textfiles/sex/EROTICA/R/riddles.txt

/* This story has a beginning that is based on true facts, unlike most
   others that I ever wrote. However, it quickly deviates from reality
   and then becomes warmly familiar to all my old readers. 

   Revision 11-apr-1996: the swimming pool part has changed. */


                           Riddles of the River
                          by Tinker, April 1996


It surprised me quite a lot when Monique appeared alongside me. I was
cycling home after a busy day at school, with my mind wandering off in all
directions except hers. I knew her, of course: we had been in the same
class a year ago. But then she went to one type of school and I to another,
and it was only because both schools shared the same building that we saw
each other once in a while.

Monique took a left turn together with me, and this surprised me even more
because she lived in quite another part of town. But very soon I found out
what she had in mind. Without much introduction, she announced that she
liked me, and that she thought that I was quite a lot nicer and friendlier
than all other boys at school. Oops. I could only smile and shrug, because
at that time (I was about 13 or 14) I certainly did not want to have any
girlfriend, and although I did not dislike Monique in any way, I was not
particularly fond of her either.

Yes, when a teacher once had asked for a volunteer to bring Monique her
home work while she was ill, I had put up my finger, but that was only
because I knew that the dentist was only a few blocks away from her house.
And since I had to visit the dentist that afternoon a few months ago, it
seemed logical to drop the home work off at her place. But apparently
Monique had confused pragmatism with affection. She clearly was not going
to leave me alone now, at least not for today. We rode on together, and
when we reached my home, she dismounted and stayed, and I could not do
anything else but invite her inside. Embarrassing: the first time I seemed
to take a girl home, it was not my own idea at all. I gave her a quick trip
through the house, showed her my room, and then badly wanted her to go away
again. But no: she had discovered our dog, a very friendly old bag of brown
hair that you could set fire to without him really complaining, and
insisted on taking him out for a walk. So there we went.

Monique inquired about my plans for the afternoon, and I had to admit I did
not have any. So I could not really turn down her offer to come with her
and visit her home. Alright. We stuffed the dog back inside, took our
bicycles again and rode to an adjacent village, about five kilometres away.

When we got inside, I took off my coat and put it away in the hall way.
Monique did the same. She had been wearing a pink, rather short coat, more
a padded jack. But when she took it off, I had to blink for a moment. I
thought that she was wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans, but it appeared to
be overalls or dungarees: not the completely covering kind, but the kind
with straps. She wore a red woollen turtleneck sweater with it, and it
really fitted her very well. I have to add that Monique was a rather solid
girl, not fat, but certainly well-endowed, especially in the front part.
The straps of her overalls nicely enhanced her chest, with the sweater just
tight enough to help, and her waist was augmented by the tight overalls and
her well-developed hips. All in all, her appearance never had been the
reason I was not so fond of her; it was more her sheepish character, maybe
even on the dull side. But she clearly had twice the assertivity of me,
after what had happened so far this afternoon.

Soon we were sitting facing each other with a kettle on the fire in the
kitchen, talking about nothing in particular. While the tea was infusing,
she led me through the house, paying particular interest to her own bed
room. A typical girl's room, I thought: many girl's pictures against the
wall, a lot of unrecognizable stuff in all kinds of baskets, some self-made
decorations, not much else. While I surveyed the room she rummaged in a
basket, or a cardboard box of some kind. "Here, look at this," she said.
For some reason I turned to her rather abruptly, as if I had been waiting
for ages for her to say that. She giggled and smiled to me. I could guess
her thoughts, and almost slapped myself in the face for being, or seeming
so overenthusiastic. Monique showed me a photo album of somebody's wedding,
and pointed at the little girls in white: "That's me. I wore a dress you
could practically see through. Funny, eh?" I nodded and wished I was
somewhere else.

When we got downstairs again, Monique put some cookies on the table and
filled two glasses with tea. I sat down at the table while she lowered
herself into a chair, rummaging with a piece of paper. I took two sips from
my tea, and then she shyly put a tiny note on the table in front of me. I
*knew* what had to be on it. Still rather calm, but in a state of alert, I
read the note. "Would you like to get involved with me?", it read. Aha.
Yes. No. I mean. You know.

So I turned to her, and asked her what she thought getting involved would
mean, for us. "Well," she said, while blushing, "going to parties together.
Going out. Visit acquaintances of both of us. You know, that sort of
things." I sighed. "Monique, it seems odd but those are exactly the things
I'd rather not do. I'm not somebody who likes to go out. And on top of
that, I'm not sure I want to get involved with anybody. It's not that I
don't like you, you're a nice girl and very friendly to me. But I might not
be ready for such a thing. I don't know. I've nothing against friendship,
but to get involved..." She nodded, a bit disappointed, and replied: "Yes,
I see what you mean. Well, give it time. You'll never know. Oh boy, I got
it *warm* of all this." She indeed looked as if she had just ran five
kilometres in mid-summer. "It must be the tea. Do you like some more?" My
mouth was dry, so I agreed, and at the same time I was glad that I could
answer positively, for a change. Monique poured me another glass, and then
went to the open kitchen. While she rounded the bar and walked towards the
door to the hall way, she told: "I'm going to change, these overalls are
just too warm. When I'm back, we'll go walking for a while. There's a nice
place I want you to see."

Nice situation, I thought. From out of nowhere, a girl appears that is
clearly chasing after you, and contrarily to popular belief, a boy of my
age can certainly disapprove of that. Yes, Monique was a nice girl, and she
even looked okay. But it was not something in particular that made me doubt
the whole thing, it was everything together. I just did not want to get
involved, not with her, not with anybody. Going to parties? Not in my life;
at least not yet. I drank down my tea and tried to imagine to what place
she would take me. The clock showed a bit past four. She had still more
than one hour to bore me, I pondered. After that, I should be able to break
free.

It took Monique a few minutes to change, and I got myself some more tea.
Secretly, I was curious about what she would put on. She was not exactly
slender, but her body certainly would fit some interesting clothing. I
hoped for a dress of some kind. I knew she had a dress, a pink one, that
she often wore to school. Most girls look their best in a dress. It's more
feminine than trousers. And with her hips and chest, even a wide full dress
would still be quite fancy.

Finally I could hear her coming down the stairs, which sounded distinctly
different as before. More like wood on wood, instead of leather on wood.
The first thing I saw when she appeared in the door opening, but still
behind the bar, was that she had changed her hair. Instead of in a
ponytail, she now wore it loosely to just over her shoulders. Great, I
thought. But for the rest: same red sweater, same overalls. Monique smiled
at me and lingered a while behind the bar, washing some glasses. "Do you
want some more tea?" I asked her. "Yes, please," she answered, a bit
distracted. But eventually, she seemed to collect all her courage and
rounded the bar, on her way to the couch again.

It hit me like a block of concrete and I spilled some tea on the table
cloth. Overalls? Hell, no! Although the top part had stayed the same, the
whole trousers part had undergone a remarkable transformation. I now looked
at a pair of firm, but nice legs, which disappeared under a little dark-
blue denim skirt. The skirt was attached to the top part, so that it became
a dress-like garment with straps, that needed to be worn on top of a T-
shirt or sweater. It was not at all tight, but still straight. The skirt
had some sort of trapezoid shape, being considerably wider at the bottom
than at the waist, so that Monique could move freely. It also was rather
short, not even reaching halfway down her thighs. Her bare legs were great.
She wore white knee socks and a pair of open brown shoes, matching her
hair, with wooden heels of about two centimetres that had made the sound on
the stairs. Monique acted as if she did not notice my reaction, picked up
her glass of tea, and walked to the couch. I shook my head as if to wake
up. Was this the same, shy girl I knew from class?

I did not have the courage to start a discussion about this subject, so I
tried to pick up the conversation where we had left off, and soon we just
chatted nicely along while sipping at our tea. Unlike before her change of
clothes, Monique sat with her legs crossed, so she was well aware of the
situation. When she had finished her tea, she had to uncross her legs to
put the glass back on the table, but she held her thighs firmly together.
She straightened her back, rose halfly to her feet, picked a cookie and
then fell back onto, or better into the couch. She pushed herself firmly
into the cushions and then, in one swift motion, pulled her knees up and
clamped her hands around them.

Between her legs, her sturdy white cotton panties stood out like a
flashlight during a moon eclipse. I was in the midst of a sentence, an must
have stammered a bit, because she suddenly started giggling and looked
away. A short silence fell, and both of us hesitated to break it. She did:
"It's just my panties. You've seen me in panties all the time during the
gymnastics lessons. What's so different now?" I swallowed. So it had been
no accident, pulling up her knees. "Well... those gym panties are *meant*
to be seen. It's not underwear. They are blue, and you wear them on top of
your eh... these white panties, I suppose." Monique nodded. "Yes, but
still, you can see as much of my legs as if I was wearing only my
underwear. So what's the difference?" "Maybe the fact that these panties
are supposed to stay hidden? After all, you more or less let me look up
your dress now. I see you in your underwear."

Her eyes glistened: "Do you like me this way? Do you think I'm pretty?" I
nodded: "Yes, you are pretty. You always were, but this dress truly makes
you very attractive. I am serious. It fits you very well, and the
combination with that red sweater and the white socks is great. Although
I'll need to get used to seeing you in this outfit." She now smiled, and
avoided my eyes: "Thanks. Nobody ever said such a thing to me. But then,
nobody ever saw me in this dress either. I have bought it a while ago, but
never dared to show it to anyone. You're the first. And I thought, well,
this skirt is so short, you would see my panties sooner or later. Do you
really like to look up my skirt? I don't mind. I have nothing to hide. You
may look up all my skirts any time you wish." I answered that I would
really like to look up her long dress once, which made her giggle: "It
looks just the same as this, you know. Same legs, same panties." She paused
for a moment and then got up, which did not went as graciously as she had
hoped for. "Come on, let's go walking." We left our coats behind, since the
weather was nice enough and we did not plan to cycle.

Monique clearly was not completely at ease, wearing this short dress out on
the street. She walked with small steps, unlike her normal, firm stride,
and she constantly checked if her skirt did not move up her ass (it did
not, it was too wide for that). Apparently she did not mind showing me her
underwear, but she did mind showing it to other people. She even looked
around to spot others who might be looking at her. Going from long to short
dresses was a social change as well. But as soon as we rounded a corner and
entered an area with no houses, her attitude changed and from then on she
completely ignored her clothes. I knew the place, we were heading towards a
small river that appeared in town on quite a few other spots. When we
reached the bridge, which we had passed while cycling to her home, she did
not cross it but instead went down the slope of the river bed, towards a
sandy kind of small beach. Her heels disappeared almost completely in the
sand. She signed me to follow her. Well, alright. I went down the slope as
well and soon we stood together under the bridge, with traffic rolling over
it but nobody seeing us. I felt a bit uncomfortable, not because we were in
a place where we should not be, but because Monique clearly had led me here
for a reason. She looked out over the river and the fields alongside it,
and said nothing. I waited and stayed safely out of the reach of her arms.
As gorgeously as she looked, I just did not want to end up in a warm
embrace. Not yet, at least. Maybe next year.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked. I hesitated. "Well... yes... in a way.
But what's so special about it that you took me here?" She drew lines in
the sand with the toe of her left shoe and replied: "Oh, nothing. I wanted
to show this place to you, that's all. Come on, let's go further." I
shrugged and followed her, further along the river bed. Away from the
bridge, thank God. Monique now slowly strode on, carefully placing her
shoes on stones and dry patches of sand. She knew the place. We passed a
bend in the river, and suddenly the noise of the traffic on the bridge died
out and the birds took over. Alright, it was a nice, beautiful place after
all, I agreed. She laughed and turned to me, basking in front of me. "You
*still* think I'm attractive?" she asked. I looked her over and said: "Yes,
absolutely. And you get an A for wardrobe choice."

She took a breath of air and looked to the river. "You know, there is a
thing that I want to show you. Or better, I am very curious about it and I
want to know your opinion. Forget about us getting involved, I would really
like that to happen, but that's not the point right now." I sighed from
relief, and she must have noticed it. "There's something I want to know
about boys," she continued, while sitting down on a rock, her knees
modestly closed. Hum? About boys? "Yes, about boys, and only because you
are so nice to me, I dare asking it to you. Do you promise not to tell
anybody else?" Let me think. I knew everything about boys and girls,
theoretically, so that should not be any problem. I got curious though.
"Alright, I won't tell anybody. Go ahead."

Monique bit her nails and looked around, more to buy time than to see if
anybody was near. She decided to cross her legs after all and pressed her
thighs firmly together, with her hands in her lap. To ease her a bit, I sat
down as well and put my chin on my hands. Monique took another deep breath
and looked at me. She looked wonderful, and I told her that in no uncertain
words. It seemed to break the last thin layer of ice. In a tiny voice, and
without taking her eyes off the ground, she asked me: "If you had to pee
now, how would you do it?"

I was stunned for a few seconds, and then simply replied: "Well, I would
walk up to that tree over there and wee against it." Monique bit her lip
and whispered: "Really? Just like that? Gosh." She again pressed her thighs
together, as if she had to wee. After that much tea, I felt my own bladder
protest indeed. So to prove my point, I just got up, walked over to the
tree, undid my fly and weed against it with my back to Monique. It was all
over in about half a minute, and when I went back to her, she was still
sitting on the rock, now with her legs crossed the other way around. She
still was a bit shy: "I knew that boys could do it like this, but that it
would be this easy, and that you would just do it..." "Come on Monique, you
have seen boys do it this way for years. You can see it everywhere. Don't
tell me you did not know."

She shrugged and again looked at the ground. "But if there were people
around, would you do it like this as well?" I hesitated: "Well, no, not
directly. It depends. In many circumstances, you can still do it this way,
especially out in the countryside. Like here. Weeing off the bridge is not
particularly strange, not for young boys anyway. As long as you turn your
back to the others, and do not wee against somebody else's property, you
can do it, yes. But not in town. That would be too offending, I suppose.
Although in great need people do silly things sometimes, especially when
they are drunk. Our church's rain pipes have completely rotten away from
the waist down." Monique laughed and bent forward a little, as if to apply
more pressure to her thighs. She asked me: "And if you truly could not go
anywhere but still had to, what would happen?" "Hum, I don't think I would
wet my pants, if that is what you mean. If you have to pee, you have to
pee. Wetting your pants is more silly than just aiming at a wall; in both
ways, people see what you're doing, but you can get away much easier
without wet pants."

"And in your swim suit?" Monique inquired. "Oh yeah... well... it depends."
Now I blushed, and she continued: "Do you ever go to the toilet when you
are at the swimming pool?" I decided to echo the question back to her: "Do
you?" Monique shook her head, which caused her hair to wave left and right.
"No, never. Taking off my one-piece swim suit is so clumsy, especially if
it's wet, it is just not worth the trouble." She giggled: "I never get my
breasts back in properly." "So how do you do it then? In the pool?" Now it
was Monique's turn to blush a bit.

"No. It's more fun outside the pool. When I have to wee I first soak my
swim suit in the pool, and then look for a nice spot at the playground.
Everybody is wet over there, so I do not stand out." She lowered her voice
a bit, as if she told a secret: "I think a lot of folks secretly like to
wet their swimmers. You should not do it, but nobody will see anything. I
try to find a silent corner where I can stand still for a while, or just
sit down under a tree and wait. I like waiting before I wee in my suit, to
look at the people around me, not noticing anything. And then I just go in
my suit, as hard as I can, which excites me. I like the feeling, I guess.
And you? Do you like the feeling of weeing in your swimming trunks?"

I had to admit I did. "It is very nice and warm, even under water." "Ever
tried it out of the water?" "Hum, not really. I sometimes try to be a bit
alone, and then wee in my pants while still standing in the water, but only
to my knees or so." "And, do you like that?" "Eh, yes. I guess so. It is
even warmer and I am always rather excited when it happens. I would like to
do it on the playground, like you, but I never dare. Mainly because I am
too afraid that people will notice it; it is visible that it comes from the
front. You have the advantage in this. You can wee in your swim suit while
nobody sees it."

Apparently these words made Monique aware of the bladder, because she
squirmed again. "No, nobody sees it, but first getting my bottom wet in the
pool spoils it a bit. It is much nicer to wee in my dry suit. I can feel it
better and it is even more naughty. But it is also much better visible.
With my green suit, I don't dare to do it when it's dry. So I bought a
black one." "You bought a swimsuit especially for weeing into it?" I asked
incredulously. Monique nodded. "I did. I put it on at home and wore my
normal clothes over it to the pool. There I undressed and walked around a
bit, really needing to wee. When I felt that nobody was looking, I squatted
down and just peed in my dry suit. It was wonderful. I started to get
bolder and bolder, until I finally wetted myself in a corner of the
playground, standing up with my legs a bit apart."

"And then, one day, I decided to go one step further. I went to the pool in
my suit and my clothes as usual, but kept everything on. Still wearing my
dress, I went over to the playground. In my dress I felt really secure, so
I spread my legs and let it come. I'll never forget the incredible
excitement of sneakily weeing in my dress! I even gasped when it started! I
got myself completely wet in no time flat, and nothing ever showed." She
threw a devilish smile to me: "And from then on, I knew that I did not
necessarily need a swim suit under my dress anymore." I was shocked: "You
mean, you... you just go into your panties under your skirt sometimes?"

Monique nodded enthusiastically: "Yes! When I am alone and have to pee, and
if circumstances allow it, I once in a while do as if I wear my swim suit.
I just stop walking and part my feet a little. And then I wet my underwear.
It feels even better, because it still is my normal underwear and I'm not
going into the pond right afterwards. You can feel it much longer." She now
uncrossed her legs and put her knees closely together. "And to be honest,
it happens not only when I am bursting to go. Once in a while I... I just
go out to wet my panties. That is why I brought you here. All the times I
come over here for a walk, I wear a skirt or a dress. And dry panties. But
they never stay dry very long, and I never leave before my need to pee is
completely over."

I swallowed. Monique clearly intended to continue her practice today, or so
it seemed. Some part of me wanted to run away from this weird girl, and
leave her alone with her crazy games, but something inside me just got very
curious. She must have felt that she could tell me all this. Monique was
still looking at me, and just said: "Now, come on with those questions. You
must have dozens of them." I had.

"With your long dress?" "Yep. It does not matter at all what I'm wearing."

"Just through your panties?" "Of course, silly. What else? You just wee
through your swimming trunks yourself, don't you?"

"Just for fun?" "Mostly, yes. I love the feeling of lingering around
looking for a suitable spot, taking a pose, and then the inevitable
waiting, feeling it coming up, letting it go into my panties to make them
wet, and then passing everything I have through it. And of course the drip-
drying afterwards. Once in a while I really need to go so badly that I just
have no choice but to pee my panties, like so many girls. But I always
start voluntarily. Even then it still is great fun."

"You wet your panties anywhere?" "No, of course not. I need to be on grass
or sand. Pavement is too much of a giveaway. And it is not completely
inconspicuous, you know, standing with my legs apart for a minute."

"With your legs apart? You don't just squat?" "With my long dress? And give
myself completely away? Don't be silly. It's much easier to just stand
wearing my dress and with my feet a bit parted, and it is easier to hide as
well. It adds to the excitement. Besides, with this dress I cannot even
squat, I think."

She rose to her feet and squatted in front of the rock, showing a white
triangle of panties. Her skirt indeed curved a bit, following her ass. "You
see? I would wet my skirt. That would blow it completely." She stood up
again and crossed her thighs. "Jesus, I *really* need to pee now. And I
want to do it in my panties, right here, in this dress. It will be my first
time in a short dress, you know, and I don't know at all what it will be
like. My legs are bare and you can almost see my panties. It is quite like
wearing my swimsuit. I did not dare to go here dressed in my suit or in
this dress on my own. That's why I need you to be around. You can look the
other way if you want. It will be over in a minute. But if you would watch
me do it, and tell me what you see, you would do me a great favour."

"Monique, are you sure you want to pee in your underwear? Make it all warm
and wet and slippery?" She nodded enthusiastically. "In this wonderful
outfit?" "Yes! Exactly!" "With me looking at you all the time?" "Yes,
please! From the first to the last drop! Will you do it? Nothing will
happen to you, it's just me and my underwear. Please?" I sighed. "Alright
then. You can wet yourself if you like, of course. But not here."

I got up, took her hand, and pulled her carefully back to the bridge. A bit
startled, she came with me, taking small steps. "Hey, where are we going? I
need to go now! I must wet my panties here. Wait!" Just before we reached
the bend and would look at the bridge again, I stopped and looked her all
over. "You're gorgeous, Monique. It would be a complete waste if you wet
your panties where nobody can see how beautiful you are. They do not need
to see you wetting yourself, but they do need to see you standing, watching
me, smiling. Admit it, that's what you really want. Wetting yourself under
your dress while there are others around who don't know." Monique
swallowed, but nodded. "Yes, you're right. I never dared, but I have always
wanted it. And if I wore my long dress now, I would gladly walk over to
that little beach on the other side of the bridge and get myself completely
wet. But I wear this little dress! I don't dare to just wee in my panties
with my legs uncovered."

My inhibitions towards Monique had by this time completely disappeared, and
I began to feel very attracted to her. Her outfit and wet intentions had
flipped some sort of switch in me that released an unknown desire.
Carefully I pulled her towards me, and placed my hand around her waist. My
other hand went to her back. Monique immediately understood what was going
on and threw herself against me, kissing me full on my mouth. I pulled her
close and gave in. An intense hugging followed, and my hands quickly found
her well-developed breasts, safely confined in her turtleneck sweater. She
moaned a bit as I stroke them carefully. Then I went down for her hips.
With my hands still just on top of her skirt I explored her buttocks. The
hem of her dress was tantalizing, but I could stay away from it, and I felt
something of thankfulness from her. It did not take long, maybe just a
minute, but when it was over we both had grown quite a lot closer.

"Thanks. That was really nice of you," Monique whispered. I was still
stunned about what had happened, so I could not reply. "And I now do not
want to disappoint you. We go over to the bridge, and there I will pee in
my dress." She looked quickly around if somebody was watching and then
hiked up her dress, to reveal her white panties. Although they were made of
sturdy fabric, with no lace at all, Monique's feminine features now seemed
more pronounced than when she had pulled up her knees on the couch. While
she pulled some wrinkles out of her panties, she told me that she liked
firm underwear, especially under a dress. No reason to explain why! She
seemed confident that everything was in place now, and with a theatrical
move, she pulled down her dress. With a swift motion of her head she threw
her hair out of her face and just said: "Let's go."

Confidently she rounded the corner and stepped towards the bridge. When we
walked under it, she just giggled and took my hand. There was the little
beach. To my amazement, Monique did not even stop. She started to climb up
the slope, giving me a great view of her white underwear. "Come on! Hurry!
It's about time," she muttered. I followed her, while she waited on top of
the slope, her legs a bit spread out. She looked better and better.

"You said that little boys can pee off a bridge? What about little girls?"
Hell, did she really mean this? It seemed so. She stepped on the bridge
deck and walked towards the middle of the bridge, keeping at the left side.
Traffic rolled off and on, with a car passing us at a distance of a few
meters every five seconds. Pedestrians did not go here that easily,
fortunately. I was only afraid for cyclists, who might be interested in a
short-skirted pretty girl standing on a bridge. But nobody was in sight.
Monique put her hands on the railing and looked aside. "I am so excited, it
is unbelievable. My whole belly tickles and I can feel the eyes of the car
drivers in my back. Or better, on my ass. I feel so exposed in this dress,
as if it is not there. It feels like I stand just in my underwear, for all
to see. I can feel the wind on my legs and all the way up to my belly. And
on top of that I want to go in my panties like a baby! It will be such a
giveaway!" I smiled. "Forget it. Nobody will stop. My little girl can do
whatever she likes." I kissed her on her left cheek. My right arm went
around her waist, and with my left hand I reached for her hands. We just
stood there, motionless, for a few minutes, enjoying each other's presence,
while Monique was building up courage. And pressure, probably. She reached
for her skirt a few times, to feel how far down it did not go. But her
panties were safe, I assured her. I also assured her that it would be very,
very nice to let loose and let her panties have it all. "I know," she
replied, "I know."

Then she took a deep breath and just told: "Okay, I am going to pee in my
panties. It will be a lot and I cannot possibly hold it in any longer
anyway. Just hope for the best with this dress, and watch out for the
spraying." She parted her shoes quite a bit with her hands still on the
railing. I could feel her muscles relax: "Bye-bye panties." Almost
immediately, her panties were not plain white any more. Clearly, Monique
was not a girl for hesitant trickling. While under her dress her warm wee
welled up in her underwear, she let out a little shriek and grabbed the
railing firmly. I carefully stepped a bit aside and looked at the
phenomenon. Yes, Monique was wetting herself like the little girl she
played to be. Her robust posture, skilfully emphasised by her outfit, with
her two firm legs spread out and her face expressing true dedication, was a
sharp contrast with the waterfall that splattered onto the bridge between
her feet. This girl knew what she wanted, no doubt about that. And Monique
wanted to get herself a wet pair of panties. Nobody would ever stop her if
she had decided to begin.

"It is so *warm*," Monique moaned. I got back to her and embraced her
again, and this time she just kissed me, without stopping her naughty game.
She turned a bit, but carefully kept her legs apart to avoid splashing her
socks. Quickly I pushed her with her back against the railing, afraid as I
was that standing perpendicular to the road with her legs spread out would
be too much of a giveaway. She laughed and told me that it did not matter
any more now. She was warm and wet, very wet, and there was no way to hide
what she was doing. It hissed from under her dress and the splattering
sound was also clearly audible, while a dark puddle quickly formed between
her feet. But nobody stopped or honked their horn. During all her
performance, nothing indicated that anybody had noticed anything. It
surprised her to no end and Monique really started to like the situation:
"I want to wear this dress more often! It's much easier to wee my panties
under, and when nobody looks, it's okay!" She still was pissing in her
panties, in short bursts now, but with enough power to cause a significant
sound on the bridge deck. She glowed from delight as her nerves signalled
her the state of her underwear, and could not keep her eyes off her own
skirt. Neither could I. How such a simple, childish thing as weeing in your
panties could excite us both so much, it was just unbelievable.

Finally she stopped and dripped out, leaning with her back against the
railing and her legs still parted a bit, looking very, very satisfied. Her
dress had kept its promises, and her experience in keeping her legs and
socks dry had done the rest. The puddle and her warm and wet crotch,
securely hidden under her dress, were the only evidence of the fun she had
had just moments before. I left Monique alone with her thoughts, her
panties, and her dress for a moment. She had to process the experience
herself, mumbling things like: "I really wet myself! In my short dress! I'm
wearing wet panties out on the street under a mini!"

But soon she was able to move again, and with her hips wiggling a bit more
than as usual, she walked off the bridge and tried not to look like a girl
who just had wet herself completely. A bit away from the bridge, we both
almost split our sides laughing. "Can you see anything on my dress?"
Monique asked, and slowly turned around. "Nope. Nothing. Are you sure you
weed in your panties?" She grinned, and asked me to look up her dress to
see if it was better visible there. I went down on my knee to tie my
shoelace and Monique casually came over to me, standing as closely to me as
possible. With her legs a bit parted, she offered me a good view up her
dress. Her white panties were clearly visible, but I could not see any
evidence whatsoever.

Reassured completely now, we walked back to her home while Monique did not
stop telling me how incredibly exciting it was, wearing completely soaked
underwear out on the street. And how nice it was to feel the cool wind blow
on her bare legs and up her dress and against her wet underwear. She told
me about the many times she had put on her long dress and went down to the
river to wee in her panties, and especially about the first time she had
done it. Monique was so enthusiastic that when we reached her house, I was
almost as excited as she was. Inside, we bolted up the stairs and into the
bath room. Monique turned her back to the mirror and bent over, to see if
her panties would show anything. But compared to the dark blue denim of her
dress, her panties still were just ordinary white. So she hiked up her
dress for a close inspection, which revealed that her panties had absorbed
quite a lot of her wee, and were wet well up her crotch and buttocks. Their
white colour gradually changed to a watery yellow in between her legs, and
if she would have pulled up her knees again, wearing these panties, it
probably would have showed. But despite her soaked underwear, her dress was
not in any danger of getting stained as long as she did not sit down, so
with a mischievous grin Monique pulled it back over her stained underwear.
"I will wear these panties for the whole rest of the day," she announced.
"I could even wee in them again. I really look forward to that. With all
that tea we drunk, I should be able to wee again pretty soon."

It now was so late that I had to hurry to get home in time for supper, so
Monique escorted me to my bike in the front garden. "I will wear my long
dress to school tomorrow, and then we go walking by the lake in the lunch
break, okay?" she asked. I agreed. Wearing her new dress to school would be
a bit too much of the good thing. But for what she wanted, every dress was
alright. A swift kiss, and with a last gaze at her, I rode off. She waved
me out of the street, her legs slightly apart. Remarkable how quickly she
had learned to wear a short dress properly.

During the ride home, I kept thinking about Monique, standing in her dress
and delightfully wetting herself. Maybe she was again wetting her panties
at that very moment. I would learn it the next day at school.

Unnecessary to tell that that night I slept quite uneasily.


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