Click cover to enlarge it
Peggy looked around carefully.
She had to piss, piss badly, and the house was too far away.
She was one of those women who, when they had to piss, had to piss immediately. When she had to hold it in, she became acutely uncomfortable, and much to her embarrassment, had pissed into her pants at certain times.
She was in the vegetable garden, and it would have been easy to piss if she had been wearing a dress. But she was wearing jeans, tight jeans. Johnny was in the house, but he could be looking out of a window at her. She knew he did that often, peeking at her when he felt he could get away with it. She had not minded his looking; he was young, curious. She would rather have him peek at her than sneak around trying to peek at other women or little girls, maybe getting himself in trouble.
She had always been careful not to wear anything that might excite his young emotions, always careful how she sat or walked about the house. She never wore her nightgown in front of him. Her nightgowns weren’t designed for the eyes of a young boy.
She examined the house carefully, trying to see if Johnny was in a window. She couldn’t see clearly because of the sun. She felt as if she was going to piss in her jeans any time.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.