Little Accident in Practice Phase

A brief foreword to avoid any unnecessary confusion. This is another story, just two weeks after the holiday, but because people's names have to be mentioned, I have changed them. I will always include a foreword like this when names or even passages have been changed. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this slightly shorter story.

It was as if something had shifted inside me after the holiday. Not much, just a fine line that had previously seemed insurmountable -- and now was a trail that I followed again and again. After the holiday, that almost surreal time with Timo, returning to everyday life at the hospital was unexpectedly easy for me. Almost too easy. I was now in the middle of my practical training. My days were structured, exhausting, and yet I felt... calm. Somehow fulfilled. The moments with Timo, the closeness, the trust -- all of that lingered, even though I hardly ever mentioned it to him. Instead, I carried it with me. Literally. I had been wearing pull-ups conspicuously often in recent weeks. At first, I had found reasons for it: long shifts, irregular breaks, a nervous bladder. But at some point, I realised myself that it was more than just a precaution. It had become... a part of me. At least when I was in the mood. A silent decision that I didn't always understand. And yet I made it.

Anna, my best friend from university, was the only one who knew about it. We not only shared the same degree programme, but also the same internship -- albeit in different departments. She was the only one with whom I found the courage to be honest. I hadn't told her everything. But enough. About my bladder and the circumstances. But not about Timo or the recent past.

At first, it had been controlled. I had allowed myself to let a little go in the toilet alone. Later, in the corridor shortly before the end of my shift. And the third time... well. That had been less planned. And it still haunted me.

The day started early. I was tired, as always. Blue uniform. Underneath: a lace dream in black, my favourite bra, which Timo despised a little, but I loved. I always felt so sexy in it. And a fresh pull-up. Even with a booster. I had taken it out of my drawer the night before. Timo had left some there for me. Maybe because I had a feeling it was going to be a long day. Maybe also because I knew it would make it more worthwhile. And it felt special too. And I had treated myself to something else: the smaller plug from my set of three. I had been wearing one here and there for months, but not consistently, so not much had changed. I never really wanted to wear one in public. I was afraid someone might see something or that something might happen... But I always liked the feeling. Nothing exciting. Just a reminder of what moved me inside -- in the midst of routine. A counterbalance to the whiteness of everyday life in the clinic.

The morning passed quietly. I helped with positioning, washing and changing. I felt safe. Even when I had to change an elderly patient's nappy and at the same time let the first coffee of the day run into my pull-up. Just a little. Very slowly. By then, I had enough experience to make the moment look professional. And yet -- it was there, that tingling feeling under my skin. The inkling that I was doing something here that not everyone would explain as routine.

During my lunch break, I met Anna outside on the bench behind the main entrance. She looked exhausted. Her hair hung slightly damp at the nape of her neck, her smock was loosely buttoned.

'Hey,' I said quietly.

'Hey,' she smiled wearily. 'Still fit?'

I shrugged. 'So-so.'

She looked at me briefly, then leaned slightly towards me. 'Are you wearing that again today...?'

I nodded almost imperceptibly.

'Well, you're brave.' She grinned, then took a sip of water. 'I wouldn't dare wear that in the house. The nurses are like bloodhounds.'

I laughed. 'They have other things to worry about.'

At that moment, someone sat down at our table. Dr Kleinebrecht. I only knew him from saying hello in the corridor. Around forty, well-groomed stubble, eyes that saw more than they should. He was a very good doctor.

'Well, are you two still hanging in there?' He sounded friendly, almost chummy. So what everyone says about him is true.

Anna replied immediately -- a joke about the cafeteria food, then something about the morning shift. I, on the other hand... struggled. With another conversation. My body. The coffee, the water -- they were making themselves felt. I felt the pressure. And that quiet, almost inaudible tapping: 'Let go.' I knew I could do it. Just like that, right then and there. Just a little. No one would notice. Or would they? That feeling... like back in school. But now I'm an adult and I'm facing a doctor... not my teacher and classmates anymore.

I tried to breathe calmly. I concentrated on Anna's voice, on the doctor's rhythmic nodding. She had been with him before. Apparently, they got along well. My bladder was pressing more and more. So I let it happen. Not much. Just a little. The first surge was almost disappointing. The second brought the heat back.

I smiled as if nothing had happened. Hoping that no one would smell it. Hoping that the plug would stay where it was. The second gush was almost incessant. I felt the wetness being absorbed by the booster and the cotton wool.

'I still have rounds to do, but we'll see each other in the operating theatre in 40 minutes,' said Dr Kleinebrecht, looking directly at me. 'Operating theatre 3? I'll take you with me as an assistant if that's okay.'

I nodded and swallowed. I hadn't expected that. He got up and went back into the house. Anna looked at me.

'Franka...? Are you okay? You look... very pale.'

I looked down at myself. And then the shock: two dark spots on my thighs. Damn booster. I stood up abruptly.

'I have to... take care of something,' I muttered.

'Franka?'

I walked quickly. Not another word. No explanation. Just gone. I fled into the building. Into the changing room. No one there. I threw open the door of my locker. Hastily pulled down my trousers. Deep yellow. The pull-up was full, much heavier than I thought. And me? I was hot. Confused. Rushed. But also pretty horny.

I stepped into the shower. Tore the thing off my body. Looked at myself in the mirror above the sink. My bra had slipped, the skin underneath was reddened. And I... was more unreasonable than I had been in a long time. I knew I didn't need this now. Not before an operation. But my body was screaming. With trembling fingers, I felt for the plug. It was in place, I pulled it out gently. I love this feeling, but now? I pulled it out, a relief. Felt the empty space it left. And yet -- I couldn't help myself. I slowly inserted it again, very gently to feel every moment. My wrist was already rubbing against my vagina anyway. I had to release the pressure. So I began to stimulate my clitoris with two fingers, more hastily than sensually. I let them slide inside me. Suddenly, I heard the door open. Someone came in and opened a locker. I was frozen. I couldn't breathe. But the person left right away. I stayed.

I couldn't help but continue. My fingertips circled, as if automatically, and I moaned softly in the silence of the changing room. And then... the pressure. That familiar internal pressure. I arched my back a little, feeling my pelvis working against my own hand. I was close -- my muscles contracted, my breathing became heavy. And at the very moment when my whole body released in a silent, trembling shudder -- I felt it. The plug, deep inside me, moved. At first barely noticeable, then more clearly. And then it slid out -- slowly, heavily, as if held by a final reflex -- and finally fell with a soft thud onto the pulled-up pull-up. And then... it was over. My breath caught. The plug lay on the floor, right in the pull-up that I had forgotten to pick up and was just lying on the floor between my legs.

I gathered myself. Washed myself thoroughly. Dried myself off. Put on the panties from my locker. Then a fresh sterile pair of trousers from the storage shelf. Just in time.

Outside, in front of the changing room, stood Anna. She was talking to a nurse, saw me out of the corner of her eye. I just nodded briefly. No time.

The operation went surprisingly smoothly. I was allowed to do more than usual, was involved, challenged. Everything was precise, focused -- almost as if under glass. As if there were only the moment, only the tissue, only the goal. A real tunnel vision. So I was still able to control my emotions. I even received praise afterwards during the short debriefing.

But the afternoon brought the thoughts back. The heat. The uncertainty.

The questions. Was I still me? Or already someone else? Did I enjoy doing it in front of others? What had I actually done there?!

The shift was over. At least for the students who didn't have to work a full shift. Anna, me and two other female students in the changing room. One went to take a shower. As far as I knew, only a few did that. Similar to my experience in team sports. I stared at my locker. The events of the lunch break came back to me like a dream. I saw the student coming out of the shower. I was startled by myself. Where had I put my things? No plug, no pull-up in my locker. I blushed. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I stepped into the showers... but nothing. So I turned around, and as I walked out, I looked at Anna a little desperately. Her eyes met mine. Then she nodded to me almost imperceptibly.

A short time later, when everyone else had left, she came over to my locker. She opened her own.

'I threw them away,' she said quietly.

I nodded, grateful. And then she handed me something from her bag. Wrapped in a small towel.

'It was lying next to it.'

I took it. I immediately felt what it was.

'I thought you wouldn't want anyone else to see it,' she said gently. 'It's okay. I won't say anything.'

I was extremely embarrassed. At the same time... relieved that it was her who had to see it.

'Thank you,' was all I could say.

She smiled. 'I know you. And I know this... You don't have to explain everything.'

She turned away, smiling, and showed me her bottom.

In the evening, it was lying on my bed. Timo texted to ask if I had got home safely. I replied briefly. I thought long and hard before finally writing to him:

'It was... a strange day. I have to tell you something...'