Looking for story

[moklew]

I am looking for a story of a guy who had an old van, and was asked by a girl (Rosemary?) if he could pick her up with a friend after a Beatles concert. She tells him cover the backseats, because women sometimes have accidents. When he picks up the girls they walk awkward; he thinks because of their very short miniskirts, but is soon to discover that they have wet themselves. They wet more and have sex.
A day later he wants to have sex with the girlfriend, but it is only once.
Someone familiar with the story? Where can it be found?

[Lloyd_R1]

I remember the story. Unfortunately, I don't remember where I read it - could be right here in the WetSet archives, for all I know....

[omahaslim]

I think the story was by Joe, in Patches Place Stories.

[Patches]

The story you are looking for

I really shouldn't post stories in this section of the forum but since it is a response to this thread and I found the story you are looking for, here it is:

Rosemary and Betty
by Joe, June 1996

This was told to me as a true story, by a friend who’s from the UK, a bit older than me, and remembers the 60s and the Beatles era. I have written it down because of posts from Michelle and Tinker asking about this time, and about girls wetting at pop concerts. The story is told in the first person, and I have used British terms (tights, trousers) as my friend did when he told it to me.

Joe

...................................

Rosemary was a very pretty girl, on my course at University. She had long, curling, dark brown hair, large brown eyes, and a neat, petite figure. She also had a steady boyfriend, and I knew I had no chance. Probably because of this, because there was no sexual thing between us, we became firm friends and would often chat together over a coffee.

Betty, Rosemary’s best friend, was no quite as pretty, slightly bigger, on the cuddly side, although by no means chubby. She did, however, have stunning red hair and nice boobs, and I fancied her strongly. She was happy to talk to me when I met her with Rosemary, but any attempt to chat her up or get her alone was gently repulsed. Still, I lived in hope. It was the early sixties, and in the UK that meant short skirts, more publicity about sexual freedom (but probably very little more actual freedom) and, of course, the Beatles. The Fab Four had not yet made it in the USA, but were very big in Britain, their concerts attracting huge crowds of screaming, young, female fans. Male fans, like myself, listened to the records - these guys were good - and avoided the concerts like the plague. One such concert was due at the weekend in our city.

On the preceding Thursday, I was chatting to Rosemary. I had just bought my first car, a dreadful old banger, but my pride and joy, and I was full of it.

‘Joe,’ she interrupted me, ‘could you do me a favour?’

‘Name it.’

‘Saturday night. Me and Betty are going to the Beatles concert. Steve is dropping us there but can’t pick us up afterwards, and taxis and public transport...’

‘You want a lift home?’

‘Yes please.’

‘No problem.’ I had nothing on that evening, I liked Rosemary a lot, and it would give me another chance with Betty. You bet there was no problem!

‘Thanks.’ We made arrangements about where I was picking them up and so on. Suddenly I noticed she was blushing. She took a deep breath and spoke rapidly.

‘Joe, cover your back seat with plastic and some old towels.’

‘Pardon?’

Her face was scarlet. ‘Sometimes, at concerts, girls can have little accidents,’ she whispered.

I struggled to hide my astonishment. My friend was obviously horribly embarrassed and I smiled gently to put her at her ease. ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘see you Saturday.’

Came the day, and I reckoned I was as excited as any of the girls at the concert. I had also invested in a packet of condoms, not that I reckoned I had any chance of using them, but, well, you never know. I parked my old bus and walked, enjoying the fine summer evening, to our rendezvous. They had their backs to me, but I soon spotted one head of pretty brown hair, the other of glowing auburn. Then I did a double-take.

Yes, short skirts were becoming fashionable, but short still meant about four inches above the knee. Micro-mini bum huggers were for fashion magazines, very young girls, or a ‘certain’ type of woman. To see Rosemary and Betty, very respectable young ladies of eighteen, in such garments, wide hemmed, fluttering invitingly in the breeze, was one of the more pleasant surprises of the evening. I admired them for a long moment, then cleared my throat. They turned. A smile and merry greeting from Rosemary, Betty quiet, almost withdrawn. We walked to my car, Rosemary on my arm as if I were Steve, Betty alongside. They were, I thought, walking a bit strangely, but maybe they were having problems coping with their short skirts. They both slid into the back of my car, hands carefully on hems, and I got into the driving seat and picked my way through the traffic. They had their heads together, chatting in low voices, giggling.

‘I did it as soon as they came on stage,’ I heard Betty say, distinctly. More giggling.

‘I waited until Paul and George hit their first high note and shook their heads,’ Rosemary replied.

We were by then out of town and I pulled the car over to the side of the road and looked round. It was high summer and still light, which was very fortunate because the sight which met my eyes needed to be seen in full colour to be appreciated. In those days ladies’ underwear was white, or possibly pastel pink or blue, and inevitably solid cotton. Tights (pantyhose in the USA) were, fortunately, not yet common. Both girls were sitting with their knees drawn up under their chins, giving me an excellent view up their skirts. Rosemary was wearing dark, self supporting stockings and pink knickers in some sort of satiny material while Betty... I blinked and looked again. Nylon panties in daring colours and were only just on the market, and I had never seen a grown woman in red knickers before. But the daring nature of the underwear on show was not what astonished me. Both girls were dripping wet, and they both had hands inside their panties, frigging themselves as they spoke about how they got into that condition. For all the notice they were taking of me, I might as well have been on another planet. Never mind, the view was something else, and I was in no hurry to remind them of my existence.

Rosemary gave a little gasp, and I could have sworn her crotch went slightly shiny. Then her eyes met mine and she grinned, no trace of embarrassment, no attempt to hide what she had been up to. Betty was still in a world of her own.

‘I’ll need directions to your house,’ I said.

‘Not going straight home, silly,’ she purred. ‘Take us to a lay-by.’

I did not need a second invitation, though how I managed to get there without crashing I do not know. I chose a secluded spot, stopped the car, and opened the back door. Betty got out, smoothing her short, pee-stained dress over her firm bottom. She did not look at me or meet my eye. Rosemary was lying in the back seat, legs open, skirt round her waist. I noted the towels were soiled and removed my trousers and underpants before climbing in beside her, taking care to get the condoms from my pocket before I did so.

‘You won’t need them,’ she whispered, ‘I’m on the pill.’

At eighteen, eagerness is more a feature of one’s performance than skill, but I wasn’t totally inexperienced and petted and kissed her for a while before sliding my hand inside her bra. I’m not sure if patience was needed, she was hot, playing with my cock, rubbing her soaked little crotch into me. I put my hand on the clinging wet pink material covering her pussy, and felt a warm wetness as she peed into my palm.

‘While I’m pissing, through the leg of my panties,’ she gasped. I obliged. The tight fabric, pressing on my penis, brought me on quickly, and it was all over in a few strokes. A few strokes were all she needed. I had made fumbling love before, but had never seen a full female orgasm in all its shrieking glory. We slowed, stopped, kissed. She smiled.

‘I’m still Steve’s girl,’ she said, ‘don’t read too much into a quickie.’

‘Of course, and you’re still my very good friend.’ Even at eighteen I sometimes said the right thing. She kissed me gently.

‘You’ll need a rubber with Betty.’

‘Not sure if she...’

‘Oh, she wants it all right. Look out the widow.’

Secluded the spot might have been, but the antics of my lovely redheaded passenger, in broad daylight, left me gasping. Leaning against the car, her skirt round her waist, both hands inside her knickers, she frigged herself wildly. Then she screamed, and emptied her bladder on to the tarmac in a fierce, yellowish stream. Rosemary slipped out one door as Betty tore off her sodden panties and came through the other. Never, before or since, have I seen a woman so aroused. I had only just time to slip on the condom, fortunately at eighteen one recovers very quickly, and we were thrashing furiously on the seat. I could hold back more easily, this being seconds, and she had three full-blown orgasms before we stopped. I lay on the seat, shattered.

Both girls, standing outside, quite calmly removed their panties, wrung them out and put them on again. I fumbled for my own underpants and trousers, which I managed to get on without too much in the way of pee stains. I then got in the front while my two erstwhile lovers got in the back.

‘Aren’t you going to change, or at least take your panties off?’ I asked them.

Betty giggled. ‘A respectable young lady doesn’t leave the house with spare knickers in her handbag,’ she said.

‘Nor go back in with her bum bare,’ added her friend.

‘But you’re both going back home soaking wet.’

‘Girls sometimes have accidents at pop concerts, especially when it’s the Beatles,’ said Rosemary. ‘Mummy won’t be pleased, but she’ll be sympathetic and I’ll weep a bit.’

‘Not a problem,’ Betty supplied.

Still mulling over this insight into the female mind, I drove Rosemary home, and walked her to her door where I got the polite little peck on the cheek that a respectable young lady gives to a male friend who is not her boyfriend. Betty wouldn’t come into the front for fear of staining the seat, but agreed to go out with me the following evening. Her house was quite large, with trees in the drive, and it was by then dark. So we petted for a while against a tree and I finger-fucked her to another climax before leaving her at her door. I now had a girlfriend and saw a vista of wild, wet sex before me. Nice.

I collected her the next evening, Sunday. Student finances didn’t run to fancy meals, but she seemed quite happy with her modest repast, quite content with gentle kissing and squeezing. She was, disappointingly, rather modestly dressed in a knee length skirt and crisp white blouse, and she agreed to a drive to the lay-by readily enough but with no huge enthusiasm.

‘Back seat,’ I whispered in her ear. I had spread fresh towels just in case.

‘No,’ she said, ‘stay in the front.’

Then commenced the most difficult seduction I have accomplished in my life. Had it not been for her eagerness on the previous evening I would have believed her protests and taken her home. Eventually, however, she did let me remove her sensible white-cotton knickers, moist only with the juice of our petting. Wet red panties, it seemed, were for John, Paul, George and Ringo, not for me. Once we got down to it, she seemed to enjoy herself thoroughly, and we kissed deeply afterwards. She would not, however, make another date. The next day, at University, she seemed to be avoiding me, and the next, and the next.

‘Hi Joe,’ a voice from behind me as, on the Wednesday, I ruefully viewed Betty’s retreating form. An arm slid through mine.

‘Hi Rosemary.’

‘Steve’s still away. He normally takes me to the park Wednesday lunchtime.’

I wasn’t about to refuse that invitation, nor did I object when our walk took us into a dense clump of bushes. She was wearing a short, pleated, foldover skirt, and a single button was all that was needed to remove it. This time her panties were blue, in the same satiny material.

‘You didn’t mind when I wet myself,’ she said.

‘N-not at all.’

‘Steve doesn’t like it. Says it’s babyish.’ Her crotch began to darken and drips of pee fell on the leaves under our feet. I knew now what she liked, and took her against a tree as she emptied her bladder. Then she wiped herself carefully and pulled on dry panties.

‘I thought a respectable young lady...’

‘Still got my afternoon lectures to get through,’ she said, ‘and by the way, that’s it. I’m being faithful to Steve from now on. Joe, I want to talk to you about Betty.’

‘OK.’

‘She’s embarrassed. She reckons you’ll look down on her, think she’s an easy lay, just because she did it on your first date.’

I couldn’t hide my astonishment. ‘But,’ I said, ‘Saturday...’

‘That was after the excitement of a Beatles concert. But on Sunday she felt she couldn’t refuse ‘cos you’d had her before, and now she thinks you...’

‘No way. I’m delighted and grateful. I wouldn’t put her down.’

‘I’ll tell her that. Treat her as a friend, Joe, look for a lover somewhere else. Treat her like you treat me.’

‘You mean screw her against a tree while she’s peeing in her... Ouch, that hurt!’

‘It was meant to.’

And that’s my story. Rosemary and Steve got married eventually, and Betty found a boyfriend, a rather dried up, churchy character. Her hemline didn’t follow fashion and they had the reputation of being a prim, over-respectable pair. I used to amuse myself by looking at them and remembering a red-hot nympho tearing off her soaked scarlet panties one fine summer night after a pop concert. I had a few girlfriends myself, but never quite repeated the frenzy of that evening.

And the Beatles? They sold a record or two. You might even have heard of them.

Joe

[Dusty Harold]

A Suggestion

@ Patches ,
Is there anyway possible . That the story section that was at Patches Place , now having been removed . Be brought here to Wet Set . So others can read and enjoy what those of us have written about . That was part of the story section . You have had at Patches Place to enjoy in ?

Dusty Harold

B.T.W. I tried to send you a P.M yesterday but , my computer didn't want me to do so about this subject here

[Patches]

@ Dusty,

I will check with Wet Set about whether the stories that were at Patches' Place can be put on the Wet Set site. I am not sure it is possible but it doesn't hurt to ask.

Patches

[moklew]

Rosemary and Betty

This is great Patches. Thank you!

[Razz]

"Rosemary" and "Betty". It doesn't get much sexier than that.

[Dusty Harold]

Patches ,

I have always enjoyed in reading the stories in the story section of your website . As they were so enlightening as well as informative . Especially to me . Since I was new to this pee fetish . When I first read the stories at Patches Place .
That I do hope they all can be brought here to Wet Set . For all the members to enjoy reading them . Then for them all to vanish from view . Which would be a lost to all . Including myself . In being able to read them once more for the joy of it all

Dusty Harold