The initial theme, when I began recounting my childhood experiences with Kirsten, was on the times we dressed up the same. It was a good way to narrow down which experiences were the most worth sharing and it was some of the best times we had. However, that doesn’t give anyone an idea of our daily relationship which took place mostly at school.
Kirsten and I met because we were in the same class in fourth grade. Luckily, we ended up with the same class for fifth grade as well. Kirsten moved away at the end of fifth grade, so all my stories happened in those golden years between when we met at the beginning of fourth and when she moved at the end of fifth.
We started dating mid-fourth grade and it quickly became known as a “thing.” Especially because, unlike most of the kids, Kirsten and I were still dating in the fifth grade. Usually, relationships lasted weeks, if not just days. Kirsten and I were best friends as well as boyfriend and girlfriend. We got teased a little at first but, really, I think most of the kids were just jealous that we could maintain a relationship, even though it was a simple, kid-type relationship.
Neither of us was very popular, though our relationship actually helped on that scale. Kirsten was always considered immature and bossy. It hurt her relationships with the other girls, especially the popular ones. I knew her bossiness was based in her particular aesthetics which I grew to appreciate but it bothered the kids that didn’t get it. As for me, I was that skittish, shy kid that had accidents sometimes. I hated that reputation.
No one thought I was mean or bad; everyone knew I was smart, kind and, once they’d tried picking on Kirsten, that I wasn’t a coward. The problem was that, being raised by a single mother, I was just plain feminine, especially before I knew what feminine even was. Also, my excitement-triggered bladder added to the perception I was feminine and babyish. My positive points kept me from being a social pariah but it couldn’t stop me from being on the lower end of the totem pole of elementary school popularity.
However, once we were a pair, our failures to make strong friendships within our gender didn’t seem to matter. The kids that couldn’t cross gender lines, despite it being popular to have a boyfriend or girlfriend, envied us. And, of course, I was so smitten with Kirsten that the girls were envious that she had a guy so devoted; it wasn’t that I was a doormat but you try saying no when a girl’s disappointed expression rips your heart asunder.
Anyway, in fifth grade, we had a field trip to the museum of science and industry. I referred to this incident in my last story but I think it bears telling. It sort of explains our public relationship, as compared to when I just played at her place. Kirsten and I were super-excited about the field trip as, I’m sure, the rest of the class. We packed our lunches and, first thing in the morning, we were lined up and sent out to the buses. Kirsten and I hung close so we could sit together on the bus.
“This is so cool.” Kirsten said, bouncing up and down.
“Yeah. Mom hasn’t taken me since last year.” I replied, wondering if the museum had changed. Mom loved museums but she didn’t like this one as much because noisy kids tended to be there.
“Lucky, what’s it like?”
“There’s planes, and machines, and they sell freeze-dried ice cream in the souvenir shop.” I replied, feeling special because I’d been there.
We were allowed on the bus and the smell of vinyl from the seats and the echo of the interior had a nostalgic, yet distant feel because I only went on buses once or twice in a school year. Kirsten picked our row and, as I sat down, I regretted wearing shorts as the skin at the back of my legs fused to the vinyl. It was almost sticky, although I expect the only substances on it were cleaning products (if they even bothered).
Kirsten grimaced uncomfortably and moved her legs, feeling the same ickiness. She was wearing cut-off jean shorts that went down about mid-thigh. At the time, that seemed normal, but her mom certainly gave her more free rein than a lot of kids when it came to clothes. She didn’t dress slutty, exactly, but it wasn’t as conservative as most of the girls in elementary school either. Besides, back then the clothes available to kids weren’t half as disturbing as some of the stuff they sell now.
So we sat there, our legs sticking to the seats, as all the kids in our fifth grade class piled onto the school bus. The teacher was trying to shout orders over the din of kids chatting and it half-worked. Pretty quickly, everyone was quite, the rules were explained, and we could talk again as the bus lurched into action and headed towards the freeway.
I felt particularly bad for Kirsten as we went though. Even as we talked, her legs seemed so uncomfortable as she moved them back and forth, the skin sticking slightly as she didn’t so. We were chatting about our plans for the weekend, specifically me going over to her house. It seemed fine at first, until suddenly her hand shot to her crotch and engaged in a death grip. She looked at me like a deer in the headlights.
“I’ve gotta pee.” She said in the faintest whisper.
“Why didn’t you go before?” I hissed back. “They said we could go before we got on the bus.”
“I didn’t hear!” Kirsten hissed back. She probably missed it because she was so excited she hadn’t been paying attention. Regardless, she was in a predicament now, as it was pretty obvious she couldn’t move her hand. Her thighs were tightly squeezed and a pained expression crossed her face as the bus hit a dip on the onramp to the freeway.
Carefully, she shifted to sit on her foot, rocking slowly against it as we sat there, looking at me like I was supposed to do something.
That’s when we saw the traffic on the freeway. Bumper to bumper the cars moved at five miles per hour. A look of extreme terror plastered itself on Kirsten’s face as she looked out the window, then back at me. There was no bathroom on the bus, if she asked the teacher, she’d just be notifying the kids to jeer at her until the inevitable happened. We even stopped talking so she could concentrate.
Thirty minutes later we’d made substantial progress. The traffic had lightened a little, but it was still a slog. Kirsten would shiver in pain occasionally as she tried to hold on for dear life. I was rubbing her back in sympathy as she sniffled.
“What’s wrong with her?” Trisha asked from the other side of the aisle. Damn, someone had noticed.
“Nothing,” I said, trying to ignore her.
“Ms. Mendall!” Trisha said raising her hand and calling the teacher over. “Something’s wrong with Kirsten!”
Soon, the teacher was over, leaning down in the bench as Kirsten, between gritted teeth, quietly explained her predicament. The teacher just shrugged.
“Sorry Kirsten,” She explained. “We’re almost downtown, I have no idea where a public bathroom is. The closest place is probably the museum. We’ll be there in ten minutes, as soon as we’re there, I’ll send an aide to run you to a restroom.”
Kirsten nodded woefully.
She made it all the way until the big bump at the entrance of the museum parking lot. She bit her lip hard, drawing a deep breath as her hand reluctantly moved from its place of containment as I saw the liquid spreading out from beneath her, dripping onto the seat. She looked heart-broken. I gripped her hand as she let it all out. I didn’t know she could simultaneously looked so relieved and horrified.
Trisha’s and Mary’s eyes were wide, staring across the aisle as the urine began dripping to the bus’s floor. We came to park just the puddle really started forming so, in Kirsten’s favor, it didn’t run in a stream up to the front or down to the back. It just sat there. I figure Ms. Mendall knew what was happening but she just ordered everyone in rows to get up and walk out.
I felt the side of my shorts getting wet from Kirsten’s accident but I didn’t really care. She looked so sad and it was tearing me apart. She hiccupped as tears slipped down her cheeks. This was bad, that bring even more attention…
I knew a little about having accidents. I had no less than three a year since I started going to school (fourth grade had been that stellar record; before then it was no less than one a month). It was ordinary enough, in fact, that my mom still kept a spare set of clothes with the school nurse like I was in preschool. There are keys to peeing oneself at school: deny, act like it doesn’t matter, change as quickly as possible (i.e. tell a teacher quietly and immediately), and never, ever cry about it. Then the other kids will let it go after a week, tops, if it’s not a big deal to you – also, good hygiene. They try to make fun of you for smelling like pee so you have to make sure you don’t. Even at nine I wore a little cologne so that they could never claim that.
Kirsten, however, was breaking all the rules; especially because she’d had an accident where changing would be extra, extra hard. I, on the other hand, was on the way to a new record. Sure, it was only September, but I hadn’t had an accident this year yet.
“Are you okay?” I asked as Kirsten shook her head wildly, the hiccups were getting louder and kids were starting to turn their heads, looking around for what was happening as they stood up to exit the bus. She was panicking; if she melted down in front of the whole class everyone would tease her about this for the whole school year.
I thought for a moment.
“What if I peed too?” I asked. She looked up at me with sudden hope. It’d take the heat off her a bit, I knew, if I did it too. Pee pants were not my favorite thing but she was going to collapse soon. Sobbing loudly while being taken off the bus in wet shorts would be talked about for awhile yet. I sighed. I had too.
I sighed, anything for my girl. I took a breath and released my bladder, feeling the front of my undies grow slick and wet as a deep, dark spot appeared on my khaki shorts. Kirsten was watching my crotch grow dark as she gripped my hand as if it were her lifeline. She was settling down though. It was time for our row. My shorts squished as I got up, walking to the aisle with Kirsten behind me. Ms. Mendall’s face look visibly disappointed and exasperated as she saw we’d lost the fight. Shamefacedly, we walked quickly off the bus.
“See, I told you!” Trisha said, pointing as I got off (as I was ahead of Kirsten). The wet circle on the front of my shorts was obvious to anyone looking.
“You said it was Kirsten though!” Blake replied. Kirsten’s front, of course, looked fine. What with the way girl’s pee, she had just soaked the back of her shorts.
“Nu-uh. It was Kirsten!” Trisha demanded. Running up to try and look at Kirsten from behind. Mary was flanking her as she, too, had seen Kirsten’s battle. I saw a flash of humiliation and the beginnings of another tear episode
“Actually,” I said as they got up behind us to see the wet spot. “I umm… my pee got on her…” I looked at Kirsten, adding with put-on seriousness: “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Kirsten said, her voice immediately cheering up. The excuse was cementing in her mind. She looked elated. “I know you didn’t mean to.”
Blake just laughed, and immediately began telling the guys how I’d peed on my girlfriend. Trisha and Mary were the only ones who knew the truth but, Blake’s story was funny enough that they’d never be able to counteract it now. Besides, I peed myself occasionally, it was far easier to believe that had happened again and Kirsten was collateral damage than that Kirsten had an accident at school. Once everyone was out of the bus, a teacher separated us out to figure out what to do with us.
“Okay you two, who peed?” The teacher asked.
“I did.” I said sternly.
“We both did.” Kirsten admitted once the kids were gone. “Stephen did it so the other kids wouldn’t know I did. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Accidents happen.” The teacher replied, sighing. “We don’t have any spare clothes, though. Do you guys want to wait in the bus, or…”
Inevitably, we just ended up going on the field trip in wet shorts. Pee-pants dry after all and, after an hour, our pants were barely damp. We did smell a bit of pee though, Kirsten worse as I always wore a little scent to mask it. Not to mention that, eventually, wet pants starts to chaff a bit. Still, there wasn’t much else the school staff could do and, though the other kids teased us a little that day, since they knew I did that occasionally, the whole thing blew over in only a week or so.
I didn’t really mind covering for Kirsten anyway. I wore pull-ups with Kirsten because I enjoyed the feeling of peeing myself on occasion. I don’t know when that really registered, that I didn’t actually mind my accidents, but it was probably around that time.