Vicky had a Horrible Bus Ride

It was 1960 when Vicky climbed aboard a Greyhound Bus affiliate that connected her hometown to the main line. It was the cheapest way for Vicky to get to Philadelphia where she had acquired a job writing copy for an advertising agency. It was a Friday morning and she had to report Monday morning at 8:00AM sharp. With the help of her parents she had already arranged for lodging in Philly and she had an advance in cash from her daddy to last until she got her feet on the ground. It was the best she could do with her recent Baccalaureate Degree in English and she was very excited about her prospects. She couldn’t imagine a better starting point.
Vicky was 22 years of age, 5 feet 6 inches tall, and 120 pounds of the most remarkably distributed 120 pounds one could ever find. Burgundy hair and blue eyes accented by a creamy complexion is probably the best way to summarize how Vicky was presented to the eye of the public, especially to the male portion of the public. In short, Vicky was and is a babe.
She was dressed in royal blue gabardine trousers with a side zip opening and front pleats, a powder–blue pullover sweater with a cowl neck. Then she carried a tan London Fog trench coat to wear over this ensemble in the case of rain. And rain it was on this day of her liberation from home and parents.
But Vicky was uneasy as she boarded this connector bus that was to get her from the boondocks to the main line. She was feeling some discomfort in her bladder as she had neglected to GO at the terminal she was departing. Then she noticed that the bus she was boarding had no on–board restroom.
Oh well, thought she, I think I can wait for the two hours this leg is scheduled and if I can’t I will just ask the driver to stop at the nearest rest stop just like I have done with my daddy on many occasions. Only 15 minutes into this trip, Vicky was squirming all over her seat. Dear God, she thought, I didn’t know I would be this desperate. I really have to pee, she thought. I can’t ask the driver to stop this soon, she thought. It is too soon and he will want to know why I didn’t go before we departed, I’ve just got to wait a little longer.”
Thirty minutes into the trip Vicky was still squirming but she added a bounce up and down in her seat until she sensed that the few seated behind her were giggling at her antics. She was desperate and needed some other physical movements to help her hold her bladder for another hour and a half. Why didn’t I go at the terminal? She wondered. Why did I have to read the People magazine that I purchased at the last moment before boarding? I had to pee while standing there with that goddamn magazine, why didn’t I just go? Oh God, I have got to go. What am I going to do? Vicky began to experience real pain as she held her overly full bladder. She sought exercises she could perform from her confined area that would provide her some relief. She moved her legs violently from side to side until her knees hurt from being banged together. She crossed her legs right over left and then left over right. Then she bounced her crossed legs on muscle contractions started by flexing the muscles in her buttocks.
Vicky looked at her watch and noted, with despair, that she had another hour and fifteen minutes before her bus got to its terminal. She decided that she must now ask the driver to find a place to stop. As she uncrossed her legs and attempted to stand she felt a hot spurt of pee escape into her crotch. Oh my God, she thought. It’s too late. I can’t make it up the aisle to the driver’s place. I’m simply going to pee my pants.
At this point Vicky shoved her hand into her crotch to hold on tightly and crossed her legs over her hand for insurance– too little, too late. She lost control and started to pee into her pants, all the while struggling to regain control. She felt the hot liquid spurting up into her lap making the front of her pants wet and she felt the seeping of hot liquid under her buttocks and her thighs as she was making a puddle in her seat. Finally after 5 seconds of peeing, the pressure subsided enough for Vicky to regain control. Relief at last, thought Vicky, but at what price?
Sitting there while soaking wet Vicky decided to survey the damage. She uncrossed her legs and removed her hand and looked down at her crotch and lap. There is no describing the shock she felt as she noted the dark wet patch circling the front of her crotch spilling into her lap. When she considered that her seat was equally wet thus indicating a dark wet patch she began to panic. Even the backs of her knees were wet. She was completely mortified. But, she was more worried about others seeing what she had done.
If I can just hide what I have done– I can live with it, but if others see what I have done I will simply die. This just can’t happen, it isn’t possible, she was thinking as she once again looked down at her crotch. But, it did happen and the evidence is glaring from the front and back of her pants. I suppose my raincoat will cover all the evidence of my wetting accident, and it will be another hour or so before we get to State Line Terminal to change buses so I guess I will be concealed. Maybe I’ll be dry at State Line Terminal.
She put her hand under her butt to check the wetness and decided that there was no way she would be completely dry on her bus’s arrival at State Line Terminal. She was just going to have to hide her accident with her raincoat and hope for the best. When the driver announced State Line in ten minutes, Vicky retrieved her raincoat and overnight bag from the rack over her seat, after making sure no one was in a position to see her. She managed to cover herself before debarking with another overwhelming urge to pee.
But, this time she made it to the ladies room and properly relieved herself. She sat there looking at her now damp trousers and wondering what would be next. She vowed that she would never ever put off a restroom trip for the simple reason of wanting to read a magazine.
She pulled her trousers up and winced at their wetness. She zipped up and strolled somewhat daintily onto the connecting bus, well covered by her London Fog trench coat. She noted the on board restroom and sighed in relief. She took her seat making sure her raincoat wasn’t under her when she sat down. Vicky leaned her head onto the window and prayed for dryness before she got to Philadelphia. Then she began to doze…
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