She could, of course, have another wee over the wall but that would be boring now. So would another piss over the carpet or the table. The other cabinets were locked so she couldn't pee into them. The need in her bladder reminded her that she still needed to go.Suzanne approached the table, the piss puddle she had made glistening in the light from the overhead bulbs. She wondered if she should just squat over it again and top it up with a new spray of piss from her bare pussy. She pulled out the nearest chair with the intent of clambering onto it to reach the table when another idea arrived.She plonked into the chair, drawing it up to the table as though she had just joined a meeting. She imagined others around her, taking notes (regardless of her pee puddle in front of them), before allowing her bladder need to seep down to her waiting pussy.Suzanne began to pee. This time her deliciously hot stream flowed over her skin as she peed between her thighs, directly onto the chair. Why wasn't I seeing a boy? Wasit the hair that made me look different? Was there something else? Thiswas too weird ... too confusing. I'm not sure how long I stared atmyself, trying to make sense of what I saw and felt, before I heard aknock on the door."Is it okay if I come in, Bobby?" Her question was a bit muffled comingthrough the bedroom door.It took me a moment to pull myself away from the mirror. "I'm alldressed. C'mon in."Aunt Joan held up my sneakers as she walked in. "I'd forgotten to bringthese up with the rest of your clothes. You probably should avoidwearing a sneaker on your sprained foot for today. If you feel funnyjust having one on your good foot, I think it would be okay to go aroundin your stocking feet today." I ain't wearing stockings ... am I?" I actually looked down to check,but all I saw were white tube socks."No, sweetie. Stocking feet just means you're wearing socks withoutshoes." Aunt Joan adjusted my shirt, although there didn't seem to beanything wrong.
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