Blog : Unfinished

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10/14/2022 8:59 am

Unfinished

This is a vignette that has been simmering in my mind for a long time. It started, again, from a seed planted by a woman I corresponded/chatted with online. She offered the premise of happening by my house and coming in to see the garden … I only typed it up this week, but the story never got beyond what I’ve written here, It seems to me that it can only go in the direction of The Wrong House, which has already been done now.

During the summers, I used to keep all the doors open in my house as I worked in my yard. The front door was open, the garage door was open, the back door was open, everything. I’d often have speakers turned into the yard and would listen to the radio or music.

One day, while working in the back yard, I was surprised to hear a performative cough. I turned and saw a woman standing there. She said she had been walking by and being thirsty had hoped to get a glass of water, and as my house was wide open, she came through to the back yard to ask for some help.

Being naturally friendly and helpful, I as all too happy to get her something to drink. As I stepped inside to get her something, she took a seat on the stone retaining wall I had built for my raised bed. I came back out with a couple of tall glasses of cold water and had a drink with her.

She looked around the yard at the work I had been doing, and we chatted as we drank. She told me she was new to the area and had not expected to be so far from her house when she became thirsty on this hot summer day. I was thirsty, too, having been working in the sun for a few hours putting down some flagstone for a patio. She was wearing a light top and jeans, while I was working in shorts and a T-shirt.

She finished her drink, and I got her another.

She seemed very comfortable as we chatted. I explained that I lived alone and enjoyed working on my yard. I tended to always have some project or another in the works, and she told me that she was impressed at my ability to take on such work. She had always wanted to do something with her yard but was afraid to start anything that she couldn’t finished.

She finished the second glass, and I could tell that she was watching me as I resumed working and we continued to talk. But after a while I noticed that she seemed a bit uncomfortable. She was fidgeting as she sat there. Eventually, she asked if she could use the bathroom.

I straightened up and looked at her a long time, watching her fidget. I took the empty glass from her and said, “Not yet’, as I went back inside and brought her a third glass. She demurred, saying that she had had enough, but I insisted.

As she continued to sip at her third glass of water, I stood and watched her, urging her to continue drinking when it seemed that she wanted to stop. I told her that on a day like this she needed to stay hydrated.

But she was getting more and more fidgety, clearly needing to pee. “Can I use the bathroom now?”, she asked. I shook my head.

She started crossing and uncrossing her legs, and finally stood up, bouncing a bit. She asked, “Can I please use the bathroom now? I really need to pee.”

Again, I just looked at her. I shook my head.

By now, she was really in desperate need. I could see that she was already leaking a little in her jeans, as a small wet spot appeared at her crotch. I simply encouraged her to finish her glass, and said, “I understand.”

As she stood there, she finally grabbed her crotch and said, “Please? I need to pee!”

I simple looked at her and said, “Go ahead.”

As she moved to towards the back door, I said, “No. I mean go ahead and pee.”

She froze, looked at me and while shifting her weight from one leg to the other, she said “Please?”

We stood looking at one another. Me standing firmly in front of the door, and her dancing in desperation. Suddenly I saw the small wet spot grow to four or five inches in diameter, and soon she was releasing her need and her jeans became soaked from her crotch to her ankles, and pee steamed down over her sandals and onto the lawn.

Her face was now a crimson red, and I could see that although it was a relief for her to finally pee, she was embarrassed and ashamed. I was afraid that she would break into tears.

I let this sink in for a while and then said, “Well, now that that is out of the way, why don’t you take off those pants and I’ll toss them in the washer for you.”

It was interesting to watch her as she realized her situation. I could tell that along with her embarrassment, she was beginning to become aroused. Though finished peeing, she was still flexing her legs and ass. It was almost as if she wasn’t aware of my being there anymore and she just needed some attention! Eventually, she looked at me again, and as if in a bit of a trance, she slowly unbuttoned her jeans and slipped them off, handing them to me.

I nodded at her wet panties and asked if she wanted those washed, too. At first, she said, “No”, and tried to cover herself up with her hands. But her panties were a wet mess, as were her legs. I turned, picked up the hose and handed it to her, “I guess you’d better wash yourself off.”

I took her jeans and went into the garage via the side yard and tossed her jeans into the washer. When I got back, she had hosed herself down and was still wearing her soaked panties …


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