What Are the Odds?

"Hang on! Hey, is- is there room in here?"

She's darting forward, a blur of sky blue bikini and tanned curves, a white towel held against her as she reaches out to the closing elevator doors. I'm instinctively reaching to stop them from closing – and then, as the sight of this tall, still-dripping brunette bombshell fills my vision, I feel a wave of clumsy admiration well within me… almost shutting out the twinge from my bladder. Hell, yes, there's room, I find myself thinking, though I dare not say so in such a creepy way. In this elevator there'll always be room for you, lady.

She's grinning, slipping between the now-opening metal doors. "Thanks, dude," she sighs with a bright glance in my direction. "Darn near missed it! Umm… so let's see. Which floor are you?"

I finally find my voice with a jolt. "Uh… fourth. Fourth floor." I'm staring at the floor, trying my best not to ogle the curves of my fellow hotel guest as the elevator dings and begins its unsteady ascent. Can't be a creep. Just gotta focus on being bland and polite and heading to my room after this. Just gotta use the toilet and check my phone and get back to the pool…

If only this stupid erection in my swim trunks wouldn't be threatening to give away just how hot and attractive I think she is!

Ding. Floor two. Ding. Floor three. Ding. Floor four.

But just when I'm preparing to step out of the elevator away from this tingle-inducing beauty, I hear another ding. Floor five. What the heck? I glance up, puzzled. "Uhh… what?" She's frowning too. "Wait, didn't- weren't you supposed to be on floor four? What the heck?" She mashes the 4 button again, but the only response is another ding as it reaches five, then slips past even higher. "Maybe it's going to my floor first?" She gives it another fierce stab – and then we feel a sudden jolt as the elevator comes to a full stop.

"Wha- what the hell?!" "Umm, maybe try the five button?" "I mean, sure? Nope… still nothing. Wait, are we stuck? Is this thing freaking stuck?"

Turns out we are. Just as luck would have it, too: me and this sexy young woman probably just my age. Stuck, by all appearances, in this small metal box until someone manages to get us out. A guy and a girl, alone by themselves. Just the two of us… oh, and of course my bladder.

I don't know if you're a guy, or if you've ever dealt with the unaccountably frequent need to pee when you're swimming. But let me tell you, it's fucking real. I can drain my bladder and hop in the pool straightaway– just like today – and without fail I'll need to pee like a racehorse within an hour. Just like today.

But I can't think about that. I have to cross my legs and shut it out. I can't think about the sudden swell of panic, about my growing realization that I'm trapped in an elevator until further notice with a painfully full bladder and no way to deal with it. I have to focus on something else… anything else…

"So, uh… welp, nothing to do but wait for them to fix this stupid thing and let us out," she announces, once the emergency intercom has fallen silent. "Anyway, nice to meet you! I'm Joanna, by the way. What about you?" "Trey," I manage, shuffling awkwardly in place and again trying not to look like I'm staring at her lovely curves. "I, uh, I've been here for a few days. Never had trouble with the elevator before-"

"Well, looks like the universe wants us to spend some time together, huh?" she laughs, and I join in ruefully. "Yeah, I guess! What are the odds of it breaking with us inside, anyway?" And then, with a sudden burst of frankness that I hope will be taken as in stride, I say it. "Man, I sure hope they fix it soon! I mean- not that I don't want to spend time with you, of course. It's just that I, um, I really gotta use the bathroom. Was just headed to my room…"

"Oh, of course! Damn, that's gonna suck," Joanna sympathized, with an upward glance of exasperation at our metal prison. "I sure hope they fix it soon, then! I don't imagine they'd be super happy if we, like, had to pee in this thing, huh? Gosh, can you even imagine?"

And so we while away the next minutes – the talkative Joanna apparently relishing the chance to chat, and me vacillating between happy tingles at being so close to this pretty, vivacious girl, and shivers of desperation as the pressure in my bladder steadily grows greater and more urgent. She's staying here with her friend for spring break, it turns out. They're in college – she's studying psychology and business – she's really into lacrosse…

Which is all super interesting, of course. But dammit, all I can focus on is the little stray trickles of water down her legs… the quiet drip from her wet bikini onto the elevator floor… the spasms in my agitated bladder and the ache in my cramping muscles…

"Dude, you're looking pretty uncomfortable there," she finally observes. "I'm really sorry! I don't suppose there's much we can do, though…" I'm openly fidgeting, crossing my legs, trying to pretend that everything will be fine when I have a nasty feeling that it won't. "Um, I mean, I'll hold on as best I can…"

And then I see her hands pause as they tug at the towel over her shoulder… the light bulb flickering on in her eyes…

"Hey, listen. I know this is- I dunno. Never mind. But this towel is, like, super soft and stuff. I bet it would soak up a lot…" She's eyeing my waist speculatively, and I flush as I begin to grasp her meaning. "You mean… Like, we could use it to- clean up the mess…?"

"Or prevent a mess from happening in the first place!" she corrects, and now she's taking it, folding it, doubling it into a strangely lopsided rectangle. "Look, promise I won't judge. I'm just sayin' it's an idea. I've taken care of kids, and I know a thing or two about, you know…" And then she says it. "Diapers. Go on, dude. If you really gotta go, just stuff this thing in your pants and let it do its thing, okay? No judging, promise."

What?! No, no way! How freaking gross does she think I am?! And yet, even as the protests and assertions of just how I really don't need such a strange solution spring to my lips, I feel a sudden dribble and spurt despite my desperately clenching muscles. "No-!" is all I can manage – and then I'm bending forward, taking the towel from her slim fingers, thrusting it awkwardly down between my legs as if it's my finger and I'm a little Dutch boy and there's a dike about to send the mother of all leaks out to flood the land.

"Under your suit, dude!" Joanna's calling, and then she's turning me gingerly away from her. "Here, face the wall so I can't see you- Yeah, like that. Then pull down your swimsuit and put this down there – then I'll pull it up around behind and you pull it up again…"

How is this even happening? I'm not sure – but in the blur of cramping desperation I can only follow her orders gamely. There's soft toweling against my crotch, and the brush of cool fingers against my skin, and then even before I can get my suit up I feel another spasm and spurt of urine escape me and dribble into the towel. I'm – peeing myself. In front of a beautiful girl in a freaking bomb-ass bikini. A girl who literally just put a makeshift towel-diaper on me.

I'm beet-red as I turn to face her, though I still manage to stammer out thanks. "No worries, dude," she soothes, and she's gesturing now at my swimsuit that is now bulging with its cottony contents. "That should keep things a bit more contained… at least, for a bit. Won't hold a huge flood, though…" God, we'll just have to hope it does! Because my bladder is already starting to dribble again, releasing the aching pressure within…

The elevator jolts, and suddenly we're moving upward again, and at long, long last we hear the welcome sound of a ding. Floor six. "Oh my god, it's working! Here, this is my floor! Come on!"

So it is that as the doors finally open and we stumble out past the apologetic hotel staff and maintenance crew, Joanna is leading me forward. "Come on, dude. You can use our bathroom, promise. Hang on, just a bit longer…"

And that's how it happened that, on that unforgettable afternoon in Cancun, I found myself waddling into a strange girl's hotel room in nothing but my swimsuit and a makeshift towel diaper… already well-soaked and well-warmed with my own urine.

Oh, sure, I'd love to forget about it. I'd love to pretend that it never happened. But it's pretty hard to do when Joanna loves to tease me about it so. I guess embarrassing stories like that are just part of being married, huh?