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This is from a 1990s issue of Fetish World...
Dear Sandy,
My lesbian lover and I recently had a commitment ceremony to each other. Someday, we hope, we'll be able to get married legally, but even if we can't, nothing could diminish the love and commitment we have toward each other. We have never shared the story of how we first met. Normally, we just tell people that we met in high school. That much is true but the actual circumstances are more than a bit unusual. In honor of our ceremony, I thought I would write it up for your newspaper. Not too many publications would print it – I hope that yours will. I shudder to think how empty my life would be if I had never met her on that one fateful day in the girls' room in school.
I was a senior in high school at the time and she was a sophomore. Though we had probably seen each other before then, we really didn't know each other at all. I was in my Chemistry Class about one o’clock that afternoon, and I suddenly felt that familiar urge deep in the pit of my stomach. Our school's bathrooms weren't exactly of the type in which you like to have a bowel movement, but on this particular occasion, I really had to go. Actually, it was going to be my second trip that day for a bowel movement, which was quite unusual for me. The teacher gave me permission to go, but not before I had to give several of the answers from the previous night's homework. Luckily I had done it - which was also quite unusual for me. By the time I finally got to the girls' room I had to go so bad that I was holding my stomach. I didn't even have time to line the toilet seat and sit down. I ran into the very first stall I came to, lifted up the seat and crouched over the toilet. Thinking I was alone in the bathroom, I wasn't too shy about sighing with relief as the massive wet load poured out of me and splashed into the toilet. I wiped myself clean, pulled up my pants and headed over to the sink area to wash up.
I was just about finished washing my hands and was getting ready to go back to class when I heard soft crying coming from one of the stalls. Because of all the smoking and the vandalism at the school, the doors had long since been gone from the individual stalls. You could look right in and see the person on the toilet. I walked over and saw this girl sitting there on the toilet crying into her hands. I was about to ask what was wrong when I saw what the problem was. Her panties were sagging down around down around her knees and in them was a really bad mess. Not that any such accident by a high school girl could be considered a good one. But this was an enormous movement of soft, sticky poop piled together in one massive pile – all sitting squarely in the seat of her panties. You could also notice a whole lot of it all over the rest of her underwear and all over her behind and legs, too.
My first reaction was immediate disgust and revulsion. I didn't know this girl at the time or how old she was, but obviously she was in high school and what a shameful and disgusting thing this was for a high school girl to do. But then I remembered my own not so proud history of handling my bowel movements in a high school with no privacy in the bathrooms. At first, I just couldn't stand the idea of doing a bowel movement on toilets without any doors on them. Obviously, I had no choice but to pee in the school bathrooms (that wasn't so bad), but when I needed to make, I'd just hold it in until I got home. I was never so unfortunate as this poor girl to have it happen in school, but I did mess in my panties on the way home - not once, not twice, but three times. I remember many a long walk home, desperately trying to hold it in until I could get to the toilet and then running immediately to the bathroom when I got home - many, many times just barely making it in time. The times I most remember, though, were when I didn't quite make it in time and had a mess with which to deal.
The first time happened late in September. It was a hot day and I was wearing shorts and no jacket. I had been holding it in since first period and I had a feeling all day that I was going to be in trouble. It happened about two blocks away from home and when I got home, the mess was impossible to hide. My mother was really shocked but more sympathetic than angry. I said I had a stomachache and she attributed the accident to that. I just took a shower and threw my shorts and panties in the garbage.
When it happened again about three weeks later, my mother was really angry. Anybody could have an accident once, even at my age, but twice was obviously my fault. And when it happened a third time, right before Thanksgiving, she was outright furious. Both of these times, she made me wipe myself clean (and this was totally disgusting) and I had to clean out my clothes. My jeans weren't soiled that badly (these two were nowhere near as bad as that first one while wearing shorts), but cleaning my panties was awful - dumping the load out in the toilet and then scrubbing the panties clean in the sink. By the third time, I found myself grounded for a month and threatened that if it happened again Mom would start making me wear diapers to school. It wasn't until all this happened, that I even had any bowel movements in the school toilets, and only then in an emergency to avoid an accident. It seems funny to look back at it now (imagine a high school girl preferring to go in her pants rather than do a bowel movement in the school toilets, even without any privacy), but at the time, the daily struggle with this bodily function was a major trauma of my freshman year. Of course, after using the toilet the first few times, you begin to get used to it and realize that no one is paying much attention to you on the toilet and you gradually get more comfortable having your bowel movements here. By the time I was halfway through my sophomore year, I was just casually and routinely using the toilet when I had to (not even waiting until it was an emergency), not even bothered by the lack of privacy.
Anyway, as I thought about my own shameful experiences, I knew that in spite of my revulsion at seeing the girl's mess, I knew I had no reason to feel superior to her. It could just have easily been me sitting there on the toilet with a mess in my panties, not knowing what to do next. She must have noticed me standing there, because then she looked up at me and with the saddest, most soulful eyes I 'd ever seen, murmured, "Please help me!” through her tears. I was just instantly melted by her gaze and right then I knew I couldn't just leave this poor, helpless girl alone there on the toilet.
Though girls were generally pretty casual about the doorless toilets and generally didn't pay much attention to what other girls were doing in the stalls, they'd surely notice this awful accident and the poor girl would then be the laughing stock of the whole school. Though I'm sure many of the girls at the school had at least one such accident themselves into their high school or at least junior high school years, no one would admit such a thing and this girl would be left to suffer this awful shame alone. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do nor did I want to go anywhere near her massive panty-load, but there was just something about her that made me feel an obligation to help. But that was easier said than don. Though I obviously did have some experience cleaning up such messes, I never did have to deal with one in school and it had been nearly three years since I last did it. Those sad, sweet eyes and that look of desperation on her face (as well as remembering my own sense of embarrassment from my own experiences) just couldn’t let me leave her there.
The first thing I thought of was just for her to pull up her panties and jeans as they were and go to the nurse. I suggested that she tell the nurse what happened and she’d let her go home to clean herself up. But she reacted in horror to such a thought – she was desperate not to let anyone find out what she’d done. While it was true that the nurse would now know and her mom would have to be called to pick her up, I thought that would be much better than being seen by another student cleaning it up in the girls’ room at school. In fact, she was so opposed to that, she started crying hysterically and begging me not to tell anyone. She started mumbling about how it wasn’t her fault and that she couldn’t help it. I had to hug her to calm her down, getting a good whiff of her odorous load for the first time. Pointing to her Biology textbook on the floor, she kept mumbling about how she couldn't help it.
"It wasn't my fault," she cried, "He wouldn't let me leave the room.” Again from experience, I knew what she meant. The school's Biology teacher was a real prick that never let students go to the bathroom during class. Having his class right after lunch presented a particular problem for me when I was a sophomore, especially when it was lab day and the class was a double period. I never had a full-blown accident under these circumstances but many times I came damn close - actually dribbling a little pee in my panties on several occasions and once noticeably brown-staining them. Once I came awfully close to having such an accident and surely would have had I not just left class anyway without permission. For that, I spent two and a half hours after school that day scrubbing lab tables, but still that was better than the alternative of a load in my panties.
Calming her down, I told her that I understood what happened. “I know - I know he wouldn't let you go to the bathroom," I whispered to her, "I know it wasn't your fault." She seemed to take comfort in my realization of how it happened and admitting that I didn't think it was her fault. It's as though she didn't want me to think it happened because she was lazy or something and just didn't go when she had to.
Anyway, we were still no closer to getting her cleaned up and we had to do something fast. Pretty soon the class period was going to be over and the girls' room would be swarming with girls as it always was in the passing time between classes. I knew we didn't have enough time to get it all cleaned up before then, but I knew she couldn't just be sitting there with her soiled panties visible. I helped her slide off her jeans and had her take down her soiled panties. The load in them was even worse than it looked before - it looked like the whole bowel movement was in her panties and she hadn't been able to hold anything back. I didn't want to touch the panties, so I went over and brought the garbage can into the stall. She put the panties into the garbage can and I carefully rearranged the garbage so you couldn't see them. I told her to pull her jeans back up to her thighs and sit back down on the toilet. I went and put the garbage can back just as the bell was ringing to end the period. Quickly, I explained to her just to sit there on the toilet and act calm when everybody else came into the bathroom.
“Just pretend you’re sitting there using the toilet, I explained, "We'll start cleaning it up when everyone leaves - just be calm and no one will notice what you did." That took somewhat of a risk because there was still mess smeared on her butt and she wasn't wearing any underwear, but I figured that with her jeans pulled up pretty high, no one would notice anything other than a girl sitting there using the toilet.
My biggest worry was that someone would glance into the stall and she would panic and give herself away. My other choice (which she preferred) was just for me to stand in front of the stall to block everyone's view - a technique that many girls in the school used to get more privacy in those bathrooms. That was especially true of freshmen before they'd get used to having no doors on the stalls. But I knew that that would be even more conspicuous - especially with me standing there the whole time until the girls' room cleared out. I sat down in the next stall, also trying to be inconspicuous. While we waited for the passing time to end and the bathroom to clear out, I started rolling out some thick pieces of toilet paper for the clean-up job ahead. The wait dragged on (it seemed like an eternity to me, so I could only imagine how bad it was for her) until finally the last girl in there finished her cigarette and I assume went back to class. Then I sprung into action. She had also made some wads of toilet paper and had already begun wiping herself when I got there. What a job that was. I felt so bad for her, not even having a washcloth to do this, but she simply gritted her teeth and did what she had to do with the toilet paper. Again, getting caught having made this mess was her biggest fear. As long as that didn't happen, she was willing to endure just about anything. And endure she did. For what seemed like an eternity, she just kept wiping off the shit while I kept rolling out new wads of toilet paper for her to use. The job seemed almost hopeless at first, but she was determined and eventually got it done.
Wiping herself was not only a long, disgusting process but a tricky one as well. The mess had spread all over, necessitating her wiping many places on her anatomy that didn't ordinarily need wiping. It ended up with me inspecting her and telling here where she was finally cleaned and the spots that still needed more wiping. I couldn't help but notice what a cute ass she had once the mess was cleaned off.
You wouldn't believe how happy she was once all that was done. She quickly pulled up her jeans and just started hugging me tightly. She hugged me so tightly that I could barely breathe and she kept thanking me for my help. It probably started with just gratitude for me helping her to clean up and her relief that it was done without being noticed by anyone. But looking back, both of us probably felt a little rumbling in our loins. Somehow we both knew that this chance encounter in the bathroom would not be the last time we were together.
I could barely pull her off of me, she was thanking me so profusely. We still had about ten minutes to wait before the next passing time when we could go on to our next class. We almost forgot about it, but I helped her clean the mess off the toilet seat before the bell rang. She wanted just to leave it there for the custodians, but I was worried that the school would investigate how it got there and they'd discover that the two of us were out of class at the time it happened. That and the fact there was already a pair of badly pooped-in panties in the garbage can to draw attention, we didn't need to be more conspicuous. We had come this far; it would be a shame for her to get caught now. The bell rang and we went our separate ways to our next classes.
She was a sophomore and I was a senior, so we obviously didn't have any classes together and we had vastly different circles of friends. We did share something in common, though. Both of us had a week of detention together for the classes we missed while in the bathroom. She had been in there for two whole class periods (two days detention for the first and three days for the second) and though I only cut one class (fortunately one teacher didn't report it as a cut when I didn't go back to class after being excused to the girls' room), it was already my fourth cut of the year, earning me five detentions for the single one. She couldn't stop apologizing enough for the detention I got and how it was her fault, but I really didn't mind. It allowed me to see her again and by now I was starting to realize that I was feeling something more than friendship for her.
Gradually, our friendship grew - she was like a little puppy dog that I couldn't get rid of even if I wanted to - with her eternally thanking me for helping her. Even though she was slightly more than two years younger than me, she was a lot more accepting and comfortable with her sexual preference than I was with mine. In time, our relationship grew deeper and even though I resisted her sexual advances at first, as my liaisons with boys became more and more frustrating, she broke down my resistances and we found bliss in each other's arms.
By her senior year of high school and my sophomore year of college, we both recognized each other as lesbian lovers and just let nature take its course. We went to the same college and became roommates. When I graduated, I got a job and an apartment near campus, so she could move in with me. She recently graduated and soon will start a job with the same company as me. Our relationship is just pure magic.
The old adage that no good deed goes unrewarded is certainly true with us. I hate to think of what might have happened had I just left that poor frightened sophomore alone there on the toilet to deal with her shame. Or what might have happened if that Biology teacher had just let her go to the bathroom when she asked and the mess would never have happened. I'm just glad it did and though she thinks that fate would have brought us together anyway, I'm glad it happened the way it did. She doesn't mess in her panties anymore, but we always talk about that one fateful day in the girls' room at school. No one else ever found out about, so it remains a secret that only the two of us share. About the only thing that she has done since is wet her bed once (and her jeans, of course) after drinking too much at a college party. I was happy to help her change and clean up after that, too - after all, it was my bed on which she had passed out and subsequently wet!!
K.D.
Dear Sandy,
My lesbian lover and I recently had a commitment ceremony to each other. Someday, we hope, we'll be able to get married legally, but even if we can't, nothing could diminish the love and commitment we have toward each other. We have never shared the story of how we first met. Normally, we just tell people that we met in high school. That much is true but the actual circumstances are more than a bit unusual. In honor of our ceremony, I thought I would write it up for your newspaper. Not too many publications would print it – I hope that yours will. I shudder to think how empty my life would be if I had never met her on that one fateful day in the girls' room in school.
I was a senior in high school at the time and she was a sophomore. Though we had probably seen each other before then, we really didn't know each other at all. I was in my Chemistry Class about one o’clock that afternoon, and I suddenly felt that familiar urge deep in the pit of my stomach. Our school's bathrooms weren't exactly of the type in which you like to have a bowel movement, but on this particular occasion, I really had to go. Actually, it was going to be my second trip that day for a bowel movement, which was quite unusual for me. The teacher gave me permission to go, but not before I had to give several of the answers from the previous night's homework. Luckily I had done it - which was also quite unusual for me. By the time I finally got to the girls' room I had to go so bad that I was holding my stomach. I didn't even have time to line the toilet seat and sit down. I ran into the very first stall I came to, lifted up the seat and crouched over the toilet. Thinking I was alone in the bathroom, I wasn't too shy about sighing with relief as the massive wet load poured out of me and splashed into the toilet. I wiped myself clean, pulled up my pants and headed over to the sink area to wash up.
I was just about finished washing my hands and was getting ready to go back to class when I heard soft crying coming from one of the stalls. Because of all the smoking and the vandalism at the school, the doors had long since been gone from the individual stalls. You could look right in and see the person on the toilet. I walked over and saw this girl sitting there on the toilet crying into her hands. I was about to ask what was wrong when I saw what the problem was. Her panties were sagging down around down around her knees and in them was a really bad mess. Not that any such accident by a high school girl could be considered a good one. But this was an enormous movement of soft, sticky poop piled together in one massive pile – all sitting squarely in the seat of her panties. You could also notice a whole lot of it all over the rest of her underwear and all over her behind and legs, too.
My first reaction was immediate disgust and revulsion. I didn't know this girl at the time or how old she was, but obviously she was in high school and what a shameful and disgusting thing this was for a high school girl to do. But then I remembered my own not so proud history of handling my bowel movements in a high school with no privacy in the bathrooms. At first, I just couldn't stand the idea of doing a bowel movement on toilets without any doors on them. Obviously, I had no choice but to pee in the school bathrooms (that wasn't so bad), but when I needed to make, I'd just hold it in until I got home. I was never so unfortunate as this poor girl to have it happen in school, but I did mess in my panties on the way home - not once, not twice, but three times. I remember many a long walk home, desperately trying to hold it in until I could get to the toilet and then running immediately to the bathroom when I got home - many, many times just barely making it in time. The times I most remember, though, were when I didn't quite make it in time and had a mess with which to deal.
The first time happened late in September. It was a hot day and I was wearing shorts and no jacket. I had been holding it in since first period and I had a feeling all day that I was going to be in trouble. It happened about two blocks away from home and when I got home, the mess was impossible to hide. My mother was really shocked but more sympathetic than angry. I said I had a stomachache and she attributed the accident to that. I just took a shower and threw my shorts and panties in the garbage.
When it happened again about three weeks later, my mother was really angry. Anybody could have an accident once, even at my age, but twice was obviously my fault. And when it happened a third time, right before Thanksgiving, she was outright furious. Both of these times, she made me wipe myself clean (and this was totally disgusting) and I had to clean out my clothes. My jeans weren't soiled that badly (these two were nowhere near as bad as that first one while wearing shorts), but cleaning my panties was awful - dumping the load out in the toilet and then scrubbing the panties clean in the sink. By the third time, I found myself grounded for a month and threatened that if it happened again Mom would start making me wear diapers to school. It wasn't until all this happened, that I even had any bowel movements in the school toilets, and only then in an emergency to avoid an accident. It seems funny to look back at it now (imagine a high school girl preferring to go in her pants rather than do a bowel movement in the school toilets, even without any privacy), but at the time, the daily struggle with this bodily function was a major trauma of my freshman year. Of course, after using the toilet the first few times, you begin to get used to it and realize that no one is paying much attention to you on the toilet and you gradually get more comfortable having your bowel movements here. By the time I was halfway through my sophomore year, I was just casually and routinely using the toilet when I had to (not even waiting until it was an emergency), not even bothered by the lack of privacy.
Anyway, as I thought about my own shameful experiences, I knew that in spite of my revulsion at seeing the girl's mess, I knew I had no reason to feel superior to her. It could just have easily been me sitting there on the toilet with a mess in my panties, not knowing what to do next. She must have noticed me standing there, because then she looked up at me and with the saddest, most soulful eyes I 'd ever seen, murmured, "Please help me!” through her tears. I was just instantly melted by her gaze and right then I knew I couldn't just leave this poor, helpless girl alone there on the toilet.
Though girls were generally pretty casual about the doorless toilets and generally didn't pay much attention to what other girls were doing in the stalls, they'd surely notice this awful accident and the poor girl would then be the laughing stock of the whole school. Though I'm sure many of the girls at the school had at least one such accident themselves into their high school or at least junior high school years, no one would admit such a thing and this girl would be left to suffer this awful shame alone. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do nor did I want to go anywhere near her massive panty-load, but there was just something about her that made me feel an obligation to help. But that was easier said than don. Though I obviously did have some experience cleaning up such messes, I never did have to deal with one in school and it had been nearly three years since I last did it. Those sad, sweet eyes and that look of desperation on her face (as well as remembering my own sense of embarrassment from my own experiences) just couldn’t let me leave her there.
The first thing I thought of was just for her to pull up her panties and jeans as they were and go to the nurse. I suggested that she tell the nurse what happened and she’d let her go home to clean herself up. But she reacted in horror to such a thought – she was desperate not to let anyone find out what she’d done. While it was true that the nurse would now know and her mom would have to be called to pick her up, I thought that would be much better than being seen by another student cleaning it up in the girls’ room at school. In fact, she was so opposed to that, she started crying hysterically and begging me not to tell anyone. She started mumbling about how it wasn’t her fault and that she couldn’t help it. I had to hug her to calm her down, getting a good whiff of her odorous load for the first time. Pointing to her Biology textbook on the floor, she kept mumbling about how she couldn't help it.
"It wasn't my fault," she cried, "He wouldn't let me leave the room.” Again from experience, I knew what she meant. The school's Biology teacher was a real prick that never let students go to the bathroom during class. Having his class right after lunch presented a particular problem for me when I was a sophomore, especially when it was lab day and the class was a double period. I never had a full-blown accident under these circumstances but many times I came damn close - actually dribbling a little pee in my panties on several occasions and once noticeably brown-staining them. Once I came awfully close to having such an accident and surely would have had I not just left class anyway without permission. For that, I spent two and a half hours after school that day scrubbing lab tables, but still that was better than the alternative of a load in my panties.
Calming her down, I told her that I understood what happened. “I know - I know he wouldn't let you go to the bathroom," I whispered to her, "I know it wasn't your fault." She seemed to take comfort in my realization of how it happened and admitting that I didn't think it was her fault. It's as though she didn't want me to think it happened because she was lazy or something and just didn't go when she had to.
Anyway, we were still no closer to getting her cleaned up and we had to do something fast. Pretty soon the class period was going to be over and the girls' room would be swarming with girls as it always was in the passing time between classes. I knew we didn't have enough time to get it all cleaned up before then, but I knew she couldn't just be sitting there with her soiled panties visible. I helped her slide off her jeans and had her take down her soiled panties. The load in them was even worse than it looked before - it looked like the whole bowel movement was in her panties and she hadn't been able to hold anything back. I didn't want to touch the panties, so I went over and brought the garbage can into the stall. She put the panties into the garbage can and I carefully rearranged the garbage so you couldn't see them. I told her to pull her jeans back up to her thighs and sit back down on the toilet. I went and put the garbage can back just as the bell was ringing to end the period. Quickly, I explained to her just to sit there on the toilet and act calm when everybody else came into the bathroom.
“Just pretend you’re sitting there using the toilet, I explained, "We'll start cleaning it up when everyone leaves - just be calm and no one will notice what you did." That took somewhat of a risk because there was still mess smeared on her butt and she wasn't wearing any underwear, but I figured that with her jeans pulled up pretty high, no one would notice anything other than a girl sitting there using the toilet.
My biggest worry was that someone would glance into the stall and she would panic and give herself away. My other choice (which she preferred) was just for me to stand in front of the stall to block everyone's view - a technique that many girls in the school used to get more privacy in those bathrooms. That was especially true of freshmen before they'd get used to having no doors on the stalls. But I knew that that would be even more conspicuous - especially with me standing there the whole time until the girls' room cleared out. I sat down in the next stall, also trying to be inconspicuous. While we waited for the passing time to end and the bathroom to clear out, I started rolling out some thick pieces of toilet paper for the clean-up job ahead. The wait dragged on (it seemed like an eternity to me, so I could only imagine how bad it was for her) until finally the last girl in there finished her cigarette and I assume went back to class. Then I sprung into action. She had also made some wads of toilet paper and had already begun wiping herself when I got there. What a job that was. I felt so bad for her, not even having a washcloth to do this, but she simply gritted her teeth and did what she had to do with the toilet paper. Again, getting caught having made this mess was her biggest fear. As long as that didn't happen, she was willing to endure just about anything. And endure she did. For what seemed like an eternity, she just kept wiping off the shit while I kept rolling out new wads of toilet paper for her to use. The job seemed almost hopeless at first, but she was determined and eventually got it done.
Wiping herself was not only a long, disgusting process but a tricky one as well. The mess had spread all over, necessitating her wiping many places on her anatomy that didn't ordinarily need wiping. It ended up with me inspecting her and telling here where she was finally cleaned and the spots that still needed more wiping. I couldn't help but notice what a cute ass she had once the mess was cleaned off.
You wouldn't believe how happy she was once all that was done. She quickly pulled up her jeans and just started hugging me tightly. She hugged me so tightly that I could barely breathe and she kept thanking me for my help. It probably started with just gratitude for me helping her to clean up and her relief that it was done without being noticed by anyone. But looking back, both of us probably felt a little rumbling in our loins. Somehow we both knew that this chance encounter in the bathroom would not be the last time we were together.
I could barely pull her off of me, she was thanking me so profusely. We still had about ten minutes to wait before the next passing time when we could go on to our next class. We almost forgot about it, but I helped her clean the mess off the toilet seat before the bell rang. She wanted just to leave it there for the custodians, but I was worried that the school would investigate how it got there and they'd discover that the two of us were out of class at the time it happened. That and the fact there was already a pair of badly pooped-in panties in the garbage can to draw attention, we didn't need to be more conspicuous. We had come this far; it would be a shame for her to get caught now. The bell rang and we went our separate ways to our next classes.
She was a sophomore and I was a senior, so we obviously didn't have any classes together and we had vastly different circles of friends. We did share something in common, though. Both of us had a week of detention together for the classes we missed while in the bathroom. She had been in there for two whole class periods (two days detention for the first and three days for the second) and though I only cut one class (fortunately one teacher didn't report it as a cut when I didn't go back to class after being excused to the girls' room), it was already my fourth cut of the year, earning me five detentions for the single one. She couldn't stop apologizing enough for the detention I got and how it was her fault, but I really didn't mind. It allowed me to see her again and by now I was starting to realize that I was feeling something more than friendship for her.
Gradually, our friendship grew - she was like a little puppy dog that I couldn't get rid of even if I wanted to - with her eternally thanking me for helping her. Even though she was slightly more than two years younger than me, she was a lot more accepting and comfortable with her sexual preference than I was with mine. In time, our relationship grew deeper and even though I resisted her sexual advances at first, as my liaisons with boys became more and more frustrating, she broke down my resistances and we found bliss in each other's arms.
By her senior year of high school and my sophomore year of college, we both recognized each other as lesbian lovers and just let nature take its course. We went to the same college and became roommates. When I graduated, I got a job and an apartment near campus, so she could move in with me. She recently graduated and soon will start a job with the same company as me. Our relationship is just pure magic.
The old adage that no good deed goes unrewarded is certainly true with us. I hate to think of what might have happened had I just left that poor frightened sophomore alone there on the toilet to deal with her shame. Or what might have happened if that Biology teacher had just let her go to the bathroom when she asked and the mess would never have happened. I'm just glad it did and though she thinks that fate would have brought us together anyway, I'm glad it happened the way it did. She doesn't mess in her panties anymore, but we always talk about that one fateful day in the girls' room at school. No one else ever found out about, so it remains a secret that only the two of us share. About the only thing that she has done since is wet her bed once (and her jeans, of course) after drinking too much at a college party. I was happy to help her change and clean up after that, too - after all, it was my bed on which she had passed out and subsequently wet!!
K.D.