
The sound echoed through the forest. Even when she got into her squat I could still hear it ringing out for a solid fifteen seconds, fading out a bit toward the end. When the audible stream had stopped, she remained there for about twenty more seconds, presumably squeezing out the remaining bits. She stood up after that, suddenly, not bothering to grab a leaf to wipe with.
When she reappeared from behind the tree, I was a bit disappointed to find her jeans utterly dry.
“Damn, that was close.” She brushed off her thighs and sighed with relief. “We can walk around some more now, if you want.”
I agreed and she led the way, going down the same path toward home. My eyes traced her backside, looking for potential marks or leaks, but finding none.
Weird, I thought. I really thought there'd be a mark after tha-
Before I could finish the thought, she grabbed both sides of her jeans and pulled them up tight, forming the denim against her bottom and groin, wiggling her butt a bit as she did it. “Really need to get some toilet paper out here....” She muttered, just loud enough so that I could hear it.
