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"preview_size_x": null, "preview_size_y": null, "initial_file_md5": "5fb7d0911a2bc276c6a2e882385f6065", "full_file_md5": "5fb7d0911a2bc276c6a2e882385f6065", "large_file_md5": "", "small_file_md5": "", "thumbnail_md5": "db06056cca263b1357d9732aad31b4fe", "deleted": "f", "create_datetime": "2024-02-13 01:52:04.19731+00", "create_datetime_usertime": "13 Feb 2024 02:52 CET", "thumbnail_url_huge": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/4901/4901571_Fetterfetti_the_night_journey.jpg", "thumbnail_url_large": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/4901/4901571_Fetterfetti_the_night_journey.jpg", "thumbnail_url_medium": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/4901/4901571_Fetterfetti_the_night_journey.jpg", "thumb_huge_x": "242", "thumb_huge_y": "300", "thumb_large_x": "161", "thumb_large_y": "200", "thumb_medium_x": "97", "thumb_medium_y": "120" } ], "pools": [], "description": "Well here is the First thing that I will puplish hear that I [u]made myself[/u].\nI only do that because I got the kindest words of encouragement frome the Person I dedicate the story two. There will be a german version with well nicer wording but more spelling error. Because most Part of this is frome deepl\n\nPleas let me know what you think. It would help me", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Well here is the First thing that I will puplish hear that I made myself.
I only do that because I got the kindest words of encouragement frome the Person I dedicate the story two. There will be a german version with well nicer wording but more spelling error. Because  most Part of this is frome deepl

Pleas let me know what you think. It would help me", "writing": "[i]Even if the quality of this Work is debatable I dedicate the story to my first reader. Witch got me the Idear and will decide if this is worth reading. I did this in the large part for me. But without you I would not have the will power to finish it.[/i]\n\n\nartificial light of the compartment meets the abysmal blackness of the outside world, separated only by a thin pane of solid nothingness. The darkness of the night turns this very pane into an easel on which a slightly distorted and ghostly, semi-transparent image of my surroundings appears. It is a cozy train compartment of the night train, wood-panelled with comfortable seats with expansive cushions covered in wine-red fabric. Bright fluorescent tubes on the ceiling make everything seem a little too illuminated and refract into sparkling balls of glistening light in the window. Below the balls of light, the next thing that jumps into my field of vision are my own eyes. Slightly sunken and dark-rimmed, they sit in a slightly tired-looking head of a shepherd dog. I concentrate to see if my eyes are going into a slight squint. I hate squinting, it makes me look a bit uglier. I usually squint when I get tired or drunk and as I can mentally tick both boxes, it will be a matter of time before my eyes give this information about me away, maybe they already do. My head is enthroned massively in the scenery of the compartment and beneath it my chest fur spills out of my collar in golden-black tufts. The rest of my figure is wrapped in a long coat, somewhere between the worlds of green and black. The cloak envelops me completely and does not reveal from the outside whether the substance of my mighty form is a colossal pile of muscle mass or comes from other areas. A little below the level of my heart, another face is reflected. Arianne, or as she would prefer, Ari, a small Tyrolean Bracke. Her doe-brown eyes are fixed on the screen of her smartphone, her graceful fingers darting quickly across the touchscreen, eagerly typing heartfelt replies to New Year's wishes or sending them herself. Her face is petite and looks even smaller and almost lost next to her huge floppy ears. My eye flits from her reflection to her real image right next to me, as a mirror like this can never do her fur justice. Under the cold lens of a theorist, it may look like a monotonous brown, but every movement reveals the variety of brown tones the light elicits from her. A sparkle a glitter it shines in brilliant nuances of the same shade. Yes, the same part of her coat cannot be described in the same words when the light changes and the play of colors changes everything.\nIf you compare Ari's clothes with mine, you might think we are in other times or other worlds and that we appear here side by side is just an illusion. My loose-fitting trousers in combination with the monumental coat, from which waves of thick, soft, warm fur spill out, give the impression of a millennial winter. \nAri's light leggings and matching cardigan are more likely to evoke associations with the dying of summer or the first breaths of autumn. In the end, the true temperature is somewhere in between. A New Year's night that turns out to be much too warm for the season.\nThe only figure next to us who fills this compartment with life is a Schnauzer, presumably in the autumn of his life. His eyes disappear under bushy black and gray eyebrows, which fade into white in his epochal moustache. But perhaps it is also the multitude of gray or white hairs that makes me overestimate his age. The whole time we are sitting here, he keeps his eyes glued to a newspaper. When we entered the compartment, his gaze flitted briefly up and down us only to disappear again into the printer's ink in front of his stomach. \nA brief flash of color in the distance briefly catches my attention. The last rockets are sent into the sky as a late fuse. It is a quarter of an hour past two. Ari, I and many others had celebrated the New Year with a lavish feast of delicacies of all kinds, both solid and liquid, only to wallow in the excess of loud noises and breathtaking colors of New Year's night. It was an exhilarating celebration in so many ways. But as endless as the food and refreshments were and as numerous as the guests were, the sleeping space for those same guests had its fixed limits. In need of a place to stay for the night, however, an unexpected opportunity presented itself: a night train, which passes the scene of our debauchery shortly after the second hour and arrives in my city after just over half an hour. We will then have a few minutes to get to the streetcar in a hurry. Of course, walking through the city for another half hour in the cold and dark in case we don't make the streetcar won't be ideal, but there are two of us and we've already received compensation in the form of the party. Now it's time to make ourselves comfortable on the train and get here, before I start worrying about the rest of the journey.\nHowever, after just a few minutes, an ancient force, a desire that everyone should have felt at some point after a heavy drink, came to me. It was the urge to urinate. Still timid and weak, it makes itself known. More of an \"I could pee\" than an \"I have to pee\", but how many times have I emptied cups to know that a could can become a must within a heartbeat. But the heaviness of my body and the heaviness of my intoxication push me into the chair and teach me Newton's first axiom \"A body at rest remains at rest if no external forces act on it.\" And the soft red cushions literally invite me to linger. In fact, to rest and catch my breath, to take a nap before I have to make my way through the night in an emergency. A moment of clarity strikes my lulled mind. I tend to sleep wherever I am! How often have I lost vast amounts of strength by sleeping for a few minutes in the arms of drunkenness rather than recharging my batteries? How many times have others brought my body back from stand-by mode to functional mode just so that I can only carry out simple tasks, like a robot? A short nap would make it a much worse evening for me and Ari. Especially as I still have to find my way back to my home. The flash of clarity makes something else clear to me, the squeezing in my bladder has increased many times over in seconds. I pull myself together, as I have finally outgrown the childish habits of a puppy. What a picture it would be if I could perhaps still hold it in here, but then on the way to my residence I would pee in the ditch like a redneck on the last few meters. I heave my massive body up into the air and reply to Ari, who briefly raises her eyes from her smartphone to me, \"I'm going out for a moment.\" I walk into the bright light of the corridor of the Train, which races through the night at ghostly speed. After a few steps, I find a white door set into a white wall. Next to the door I see the longed-for letters \"WC\" and yet I can't help but snort in a mixture of anger and annoyance. \nThere is a warning notice in bright yellow paint and thick black letters. Even though I know what it means, I can't help but read \"Toilet unusable\" and the small sentence underneath \"Please use the other toilets\". This message continues to stretch across the page in other tongues and a crossed-out pictogram even points out its meaning to those who don't understand the written word. I trudge off to reach another carriage with a toilet. \nI turn towards the glass door, behind which a long corridor stretches. Rows of two seats to the left and two to the right line the path, which is illuminated by floor lamps. Dancing as if on eggshells, squirming and twisting as I make my way between the rows. Always trying not to disturb the other travelers with my presence. Due to the time, some of the strangers slumber in their seats and heads, arms or legs protrude into the corridor between the seats. It is a journey that is only made more difficult by the heaviness of the night, which is combined with the heaviness of the drunkenness inside me. \nAnd just as the train tirelessly cuts through a landscape in the dark of night, I make my way through its illuminated interior. A walking figure of considerable proportions, prances snakelike but without any grace between the resting places of partly dreaming souls. At the end of my odyssey is a terrible realization, another toilet is a sweet lie, on a yellow sheet of paper. There is no possibility of entering another wagon. A bathroom-free prison on wheels without any prospect of relief. Well, my urge to urinate isn't too bad. Of course there's the annoying squeeze, but I'm not on the verge of a dam burst in my pants or anything. I'll be able to hold it, I'll have to hold it. I'm still calm myself, I don't feel any restlessness inside me either, my mind is clear and calm, even as clear as a mountain lake. A brief cramp in my hand and a tensing of all my muscles comes over me. No matter how calm I feel, I should avoid water-related metaphors. There's also a part of me that knows I'm clearly too drunk for clarity. I can't even place whether I've already reached some kind of zenith or whether my mind continues to be increasingly clouded by alcohol. Whether I'm getting drunker or soberer by the second.\nWhen I return to my original spot after what feels like an eternity, I see Ari glaring at me with bright brown eyes, her cell phone seems to have disappeared into some pocket in the meantime. Presumably in the inconspicuous bag standing at her feet. With a smile on her lips, she jokes: \"You've been away for quite a while, have you met someone you know?\" I almost expected a wink from her, but it didn't happen. Without waiting for an answer, she walks towards me and lets me know that she has to go and that I should be the guardian of our things. I tell her that the toilet in the car isn't working and that there's nowhere else to go. For a brief moment, I see her broad smile disappear from her face and turn into a worried expression. She frowns slightly before her face returns to its previous expression, although the smile is less broad. \nTo my delight, Ari's mind is now free without the eternal pull of the cell phone and we finally get to talk. And on the wings of words, on anecdotes, experiences and references from pop culture, I manage to become free from the urge to be free from the champagne, which, drop by drop, makes the volume inside me swell more and more. I realize once again how well I can talk to Ari. And through the pompous mountain of stories I have experienced from primary school until now, I realize how long she has been my companion. And although we have already experienced so much, a new piece should soon be added to the mosaic of our friendship. I'm just reporting on a mutual friend. During a drink, he told me to get the wiskey and when I managed to do so after a lot of effort, he fell asleep and poured his beer all over himself. Yes, for the sober observer this may not be a funny anecdote or even a story worth mentioning. But she laughs. Perhaps because she knows him or because she's had a good drink, this idea makes her shake with mirth and her slightly stupid laughter fills the room and it infects me and soon we're both lying in our seats laughing. The Schnauzer across from us hides even deeper behind his newspaper. As our laughter dies down, a smell hits my nose. It's very pungent and intense, a smell like eggs and sulphur. My whole face contorts for a moment and a brief feeling of disgust runs through me, but I don't let it show for too long, at least I hope not. The disgusting smell mercifully disappears from my olfactory canal after a short time.\nThe first question that arises is where from? But after just a few minutes, a suspicion arises. Such an intense smell seems to me to be a good indication of flatulence, and such intensity suggests that there must be more going on than just hot smelly air. It wasn't me! As begs the question should this makings with a stench worse than death, have come out of Ari? She had laughed a lot, so on the one hand such a mishap is obvious. Didn't she just seem very nervous and wasn't her gaze evasive, or did she already seem that way before and I just didn't realize it. She was Ari on the other hand. A dog who doesn't let things get her down, loves rafting and who I can't hold a candle to when it comes to craftsmanship. But when it comes to toilet matters, she's quiet. She finds jokes from me and the others embarrassing and if we do get around to talking about something like that, she pretends she's not in the room. That Ari would fart was and is surreal in itself. But the fact that the old schnauzer let out air frome his bowels out of nowhere seems somehow more unrealistic. But since I can't be what should not be, I distract my thoughts again. The flood of thoughts that poured over me after the stench passes so quickly that hardly any time has elapsed and after a short breather we resume the conversation. It seems to me that Ari is now stiffer and more controlled, although in all fairness it could be my last thoughts that are clouding and influencing my perception. The conversation doesn't seem to be as flowing and straight, which makes me realize something. The pressure behind my scrotum. I can't understand how I didn't notice it, but a slight squeeze has now turned into real pressure. And this pressure can no longer be ignored. Not that letting water into my pants is in any danger. I am in control of my body and can also control where I relieve myself, but from this moment onwards it is no longer possible for me to look into my innermost being without a pressure pointing out my needs. Listening closely to my body and sensing it also has consequences.\nA sharp tug runs through my body, a reminder that the call of nature cannot be silenced. My fingers tense up and a force that straightens me runs through my entire body. I linger briefly in this tension and try to regain 100% control over myself. At this moment, uncertainty shadows me. Would I be able to hold it? Would I find a way out? And how far would I even have to hold on? Judging by Ari's look, a mixture of astonishment, confusion and worry, the spasm that had gone through my body and my falling silent didn't seem inconspicuous. Her wide eyes looked at me deeply, questioning espresso brown beads. \"Rex are you alright?\" I exhale and find a serious excuse, which is better than saying the big German shepherd almost marked the territory in his pants. \"Yeah, it just occurred to me. Before we miss getting out. Do you know how many minutes we have left?\" After a quick rummage in my pockets, I finally get hold of my own cell phone, which must have breathed its last breath of battery-powered life some time ago. Carrying around a cell phone without a battery in the middle of the night seems like the kind of thing that suits me well, and Ari doesn't seem surprised by my find when I tell her. \"Dead as a Norwegian blue.\" Ari's confused and questioning look shows me that she has some catching up to do when it comes to Monthy Python. I add, \"Can you please look at your phone?\" Without responding to my question with words, she leans forward towards her bag. Whether it is the pressure on her stomach or the stretching of her body, at this moment I am witnessing something new. It is only subtle, but clear to my ears. As if someone is letting air out through a small hole, or forming an S or F with their lips and gently blowing air through it. This sound remains in the room for a few seconds. Nothing seems to move and everything seems to stand still. Ari is still in motion, leaning forward, paws on or in her pocket, her tail sticking straight up in the air. This moment is only broken when a familiar strong smell of egg hits my nose. Out of reflex, I smash my paw into my face to protect my nose and banish the smell from my perception.\nAri's whole posture has changed, now she expresses embarrassment. She now has a firm grip on her cell phone in front of her. Her hands are clasped tightly around it. Her ears are pinned back in shame. Her eyes are fixed on the phone and even though I can't see it clearly in this pose, her tail seems to be hanging sadly down her behind. \"Sorry, she says quietly half to herself and half to me.\" I don't say anything at the moment, more out of surprise that this moment has just happened. \"It's the champagne.\" She continues, \"I sometimes get really bad gas from all the carbonation.\" Her voice shakes young, as if she's on the verge of tears. I force myself to take my hand off my muzzle and try as sincerely as possible to say \"It's all right.\" . When the silence that follows seems too oppressive, I continue, \"I don't know how many times I or the others have farted before you.\". The smell seems to slowly fade. The schnauzer directly opposite us grabs his stuff and leaves the room with as much dignity and elegance as possible. He looks a lot older and loftier, there is no emotion in his face. An important detail has just fallen like scales from my eyes. Both are hunting dogs. Dogs for tracking, dogs for sniffing, dogs with very fine noses. Whatever I smell, it must be many times more intense and therefore many times worse for them. I don't want to know how disgusting Ari thinks what came out of her is, Ari's voice breaks through this thought: \"It's normal for you to fart, you're boys, at least the ones who fart are. You expect a girl to do it differently.\" Ari's voice is still pregnant with shame, but it sounds firmer now and farther away from tears. I counter, \"Oh come on, like it's the end of the world if you ever let one go.\" \"At least last time...\" Ari replies, \"it felt like that.\"\nSomething I had almost forgotten emerges from the dim sea of my memory.\nIt was a while ago Ari, I and a few other friends were at some kind of celebration, probably a cradle party. As we were talking and out of nowhere there stood Ari with a mischievous smile on her lips. Judging by her posture, the alcohol had already clouded her mind a little and she announced in an excited voice: \"Guys, I'm going to try farting really loud.\" She stood there leaning forward with her bottom stretched far back and her front paws firmly propped up on her knees. For me at least, time stood still for a fraction of a moment. A narrowing of one eye, a wrinkling of her forehead, a stretching of her arms and legs and the slight baring of her teeth were the only signs that she was briefly pressing. However great the pressure in Ari was before, this additional pressure was enough for everything to be released in a loud BRAP. We looked uncertainly at Ari, who was now shaking with laughter. Under her laughter, she said \"I didn't think it would be THAT loud.\" It became clear that the shock of what had just happened had definitely elicited that laugh from the drunk puppy and Ari hadn't found her penchant for fecal humor. We all didn't know how to deal with the situation. Maybe that's why I'd blocked the situation out until now. Ari, the one who I had previously thought would have everything stitched up before a mishap happened to her, had released a massive ball of gas. The following day it turned out that Ari didn't remember anything and was embarrassed about the whole thing. Of course she was teased by us, but for some reason this story soon faded into the hustle and bustle of our group of friends. I myself can't remember the last time I thought about it or was reminded of it. But now I realize that the memory of that evening of shame must have continued to gnaw at Ari.\nA small yelp from my bladder makes me jump forward to relieve the pressure in an instinctive reaction. After glancing down at Ari's ashamed expression, I refrain from making any comment about the scene that has just returned to my memory. Instead, I try to put on a warm smile and not let the pressure inside me show: \"I won't say a word to anyone.\" Even if the change is only subtle, Ari's features soften and her eyes become friendlier. The shame, and perhaps also the fear that the others might find out, is diminishing, at least to some extent. \nThe rest of the journey is quite quiet. Somehow the sound and smell of Ari's intestinal winds seem to come between us and block the conversation. But maybe it's just the need to be able to face the other need with full concentration that doesn’t allow for distractions in form of silly conversations. This forces me to find another distraction in the drawers of my brain, full of memories. And from the search for the driest possible thoughts from the past, I am drawn to another sound. A gurgling, gurgling and bubbling from Ari's stomach. The paw that Ari places on her stomach shortly afterwards doesn't seem to calm the storm inside her. The gas seemed to rebel and Ari's decision to close all the borders seemed to be met with great discomfort. The face of my friend next to me seems to be experiencing a slight flare-up of shame, not as strong as her anal outburst earlier, but still a slight trepidation. But maybe it's not an expression of shame, but of the battles raging inside her. As if this were the cue, my body reminds me of my own battle within. Unobtrusively, I try to press my hand against my thigh to give my body a different physical sensation, a different pressure to focus on. And it works, the urge to urinate recedes slightly after I ground myself and took a stance against my need. \nThere is another rumble in Ari's bowels, followed by an almost childish whimper on her part. A whimper like that of a puppy who has not yet learned to deal with disappointment, resentment or even the urge to mark its territory. The state in which we would arrive at my place seems to be a mystery and unpredictable at this very moment. But at least we seem to have avoided an unpleasant incident on the train, as an elderly gentleman's voice announces over the loudspeakers that we will soon be getting off at the next stop. A smile and hope flits across the worried face of the woman next to me, along with a brief gleam in her eyes, until the following message causes a roll of the eyes: \"Dear passengers, we from the Fiktional-Bahn Gmbh team apologize for the broken toilet in our last carriage. At our next stop, we will remove the last carriage and attach a new one. We ask all passengers to disembark. \nWe apologize for any inconvenience caused.\"\nAfter a brief conversation, now that it is obvious to both of us that we are more than in need of a restroom, we have to settle for a sobering decision. We could try to use the time of coupling and uncoupling to board another wagon, but we neither know how much time we have nor how much we need for our .... business. And rolling into the middle of nowhere in the dark of night without a valid ticket sounds like a horrible idea.\nWe will have no choice but to make our way to my place. At this time of night, the hospitality of the public toilets on the station forecourt has been exhausted and we would only find cold, locked doors. At such an ungodly hour, I can't think of any other place that would help strangers with their emergency needs. However, the streetcar should take us directly to my front door, provided there are no further delays. Then it would only be a few meters and we should be at my place in less than 15 minutes. Now it's time to get into position for the walk home. And we should actually get up. \nHowever, as sitting in this position makes holding in much more bearable than standing still, I have the feeling that I have made a wordless pact with Ari to stay here in the comfortable seats for a while. Until we make our way to the corridor of the train and after a few steps we are wedged in from both the front and the back. Ari stands in front of me and, as I fill the corridor with my broad shoulders, I shield her from any possible presses from the others behind me.\nAs the whole carriage has now had to be evacuated, there is a lot of crowding in the exit area and the train corridors. This gives me the advantage of being able to use my paw to further support my body's efforts to keep my little waterworks in check. For Ari, however, it seems to make the situation worse. If she didn't control the gas that was spreading further and further inside her, she would disgust a lot of people with her fumes. Judging by the volume of her last exhaust fumes, no one would probably know, but the fact that she knew would probably be enough for Ari. The shame of letting one rip in here would be many times greater. Even if I don't know how much she would give in to the freedom of releasing her inner pressure if only I were to witness it again, it seems impossible to me here in front of so many strangers. The social pressure that weighs on her will be stronger than the pressure that rests within her. \nI see Ari's hand slip close to her bottom and support her efforts to squeeze. The late hour means it's crowded, but pretty quiet for the mass of beings in the corridors. I can hear the bubbling and rebellion of the force that Ari is trying to contain inside her. I too am struggling with the effects of the champagne, but the waters within me make no sounds that an outsider could hear. To divert my thoughts at least slightly from my increasingly urgent situation, I glance at the dial on my watch. We are running slightly behind schedule and with the bodies in front of us blocking our view, it is unlikely that we will be able to make rapid progress for the time being. And normally it wouldn't be necessary, but the streetcar we have to catch won't wait forever, even if the next one doesn't arrive for an eternity. We'll have to patch things up and even that won't guarantee us anything. I draw Ari's attention to our tricky situation. The response is a whimper somewhere between acknowledgment of the problem, annoyance and despair. Our train arrives and the buildings and lights we see on the windows slow down. The station presents itself more and more and there is a pause until the doors allow us to open. Then the fur-bearing mass slowly pushes out of the train. Using my back as a shield, I block all of Ari's jostling and finally we are both standing outside.\nMy hand has now disappeared into my trouser pocket, but from there it pinches less obviously and helps me with the mission: \"Dry trousers\". My body is increasingly gripped by an inner restlessness, but the time pressure makes it easy to explain every hectic movement I make. With a few words, I guide Ari to the exit. An ancient, sweeping stone staircase that leads to an underpass, which was tiled on all sides. A staircase would then lead back up where the streetcars could carry people further through the city. Just as the pressure inside me wants to push outwards, I snake my way through the people. The much lankier Ari had much less trouble making her way through the jumble of fur, arms and legs. Running and squeezing, I soon lose sight of my friend. Only for me to find her again after a few seconds, almost in a stupor. Ari's steps are tentative and her body seems unusually stiff. I try to spur her on with words of urgency. Only to hear an \"I can't\" in an uncertain, quiet voice. With growing impatience, I look at the Brake, who is now standing next to me. Then her tail rises and a thunderous flatulence, made even louder by the sound of the tiled walls, is heard shortly before a stench that is already slightly familiar to me pollutes the air. She had denied the wind inside her for so long that it now burst out of her without asking, not caring about the efforts of her ring muscle. Ari's progress comes to a complete standstill with the sound of the anal signal. A little louder but with much more hopelessness, she repeats: \"I can't. If I take one step now, everything will collapse. Like a stupid little puppy who can't control his needs.\" With every word, her voice becomes even sadder, making me fear that she is about to burst into tears. Seeing her like this in front of me, struggling to control her body and her emotions. I feel a warm caring that I have never felt for Ari before. But I have also never seen Ari so vulnerable. Yes, my focus shifts. The smell of overripe dog excrement, which by now retains its intensity for a threateningly long time, is pushed aside by my mind.\nI put one of my big paws on her shoulder and say, as firmly as my own condition lets me say it. \"You'll make it. I believe in you, it'll be over in a moment.\" And yes, after a short time she manages to take steps again. The passageway now has hardly any of the jostling night creatures in sight. And so we climb the steps at a quick pace again, but shortly after my eyes rise above the stone top step, my movement slows down. It is not because of an inner urge that the speed of my body dries up, no, the fluid clearly pressing into my crotch seems to have been under constant pressure for several breaths. I see a vehicle full of tired creatures pulling past my eyes. We have missed the train. We both gather ourselves briefly. Without an observer, we give more free rein to our dance-like movements, we can hardly stand still. I try to restrain my urge more and more through my trouser pocket and Ari has one of her paws on her stomach. We are both hunched over, a picture that you would only expect from much younger or drunker people. Now we have no choice but to walk home. I can't think of any sensible detour that would make things easier. I'm also still unsure how ready my fellow sufferer is to do her business in public. And I lack the courage to dispel this uncertainty. \nWe have about half an hour's walk ahead of us along a road that is still regularly used at this time of day, but Ari seems to remain still in the darkness again, illuminated only by streetlights. I'm just about to call for a departure when a longer and louder gurgle rises from Ari's bowels, shortly after she lets out another whimper, like a little puppy. Apprehension overshadows every other emotion on her face, she bites her lip lightly and her thoughts don't seem to be in the warm winter night, but somewhere deep in the branches of her mind. So I don't urge her to hurry, even though the urine swirling inside me and testing the capacity of my bladder is driving me to hurry. Instead, I simply ask with as much warmth as I can put into my voice, \"Ari, are you okay?\" It takes a little while for her stare to clear and her eyes to wander in my direction, that concern has melted a little, though it's still clear to see, and finally she answers. The joking lightness seems mask-like and more than artificial: \"I have more than just gas to release and I don't know if I can make it. But what I do know...\" Her expression changes from ashamed to serious\"... is that I'll kill you if anyone finds out about tonight.\" At this point, I refrain from commenting on the fact that I had already suspected that there was more to her than just flatulence. A smile also crosses my lips, Ari hasn't lost her bite even now, even if parts of it are mask like. However I assess the situation, it is not hopeless. As I am driven to maintain the tone of the conversation, I say: \"What happens at the station in the middle of the night stays at the station, with the exception of children and sexually transmitted diseases.\" After a pause, it occurs to me that my answer now lacks seriousness. I hug Ari to make my loyal intentions clear to her. A soft hiss, a push away from me and an ashamed covering of my ears make me realize that this drunken decision was not my best. I mumble a curt \"Excuse me.\" A moment later, my hand goes into my trouser pocket to squeeze my cock a little and press it between my legs to help me hold it in. \nWe stand there, every second harbors the danger of an unintentional release. Be it that the pressure inside me increases drop by drop or that the vapors in Ari become more and more, increasing the risk of that presumably protective wall of gas between her waste and her exit escaping her. In this same leadership role as host and local expert, I indicate the direction of departure. Yes, is it only my role in this city? I had never felt this way before, but Ari seems much smaller than usual. It's probably a big part of the shame that's shaping her being right now, because she's a ticking time bomb of gas and other fillings in her sewage drain. Yes, her gait seems more uncertain to me, her ears laid back, a hand on her belly and she bites her lip like a little shy girl, be it out of desperation, against pain or for other reasons. Ari looks more childlike and insecure than I have ever seen her. Of course, there's also our God-given height difference. Maybe it's also the champagne from New Year's Eve that's guiding my thoughts. But emotionally, I feel like the responsible one right now, like the protector. The one who should protect Ari from the disgrace that would be a public mishap. We soon turn onto a narrow path. A very narrow meadow path between a noise barrier and a road. Cars shoot past us like lightning. They seem to lose speed briefly when they see us. Most of the time we are alone with ourselves. Ari seems to be completely immersed in another world next to me and no longer perceives everything herself. Presumably holding it in is tying up more and more of her mental resources. But even I can't think of a topic that will carry us through the night to my door. Where the bathroom door is right next to the door and I finally... I wince as a splash of urine is about to shoot out of my privates. I urgently need another thought, another focus, another topic, I need to find distraction somewhere. There was another whimper and a menacing gurgle next to me. I look into Ari's worried brown eyes and put a hand on the shoulder of the apparently stiffening puppy next to me. She doesn't give me a glance and after a short while she starts moving again. On a route that I don't know too well, but well enough to let my mind wander, I do just that. I reflect on what I've experienced in the last few minutes. Maybe I should have tried to run ahead in the underpass, but how long it would have taken Ari was written in the stars at the time. The alcohol makes it really hard for me to think. When talking about alcohol, it's worth mentioning how much pressure I'm under now. Like when I was a little puppy, my member is stiff, not from sexual arousal, but simply from the indescribable pressure to finally empty my bladder. I could feel it through my pants pocket and also how much it was pressing against my pants. A clear sign that going to the toilet in my usual domestic environment is more of a noble wish than a realistic goal. Normally, I would have gone for a wee immediately. With this pressure, I would turn my butt towards the road and let it run and enjoy my freedom. A new bladder pang from makes me pause. I falter. Maybe a drop has soaked my underpants, or maybe I was able to put a stop to it all. I can't afford to indulge in mental scenarios of liberation, salvation, and liquids right now. But I also don't dare to give in to the call of nature. A high, long sound in front of me supports me in my intention. Ari is slightly in front of me and a whiff of already digested food rises to my nose and brings tears to my eyes. The stench has intensified, her distress and desperation seems to increase with every passing moment and is reflected in the sickening stench that hits me. Ari's tail is straight up as a candle and with one hand she presses against whatever wants to come out of her. Her body, like her tail, seems to have been deprived of flexibility. A growl rises from her throat into the night sky, another sign of our animal ancestors, which only bursts out of us in moments of need and loss of control. She won't be able to hold out much longer. But precisely because of Ari's precarious situation, I can't relieve myself at the side of the road and, at best, let her witness it. I have to stand firm for Ari. I have to get her safely to a place where she can get relief, away from any watching eye. I have to make it for her. As a host, I do have some responsibility for my guests. She pauses like a mannequin and fights the battle for control of her body. A battle that she wins after a few minutes. However, a battle won does not make a war won. \nWhen Ari's body starts moving again, I ask her about her condition, but she shuffles along the poorly lit path like a zombie. I catch up, stand next to her and look her in the face. Her features are set in determination. Her gaze is expressionless. Yes, it seems as if the fight and her spirit have completely gone inside her. I suspect that even if I had stopped to pee. She would have marched on dully. Keeping her gate closed took everything else from her. \nA rebellion of my body hits me. In a flash, my hand moves from my pocket to my crotch. And my own movement come to a halt. My body's desire to let go, to finally get rid of all the rippling alcohol in my system, is too strong. I squeeze harder. My leg trembles, my breathing becomes panting and tears form in the corners of my eyes. I won't be able to explain it other than a stubbornness. A mixture of my image of myself, my expectations of myself, the image I want to portray to Ari and alcohol. I can't let go. I have to be a role model. I have to keep my pants dry not just for me, but for her too. The thoughts may seem stupid to me in the future, but they are running through my head right now. I am also fighting a lost war in which I might still win battles. I wait until the acute pressure eases and my body obeys me again. My stride also seems to me to be more plodding than before. My body is sending me all the signals that I'm on dark yellow alert and yet I keep pushing. As I feared, Ari has trotted ahead without rhyme or reason, even though she doesn't know the way. With many small steps and deliberately panting breaths so as not to feel my body and its distress, I catch up. \nThe moon is high up, the wind is blowing around us, increasingly cold, and the only thing pulling us forward is our stubbornness, our shame and my need to play my part well. It no longer seems possible to direct my thoughts. The lake that rests inside me presses hard against my inner dam. I start to sweat. I realize how the struggle is taking hold of me more and more. I have to force myself to take in my surroundings. I struggle to control my own body with my urge for relief. Then my my dam is finaly breached, even if just slightly. A gush pours into my underpants and only with great effort does it dry up. It may have taken no more than a second, maybe two, for the stream to spread uncontrollably, but I can feel the result. My underpants stick warmly to my loins. The warmth persists and lets me know unmistakably that this is more than just a few splashes. Yes, it seems to me that my hand can feel something slightly clammy at the level of my scrotum and shaft. Just as quickly and strongly as my bladder spasms, I make a decision. \nI'm going to turn to the side and let myself go and take a leak. What's this monkey business? I'm on the verge of a complete dam burst, even if only in the figurative sense. It's not a question of whether I selfishly let go here or heroically hold out until I get home. It's not a question of whether I relieve myself here or courageously hold out next to Ari. It's a question of whether I piddle here or pathetically let water into my pants. It's a question of whether I take a pee here or stand next to Ari with my pants full of piss. It's not possible for me to wear her yoke, I have to admit with anger at myself. The only decision I have to make is whether I'm going to piss pathetically against a noise barrier or pee even more pathetically in my pants. Besides, Ari certainly won't miss me in this conflict about her innermost being. With a carefree bladder, I'll have caught up with her in no time. I make a direct turn towards the wall. My hand, which is already well placed, can grab the zipper of my fly in just one movement. But before I can open anything, Ari, or rather Ari's predicament, distracts me. \nA long, loud fart echos. It sounds something like a dull rumble. Shortly afterwards, even as Ari's paw tries to stop it, a few more small poots, like the rattling of a moped, squeeze out of her. The sounds seem to have released her from her stupor. Yes, Ari seems to speak directly from the shock in a frantic voice that is far too loud for the time of day: \"Rex I am crowning. It's peeking out.\" Before I can fully comprehend what she has just shared with me, she adds: \"Help me. I'm about to mess my pants like a puppy.\" Everything I have in me in terms of morals, decency and affection for Ari dissuades me from my self-centered plans.\n\n\nNow my speech is also very ill-conceived and born out of necessity. \"Pull down your pants and use the little green strip next to you!\" Yes, my own distress is completely reflected in the colors in my language. When I see her hesitation, I add, \"I'm not looking, I swear.\" Helplessly frozen, I see Ari in front of me. She is bent forward slightly. Her hand has left her bottom, probably out of fear of smearing something. I don't know how long we stand there. Fractions of a second become eternities. Eternities in which my dignity could float away in my own piss. Ari asks franticly, \"But what if someone is looking out of a window or a car?\" There's nothing emotional left in her voice except despair and an imminent burst of tears. My body, or my morale, answers automatically: \"Don't worry, I'll shield you.\" Inside, I am amazed at the determination and calmness my voice carries. Even if I stagger a little due to my firm grip on my dick, I am at her site quickly. In a mixture of running and crawling, Ari has now reached the end of the lawn by the wall. I realize, for the smoothbrain I am, that I hadn't even thought about how to shield her. But I need to make a quick decision because it seems like I only have a few blinks of an eye. In a moment, the accumulated morass with the gas pockets would squeeze out of Ari's ass, no matter what surrounds him or Ari. But God bless me with a flash of inspiration. The coat, of course. All-encompassing, it lies on my broad back. Big enough for Ari to disappear into. I can use it as a privacy screen for Ari. Instead of undoing my fly, my hand opens the zipper of my coat. It happens almost in a flash and I'm already holding a huge green coat between me and Ari, who is already in a crouch. Her body is turned to the side so that I can't even see the explosive parts of her body before I make her disappear behind a green curtain like an actress on stage. My body immediately realizes that the protective hand is gone and sends a searing pain all over my body. A whole hodgepodge of pain contracts. My abdomen degenerates into a tangle of tension, but at least this structure of cramps is doing a good job. And the yellow liquid that is maltreating me remains in my bladder, which feels almost ready to burst. A long, drawn-out breeze seems to force its way out of Ari's anus. With apparent effort, she utters: \"The indoctrination of my parents, my whole upbringing, ensures that I can't let go. I can't, even if it's squeezing so hard that it hurts right now.\" She says this to herself rather than to me. A second fart squeezes out together with a slow trickle, which soon intensifies to a ripple. The free trickle behind the green curtain in my hands paired with Ari's liberated groan as a solid object seems to fall onto the meadow puts my body to the test. My attention wanders to the inside of my body, to an almost lost battle. Like a warning shot from a pistol, a yellow gush fires from my member into my pants. My body forces the rebellious pee back into me. But before I can deny Ari my protection like a dirty oathbreaker, her voice distracts me. Apparently, the liberating sigh of relief she breathed must have been followed by the realization of the situation and my involvement in it, as an eye- or rather ear-witness. Presumably an old fear, which had also resonated in her words earlier, had taken possession of her again. Then, instead of relief carrying her words, Ari pleads with tears in her voice: \"Don't listen, sing something or so.\" \nI want to obey the order. I want to make the whole thing as pleasant as possible for her. However, for some unknown reason, my drunken mind can only think of the song \"Lili Marlen\". I start with \" Vor der Kaserne vor dem großem Tor…“ and my voice dies out. My body had given me a warning shot, because I didn't listen to it I now have to bear the consequences. Despite all my body's efforts, I couldn't maintain the necessary tension and dryness could no longer be guaranteed. A warmth spreads. I can feel the force with which the jet shoots against the fabric in my trousers. It is not possible for me to stop it. It is impossible to remove my arms, as I would be exposing Ari to the public. I can only endure. I want to start singing again, but my body makes me realize that it's frozen in shock. I can't do anything. I no longer perceive my surroundings properly, my focus shifts inwards. Inwards, where a storm of 4 elements is raging, an impenetrable disorder of emotional impressions, perceptions and thoughts racing through my mind. Disordered, fast, overturning. On the one hand, the strong physical sensation of warmth. A warm liquid washes around the center of my body and as more and more of my yellow sewage bursts out of me, the warmth does not die, not yet. It is a comforting warmth, presumably because it comes from inside me and therefore has the exact warmth of a living being, this warmth creates a feeling of security and safety. This fiery feeling of warmth and security is accompanied by a feeling of airy liberation. I don't know how long my body had been begging me to let nature take its course. Now my body let go of its own accord, because you can't stop nature forever. Yes, a feeling of freedom, almost orgasmic. I breathe more deeply and all my muscles relax. Where moments ago there had been tense branches, there was now a wobbly pudding of muscles. My left leg is trembling from this immense emotion. Relief is probably the strongest of the feelings. But there are also actors in the background behind these pleasant protagonists. A dampness makes me feel disgusting as my fur sticks together and my clothes cling tightly to my body. This wet disgust shows me that what is currently soaking my body is not just any water, but my own urine and the more I give myself space to think about this element of my experience, the more disgust takes up this space. The last element is a feeling of stony heaviness inside me, which lies like a lump in my stomach. I pee myself with full force, like a puppy. How will Ari feel about this? How could I let it get this far? How do you deal with it in a reasonably adult way? A flurry of thoughts that ultimately leaves me feeling ashamed. It feels a bit overwhelming. As if, despite all the good intentions that prevailed in the end, I had failed - it's too much. Too much inside me, but I remain trapped in a trance, a kind of vortex of thoughts. Even when the urine dies out of me and the mighty sea that rushes out of me becomes a small clot, I remain in my world of thoughts. The feelings weaken, but the question of how what has just happened to me could happen and how to deal with it remains.\nSimilar to smelling salt, a pickling smell brings me back to reality. Later I should put one and one together and make the assumption in my head that it must have been Ari's dog poo. Of course, I notice the red glow in my cheeks, the initial warmth turns to even nastier damp cold and the relief is just a faint breath from memory. But what now captures my attention after a few moments of orientation is not something in my mind, but away from it. A sob. Ari's sobs. After I can muster some energy again and my voice acknowledges me as its lord and master once more, I turn to it. My hands seem to cling to my coat. A wall of separation between us. \"Ari are you okay?\" I don't get silence in response, but the crying doesn't seem to change noticeably either. I put more bass in my voice and even though I feel like a miserable, I try to make my voice seem penetrating: \"Ari? ... \"Crying and catching her breath, more of a hesitant whisper than an answer. Between individual words or sentences, Ari seems to gather her strength: \"You.... You heard ... everything. ...everything I've done. Even though I told you to sing or something...\" Alongside the sadness, the anger and puppy-like defiance was clearly noticeable. The sobs swell again and I feel even more helpless with every blink that passes. So I make a decision that will put the friendship to the test. I take away my coat and put it over my shoulders. \nAri cries out briefly as one last pocket of fetid, if less fetid, air escapes her, presumably due to the squatting position. With all the warmth I can muster, I say, \"I wasn't listening or looking. I didn't even smell, by and large. I had other things to do,\" I add after a pause.\" I don't know if you can see it, but I was soaking myself like a little puppy.\" After my words fade into the echo of the night, it remains silent, except for the purring engine of a single car passing us. I couldn't help but look at her legacy, all in all there was a pile bigger than Ari's head in diameter. The color was indistinguishable, but the light from the lanterns reflected off of it slightly. The scent that emanated from it was one that I was very familiar with from my experiences today. The strong stench is a little sour, like sulphur and eggs, and I try to avoid any possible facial derailment so as not to increase Ari's embarrassment. I'm getting really uncomfortable in my pants, which feel increasingly cold and sticky against my fur. The silence becomes too much for me and I add, \"Believe me, if I could change several things about this evening, I would. But I still think it's better to do your business on a lawn than in the pants you're wearing.\" Silence falls again, interrupted at the end only by Ari's question about a handkerchief. \nAfter I confirm that I don't own a handkerchief, she takes off her underpants with delicate little movements. After everything we've experienced here, my presence doesn't seem to matter at all anymore. Shortly afterwards, she holds her underwear in her paw. It is wine-red, at least that's how it appears to me in the dim light surrounding me. Ari seems to remove as much waste as possible from her crevice with courageous strokes. Shortly afterwards, the garment lands on the large pile beneath her. The wine red is now streaked with recognizable brown stripes, at least that's how it looks to me. Ari straightens up after her work is done and for a brief moment that I will probably never forget, I see her smooth brown in places I could never hope to look. Shortly afterwards, the pants block any possible further view. A massive boulder falls from my heart when she finally speaks up and lightens the mood when she says. \"Don't you finally want to move on too, or do you like the scent so much that you want to enjoy it even more?\" A genuine, warm smile finally crosses her face again and her eyes light up. We move away bit by bit. It's easier to walk now without that squeezing thing between my legs. \"Why didn't you just go for a pee, you're a guy after all?\" Ari asks on the way. I can feel the blood flow to my facial regions and I'm probably blushing unrecognizably under my thick fur. \"Well, I didn't mean to torture you or slow you down by relieving myself. When I realized I was at my limit, there was no way to save your privacy and my pants.\"\nAri's answer resonates with true gratitude, even if she only mentions it indirectly: \"Then you must be Rex the savior, he shed his urine for our privacy. The patron saint of wild pissers or something. Forgive me if I don't jump around your neck, the state of your pants is keeping me away.\" And for what feels like ages, a conversation develops again and it feels like so often between us. For me, it's just wetter than I perceive a conversatione to be. The only time it comes up again that day is just before the entrance to my street, where Ari speaks to me again. With a tug on my coat, which covers me again. She attracts my attention and my gaze. \"Rex, I'm serious! It's very important to me that no one ever finds out about this. Not the tooting and not the pooping.\" \"... and not the peeing in pants.\" I add. And so we make a vow. Not an oath never to mention it again, but at least an oath not to tell anyone else. A hug seals the promise, pushing my body away from Ari to keep my urine-splattered bottom away from her. This was to be the most memorable New Year of my life.\nLater we kept our word and when other ears were involved besides ours, we never dropped a sound or even a hint about our little secret, in a strange game of fate this only made us grow closer together.", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Even if the quality of this Work is debatable I dedicate the story to my first reader. Witch got me the Idear and will decide if this is worth reading. I did this in the large part for me. But without you I would not have the will power to finish it.


artificial light of the compartment meets the abysmal blackness of the outside world, separated only by a thin pane of solid nothingness. The darkness of the night turns this very pane into an easel on which a slightly distorted and ghostly, semi-transparent image of my surroundings appears. It is a cozy train compartment of the night train, wood-panelled with comfortable seats with expansive cushions covered in wine-red fabric. Bright fluorescent tubes on the ceiling make everything seem a little too illuminated and refract into sparkling balls of glistening light in the window. Below the balls of light, the next thing that jumps into my field of vision are my own eyes. Slightly sunken and dark-rimmed, they sit in a slightly tired-looking head of a shepherd dog. I concentrate to see if my eyes are going into a slight squint. I hate squinting, it makes me look a bit uglier. I usually squint when I get tired or drunk and as I can mentally tick both boxes, it will be a matter of time before my eyes give this information about me away, maybe they already do. My head is enthroned massively in the scenery of the compartment and beneath it my chest fur spills out of my collar in golden-black tufts. The rest of my figure is wrapped in a long coat, somewhere between the worlds of green and black. The cloak envelops me completely and does not reveal from the outside whether the substance of my mighty form is a colossal pile of muscle mass or comes from other areas. A little below the level of my heart, another face is reflected. Arianne, or as she would prefer, Ari, a small Tyrolean Bracke. Her doe-brown eyes are fixed on the screen of her smartphone, her graceful fingers darting quickly across the touchscreen, eagerly typing heartfelt replies to New Year's wishes or sending them herself. Her face is petite and looks even smaller and almost lost next to her huge floppy ears. My eye flits from her reflection to her real image right next to me, as a mirror like this can never do her fur justice. Under the cold lens of a theorist, it may look like a monotonous brown, but every movement reveals the variety of brown tones the light elicits from her. A sparkle a glitter it shines in brilliant nuances of the same shade. Yes, the same part of her coat cannot be described in the same words when the light changes and the play of colors changes everything.
If you compare Ari's clothes with mine, you might think we are in other times or other worlds and that we appear here side by side is just an illusion. My loose-fitting trousers in combination with the monumental coat, from which waves of thick, soft, warm fur spill out, give the impression of a millennial winter.
Ari's light leggings and matching cardigan are more likely to evoke associations with the dying of summer or the first breaths of autumn. In the end, the true temperature is somewhere in between. A New Year's night that turns out to be much too warm for the season.
The only figure next to us who fills this compartment with life is a Schnauzer, presumably in the autumn of his life. His eyes disappear under bushy black and gray eyebrows, which fade into white in his epochal moustache. But perhaps it is also the multitude of gray or white hairs that makes me overestimate his age. The whole time we are sitting here, he keeps his eyes glued to a newspaper. When we entered the compartment, his gaze flitted briefly up and down us only to disappear again into the printer's ink in front of his stomach.
A brief flash of color in the distance briefly catches my attention. The last rockets are sent into the sky as a late fuse. It is a quarter of an hour past two. Ari, I and many others had celebrated the New Year with a lavish feast of delicacies of all kinds, both solid and liquid, only to wallow in the excess of loud noises and breathtaking colors of New Year's night. It was an exhilarating celebration in so many ways. But as endless as the food and refreshments were and as numerous as the guests were, the sleeping space for those same guests had its fixed limits. In need of a place to stay for the night, however, an unexpected opportunity presented itself: a night train, which passes the scene of our debauchery shortly after the second hour and arrives in my city after just over half an hour. We will then have a few minutes to get to the streetcar in a hurry. Of course, walking through the city for another half hour in the cold and dark in case we don't make the streetcar won't be ideal, but there are two of us and we've already received compensation in the form of the party. Now it's time to make ourselves comfortable on the train and get here, before I start worrying about the rest of the journey.
However, after just a few minutes, an ancient force, a desire that everyone should have felt at some point after a heavy drink, came to me. It was the urge to urinate. Still timid and weak, it makes itself known. More of an "I could pee" than an "I have to pee", but how many times have I emptied cups to know that a could can become a must within a heartbeat. But the heaviness of my body and the heaviness of my intoxication push me into the chair and teach me Newton's first axiom "A body at rest remains at rest if no external forces act on it." And the soft red cushions literally invite me to linger. In fact, to rest and catch my breath, to take a nap before I have to make my way through the night in an emergency. A moment of clarity strikes my lulled mind. I tend to sleep wherever I am! How often have I lost vast amounts of strength by sleeping for a few minutes in the arms of drunkenness rather than recharging my batteries? How many times have others brought my body back from stand-by mode to functional mode just so that I can only carry out simple tasks, like a robot? A short nap would make it a much worse evening for me and Ari. Especially as I still have to find my way back to my home. The flash of clarity makes something else clear to me, the squeezing in my bladder has increased many times over in seconds. I pull myself together, as I have finally outgrown the childish habits of a puppy. What a picture it would be if I could perhaps still hold it in here, but then on the way to my residence I would pee in the ditch like a redneck on the last few meters. I heave my massive body up into the air and reply to Ari, who briefly raises her eyes from her smartphone to me, "I'm going out for a moment." I walk into the bright light of the corridor of the Train, which races through the night at ghostly speed. After a few steps, I find a white door set into a white wall. Next to the door I see the longed-for letters "WC" and yet I can't help but snort in a mixture of anger and annoyance.
There is a warning notice in bright yellow paint and thick black letters. Even though I know what it means, I can't help but read "Toilet unusable" and the small sentence underneath "Please use the other toilets". This message continues to stretch across the page in other tongues and a crossed-out pictogram even points out its meaning to those who don't understand the written word. I trudge off to reach another carriage with a toilet.
I turn towards the glass door, behind which a long corridor stretches. Rows of two seats to the left and two to the right line the path, which is illuminated by floor lamps. Dancing as if on eggshells, squirming and twisting as I make my way between the rows. Always trying not to disturb the other travelers with my presence. Due to the time, some of the strangers slumber in their seats and heads, arms or legs protrude into the corridor between the seats. It is a journey that is only made more difficult by the heaviness of the night, which is combined with the heaviness of the drunkenness inside me.
And just as the train tirelessly cuts through a landscape in the dark of night, I make my way through its illuminated interior. A walking figure of considerable proportions, prances snakelike but without any grace between the resting places of partly dreaming souls. At the end of my odyssey is a terrible realization, another toilet is a sweet lie, on a yellow sheet of paper. There is no possibility of entering another wagon. A bathroom-free prison on wheels without any prospect of relief. Well, my urge to urinate isn't too bad. Of course there's the annoying squeeze, but I'm not on the verge of a dam burst in my pants or anything. I'll be able to hold it, I'll have to hold it. I'm still calm myself, I don't feel any restlessness inside me either, my mind is clear and calm, even as clear as a mountain lake. A brief cramp in my hand and a tensing of all my muscles comes over me. No matter how calm I feel, I should avoid water-related metaphors. There's also a part of me that knows I'm clearly too drunk for clarity. I can't even place whether I've already reached some kind of zenith or whether my mind continues to be increasingly clouded by alcohol. Whether I'm getting drunker or soberer by the second.
When I return to my original spot after what feels like an eternity, I see Ari glaring at me with bright brown eyes, her cell phone seems to have disappeared into some pocket in the meantime. Presumably in the inconspicuous bag standing at her feet. With a smile on her lips, she jokes: "You've been away for quite a while, have you met someone you know?" I almost expected a wink from her, but it didn't happen. Without waiting for an answer, she walks towards me and lets me know that she has to go and that I should be the guardian of our things. I tell her that the toilet in the car isn't working and that there's nowhere else to go. For a brief moment, I see her broad smile disappear from her face and turn into a worried expression. She frowns slightly before her face returns to its previous expression, although the smile is less broad.
To my delight, Ari's mind is now free without the eternal pull of the cell phone and we finally get to talk. And on the wings of words, on anecdotes, experiences and references from pop culture, I manage to become free from the urge to be free from the champagne, which, drop by drop, makes the volume inside me swell more and more. I realize once again how well I can talk to Ari. And through the pompous mountain of stories I have experienced from primary school until now, I realize how long she has been my companion. And although we have already experienced so much, a new piece should soon be added to the mosaic of our friendship. I'm just reporting on a mutual friend. During a drink, he told me to get the wiskey and when I managed to do so after a lot of effort, he fell asleep and poured his beer all over himself. Yes, for the sober observer this may not be a funny anecdote or even a story worth mentioning. But she laughs. Perhaps because she knows him or because she's had a good drink, this idea makes her shake with mirth and her slightly stupid laughter fills the room and it infects me and soon we're both lying in our seats laughing. The Schnauzer across from us hides even deeper behind his newspaper. As our laughter dies down, a smell hits my nose. It's very pungent and intense, a smell like eggs and sulphur. My whole face contorts for a moment and a brief feeling of disgust runs through me, but I don't let it show for too long, at least I hope not. The disgusting smell mercifully disappears from my olfactory canal after a short time.
The first question that arises is where from? But after just a few minutes, a suspicion arises. Such an intense smell seems to me to be a good indication of flatulence, and such intensity suggests that there must be more going on than just hot smelly air. It wasn't me! As begs the question should this makings with a stench worse than death, have come out of Ari? She had laughed a lot, so on the one hand such a mishap is obvious. Didn't she just seem very nervous and wasn't her gaze evasive, or did she already seem that way before and I just didn't realize it. She was Ari on the other hand. A dog who doesn't let things get her down, loves rafting and who I can't hold a candle to when it comes to craftsmanship. But when it comes to toilet matters, she's quiet. She finds jokes from me and the others embarrassing and if we do get around to talking about something like that, she pretends she's not in the room. That Ari would fart was and is surreal in itself. But the fact that the old schnauzer let out air frome his bowels out of nowhere seems somehow more unrealistic. But since I can't be what should not be, I distract my thoughts again. The flood of thoughts that poured over me after the stench passes so quickly that hardly any time has elapsed and after a short breather we resume the conversation. It seems to me that Ari is now stiffer and more controlled, although in all fairness it could be my last thoughts that are clouding and influencing my perception. The conversation doesn't seem to be as flowing and straight, which makes me realize something. The pressure behind my scrotum. I can't understand how I didn't notice it, but a slight squeeze has now turned into real pressure. And this pressure can no longer be ignored. Not that letting water into my pants is in any danger. I am in control of my body and can also control where I relieve myself, but from this moment onwards it is no longer possible for me to look into my innermost being without a pressure pointing out my needs. Listening closely to my body and sensing it also has consequences.
A sharp tug runs through my body, a reminder that the call of nature cannot be silenced. My fingers tense up and a force that straightens me runs through my entire body. I linger briefly in this tension and try to regain 100% control over myself. At this moment, uncertainty shadows me. Would I be able to hold it? Would I find a way out? And how far would I even have to hold on? Judging by Ari's look, a mixture of astonishment, confusion and worry, the spasm that had gone through my body and my falling silent didn't seem inconspicuous. Her wide eyes looked at me deeply, questioning espresso brown beads. "Rex are you alright?" I exhale and find a serious excuse, which is better than saying the big German shepherd almost marked the territory in his pants. "Yeah, it just occurred to me. Before we miss getting out. Do you know how many minutes we have left?" After a quick rummage in my pockets, I finally get hold of my own cell phone, which must have breathed its last breath of battery-powered life some time ago. Carrying around a cell phone without a battery in the middle of the night seems like the kind of thing that suits me well, and Ari doesn't seem surprised by my find when I tell her. "Dead as a Norwegian blue." Ari's confused and questioning look shows me that she has some catching up to do when it comes to Monthy Python. I add, "Can you please look at your phone?" Without responding to my question with words, she leans forward towards her bag. Whether it is the pressure on her stomach or the stretching of her body, at this moment I am witnessing something new. It is only subtle, but clear to my ears. As if someone is letting air out through a small hole, or forming an S or F with their lips and gently blowing air through it. This sound remains in the room for a few seconds. Nothing seems to move and everything seems to stand still. Ari is still in motion, leaning forward, paws on or in her pocket, her tail sticking straight up in the air. This moment is only broken when a familiar strong smell of egg hits my nose. Out of reflex, I smash my paw into my face to protect my nose and banish the smell from my perception.
Ari's whole posture has changed, now she expresses embarrassment. She now has a firm grip on her cell phone in front of her. Her hands are clasped tightly around it. Her ears are pinned back in shame. Her eyes are fixed on the phone and even though I can't see it clearly in this pose, her tail seems to be hanging sadly down her behind. "Sorry, she says quietly half to herself and half to me." I don't say anything at the moment, more out of surprise that this moment has just happened. "It's the champagne." She continues, "I sometimes get really bad gas from all the carbonation." Her voice shakes young, as if she's on the verge of tears. I force myself to take my hand off my muzzle and try as sincerely as possible to say "It's all right." . When the silence that follows seems too oppressive, I continue, "I don't know how many times I or the others have farted before you.". The smell seems to slowly fade. The schnauzer directly opposite us grabs his stuff and leaves the room with as much dignity and elegance as possible. He looks a lot older and loftier, there is no emotion in his face. An important detail has just fallen like scales from my eyes. Both are hunting dogs. Dogs for tracking, dogs for sniffing, dogs with very fine noses. Whatever I smell, it must be many times more intense and therefore many times worse for them. I don't want to know how disgusting Ari thinks what came out of her is, Ari's voice breaks through this thought: "It's normal for you to fart, you're boys, at least the ones who fart are. You expect a girl to do it differently." Ari's voice is still pregnant with shame, but it sounds firmer now and farther away from tears. I counter, "Oh come on, like it's the end of the world if you ever let one go." "At least last time..." Ari replies, "it felt like that."
Something I had almost forgotten emerges from the dim sea of my memory.
It was a while ago Ari, I and a few other friends were at some kind of celebration, probably a cradle party. As we were talking and out of nowhere there stood Ari with a mischievous smile on her lips. Judging by her posture, the alcohol had already clouded her mind a little and she announced in an excited voice: "Guys, I'm going to try farting really loud." She stood there leaning forward with her bottom stretched far back and her front paws firmly propped up on her knees. For me at least, time stood still for a fraction of a moment. A narrowing of one eye, a wrinkling of her forehead, a stretching of her arms and legs and the slight baring of her teeth were the only signs that she was briefly pressing. However great the pressure in Ari was before, this additional pressure was enough for everything to be released in a loud BRAP. We looked uncertainly at Ari, who was now shaking with laughter. Under her laughter, she said "I didn't think it would be THAT loud." It became clear that the shock of what had just happened had definitely elicited that laugh from the drunk puppy and Ari hadn't found her penchant for fecal humor. We all didn't know how to deal with the situation. Maybe that's why I'd blocked the situation out until now. Ari, the one who I had previously thought would have everything stitched up before a mishap happened to her, had released a massive ball of gas. The following day it turned out that Ari didn't remember anything and was embarrassed about the whole thing. Of course she was teased by us, but for some reason this story soon faded into the hustle and bustle of our group of friends. I myself can't remember the last time I thought about it or was reminded of it. But now I realize that the memory of that evening of shame must have continued to gnaw at Ari.
A small yelp from my bladder makes me jump forward to relieve the pressure in an instinctive reaction. After glancing down at Ari's ashamed expression, I refrain from making any comment about the scene that has just returned to my memory. Instead, I try to put on a warm smile and not let the pressure inside me show: "I won't say a word to anyone." Even if the change is only subtle, Ari's features soften and her eyes become friendlier. The shame, and perhaps also the fear that the others might find out, is diminishing, at least to some extent.
The rest of the journey is quite quiet. Somehow the sound and smell of Ari's intestinal winds seem to come between us and block the conversation. But maybe it's just the need to be able to face the other need with full concentration that doesn’t allow for distractions in form of silly conversations. This forces me to find another distraction in the drawers of my brain, full of memories. And from the search for the driest possible thoughts from the past, I am drawn to another sound. A gurgling, gurgling and bubbling from Ari's stomach. The paw that Ari places on her stomach shortly afterwards doesn't seem to calm the storm inside her. The gas seemed to rebel and Ari's decision to close all the borders seemed to be met with great discomfort. The face of my friend next to me seems to be experiencing a slight flare-up of shame, not as strong as her anal outburst earlier, but still a slight trepidation. But maybe it's not an expression of shame, but of the battles raging inside her. As if this were the cue, my body reminds me of my own battle within. Unobtrusively, I try to press my hand against my thigh to give my body a different physical sensation, a different pressure to focus on. And it works, the urge to urinate recedes slightly after I ground myself and took a stance against my need.  
There is another rumble in Ari's bowels, followed by an almost childish whimper on her part. A whimper like that of a puppy who has not yet learned to deal with disappointment, resentment or even the urge to mark its territory. The state in which we would arrive at my place seems to be a mystery and unpredictable at this very moment. But at least we seem to have avoided an unpleasant incident on the train, as an elderly gentleman's voice announces over the loudspeakers that we will soon be getting off at the next stop. A smile and hope flits across the worried face of the woman next to me, along with a brief gleam in her eyes, until the following message causes a roll of the eyes: "Dear passengers, we from the Fiktional-Bahn Gmbh team apologize for the broken toilet in our last carriage. At our next stop, we will remove the last carriage and attach a new one. We ask all passengers to disembark.
We apologize for any inconvenience caused."
After a brief conversation, now that it is obvious to both of us that we are more than in need of a restroom, we have to settle for a sobering decision. We could try to use the time of coupling and uncoupling to board another wagon, but we neither know how much time we have nor how much we need for our .... business. And rolling into the middle of nowhere in the dark of night without a valid ticket sounds like a horrible idea.
We will have no choice but to make our way to my place. At this time of night, the hospitality of the public toilets on the station forecourt has been exhausted and we would only find cold, locked doors. At such an ungodly hour, I can't think of any other place that would help strangers with their emergency needs. However, the streetcar should take us directly to my front door, provided there are no further delays. Then it would only be a few meters and we should be at my place in less than 15 minutes. Now it's time to get into position for the walk home. And we should actually get up.
However, as sitting in this position makes holding in much more bearable than standing still, I have the feeling that I have made a wordless pact with Ari to stay here in the comfortable seats for a while. Until we make our way to the corridor of the train and after a few steps we are wedged in from both the front and the back. Ari stands in front of me and, as I fill the corridor with my broad shoulders, I shield her from any possible presses from the others behind me.
As the whole carriage has now had to be evacuated, there is a lot of crowding in the exit area and the train corridors. This gives me the advantage of being able to use my paw to further support my body's efforts to keep my little waterworks in check. For Ari, however, it seems to make the situation worse. If she didn't control the gas that was spreading further and further inside her, she would disgust a lot of people with her fumes. Judging by the volume of her last exhaust fumes, no one would probably know, but the fact that she knew would probably be enough for Ari. The shame of letting one rip in here would be many times greater. Even if I don't know how much she would give in to the freedom of releasing her inner pressure if only I were to witness it again, it seems impossible to me here in front of so many strangers. The social pressure that weighs on her will be stronger than the pressure that rests within her.
I see Ari's hand slip close to her bottom and support her efforts to squeeze. The late hour means it's crowded, but pretty quiet for the mass of beings in the corridors. I can hear the bubbling and rebellion of the force that Ari is trying to contain inside her. I too am struggling with the effects of the champagne, but the waters within me make no sounds that an outsider could hear. To divert my thoughts at least slightly from my increasingly urgent situation, I glance at the dial on my watch. We are running slightly behind schedule and with the bodies in front of us blocking our view, it is unlikely that we will be able to make rapid progress for the time being. And normally it wouldn't be necessary, but the streetcar we have to catch won't wait forever, even if the next one doesn't arrive for an eternity. We'll have to patch things up and even that won't guarantee us anything. I draw Ari's attention to our tricky situation. The response is a whimper somewhere between acknowledgment of the problem, annoyance and despair. Our train arrives and the buildings and lights we see on the windows slow down. The station presents itself more and more and there is a pause until the doors allow us to open. Then the fur-bearing mass slowly pushes out of the train. Using my back as a shield, I block all of Ari's jostling and finally we are both standing outside.
My hand has now disappeared into my trouser pocket, but from there it pinches less obviously and helps me with the mission: "Dry trousers". My body is increasingly gripped by an inner restlessness, but the time pressure makes it easy to explain every hectic movement I make. With a few words, I guide Ari to the exit. An ancient, sweeping stone staircase that leads to an underpass, which was tiled on all sides. A staircase would then lead back up where the streetcars could carry people further through the city. Just as the pressure inside me wants to push outwards, I snake my way through the people. The much lankier Ari had much less trouble making her way through the jumble of fur, arms and legs. Running and squeezing, I soon lose sight of my friend. Only for me to find her again after a few seconds, almost in a stupor. Ari's steps are tentative and her body seems unusually stiff. I try to spur her on with words of urgency. Only to hear an "I can't" in an uncertain, quiet voice. With growing impatience, I look at the Brake, who is now standing next to me. Then her tail rises and a thunderous flatulence, made even louder by the sound of the tiled walls, is heard shortly before a stench that is already slightly familiar to me pollutes the air. She had denied the wind inside her for so long that it now burst out of her without asking, not caring about the efforts of her ring muscle. Ari's progress comes to a complete standstill with the sound of the anal signal. A little louder but with much more hopelessness, she repeats: "I can't. If I take one step now, everything will collapse. Like a stupid little puppy who can't control his needs." With every word, her voice becomes even sadder, making me fear that she is about to burst into tears. Seeing her like this in front of me, struggling to control her body and her emotions. I feel a warm caring that I have never felt for Ari before. But I have also never seen Ari so vulnerable. Yes, my focus shifts. The smell of overripe dog excrement, which by now retains its intensity for a threateningly long time, is pushed aside by my mind.
I put one of my big paws on her shoulder and say, as firmly as my own condition lets me say it. "You'll make it. I believe in you, it'll be over in a moment." And yes, after a short time she manages to take steps again. The passageway now has hardly any of the jostling night creatures in sight. And so we climb the steps at a quick pace again, but shortly after my eyes rise above the stone top step, my movement slows down. It is not because of an inner urge that the speed of my body dries up, no, the fluid clearly pressing into my crotch seems to have been under constant pressure for several breaths. I see a vehicle full of tired creatures pulling past my eyes. We have missed the train. We both gather ourselves briefly. Without an observer, we give more free rein to our dance-like movements, we can hardly stand still. I try to restrain my urge more and more through my trouser pocket and Ari has one of her paws on her stomach. We are both hunched over, a picture that you would only expect from much younger or drunker people. Now we have no choice but to walk home. I can't think of any sensible detour that would make things easier. I'm also still unsure how ready my fellow sufferer is to do her business in public. And I lack the courage to dispel this uncertainty.
We have about half an hour's walk ahead of us along a road that is still regularly used at this time of day, but Ari seems to remain still in the darkness again, illuminated only by streetlights. I'm just about to call for a departure when a longer and louder gurgle rises from Ari's bowels, shortly after she lets out another whimper, like a little puppy. Apprehension overshadows every other emotion on her face, she bites her lip lightly and her thoughts don't seem to be in the warm winter night, but somewhere deep in the branches of her mind. So I don't urge her to hurry, even though the urine swirling inside me and testing the capacity of my bladder is driving me to hurry. Instead, I simply ask with as much warmth as I can put into my voice, "Ari, are you okay?" It takes a little while for her stare to clear and her eyes to wander in my direction, that concern has melted a little, though it's still clear to see, and finally she answers. The joking lightness seems mask-like and more than artificial: "I have more than just gas to release and I don't know if I can make it. But what I do know..." Her expression changes from ashamed to serious"... is that I'll kill you if anyone finds out about tonight." At this point, I refrain from commenting on the fact that I had already suspected that there was more to her than just flatulence. A smile also crosses my lips, Ari hasn't lost her bite even now, even if parts of it are mask like. However I assess the situation, it is not hopeless. As I am driven to maintain the tone of the conversation, I say: "What happens at the station in the middle of the night stays at the station, with the exception of children and sexually transmitted diseases." After a pause, it occurs to me that my answer now lacks seriousness. I hug Ari to make my loyal intentions clear to her. A soft hiss, a push away from me and an ashamed covering of my ears make me realize that this drunken decision was not my best. I mumble a curt "Excuse me." A moment later, my hand goes into my trouser pocket to squeeze my cock a little and press it between my legs to help me hold it in.
We stand there, every second harbors the danger of an unintentional release. Be it that the pressure inside me increases drop by drop or that the vapors in Ari become more and more, increasing the risk of that presumably protective wall of gas between her waste and her exit escaping her. In this same leadership role as host and local expert, I indicate the direction of departure. Yes, is it only my role in this city? I had never felt this way before, but Ari seems much smaller than usual. It's probably a big part of the shame that's shaping her being right now, because she's a ticking time bomb of gas and other fillings in her sewage drain. Yes, her gait seems more uncertain to me, her ears laid back, a hand on her belly and she bites her lip like a little shy girl, be it out of desperation, against pain or for other reasons. Ari looks more childlike and insecure than I have ever seen her. Of course, there's also our God-given height difference. Maybe it's also the champagne from New Year's Eve that's guiding my thoughts. But emotionally, I feel like the responsible one right now, like the protector. The one who should protect Ari from the disgrace that would be a public mishap. We soon turn onto a narrow path. A very narrow meadow path between a noise barrier and a road. Cars shoot past us like lightning. They seem to lose speed briefly when they see us. Most of the time we are alone with ourselves. Ari seems to be completely immersed in another world next to me and no longer perceives everything herself. Presumably holding it in is tying up more and more of her mental resources. But even I can't think of a topic that will carry us through the night to my door. Where the bathroom door is right next to the door and I finally... I wince as a splash of urine is about to shoot out of my privates. I urgently need another thought, another focus, another topic, I need to find distraction somewhere. There was another whimper and a menacing gurgle next to me. I look into Ari's worried brown eyes and put a hand on the shoulder of the apparently stiffening puppy next to me. She doesn't give me a glance and after a short while she starts moving again. On a route that I don't know too well, but well enough to let my mind wander, I do just that. I reflect on what I've experienced in the last few minutes. Maybe I should have tried to run ahead in the underpass, but how long it would have taken Ari was written in the stars at the time. The alcohol makes it really hard for me to think. When talking about alcohol, it's worth mentioning how much pressure I'm under now. Like when I was a little puppy, my member is stiff, not from sexual arousal, but simply from the indescribable pressure to finally empty my bladder. I could feel it through my pants pocket and also how much it was pressing against my pants. A clear sign that going to the toilet in my usual domestic environment is more of a noble wish than a realistic goal. Normally, I would have gone for a wee immediately. With this pressure, I would turn my butt towards the road and let it run and enjoy my freedom. A new bladder pang from makes me pause. I falter. Maybe a drop has soaked my underpants, or maybe I was able to put a stop to it all. I can't afford to indulge in mental scenarios of liberation, salvation, and liquids right now. But I also don't dare to give in to the call of nature. A high, long sound in front of me supports me in my intention. Ari is slightly in front of me and a whiff of already digested food rises to my nose and brings tears to my eyes. The stench has intensified, her distress and desperation seems to increase with every passing moment and is reflected in the sickening stench that hits me. Ari's tail is straight up as a candle and with one hand she presses against whatever wants to come out of her. Her body, like her tail, seems to have been deprived of flexibility. A growl rises from her throat into the night sky, another sign of our animal ancestors, which only bursts out of us in moments of need and loss of control. She won't be able to hold out much longer. But precisely because of Ari's precarious situation, I can't relieve myself at the side of the road and, at best, let her witness it. I have to stand firm for Ari. I have to get her safely to a place where she can get relief, away from any watching eye. I have to make it for her. As a host, I do have some responsibility for my guests. She pauses like a mannequin and fights the battle for control of her body. A battle that she wins after a few minutes. However, a battle won does not make a war won.
When Ari's body starts moving again, I ask her about her condition, but she shuffles along the poorly lit path like a zombie. I catch up, stand next to her and look her in the face. Her features are set in determination. Her gaze is expressionless. Yes, it seems as if the fight and her spirit have completely gone inside her. I suspect that even if I had stopped to pee. She would have marched on dully. Keeping her gate closed took everything else from her.
A rebellion of my body hits me. In a flash, my hand moves from my pocket to my crotch. And my own movement come to a halt. My body's desire to let go, to finally get rid of all the rippling alcohol in my system, is too strong. I squeeze harder. My leg trembles, my breathing becomes panting and tears form in the corners of my eyes. I won't be able to explain it other than a stubbornness. A mixture of my image of myself, my expectations of myself, the image I want to portray to Ari and alcohol. I can't let go. I have to be a role model. I have to keep my pants dry not just for me, but for her too. The thoughts may seem stupid to me in the future, but they are running through my head right now. I am also fighting a lost war in which I might still win battles. I wait until the acute pressure eases and my body obeys me again. My stride also seems to me to be more plodding than before. My body is sending me all the signals that I'm on dark yellow alert and yet I keep pushing. As I feared, Ari has trotted ahead without rhyme or reason, even though she doesn't know the way. With many small steps and deliberately panting breaths so as not to feel my body and its distress, I catch up.
The moon is high up, the wind is blowing around us, increasingly cold, and the only thing pulling us forward is our stubbornness, our shame and my need to play my part well. It no longer seems possible to direct my thoughts. The lake that rests inside me presses hard against my inner dam. I start to sweat. I realize how the struggle is taking hold of me more and more. I have to force myself to take in my surroundings. I struggle to control my own body with my urge for relief. Then my my dam is finaly breached, even if just slightly. A gush pours into my underpants and only with great effort does it dry up. It may have taken no more than a second, maybe two, for the stream to spread uncontrollably, but I can feel the result. My underpants stick warmly to my loins. The warmth persists and lets me know unmistakably that this is more than just a few splashes. Yes, it seems to me that my hand can feel something slightly clammy at the level of my scrotum and shaft. Just as quickly and strongly as my bladder spasms, I make a decision.
I'm going to turn to the side and let myself go and take a leak. What's this monkey business? I'm on the verge of a complete dam burst, even if only in the figurative sense. It's not a question of whether I selfishly let go here or heroically hold out until I get home. It's not a question of whether I relieve myself here or courageously hold out next to Ari. It's a question of whether I piddle here or pathetically let water into my pants. It's a question of whether I take a pee here or stand next to Ari with my pants full of piss. It's not possible for me to wear her yoke, I have to admit with anger at myself. The only decision I have to make is whether I'm going to piss pathetically against a noise barrier or pee even more pathetically in my pants. Besides, Ari certainly won't miss me in this conflict about her innermost being. With a carefree bladder, I'll have caught up with her in no time. I make a direct turn towards the wall. My hand, which is already well placed, can grab the zipper of my fly in just one movement. But before I can open anything, Ari, or rather Ari's predicament, distracts me.
A long, loud fart echos. It sounds something like a dull rumble. Shortly afterwards, even as Ari's paw tries to stop it, a few more small poots, like the rattling of a moped, squeeze out of her. The sounds seem to have released her from her stupor. Yes, Ari seems to speak directly from the shock in a frantic voice that is far too loud for the time of day: "Rex I am crowning. It's peeking out." Before I can fully comprehend what she has just shared with me, she adds: "Help me. I'm about to mess my pants like a puppy." Everything I have in me in terms of morals, decency and affection for Ari dissuades me from my self-centered plans.


Now my speech is also very ill-conceived and born out of necessity. "Pull down your pants and use the little green strip next to you!" Yes, my own distress is completely reflected in the colors in my language. When I see her hesitation, I add, "I'm not looking, I swear." Helplessly frozen, I see Ari in front of me. She is bent forward slightly. Her hand has left her bottom, probably out of fear of smearing something. I don't know how long we stand there. Fractions of a second become eternities. Eternities in which my dignity could float away in my own piss. Ari asks franticly, "But what if someone is looking out of a window or a car?"  There's nothing emotional left in her voice except despair and an imminent burst of tears. My body, or my morale, answers automatically: "Don't worry, I'll shield you." Inside, I am amazed at the determination and calmness my voice carries. Even if I stagger a little due to my firm grip on my dick, I am at her site quickly. In a mixture of running and crawling, Ari has now reached the end of the lawn by the wall. I realize, for the smoothbrain I am, that I hadn't even thought about how to shield her. But I need to make a quick decision because it seems like I only have a few blinks of an eye. In a moment, the accumulated morass with the gas pockets would squeeze out of Ari's ass, no matter what surrounds him or Ari. But God bless me with a flash of inspiration. The coat, of course. All-encompassing, it lies on my broad back. Big enough for Ari to disappear into. I can use it as a privacy screen for Ari. Instead of undoing my fly, my hand opens the zipper of my coat. It happens almost in a flash and I'm already holding a huge green coat between me and Ari, who is already in a crouch. Her body is turned to the side so that I can't even see the explosive parts of her body before I make her disappear behind a green curtain like an actress on stage.  My body immediately realizes that the protective hand is gone and sends a searing pain all over my body. A whole hodgepodge of pain contracts. My abdomen degenerates into a tangle of tension, but at least this structure of cramps is doing a good job. And the yellow liquid that is maltreating me remains in my bladder, which feels almost ready to burst. A long, drawn-out breeze seems to force its way out of Ari's anus. With apparent effort, she utters: "The indoctrination of my parents, my whole upbringing, ensures that I can't let go. I can't, even if it's squeezing so hard that it hurts right now." She says this to herself rather than to me. A second fart squeezes out together with a slow trickle, which soon intensifies to a ripple.  The free trickle behind the green curtain in my hands paired with Ari's liberated groan as a solid object seems to fall onto the meadow puts my body to the test. My attention wanders to the inside of my body, to an almost lost battle.  Like a warning shot from a pistol, a yellow gush fires from my member into my pants. My body forces the rebellious pee back into me. But before I can deny Ari my protection like a dirty oathbreaker, her voice distracts me. Apparently, the liberating sigh of relief she breathed must have been followed by the realization of the situation and my involvement in it, as an eye- or rather ear-witness. Presumably an old fear, which had also resonated in her words earlier, had taken possession of her again. Then, instead of relief carrying her words, Ari pleads with tears in her voice: "Don't listen, sing something or so."
I want to obey the order. I want to make the whole thing as pleasant as possible for her. However, for some unknown reason, my drunken mind can only think of the song "Lili Marlen". I start with " Vor der Kaserne vor dem großem Tor…“  and my voice dies out.  My body had given me a warning shot, because I didn't listen to it I now have to bear the consequences. Despite all my body's efforts, I couldn't maintain the necessary tension and dryness could no longer be guaranteed. A warmth spreads. I can feel the force with which the jet shoots against the fabric in my trousers. It is not possible for me to stop it. It is impossible to remove my arms, as I would be exposing Ari to the public. I can only endure. I want to start singing again, but my body makes me realize that it's frozen in shock. I can't do anything. I no longer perceive my surroundings properly, my focus shifts inwards. Inwards, where a storm of 4 elements is raging, an impenetrable disorder of emotional impressions, perceptions and thoughts racing through my mind. Disordered, fast, overturning. On the one hand, the strong physical sensation of warmth. A warm liquid washes around the center of my body and as more and more of my yellow sewage bursts out of me, the warmth does not die, not yet.  It is a comforting warmth, presumably because it comes from inside me and therefore has the exact warmth of a living being, this warmth creates a feeling of security and safety. This fiery feeling of warmth and security is accompanied by a feeling of airy liberation. I don't know how long my body had been begging me to let nature take its course. Now my body let go of its own accord, because you can't stop nature forever. Yes, a feeling of freedom, almost orgasmic. I breathe more deeply and all my muscles relax. Where moments ago there had been tense branches, there was now a wobbly pudding of muscles. My left leg is trembling from this immense emotion. Relief is probably the strongest of the feelings. But there are also actors in the background behind these pleasant protagonists. A dampness makes me feel disgusting as my fur sticks together and my clothes cling tightly to my body. This wet disgust shows me that what is currently soaking my body is not just any water, but my own urine and the more I give myself space to think about this element of my experience, the more disgust takes up this space.  The last element is a feeling of stony heaviness inside me, which lies like a lump in my stomach. I pee myself with full force, like a puppy. How will Ari feel about this? How could I let it get this far? How do you deal with it in a reasonably adult way? A flurry of thoughts that ultimately leaves me feeling ashamed. It feels a bit overwhelming. As if, despite all the good intentions that prevailed in the end, I had failed - it's too much. Too much inside me, but I remain trapped in a trance, a kind of vortex of thoughts. Even when the urine dies out of me and the mighty sea that rushes out of me becomes a small clot, I remain in my world of thoughts. The feelings weaken, but the question of how what has just happened to me could happen and how to deal with it remains.
Similar to smelling salt, a pickling smell brings me back to reality. Later I should put one and one together and make the assumption in my head that it must have been Ari's dog poo. Of course, I notice the red glow in my cheeks, the initial warmth turns to even nastier damp cold and the relief is just a faint breath from memory. But what now captures my attention after a few moments of orientation is not something in my mind, but away from it. A sob. Ari's sobs. After I can muster some energy again and my voice acknowledges me as its lord and master once more, I turn to it. My hands seem to cling to my coat. A wall of separation between us. "Ari are you okay?" I don't get silence in response, but the crying doesn't seem to change noticeably either. I put more bass in my voice and even though I feel like a miserable, I try to make my voice seem penetrating: "Ari? ... "Crying and catching her breath, more of a hesitant whisper than an answer. Between individual words or sentences, Ari seems to gather her strength: "You.... You heard ... everything. ...everything I've done. Even though I told you to sing or something..." Alongside the sadness, the anger and puppy-like defiance was clearly noticeable. The sobs swell again and I feel even more helpless with every blink that passes. So I make a decision that will put the friendship to the test. I take away my coat and put it over my shoulders.
Ari cries out briefly as one last pocket of fetid, if less fetid, air escapes her, presumably due to the squatting position. With all the warmth I can muster, I say, "I wasn't listening or looking. I didn't even smell, by and large. I had other things to do," I add after a pause." I don't know if you can see it, but I was soaking myself like a little puppy." After my words fade into the echo of the night, it remains silent, except for the purring engine of a single car passing us. I couldn't help but look at her legacy, all in all there was a pile bigger than Ari's head in diameter. The color was indistinguishable, but the light from the lanterns reflected off of it slightly. The scent that emanated from it was one that I was very familiar with from my experiences today. The strong stench is a little sour, like sulphur and eggs, and I try to avoid any possible facial derailment so as not to increase Ari's embarrassment.  I'm getting really uncomfortable in my pants, which feel increasingly cold and sticky against my fur. The silence becomes too much for me and I add, "Believe me, if I could change several things about this evening, I would. But I still think it's better to do your business on a lawn than in the pants you're wearing." Silence falls again, interrupted at the end only by Ari's question about a handkerchief.
After I confirm that I don't own a handkerchief, she takes off her underpants with delicate little movements. After everything we've experienced here, my presence doesn't seem to matter at all anymore. Shortly afterwards, she holds her underwear in her paw. It is wine-red, at least that's how it appears to me in the dim light surrounding me. Ari seems to remove as much waste as possible from her crevice with courageous strokes. Shortly afterwards, the garment lands on the large pile beneath her. The wine red is now streaked with recognizable brown stripes, at least that's how it looks to me. Ari straightens up after her work is done and for a brief moment that I will probably never forget, I see her smooth brown in places I could never hope to look. Shortly afterwards, the pants block any possible further view.  A massive boulder falls from my heart when she finally speaks up and lightens the mood when she says. "Don't you finally want to move on too, or do you like the scent so much that you want to enjoy it even more?" A genuine, warm smile finally crosses her face again and her eyes light up. We move away bit by bit. It's easier to walk now without that squeezing thing between my legs. "Why didn't you just go for a pee, you're a guy after all?" Ari asks on the way. I can feel the blood flow to my facial regions and I'm probably blushing unrecognizably under my thick fur. "Well, I didn't mean to torture you or slow you down by relieving myself. When I realized I was at my limit, there was no way to save your privacy and my pants."
Ari's answer resonates with true gratitude, even if she only mentions it indirectly: "Then you must be Rex the savior, he shed his urine for our privacy. The patron saint of wild pissers or something. Forgive me if I don't jump around your neck, the state of your pants is keeping me away." And for what feels like ages, a conversation develops again and it feels like so often between us. For me, it's just wetter than I perceive a conversatione to be. The only time it comes up again that day is just before the entrance to my street, where Ari speaks to me again. With a tug on my coat, which covers me again. She attracts my attention and my gaze. "Rex, I'm serious! It's very important to me that no one ever finds out about this. Not the tooting and not the pooping." "... and not the peeing in pants." I add. And so we make a vow. Not an oath never to mention it again, but at least an oath not to tell anyone else. A hug seals the promise, pushing my body away from Ari to keep my urine-splattered bottom away from her. This was to be the most memorable New Year of my life.
Later we kept our word and when other ears were involved besides ours, we never dropped a sound or even a hint about our little secret, in a strange game of fate this only made us grow closer together.", "pools_count": 0, "title": "Night Journey", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "application/msword", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "310" }