Kerri, a 32-year-old woman

“You will wake up in this new reality,” the deep, booming voice announces, “in five… four… three… two…”

The screech of the alarm slices through the cloud of sleep. You slam your hand on your phone, prying your eyes open to peek at the time: 10:00. Why is it so late? Then it comes back to you: today’s Sunday.

Still in the middle of a dreamy haze, you wish it had lasted longer. You’ve been having these… interesting recurring fantasies lately. Of course, you’ll never know what such a world would be like in real life, but it might be fun to at least experience something like that in the dream world. How convenient would it be? To be able to just void whenever and wherever. No need for toilet breaks. Yeah… convenient.

You finally notice a growing pressure in your abdomen. Oh, right. I should probably stop by the bathroom first, you think. You stride out of your room, crossing the short distance over to the bathroom, and open the door. Except… it’s not actually a bathroom; it seems to be some kind of general-purpose storage room. Has this always been here? You return to your bedroom and retrace your steps, arriving again at what is most definitely your bathroom door. You reopen it to find nothing but the same unfamiliar room from before. Strange. You know your small, one-person apartment like the back of your hand. Or you thought you did, at least.

Dismissing the issue as early-morning distraction, you decide to pay your next-door neighbor a friendly visit—and make a pit-stop in the restroom while you are at it. You hurriedly change out of your pajamas into a loose shirt and sweatpants, and traverse the hallway to arrive at your neighbor’s door. After knocking, you hear a familiar voice, muted by the door.

“Who is it?” it asks.

“Brenda? It’s me!” you call.

“Kerri? Just give me a second,” the voice responds. You hear a brief clanging of pots and pans, then the sound of steps approaching the door, which opens up to reveal Brenda. Something that has always made you kind of jealous: despite her age, she looks great, even in her old bathrobe. “Hey! What’s up?” she smiles.

“Good, I’m good. You’re not busy, are you?” you ask timidly.

“Not at all. I was just taking care of some business in the kitchen. Wanna chat?” she suggests. She steps aside, pointing to her living room with a sweep of her hand. You can hear her husband and children playing in another room. You think it might be a bit rude to just come in, use her toilet and leave, so you decide to engage in some small talk, at least to avoid looking impolite.

However, not long after, even as you attempt to focus on the conversation, the pressure inside you has already started to become unbearable. It wasn’t nearly this bad before. How did it become so urgent, so quickly? Brenda glances you up and down, noticing your fidgeting.

“You okay, Kerri?” she asks.

“Yeah, I guess,” you respond. “Well, actually, I came here to ask you. Um… can I use your bathroom for a minute?”

“Hmm? Uhh…” she hesitates. “Yeah, sure. But you forgot to bring any towels or clothes with you. I can lend you some, if you’d like, though I don’t know if we’re the same size,” she offers.

“What? Oh, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m not talking about a shower; I need to use your toilet,” you clarify.

“Sorry, what?” she asks, pricking her ears.

“Your toilet, Brenda. Can I?” you say, blushing slightly. It’s embarrassing enough having to ask again, you think to yourself.

“Can you what? Sorry, honey, I think you lost me,” she responds. “What would you need a toilet for?”

“To… do my necessities? What else?” you explain, indignant. “Come on, I’m getting a bit ,” you squeak out, holding your crotch from the discomfort. Your bladder really shouldn’t be feeling this full.

“I don’t get it. You’re acting like a little girl, you know,” Brenda chides you, with a confused look on her face. You can almost see the gears turning in her head before she continues, “Do you need to see a doctor or something? I can take you to the hospital, if you want.”

“Huh? Brenda, I’m absolutely fine,” you insist, growing impatient and making an effort not to raise your voice at her. Why is she being so dense? Something weird is going on. Then a shadow of a doubt starts to creep inside your head.

“Okay, then. If you’re fine, then I have no idea what your problem is. Need to pee? Just do it. Nobody would mind, certainly not me,” she offers. She seems entirely unfazed by your state of distress. Is she pulling your leg? If she is, it’s a joke in very bad taste.

She stands there motionless, with a confused look on her face, as you do your best to keep your composure. You try to come up with an answer before you happen to hear… something like a faint hiss and a sort of patter.

“Where’s that coming from?” you ask, distracted by the interruption.

“Where’s what coming from?” Brenda asks back, seemingly oblivious. “You’re really starting to worry me, you know.” Now the sound seems to be growing louder, like someone turning a hose on indoors. As you look around the room, eventually you focus back on Brenda as your eyes land on her bottom half.

“B-Brenda?” you call out.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Are you… Are you peeing on the floor?!” you ask, shocked motionless by the sight in front of you.

“Sure. Why, what do you mean? Honestly, you’re acting like I’m the one being weird,” she retorts calmly, though seemingly annoyed at your question, staring at you as she continues to expel piss onto the growing puddle beneath her. The complete disconnect between her demeanor and actual behavior has now made it obvious that something is seriously wrong. Are you still dreaming? A hint of a memory comes to mind; something familiar. Wait, could it possibly be…?

In a moment of clarity, memories of your dream rush into your mind. The monologue plays in your head like a recording on fast forward. When you wake up from this dream, you will find yourself in a reality where women pee and poop pretty much anywhere. It will be normal for women to just let go automatically, whether to pee or poop, while doing anything at all. Doing so is as normal as breathing.

A voluminous amount of pee flows out of Brenda before gradually petering out, first into a weak stream, then finally as a thinning drip. The bottom of her bathrobe looks darker, drenched with her freshly-made waste water. If the dream is, somehow, actually real and happening to you right now—and everything seems to be pointing that way—there’s really only one thing to do.

“Okay,” you say with a slight quiver. “I'm gonna pee now. Here. In your living room,” you announce, still half-expecting Brenda to stop you. It sounds absolutely crazy when you say it out loud.

“Great! You’re finally coming to your senses, then. I shouldn’t even have to tell you, but go ahead, feel free,” she says, in a reassuring if befuddled tone, still standing in her own puddle.

That’s all the encouragement you need. You change your stance, spreading your feet apart to make the job easier. Easily ignoring every ingrained instinct trying to hold you back, it doesn’t take much effort for you to relax your sphincters, sighing heavily as you let the pressure inside you do the job. Almost instantly, you feel a familiar sensation in your pee hole and between your labia. What is less familiar is the wet, warm sensation of the fabric on your crotch, which is getting absolutely drenched with pee. You gleefully look down at your crotch, admiring the expanding dark patch between your legs as it seeps down the inner sides of your sweatpants. In a flash of inspiration, you grab the front of your sweatpants and panties and pull them up with , tightening your bottoms around your crotch as you continue pissing into them freely.

“Enjoying yourself, huh?” Brenda smirks. “You know, I’m kind of curious. I haven’t had a full bladder like that since my teens. Does it feel good to let all that go?” she says casually, as if talking about the weather.

You’re too distracted to respond. An electrifying sensation like you’ve never felt before runs from your pussy to your entire body as the piss endlessly flows out of you straight through your bottom clothes and onto the floor below you. It takes you a surprisingly long time to finish, even taking into account how full your bladder was.

Your brain takes an extra moment to catch up with Brenda’s question after finally coming back to your senses. “Oh my god, Brenda,” you gasp, continuing to pull up on your pants and panties, which are now digging up your cunt in a self-delivered wedgie. “Does it always feel this amazing when you pee?” you ask light-headed.

“Well, I never really let it get as bad as you just did. That stuff can be dangerous, you know. But yeah, I do enjoy the feeling; sometimes I’ll just pee a little even if I’m almost empty, just for fun,” she explains. A brief, purposeful splash below her punctuates her statement. “Just like that,” she adds with a cheeky grin.

The sound of approaching steps interrupts your conversation.

“Hi, honey,” says Brenda’s husband Mark, stepping onto his wife’s puddle to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Kerri! How’s it going?” he greets, approaching you. “Wow, you really had a lot in there, didn’t you!” he laughs, gesturing to your stomach area, amused by the mess you created in his living room.

“She was holding it in, for some reason,” Brenda shrugs.

“Oh, my. Are you okay?” he asks with a concerned look.

“Oh, she’s fine now, I’m sure,” she says, throwing you a meaningful glance as you keep playing with your drenched clothes, loosening and tightening the wedgie up your cunt.

“All right, then, good to know. Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pay the… men’s room a little visit, if you don’t mind,” he says, splashing across your combined puddle and leaving a trail of piss prints through his own living room as he walks away.

“Men, huh?” Brenda says ironically.