textfiles/sex/EROTICA/B/betsy.txt

                               Betsy's Dream

                          by Tinker, October 1994


When Betsy awoke that morning, she felt very strange. No, not exactly
strange, more excited. It took her a few minutes to gather her thoughts
and realise what kind of excitement it was. It was something that her
parents wouldn't be too fond of, at her age. Betsy smiled. It must have
been something she was dreaming when her alarm clock kicked in and
rudely took her back to the land of school and home work.

Cosy under the warm bed covers, Betsy tried to remember what she had been
dreaming about. Something strange, sure. It had nothing to do with boys,
and it was not at a place unknown to her. But what exactly it had been, she
couldn't get hold of. Betsy sighed and left her warm bed to go to the
toilet.

As she got dressed in her school uniform, Betsy was still distracted by
the feeling that she was missing something important. Pulling up her
short pleated uniform skirt, and tucked in her blouse, some little
pieces of her dream surfaced in her mind. At least she had been wearing
her school uniform, and she had been at school or something.  But more
she couldn't pull out of her brain. Pity.

During breakfast and the way to the bus stop, Betsy had been more
interested in trying to remember her dream than her school homework.
She was vaguely aware of a chance of being called on to repeat her
French vocabulary to the class, but didn't let it worry her much. And
when her friends greeted her at the stop, she fell into her usual
routine and began another school day. By the time her 8 o'clock
Chemistry class began, she had long forgotton all about her dream.

It was during the third hour, French, that things took an unexpected turn.
Of course, Betsy was picked out to perform a show in front of the rest, and
she knew it wouldn't be a good one. But she was not *that* bad in French,
so she figured she could get away with it. For the French part, this
appeared to be true; but halfway during the repetition, Betsy became aware
of a quite urgent need to pee. Standing in front of the class room made
things worse, and while she tried to remember the French equivalent of
"boot," suddenly her dream came back. Betsy immediately flushed quite
heavily, and this caused a great deal of laughter from the class room. Her
teacher smiled and took her colour as a hint to skip the word "boot." Not
that this helped a lot. First, he now entered the section of the book that
she had not quite studied. Second, her dream was far too distracting to pay
*any* attention to the repetition. After a few more minutes of blushing
terror, the teacher called it a draw and sent her back to her seat. He
mumbled something about "studying the *whole* chapter next time," but Betsy
did not hear him at all. Still blushing a bit, she sat down and followed
the rest of the lesson on auto-pilot.

During the break, she quickly went to the toilet and after that tried to
recall the whole dream again. Basically, she had just peed in her panties,
but the alarming detail was that she had done it on purpose! And liked it!
Betsy shuddered at the thought of it, weeing through her panties and being
wet for the rest of the day. It *had* a certain element of adventure and
excitement, of course, but no. It had to stay a dream.

Unfortunately for her, Betsy couldn't get rid of the dream at all. At noon
she still could only think of her excited feelings, the tension building
up, the extreme satisfaction at the Moment Supreme... boy, this had been
some kind of a dream! While she had lunch with her friends, and joined in
with the small talk, she got a bit used to the idea of wetting herself and
much to her own embarrassment started to think about a way to actually try
it. This of course spoiled the whole rest of the school day, and when it
was finally three o'clock, Betsy had a few ideas to try out.

This was probably the first time that she really enjoyed wearing her school
uniform. The short skirt would be ideal for her little plan. Although Betsy
had no experience at all in wetting herself except for her diaper times,
she figured that it should be possible to wee through her panties under her
skirt without immediately showing it off. After all, some accidents of her
girlfriends went by unnoticed except for their exaggerated behaviour.
Stooping down and the like. Betsy smiled and stroke her skirt. Then, she
passed the bus stop, and headed for the city centre. On the way back home,
she would encounter some nice small public gardens with enough people to
make it worthwhile.

It was her plan to look for a somewhat sheltered spot, put down her school
bag, squat next to it, and start to rummage in the bag as if she was
looking for something. Then she would carefully pee a small amount in her
panties, just to see how it felt. It would not show, and probably have
dried by the time she got home. And so she did. At the first opportunity,
she dropped her bag, squatted down, unzipped her bag, and took out her
diary as if she was checking an appointment. Nobody noticed her. Betsy
looked around a bit, and carefully opened her knees. Now it would happen!

While her excitement grew, Betsy decided to postpone the event and double-
check her clothes. Her short skirt hung straight down from her buttocks,
well covering her panties from behind while not blocking the way down.
Good. Her skirt also covered her thighs sideways, and in the front her bag
shielded her against any indiscretions. Her blouse was completely
unimportant. So her socks and shoes remained. Betsy was not sure that the
heels of her feet, which she had tightly together, wouldn't catch a drop or
two. So she moved them a bit apart, and pointed her toes outward to release
the tension in her calves. Good idea to put her bag in front of her!

Would it be possible to look at her panties when she... you know? After a
quick glance left and right, Betsy hiked up her skirt a bit, but felt that
this was too much of a giveaway. So with a devilish smile, she took a
little make-up mirror out of her bag and placed it strategically against
the bag. Her secret triangle appeared in full close-up, and Betsy glowed of
excitement when she thought of what would happen to those nice white
panties in a moment. Again, she prepared for the inevitable, and with her
finger in her diary, her knees opened just enough and her eyes on the
mirror, she carefully released a tiny bit of pee.

With a wonderful feeling in her tummy, Betsy felt her warmth moving out,
into her panties. A small darker spot appeared between her legs, and she
quickly shut off the tap to prevent any real damage. The wet spot spread a
little further, and then stopped. With a shock, Betsy realised that she
really had peed in her panties now, and the magic of the moment suddenly
was over. Quickly she put her things into the bag again, rose to her feet,
and with a red face continued her way home. Jesus, she had been wetting
herself like a baby! The wet spot between her legs started to itch, and she
was terrified that her skirt would get wet as well.

But a minute later, she realised that she *liked* it, and also that
absolutely nobody noticed anything. They *could* not notice anything, Betsy
was sure, since her wonderful skirt hid it all. Even if she had peed her
whole panties, nobody would notice. It was wet between her legs, not at her
belly; her skirt could not touch any wet fabric. Experiment successful!
Smiling Betsy walked on, and started to think back of her dream.

She had been at school, and for one reason or another found herself on the
lawn in front of the main building with a great need to pee. Then she
indeed had squatted down, just like she just had done in reality, and began
to wee through her panties. Only not just a bit, but the whole lot. Betsy
again got rather excited about the idea of *really* wetting herself. She
was dubious about this, since getting yourself a wet spot in your underwear
was one thing, but thoroughly wetting your panties was another. But was it?
Betsy estimated that the amount of wet fabric between her legs would not be
that much, only her crotch, and that it would dry enough in less than an
hour. So why shouldn't she try it?

Her decision was eased by the familiar feeling of a pee coming up. Walking
home without going to a toilet would be possible, sure, but it would be far
more comfortable to release this pressure. So this could only mean: really
wet panties. Betsy giggled in herself. A girl of her age making a spot in
her panties, alright, but actually wetting herself like a child? Squatting
and forgetting to pull your panties down? Starting to wee and then feeling
that something is wrong down there, so you hastily hike up your skirt, only
to find your panties already completely spoiled? And then just leaving them
on, finishing them off really good? Betsy found this quite tempting. In
fact, she was more concerned with *when* as with *if*. The itch between her
legs called for a follow-up, and she would at least one more time refresh
the small spot, she promised herself.

Endless possibilities roved through her mind while she passed a shopping
centre on her way to the next park. She could of course just squat down
again, but this seemed a bit childish. It had been in her dream however,
and it sure felt good there. But Betsy now was beyond her dream, and wanted
more than just a pee with her panties up instead of down. So she could sit
down on the lawn, take a book, relax, move her skirt out of the way and pee
straight into her pants. Great! she thought. But on the other hand still a
bit childish. As childish as sitting on a bench and letting go. It was too
much like sitting on the toilet with your panties on. Betsy wanted
something more exciting; and smiled at the thought that just pissing in her
panties under her skirt apparently was not exciting enough any more.

Looking around for ideas, she saw some children standing at the fence of a
small animal farm, with goats and sheep and ponies to be fed by the public.
Always a sure way to attract children, especially in cities. Seeing a few
girls in dresses, Betsy almost exploded at the thought that they might have
wet themselves. She shook her head. Strange how a simple idea could turn
out to be such a turn-on. Some girls had squatted down and were stroking
the soft fur of the seven hundred rabbits in the farm, and Betsy
immediately thought of something completely different. It was *so* easy to
wet yourself, it could not be that she was the only girl who liked it!

Just before she left the farm, Betsy's eyes fell upon two girls at the edge
of the farm, who were playing with some lambs. The small animals were
running around as the girls tried to catch them. Since this wouldn't work,
the girls then started another game. One of them ran to the other side of
the group of animals and started to drive them towards the other girl. This
girl parted her legs and laughed very hard when one lamb ran straight
through them. This sight caught Betsy like a thunderbolt. Of course!

To do something *really* bold, she would have to stand up while wetting
herself, and in order to prevent her socks and shoes to get wet, she would
only need to spread her feet a bit. This was it! Quickly Betsy walked
towards some trees to experiment. In the shadow of the trees, strange poses
would not catch much attention, she figured.

How far would she need to spread her legs? Curiously, she looked down to
her feet and parted them about twenty centimetres, which was absolutely
inconspicuous. Hum. This left her too little margin for errors, she
thought. One single blow of wind and her socks would get soaked. So she
tried thirty centimetres, and then everything up to one meter, which of
course was next to useless in public. Strange that she had absolutely no
problem doing these "exercises" in public, but that she would not dare to
start wetting herself with her legs spread out so much. Finally, she
decided on a distance of about forty centimetres between her feet as a nice
balance between dry socks and attracting attention. She practised in
parting her legs without looking down, and slowly started to build up the
excitement she had felt just before she had wet herself for the first time.

When she thought she was ready, she tightly pulled up her panties through
her skirt, still feeling the wet spot between her legs, nicely arranged her
skirt and blouse, and picked up her school bag to go on. For a moment she
played with the idea of just doing it there right away, under the trees,
but that seemed too secret. She needed some more people around. So out into
the sun she went, with her green pleated skirt happily hiding her white
panties. Oh, this would be wonderful!

While her urge to pee rose by the minute, and her excitement made her blush
a bit already, she kept walking until she reached the centre of the park.
Here was a big fountain, with lots of people sitting around, feeding
pigeons, and enjoying the sun. Some children were playing at the edge of
the fountain, where the grey pavement was dark from the water that poured
over the edge of the fountain basin. Betsy bit her lip and then headed for
the fountain. It would be completely invisible, she thought, and quite
exciting as well.

Arrived at the wet part of the pavement, she slung the college bag over her
shoulder and held it with her right hand. With her back to the fountain,
she looked around as if she was waiting for someone. Nobody noticed her.
Betsy swallowed and looked to her bare legs that disappeared under her
short skirt. Would she...?

The splashing sound of the fountain made the decision easier. Yes. She
would. Now.

Careful not to look down, she parted her feet. Never before had such a
simple movement caused such excitement. While she felt that she started to
blush, a few drops of water from the fountain tickled her calves and sent a
shudder up her spine. She was aware of every nerve and muscle in her body,
especially around her belly, while she mentally followed her check list.
Her skirt was securely down. Her legs spread just enough. The pavement was
wet, with water running over it once in a while. Nobody was looking at her.
Her left arm! Where to leave her left arm? She placed it on her left hip,
but immediately took it away again since it reminded her too much about a
typical cheerleader's pose, and attracting attention was something she
couldn't use right now. So she grabbed her right elbow, that hung just
before her right breast, and pushed her cheek against her right hand as if
in doubt about what to do. Not that she had much doubt.

Betsy was ready to wet herself now. She really was. She felt her white
cotton panties eagerly awaiting the first real wave of her warm liquid, and
she felt the soft fabric of her skirt comfortably against her thighs. Betsy
swallowed again, closed her eyes, and started to press a bit. A trembling
in her left knee caused her to unlock her knees and tense her calve
muscles. Nobody noticed this uniformed school girl by the fountain. She was
just waiting for her friends to show up, and had taken a comfortable pose.
But in fact, Betsy was gearing up for something that would change her life.

Then, Betsy felt it coming. It was a lot. Not a tiny drop, like before, but
the Real Thing. Every nerve in her body screamed in alarm. She could not
keep her eyes closed. There was no way back now. If she started to walk,
she would soak her socks and shoes, leave wet footprints all over the place
and get laughed at. Betsy had to stand still, her legs spread out a bit,
and cope with everything that would happen under her skirt in silence. She
pressed her left arm firmly against her chest, and took a deep breath.

A second later, Betsy was wetting her panties. Uncontrollably, her pee
gushed into her underwear while she bit her right knuckles. Her whole
crotch instantly went warm, then moist, and then wonderfully comfortable
and cosy. Betsy was in seventh heaven. This was *better* than in her dream.
She thought that she could hear the faint hissing under her skirt as she
secretly soaked herself. She surely could hear the first drops as they hit
the pavement. Soon the drops joined to form a thin line, and before long,
three thin lines joined to form a true stream. Betsy thought that by now
her whole belly must have been wet. Would she dare to look down? Carefully
she inspected her environment. Nobody was looking at her, of course not.
The sound of her waterfall was completely muffled by the fountain, as was
the stream between her legs and the puddle between her feet. Betsy was
still going strong under her skirt, and nothing indicated that it would
stop soon. She sighed of pleasure, and looked down.

A bit blocked by her breasts, she saw her green pleated mini skirt neatly
following her thighs, hiding everything that happened under it and showing
nothing at all. Her bare legs appeared below her skirt, from about halfway
her thighs down, and continued down into her socks and shoes. Between her
shoes, a stream clattered onto the pavement. Betsy could not determine
exactly from where the stream fell down, but it was somewhere between her
legs, apparently a bit to the front. It was wonderful. And so easy! Every
girl could do it. Betsy took another deep breath, and went ahead with her
naughty game. Wave after wave of warm liquid washed through her panties,
which were probably not that white any more. So what? Betsy felt very
satisfied, and she continued to wee under her skirt. A bit more at ease,
she started to look around, and seeing that really nobody was interested in
her, she opened the faucet as far as she could. The hissing under her mini
was now undeniable, and the feeling she got as a whole ocean streamed
through her panties was fantastic. This was truly a Discovery. Betsy would
cherish her skirts like nothing before, she promised herself. And with a
smile, she released every drop she had. It was a lot.

After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was about two minutes, Betsy
stopped peeing in her panties and found herself standing in a big puddle,
however not conspicuous given the fountain, with clearly wet underwear but
nothing else. Very good, she thought. Now for the big trick: could she walk
with wet panties? Probably some liquid would spiral down her legs. So she
dropped her bag in front of her, and squatted down with the bag covering
her front. In this pose, she squeezed out her panties as well as she could,
and tried to look up her own skirt to see what she had caused. This did not
work out well, without attracting attention that is, and so she decided to
postpone her assessment until at home. Betsy picked up her bag, and
joyfully walked away, with her wet panties snugly against her bottom and
her skirt teasingly waving in the wind. She would remember this day for the
rest of her life.