My Mate's Mum

This is a story, part fact– part fiction about my mate’s mum, Brenda. In the late 70s, she was in her mid 30s and had a medium build, an hourglass figure with ample round rear, small waist, and generous bust. Looking back, she was quite attractive.
In those days, women of her age dressed smartly with a skirt, blouse, and ‘American Tan’ tights. Usually, her skirts were lined too, with the lining sometimes drooping down a half an inch or so revealing a lighter colored material under her skirt, which was a nylon type of material. When she walked you could hear the swishing sound the lining made as her nylon tights rubbed against it, often the static would cause the lining to rise up under her skirt. No one would know until she would slide her skirt up mid thigh, then put a hand under to locate the hem of the lining, and then she would tug it down all the way round before fixing the skirt back into place.
We were visiting at my mate’s grandmother’s house– we liked to be there because the house was always full with his cousins and aunts and uncles.
Even way back then, I was able to recognize the signs of a woman who was desperate to pee. Brenda was a pee dancer from long before the term was ever used, and didn’t even try to conceal her desperation. Quite often, she would be standing and chatting with Uncle Dave, her brother in law. Dave would be doing all the talking as Brenda listened with a smile painted on, shifting around a lot, legs crossed with the rear knee bouncing back and forth. Her arms were folded in front of her, while she waited politely for Dave to stop for air so she could make her exit. She would then uncross her legs, mark time for 4 or 5 paces on the spot, and then recross them, bouncing her knee again. This would be a common scene to behold and I would be transfixed at the sight as my mate, who was oblivious to what was going on, tried to win back my attention.
Sometimes she would be there until the point of almost actually peeing. She would wait and wait until she was dancing around so much that someone else would say to her, “you had better go.” It would be that obvious that she needed the toilet. There were times, for instance, when she would be making a cup of tea in the kitchen while talking to whomever. With the kettle still a bit away from boiling, she would shuffle around, scissoring her legs, dying to go, but she wouldn’t go, not until the tea was poured. Then she would try to pour the tea with her body in all sorts of twists and shapes as she tried to keep the t–pot spout centered over the cups. Eventually the tea would be poured and the task of carrying the tray with the cups of hot tea into the lounge would be awaiting her. This really almost finished her off, especially after she darted into the hall telling others that the tea had been poured.
On one occasion we were playing upstairs, I heard her voice call out from the hall, “Who is in there?” followed by “Don’t be long, I’m waiting!” She had obviously arrived at the bathroom in her usual desperate state only to find someone else already in there. With that, she entered my mate’s bedroom, humming to herself and doing a walk with lots of steps in it, more of a march than a walk, honestly. My mate looked up and said, “hi Mum, what are you doing in here?” “Waiting to use the toilet,” was her reply. As she reached the window, her legs went straight to the crossed position with bouncy knee, the noise of friction constant. She also had her hands on the windowsill while leaning on it. I’d been reduced to jelly at this point.
She was obviously uncomfortable by then, as she was sighing, blowing a bit, and dancing around, even though knee thing wasn’t working for her. 30 seconds later she went back into the hall again, only to again knock on the door and say, “Please hurry, I’m gasping’”
I think that was referring to her being so desperate to pee that she was gasping for breath, anyhow, she re–entered our room again looking really flush faced. For the first time she noticed me sitting on the floor playing and she smiled a painful smile whilst wriggling around. She then said, “Hello John, how are your Mum and Dad?”
Through a very dried mouth I was just able to reply, “fine thanks,” and her smile became a grimace then as she took her eyes off of me to concentrate fully on her task.
She danced over to the bed and plonked herself on it bouncing up and down frantically as she whimpered to herself “Oohhh, I’m gasping, Ooh dear, Oh dear God, I’m gasping!!”
I was at eye level with her knees then and her skirt had ridden up about 6 inches from her having she ground her crotch into the bed each time she had landed from a bounce. She had been bouncing at the rate of approximately once a second while simultaneously rubbing the tops of her thighs.
We heard a voice from the hall way, “Brenda, Brenda!” She crossed her legs on the bouncing bed, and pulled her knee up with her hands to a higher than normal position.
“Uh huh?” she answered. “That’s Bill on the phone for you!”(Bill was my mate’s dad)
“Well, I’m waiting for the toilet! Tell him that he’ll have to phone back,” said Brenda.
“He says he has to talk to you!”
She gasped, “take a message, I can’t come to the phone right now!”
She was still bouncing when my mate asked her to help him with something in the room, replying, “not now Andrew, Mummy’s busy! (Bounce, bounce, squirm, bounce, bounce, squirm.)
“Where do you keep the Avon money? The collector is at the door!!!” Mags shouted upstairs. “Oh for goodness sake!” she said, “Andrew, go and knock hard on the bathroom door and tell whoever is in there that your mother needs to get in there immediately!”
Andy protested, “Aw mum, do I have to?”
“Brenda! Where’s the money??” Mags called from downstairs.
“Andrew, GO NOW, Mummy’s desperate for the toilet, hurry son please!”
Brenda was in real agony by then and SO close to having an accident, just moments away from peeing her knickers, tights, and the lined skirt, perched on a bed too!
It was only she and I left alone now in the room– but she was in her own world and I was in mine.
Margaret arrived at the door– “Where’s the money kept for Avon?”
She looked at Brenda, who was still wriggling and bouncing on the bed in a frantic state. I was watching her too– her eyes closed tightly shut and she spoke under her breath again. “Ohhh, Oh please, Oh, I’m gasping! Oh please hurry!” Time seemed to stop, as clearly we had all heard a sound. She had actually lost her fight with her bladder; the pee had begun to hiss out of her, running through her knickers, tights, skirt, and the nylon lining. She totally pissed herself sitting on the bed, right in front of her sister and I.
She muttered, “I’m sorry Mags; I was so desperate, the bathroom was busy and I waited as long as I could. I’m so sorry, I was gasping, really gasping, I can’t believe this, I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t wait any longer! I’m so embarrassed, this is terrible; I did everything that I could to stop it!”
Margaret interrupted and reassured her, “Don’t worry, it was just an accident, let’s just get you cleaned up.”
By: Bustin Babe