Every Girl's Wet Nightmare

Posted on November 1, 2003

Caroline wrote: Having chatted to him on the internet for a few weeks, I arranged to meet Jamie for the first time at a pub in central London. It was packed with people so we took our drinks outside and sat on the steps of a nearby monument. We were both a little shy at first, but after 45 minutes we were getting on well so decided to move on and find somewhere else to continue our date. As I went to stand up, I reached for the sweater I had tied around my waist and discovered to my surprise that it was soaking wet. I wondered if perhaps I had spilt my drink on it. I decided to keep schtum as we started walking, meanwhile discreetly checking out what I took to be orange juice on my fingers.... but hang on a minute... OHMYGOD. Totally 100% piss. Vagrancy and incontinence often go hand in hand (?) and it would seem 'somebody' had relieved themselves nearby during our conversation... need I say more? I considered trying to pull off a cover-up somehow. But just exactly somehow was becoming ever more unfeasible. It wasn't just the sweater, my pants were soaked too and the very thought of of it all made me nauseous with disgust. He too would be smelling me soon if i didn't think of something fast. I considered my options. a) making a sudden and inexplicable getaway... "sorry, I just have to leave."? b) flustered but still seemingly unsullied, rushing for the nearest toilet facilities for an emergency clean up? c) telling him the truth? Choosing a) still meant that I would have to stand on public transport for up to an hour soaked in hobo/tramp's piss. Choosing b) I sensed would still be inadequate by all standards of hygienic acceptability, and choosing c) was a risk but who knew how he might rise to the challenge? So I told him. Fortunately he laughed, somewhat hysterically, and since nausea was threatening to overwhelm me I swiftly presented him with the only possible plan - to send him into a nearby store to buy me new pants and underwear (furnished of course with my measurements), which, bless him, he agreed to do. I peered from what I hoped was a safe distance from the nostrils of other shoppers as he held up various styles and shades of pant, and when he'd finished we ducked into a nearby bar where I sealed off the whole toilet area, tore off every last shred, hosed myself down, threw out all the garments that had been in contact and emerged, finally, calm and poised, ready to continue my date at last. There he was waiting for me with a bottle of white wine and a platter of cheeses and a big grin. We made our way through two more bottles, had a drunken snog at the end of the evening and I can't for the life of me remember why, but we never saw each other again!

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