Wet Friday - Part 1

Anne’s fingers flew across the keyboard at a rate of knots. Sally, her colleague, was on holiday in Cromer and so instead of working her usual three mornings, she’d been asked to put in a full five–day week. Clive, her boss, was throwing work at her from all directions and it was proving difficult to keep up, let alone maintain a sense of composure. She paused momentarily, draining the last drops of coffee in her cup – the fourth she’d had that morning. Excessive though it was, she needed all those infusions of caffeine, a necessity just enabling her to keep going, especially as the week was ending and fatigue was starting to set in.
Looking at her watch she noticed that it was ten past twelve. Another five minutes and she’d be able to knock off for her lunch break, or so she supposed, and have forty–five minutes of quality time to herself. It was pouring with rain outside but she’d follow her usual routine, hurrying up to the Cathedral to use the ladies’ loo in the cloisters, go to the 12:30 Communion in St Edmund’s Chapel – a brief twenty minute celebration geared to city workers, grab a quick sandwich from the Chapter Tea Rooms and hurry back to work.
Just as she finished the tape, closing the folder it contained with a sense of relief, Clive Fotheringay dashed into the room with another, even larger folder.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Anne. I know it’s time for your lunch break but I’ve got rather a panic on. You see this report here. Well, there are a number of changes that need to be made and I need it badly for an important client I’m lunching with at one fifteen. Could you possibly re–type it making the changes I’ve highlighted? I know it means working through and I know you hate copy typing but I’ll make it worth your while.”
Anne groaned inwardly. “Very well Clive, if you must– as it’s you. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else you know. By the way, I’ll be checking my pay slip very carefully at the end of this month though to make sure you’ve paid all the overtime I’m due. If it’s not there, I’ll be demanding it next month with the interest.”
“Point taken, Anne. I’ll see that it’s done. Mustn’t upset the workers!”
Clive smiled and walked away. He knew exactly why he’d employed Anne Timpson but she was certainly a woman with attitude. If she were in a union she’d be lethal.
Disappointed at the loss of her lunch break but consoled by the prospect of additional overtime pay, Anne settled down to the task at hand. It wasn’t welcome but it had to be done.
Not unusually for her, Anne hadn’t been to the loo all morning. She’d needed to pee for over an hour, not desperately at first but enough to cause a measure of discomfort. She’d felt the first twinges about ten past eleven and, as her bladder had gradually filled, to the point where she needed to go to the toilet quite badly but without being so desperate that a few minutes would make a difference. She disliked using the small unisex loo that the office boasted and only did so in the direst of emergencies such as during her period or the one occasion so far when the irrepressible need for a shit had left her with absolutely no alternative. Her dislike was fuelled partly by the fact that she knew Clive timed how long people spent in there and partly because she suspected him of listening in on Sarah, her colleague, when she’d needed to go. She’d been unable to prove anything though. There was no way she intended him to listen in on her if she could possibly help it – or dock her pay for spending too long in there. Today though she would have no choice. She’d finish re–typing the report, take it up to Clive, and use the loo as soon as he’d gone out. If the phone rang – well hard luck!
Typing as fast as she could, Anne crossed and re–crossed her legs, a move which seemed to make matters worse rather than better. It was now twenty to one and she was starting to get really desperate. Holding her crotch with her left hand, she typed as fast as she could with the right. Her hand felt warm against the cotton of the sheer white knickers she was wearing. She only hoped that it would be enough to stave off the need for another twenty minutes. If it were, it would certainly be a triumph of hope over experience!
The next ten minutes seemed like an eternity but at last the report was typed and she could look forward to relief. There was no time to waste though. Clive or no Clive she’d have to rush upstairs, drop that report in his office and make a mad dash for the toilet. Scooping up the report with her right hand she continued to hold herself tightly with her left.
Gingerly mounting the stairs she tried to take each step as carefully as possible, fully conscious that she had no free hand with which to steady herself. Suddenly and without warning she lost her footing and slipped. Trying her best to save both herself and the report, she instinctively grabbed the rail, which was on her left hand side; with the hand she’d been using to control her need. Shaken by her tumble and unable to plug the dam a second longer, Anne began peeing violently and uncontrollably as she tried to salvage the report and pick herself up. Rarely had she peed with such force. Red in the face and unable to stop herself, she just had to let it flow.
Wondering what all the commotion was about, Clive hurried out of his office, only to be greeted by the sight of his secretary peeing herself on the stairs as she attempted to pick up the dropped report.
“Are you alright?” he enquired.
Anne glared at him. “Do I look alright? I’ve only taken a tumble on these stairs and emptied an entire bladder in the process.”
Clive knew it was time to play the sympathy card. “Are you hurt? Can I get you anything?”
“No. I’m alright– just a bit wet. Here, take this report – the one you needed so urgently.”
Brushing past him on the stairs, Anne headed straight for the staff loo. She needed that loo if only to sort herself out in. Clive judged that it was time to make a sharp exit. That woman was in no mood to be fooled with. What’s more he’d have to find a loo himself somewhere on route to seeing that client – for different reasons.
To be continued
Adrian