Patience and Prudence: A Day at the Seaside

I’ve told the story (Patience and Prudence: An Introduction) of how my twin sister Prudence and I acquired such different toilet habits. After a wetting accident in the car, Prue became neurotic about taking precautions if she was going to be out of the range of a toilet, while I, after a very painful evening out with my boyfriend, had discovered that I had very good control and had decided not to take precautions at all.
As time went on, Prue and I noticed our different attitudes and we often used to joke about it. I would say that if Prue was going to the shop across the street for some milk she’d run up to the toilet first “just in case” she got caught short in the middle of the road. On the other hand if I got desperate and had to wait, Prue would laugh at me and gloat that because she was sensible she wasn’t sharing my plight. It was generally pretty good–natured, though if I was really bursting it could be a bit irritating. But occasionally the tables were turned. This is the story of one of those times.
Some of the people from the office where Prue worked had arranged for a coach trip to the seaside. They were a bit short on numbers and Prue asked me to come along. There would be more women than men, so there wouldn’t be much hope of pulling, but it sounded as though it might be fun.
On the day in question I got up early and ran to the bathroom. I had abandoned the habit of taking a leak before going to bed, so it was nearly twelve hours since my last visit, and I did a very long, splashy pee. Then we had breakfast; Prue only had one cup of coffee but I had three. As we were about to leave the house Prue ran up to the toilet for her second pee of the day. When she came back she said: “Aren’t you going? It’s a three–hour journey and I don’t know how often we’ll stop.” I shook my head. “She grinned and then pulled a face, tapping her foot on the floor and miming desperation. “You’ll regret it,” she smirked.
It was about half an hour’s walk down to the square where the coach was waiting for us. We got there in plenty of time. Prue’s eyes lit up as though she had won the lottery when she saw that the public convenience was already open. “I think I’ll just pop in here before we get on the bus,” she said. “Are you coming?” She knew the answer, and left me to wait for her.
When she emerged a few moments later, a woman whom she had apparently met inside the toilets accompanied her. I recognised her as Prue’s friend Amy, whom I had met a couple of times. I didn’t like her much; she had a nasty, sneering manner; but I wasn’t going to spoil an enjoyable day out so I greeted her in a friendly fashion and we got on the bus. She was dressed for a day out in a pair of very attractive lime green trousers.
Prue and I shared a seat, and Amy had a double seat to herself on the other side of the aisle. We were going to a resort on the Essex coast, so it was going to be quite a long journey. When we had gone about half way we stopped at a very pleasant caf’ and had a cup of tea. When she had drained her cup Prue said: “I’m going to the Ladies; are you coming?” I said no – I felt no need despite the quantity I had drink. Prue got up and Amy followed her, turning round to look at me and shake her head as though she found it all very funny. I wondered if Prue had told her about my toilet habits. I felt a bit embarrassed; I didn’t think Prue should be telling the world about what to me were intimate family matters. But I wasn’t going to make a fuss about it.
We’d only been going for about fifteen minutes when I realised that all the coffee and tea had made their way to my bladder. It was one of those times when one minute you feel fine and the next, almost without warning, you’re desperate. It didn’t worry me too much; I knew I was in control, but it hurt like hell. Soon I was sitting on my foot and rocking to and fro each time a spasm of pain hit me. Prue quickly realised what was wrong with me and grinned, “I told you that you should have gone before we got on the coach,” she smirked. I just grimaced. But what really annoyed me was when Amy looked across and said: “Oh, do you need a wee–wee? Maybe you should have worn a nappy.” I said nothing but I was really cross that she was sticking her oar into a private joke between Prue and me.
The next hour till we got to the seaside was pure agony. I was really beginning to think that Prue was right, and I should start taking precautions occasionally when we finally got to the seaside. There were toilets in the car park and a few of the girls were in a hurry to get there. Unfortunately in my condition I couldn’t run and had to hobble after them, so by the time I got there all the cubicles were occupied and there was a queue. I had to stand there for about five minutes, jumping from one foot to the other and muttering “hurry up” before I finally got myself onto a toilet. Then there was a minute of sheer orgasmic bliss as the liquid drained from me and my whole body felt renewed.
We had great fun all afternoon. I nearly wet myself on the ghost train, but that was out of fright, not because of a full bladder. Then we retired to the pub for some serious drinking. Unfortunately Prue and I found ourselves at a table with Amy. She was really getting on my tits by now, but I didn’t want a row with Prue’s mate.
I got myself a pint. Prune was only drinking halves, muttering something about it being a long way home and she didn’t know how often we would be stopping. Amy had a pint too. In the next couple of hours I put back five pints. Prue had five halves and Amy had two pints, and then switched to halves. I used the toilet twice.
Finally we realised it was time to go back to the coach. Prue said: “I’m off to the Ladies’ again. You really had better come, Paish. I don’t know how soon we shall stop.” But I declined, feeling no need after having been about half an hour earlier. Amy, of course, dutifully trotted off with Prue.
We were actually quite late for the coach, and so were some other stragglers. The driver was getting quite irritable, and at one point threatened to leave some people behind. But eventually everyone was there and we set off.
Of course, after about half an hour I needed a pee. Again, I was quite confident in my ability to hang on, and I simply seated myself on my foot and prepared for a long, painful wait. Needless to say, Amy spotted what was going on and giggled: “You should have gone when teacher told you to.” I ignored her, concentrating on gripping my sphincter muscles tight.
After about another half an hour of this I was very desperate indeed– much worse than in the morning. Beer does have that effect, and I was feeling very bloated. I would have given a hundred pounds for a toilet to sit on.
Then some of the men asked the driver to stop. We were in the middle of the open country and there weren’t even any bushes or trees in sight. But I was at my very limit – I just had to go. So I stood up and walked towards the front of the bus. Behind me I heard Amy’s mocking voice saying, “Don’t wet your shoes.” Two other girls got up and followed me. As we got off the bus one of then whispered to me: “Thanks for taking the lead. I’m absolutely desperate but I should have been so embarrassed to be the only girl…”
The men were very chivalrous and moved over to the far side of the road to relieve themselves. There was no real cover so we just had to walk to the rear end of the bus and squat down in a row. We all produced torrents, but I went on much longer than the other two.
I got back on the bus, feeling wonderfully relieved and empty. Prue whispered to me: “I told you to go before we set off. Then you wouldn’t have had to go in the open air.” I replied that I liked doing it squatting from time to time. (If you take risks like I do, then emergency measures are necessary on occasion.) Prue looked surprised at this. I remembered that when we had been on holiday in France a couple of years back we’d had a big argument about squat toilets; Prue hated them but I quite liked them.
On we went for another half hour or so. I could see that Prue and Amy were both looking at their watches and beginning to get a bit anxious. Obviously their bladders were filling up and they were wondering when we were going to stop. We passed a sign for the village where we had stopped on the way out, and their hopes were raised; but the coach just sped through the village without stopping.
After another twenty minutes or so I could see Amy as wriggling about in obvious discomfort. Out of consideration for Prue I refrained from making any tasteless remarks about nappies. Then Amy stood up and walked to the front of the bus. I could see her standing there arguing with the driver; this went on for quite some time. Eventually she walked back to her seat. She looked absolutely furious.
“It’s an absolute disgrace,” she declaimed to Prue and me. “The driver isn’t going to stop again till we get to London. He says we were late back and he’s behind schedule. But I’m sure he has no right to deprive us of a comfort break. It’s a health and safety issue. It’s very bad for the health to do without comfort breaks. I’m sure it’s against the law not to provide travellers with a comfort break. I think there’s an Act of Parliament.”
I couldn’t help smiling at this, imagining the debate in Parliament, with Labour saying people needed the toilet every two hours, and the Tories saying they ought to be able to wait for three– and perhaps the Liberal Democrats demanding an hour and a half.
Amy must have seen me smile, for now she turned on me. “I was going to accuse him of sex discrimination as well,” she thundered. “It’s all right for men to stop in the open country, but there were no facilities for women. But you… “ – She glared at me as if she could have strangled me – “undermined that. If women are prepared to accept inadequate facilities, it undermines the whole case for women’s rights.”
With that she returned to her seat, and sat on her foot with her hand between her legs looking very unhappy indeed. I saw no point in arguing, and I was much more concerned about poor old Prue. Her face had fallen into despair when Amy had made her announcement. She was sitting with her legs tightly crossed and I could see she was very worried. I knew she was thinking of the accident on the way to Scotland, and that this was no time for joking. “Are you desperate?” I asked. “Very,” she said, “I wish I’d gone by the roadside when you did, I really do.” She looked at her watch. “It’s another three quarters of an hour till we get to London and I really don’t know if I can wait.”
I did my best to persuade her that she could hang on, telling her the story of how I had discovered my own capacity that painful night out with my former boyfriend. Then I thought the best thing was to try and take her mind off it. There’s nothing worse than just thinking about your bladder; that just makes the pain more and more acute.
So I grabbed one of the newspapers that were lying around, and we started to do the crossword together. Amy was still sulking. It seemed to be working and Prue was getting quite involved in working out the cryptic clues. We were wrestling with “Small room for barrel with gold in old poem” when I heard Amy give a gasp. I looked across at her and saw a huge stain spreading across her trousers. If you’re going to wet yourself, I thought, wear something black or dark grey – it doesn’t show so much. But I didn’t say anything, though I felt mildly pleased that she had got her comeuppance. She looked very miserable; most of the liquid seemed to have soaked into the seat, so other people hadn’t noticed her accident. She just moved on to the dry part of the seat and stared out of the window, trying her best not to meet anyone else’s gaze.
I was much more concerned about Prue, who had immediately spotted what had happened. I tried to comfort her, telling her that Amy had drunk much more than she had, and that it wasn’t far now. Indeed, we were already in the outskirts of London. Prue just sat and rocked backwards and forwards in her seat, glancing at her watch almost every minute trying to count down the time. I needed a pee pretty badly myself by now, since I had drunk by far the most.
At last, at last, we arrived in London. Any picked up a newspaper and held it in front of her to disguise the damage, hoping to slink off unseen into the night. I couldn’t resist whispering to her: “I’d sooner wet my feet than my knickers.”
But the real problem was Prue. When we climbed off the bus she clearly was at the very end of her tether. She just couldn’t stand still, jumping frantically from foot to foot. The public toilets were, of course, closed. Quite a few of the girls were desperate and they were talking about walking to the nearest pub, which was five or ten minutes away. But I could see that was not a possibility for Prue, who looked as though she was about to burst out crying.
If you take risks like I do, you become very observant of opportunities that may have to be taken in emergencies. Behind the public convenience was a quiet little alleyway, and I guided Prue, who by now seemed in such pain that she was incapable of coherent thought, into it. Then we both squatted down and pissed. We both went on for ages, but when Prue finally dried up, I was still going strong. I didn’t wet my shoes. Prue did.
By: Jay–Gee