I haven't been able to read all the posts. Lines have been down. Something to do with an enormous mechanical digger just outside my window.

I see there's a Wetville Newspaper. Hi Johnny Lee White (were you Lee previously). OK, here's a story that really happened. It's panty wetting rather than diapers, although if my friend and I had any sense we'd have been diapered!

A Day at the Market

by Michelle

Easter. I�ve been going at things much to hard and need a break, and I�m happy to accept an invitation from my friend Kim, who�s studying medicine in the City of Jam, Jute and Journalism - that�s Dundee, Scotland for any non Brits reading this. I crash out on the floor of her bedsit, sleep late, take in the scenery, go shopping. Sounds boring? After the way I�ve been living it�s heaven!

Kim is a genuinely �good� girl. Kinda prim. Not a virgin, but her current boyfriend, George, is only her third lover ever. I think she feels a bit guilty about having sex with him. He�s the type that�ll disapprove of a girl who goes to bed with him, but not feel the least bit of guilt about what he�s doing to her. Pratt! Also, my dear respectable friend Kim happens to be twenty years old, tall, blonde and utterly gorgeous. She doesn�t realise this. Me, I relax, slop about in my old clothes. Why compete? I could prance about stark naked in this girl�s company and nobody would spare me a second or even a first glance.

George brings along the odd pal to make a foursome, but nothing develops. His friends aren�t my type. Also, to be honest, it�s the wrong time of the month. Polite kisses are all I want or get. I think George disapproves of girls that kiss on the first date. Double pratt!

So I�m quite glad when Kim and I go to an open air market without male escorts. She seems happier and somehow friskier. Quite sexily dressed, unusual for her, in a mid thigh denim skirt, not a bum hugger, wouldn�t look short at all on me, but on a girl with legs the length of Kim�s it�s spectacular! I consider her a traffic hazard. Also, she�s in white knee length boots and not wearing pantyhose. I suspect my friend is enjoying an innocent little flaunt away from George�s eagle eye. And why not?

I find a country inn that does vegetarian food, and wash it down with club sodas. Kim has two pints of lager, again not her usual style. But then, I�m driving and she can indulge.

�Let�s go to the car boot sale,� she says.

�Pardon?�

�Car boot. Auto trunk. You really should learn English, Michelle. It�s a sort of big outdoor second hand market about ten miles down the Perth road.�

Big it is. On an open field beside an airdrome. Miles from anywhere. Hundreds of autos. I queue for at least half an hour to park. Interesting collection of junk though. I�ve got to bend down a lot to look at things and begin to think jeans would�ve been wiser than a skirt, then watch my lovely companion crouch ever so modestly, taking care with her hemline, and realise nobody�s looking at me. We spend a long time going round the stalls, but have still seen less than half of them.

�Michelle,� says Kim, �better find a loo.�

I agree with her. We follow a sign, then try not to throw up. Thousands of people in the middle of the country, and there�s two choked, foul, portable johns to cope with them.

�Find a quiet spot and crouch,� I advise her.

�What quiet spot?� She�s right. The place is real busy, folks everywhere, no quiet corners at all. I notice guys standing by the fences, backs to the crowd. There�s the occasional woman crouching unobtrusively in the same area. Too much liquid with your lunch just ain�t advisable, it seems.

�Over by the fence,� I suggest.

�What, drop my panties in public?!� she is horrified. �We�ll have to go back to the car and leave, see if we can find somewhere along the road.�

�There�s nowhere for miles, and the queue to leave is as slow as the queue to go in. No way you�ll make it, and I don�t want puddles on my auto seat. Go to the parking lot and crouch between the autos.�

�Too public.�

�OK, only one other alternative. Go in your panties.�

�What, you mean deliberately wet my knickers?! No way Michelle.�

�Fine, in that case I�m fresh out of ideas.�

�But... my skirt would get wet.�

�Not if you�re careful. You wearing nylon underneath?

�Nylon lace.�

�Ideal. Open your legs a bit, pee steadily, you won�t catch your skirt and your panties won�t even get all that wet. Choose your moment and nobody will notice.�

�I.... No, Michelle, I couldn�t do that. I�ll just have to hold it.�

�Up to you. You know more about bladder rupture than I do.�

�You seem to know about going in your knickers.�

�Wouldn�t be the first time,� I admit calmly. �Sorry, I�m not into pain.�

�Ooooh, when was the last time you did it?�

�About five minutes ago.�

�What!?� she gasps. �You mean you... Deliberately... How?�

�When you were bending down to look at that vase, and everyone else in range was looking at you.�

�Oh.� I see her digest the information, then there�s a distraction.

�Look,� says someone. Over the airdrome an airplane disgorges a half dozen brightly colored parachutes. Everyone looks up. From beside me I hear a discrete splashing sound, and turn to see my lovely companion stepping carefully away from a puddle on the grass. She squeezes her thighs together, smiles shyly at me. I wink back.

Now my friend is friskier than ever, stepping delicately like a two legged Bambi, wiggling her cute bum, the very picture of a woman who�s gone in her panties and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We find a clothes stall selling cheap, skimpy underwear, and I buy myself a pair of filmy, flame red knickers with a black lace trim. Kim who, as far as I know, only ever wears white, does the same.

Things are quieter now. We go back to my auto. I open the passenger door wide, she checks there�s nobody behind her, a wiggle of her bum, a quick pull, and her wet lingerie is on the ground. I find a plastic bag in the trunk for the damp item as she sits on the passenger seat and pulls on her new panties. I open the driver�s door and perform the same operation. As we drive back my friend isn�t talking much, but she doesn�t have to. If ever I�ve seen a woman in a state of sexual arousal...

George is back at the bedsit, and Kim greets him with an enthusiasm which surprises him. I reflect on how surprised he�d be to learn what made her so randy. Suddenly I realise she�s not the only one. George has brought a friend who seems different from the usual creeps. Kinda dishy. Also, my period ended this morning...

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