She moved towards me again and replied: "Yes I do, but occasionally I let a bit go, to get the preasure off."My face turned red and felt my cock harden. "Is there a wet spot where you're sitting?"She gave me that sly smile again and stood up, pretending to get something from her suitcase. I looked over and saw a small stain on her seat.When she sat back down, she was still smiling. I moved toward her and softly said: "You're not afraid anyone will notice?" "I told you, I've done this before. The only difference is that this is the first time someone talks about it."My heart was racing with excitement. "I must say, I find the thought very exciting." "I noticed." She responded as she looked at the bulk in my pants."Come sit next to me and lay your hand open on the wet spot." She said after a small pause. I was confused with her request, but complied anyway.I moved over to sit next to her and while she stood up, I positioned my open hand on her pee stained seat. My heart was racing and. He probably wouldn’t be hard to find. She looked at her computer, hesitating. She was only curious about him, after all, so she sat and started to search. She googled his name, but was surprised to see how many Paul Saltzingers there were. And no way to know one from the other. “How would my kids search?” Facebook. Of course! She opened her rarely-used Facebook account. She hardly knew how to use it, but poked around until she found how to search. Again, quite a few Paul Saltzingers, but this time she could click on them and see personal details and possibly photos. The eighth Paul she clicked on. There he was! Her heart actually felt a little flutter at seeing Paul’s face again. Older. Very distinguished. Single? Hadn’t he married? She was sure he had. His page said he lived just a half hour away. She closed Facebook and stood, looking out the window again. Grey. But for a moment her life had not felt grey, had it? Shaking her head, Joan laughed at herself. Here she was, forty years.
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