Any Port in a Storm - Part 2

As many of you will know and expect, a small bladder such as mine and a coach outing is not a good combination, and since my early teaching days I have always been wary of school outings in coaches, which seem to have become and end of term tradition, despite all the changes in the education system.
My school is no different, and though we try to make some of the outings ‘educational,’ others are purely for fun, and it was one of these fun outings that I volunteered to organise, not because I wanted the extra responsibility, or to advance my career by giving up my time to do something for the school, but for the selfish reason that I wanted to be in charge of when and where we stopped on the way down to the sea. There was some sort of service area on the main road just over half way and I estimated that with London traffic we would take about 70 to 90 minutes to get there, by which time my bladder would be reaching the uncomfortably full, ‘I really need a loo’ stage. My excuse for arranging this stop, if anyone had thought to ask, would have been that the timing more or less coincided with the normal ‘break–time’ for the children and they would be expecting some activity then. It would be purely incidental that my tiny bladder would also be expecting, or demanding, some activity by then.
While it was not going to be impossible for me to hold out all the way to the coast, I would have been reaching ‘desperate’ level by then, not enjoying myself and hardly in the best state to control a bunch of excited children, when all I would have been able to think of would be finding the loo I so badly wanted. Apart from my own comfort, I should not have expected all the other teachers involved on the outing to have been capable of waiting ‘all day’ or some amazingly long time as often seems to be the case today. However, I have always thought that it would be rare, or impossible for any teacher, or other healthy adult, to have a bladder much smaller than mine, so I set the standard and anyone else is likely to be gratefully spared any desperation.
I can remember only too vividly how I suffered as a child on such outings, often being absolutely desperate and too shy to say anything, so I would squirm about with my legs crossed, holding myself, and pray that some grown–up would notice my distress and take me to the toilet. Too often nobody noticed until it was too late and I had either wet my pants or was in tears with desperation and fear of the accident about to happen. I have always been determined that no child in my care should suffer like this it I could do anything to avoid it. Hence my idea of a stop on the way to the coast; (did it matter if it was for my comfort as well?)
Despite having organised the outing to stop at a loo on the way, hopefully before I was too desperate, I took all my normal pre–coach outing precautions that morning. I hardly drank any coffee at breakfast and scarcely touched the cup of tea offered me in the teachers’ common room. Still not trusting my bladder, I made a point of going to the loo at every opportunity before we left. I must have been in the loo at least 5 times before getting on the coach; not because I was wanting to go only five minute after going before, but because I like to take the chance to drain every last drop of pee out of my body. On my last two visits to the loo, when I could hardly manage to squeeze two drops of pee out, I noticed that Katherine, the other teacher on this outing, a petite lady, similar build to me, but older, coming up to retiring age, so perhaps she was nearly 60, was also in the loo. Maybe she was also afraid of her bladder capacity not being up to the journey? She was smartly dressed in a long skirt and casual jacket, a far more practical outfit than my own tight grey trousers and sweatshirt, as it turned out. With hindsight, perhaps she was also afraid of her bladder capacity being strained on the journey, and had taken more precautions that I did.
Really I should have known better than to go on a coach outing when loo access might be restricted, and to wear tight trousers. Sometime the worst does happen, and wearing ‘sensible ‘ clothes, i.e. ones that might not reveal an ‘accidental leak,’ is a good idea. She had always seemed so well organised and efficient that I had never before though of her as having a small bladder. (I tend to notice such things! Mainly so that I know who will be looking for a loo when I am!) We did not say anything then when we met in the loo, nor did we say anything as we sat together on the coach. What could I say to her? “Hope my bladder can last out this trip, if there are any delays I might be struggling” What an admission as it was only going to be a two hour journey, and I was not going to admit that I was worried that I might be bursting in so short a time, even if it would probably be true.
Well, the worst, or the expected, depending on how you look at it, happened: I wanted to pee after not much longer than an hour, despite all my precautions, and in an other ten minutes I was sitting on my heel, my usual technique to ease the strain of holding in a full bladder, and to help me wait the half hour until we stopped. The traffic had not been as fast flowing as my bladder, and I was eagerly thinking of the stop due soon, when the deputy head, Angela Davies, who had decided at the last minute to come on the outing, came down the coach to speak to me, after she had been talking to the driver.
“We are running a bit behind your schedule,” she said to me,” so I think it’s best if we skip the ‘rest stop’ you have planned. I’ve told the driver and he does not need fuel or anything, so we will not be stopping. It’s not a good idea to set targets or schedules that you cannot keep. Targets are important and it encourages a sloppy attitude if we ignore them.”
I was absolutely dumfounded and could not think of a suitable reply to this. How dare she interfere with my outing plans! I was tempted to tell her that the ‘primary target’ of the day, (if we had to have such a grand sounding thing on what was only a fun outing,) was not the timing schedule, but that nobody, particularly me, suffered ‘an acute urination need,’ or ‘toilet deprivation’ which I believe is the official term. I do not have much time for all the target setting of modern education, or fancy terminology, particularly when it was keeping me from the loo visit I most definitely needed! I had never set other than a rough estimate of timings to see how we would get along, but, stupidly, I had written them down and given Angela a copy to show her how the outing would be scheduled. Not that it was going to matter to anyone if we were ten minutes later getting to the coast. Anyway it was not up to the driver to say if we needed a stop. I most certainly needed to stop (for a pee!) and rather selfishly, I hoped that I was not the only adult on the coach that was suffering a ‘urinary need.’
In particular, I would very much have liked Angela to also want to go very badly. After her interference, I would have willingly have suffered considerable desperation if I had thought she wanted to go more urgently. No such luck! Life isn’t like that; as normal it was only poor Nicola that had to suffer the ‘Acute Urination Need’ and ‘Toilet deprivation’ and struggle with her weak and bursting bladder.
I could not say that a stop was becoming essential for anyone that morning, but it was going to be an important factor for my comfort on the remaining journey and would leave me more able to control the excited children when we arrived at the coast if I was not hopping about with my legs crossed, desperately looking for a ladies.
I was still thinking of what, if anything, to say to Angela about the taking away my only chance of a pee on the journey when Katherine said to me: “That is a bit ‘out of order’ interfering with your schedule in such a high–handed manner. There might be some people who were looking forward to that stop.”
I tried to make light of Angela’s interference, not wanting to admit that I had been very much ‘looking forward’ to that stop, and wondering if maybe Katherine was also ‘looking forward’ to the stop and wanted to pee as much as I was. This made me take more notice of her; she was sitting with her legs tightly crossed, just as a lady would if she was dying for a loo. I had never thought of her as having a small bladder, but I had some memory that she had been extravagant with the coffee that morning, drinking a large mug of black coffee, a rash or stupid thing to do if you had any doubts about your bladder capacity for the coming journey. Since Katherine had been well aware of the outing timings, or at least what I had intended, surely she had not been risking a full mug of coffee with a small bladder. She had, after all, I remembered, been a frequent user of the loo before we left, almost as often as I had, and that was an indication of fear of a small bladder. Exactly what I had been suffering from, and as now suffering again. Too much thinking about bladders and loos had made me want to pee only too urgently, and all I could do was to sit on my heel. The best way I knew to help me wait, I had given up the idea of crossing my legs some time ago, and was in need of all the help I could give my bladder if I was to survive until we reached our destination.
Still not wanting to confess to having an unusually small bladder, I casually replied, “I think there might be some” (thinking me for one, and a very important one!) “on this coach who would have been glad of a stop for a few minutes, but I do not think Angela is one of those and it seems she does not care about anything except this mythical target, which I have never set.”
I carefully made no reference to the fact that it was the two teachers who were acting as if they did rather want to stop. I could have suggested that maybe some, (those two teachers!) were becoming ‘uncomfortable,’ but I hate that expression and I wasn’t simply ‘uncomfortable’ sitting on my heel, which might be a genuinely uncomfortable position to sit, but with my weak bladder control, it was the only way I could sit when I was bursting for a pee. O.K. It would have been as good for my bladder control to have simply pressed one hand between my tightly crossed my legs, but that would have been no more comfort to my bladder and much worse for my image as a senior teacher. Sitting on my heel has been my salvation on many occasions since I discovered the position as a child, when, desperate as I often was, I somehow squirmed into a position that eased my desperation as much as if I was holding between my legs. Skilled, after many hours of practice, I could sit on my heel without it being noticed, and get as much help for my bladder as if I was pressing between my legs.
I suspected that Katherine wanted to go as well, even if she was only sitting with her legs crossed, and not on her heel, which would have been a sure give–away to an ‘expert’ like me. At the time I did not occur to me that she might have deduced that I was dying for a loo from the way I was sitting. Even though I was in no immediate danger of wetting myself, I still wanted a loo stop very badly, and nearing that service area, I knew enough about human behaviour to know that if we stopped at a service area with loos, there would be a rush of children, (and teachers!) to use the loos. Well thanks to Angela and her attitude to targets, we were all going to have to wait quite bit longer and this teacher at least would be nearing ‘desperate’ before we were going to be allowed near a loo.
As if to annoy me, just while I was thinking this, we were coming up to the service area that I had planned to stop at, and I suddenly wanted to pee much more urgently, so urgently, in fact that I gave some serious though to ignoring Angela and telling the driver to stop as I had originally planned. Unfortunately I had no serious reason (well my bladder condition was becoming serious for me) to confront Angela like this, which would have caused a lot of trouble and I could only have justified it by telling her about my problems with a small bladder, and that was not something I wanted to boast about.
Perhaps I should have made more of a fuss about stopping, because as I looked longingly at the services (and loos) we were passing by, Katherine squirmed in her seat, and looked to me as if she was crossing her legs even tighter. (Of course, she could have spoken up and asked for a stop, which I do not think would have been denied her, but I suppose she was as reluctant as me to admit to a lack of bladder capacity. Why? We all need to pee, some of us more often than others, but convention is that we all have to pretend we do not want to go. It would have been perfectly reasonable and normal for either Kathy or me to have owned up and said “ I really would like to stop here for a few minutes to use the Ladies,” and nobody would have made a big issue of it. We would have stopped and all lived comfortably ever after. But no, we both wanted to go and neither of us said anything so we had to wait, and suffer. Serves us right! You could say, except those of you who are looking forward to reading about two ladies dying for a loo.)
I did not need any further reminder of loos, particularly ladies loos, and had to squirm about myself, not so much to cross my legs, but to push down on my heel and get it to press harder into me and hold back the more urgent need to pee that this thought of loos had brought on. Katherine still had her legs twisted together tightly and had an anxious, perhaps strained expression, tensely biting her lower lip, in the classic manner, that had me, a self–styled expert, guessing that she badly needed a loo. It was beginning to look as if Katherine really did want to pee rather badly, and I wished she had had the courage that I lacked to say that she wanted to stop at that service area. I can’t really blame her, because I knew how long it was going to take to reach our destination, and I was bursting; wanting to go really very badly, perhaps even desperately, would have been how to describe it, and I could have made some suggestion about stopping. However it was now too late for that and we both had to hold on until we reached the coast, about another 45 minutes in my estimation. For me, and for Katherine, from the look of things, this was going to be an uncomfortably long time.
Traffic near the coast was worse than I had expected and it took a bit longer than that. Much too long as far as I was concerned and, before we were anywhere near our destination, I was absolutely desperate for a loo and worrying about how long it was going to take to organise the children and then to be able to find the loo I needed. Even though stopping was virtually out of the question, I was urgently looking for somewhere I could stop for a pee if my need became suddenly worse, and a real ‘pee emergency’ came on, which, knowing my bladder was quite possible. A ‘service area,’ a garage with toilets, or even a hedge, if it was a real emergency, but none of these were going to be possible without making a huge fuss and looking a complete fool in front of Angela and the children. It simply is not done for a teacher to stop the school coach outing and squat behind the hedge for a pee, however much she might need to. To make things worse there was a general restlessness building up in the coach, indicating the children were getting excited. I didn’t need anything like that, as it was going to make them more difficult to control, and not help me get to a loo.
Katherine was continuing to look just as desperate as I was, keeping her legs tightly crossed and looking very stressed as the traffic slowed us down. There was no doubt in my mind that she was bursting, simply dying for a loo, and I wondered if she would say anything before we arrived at the coast, and what she would do then. I was not looking forward to having to stand up, missing the controlling pressure of my heel, when I was going to want a loo very urgently, and I was going to need all the help she could give me in keeping the children in order until I could find a Ladies. Though I knew we were both suffering from the same affliction, I was still too proud to say anything to her and this was a tactical mistake on my part. As we got nearer the sea front, our stopping point, she was squirming about more and seeming to be getting more desperate; she turned to me and said, in a quiet, confidential manner; “Nicola, I really do need to find a loo just as soon as we stop. Can I leave you to take care of organizing the children while I make a dash for the Ladies?” What could I say to that? I had been hoping (expecting or needing more like) she would cover for me while I looked for the Ladies, now she was asking me to let her go first. What I should have told her was: “Sorry but I cannot do that. I have been bursting for ages and as I have a weak bladder, I will be struggling to hold out once I am standing up, so I really will need to go to the Ladies first.”
But I did not have the courage to say that; all I could do was to weakly say “OK, but perhaps some of the children will be wanting to go as well, so it will be a good idea to find the loos as soon as we get off the coach. Hopefully we will stop near some public loos.” Now I was regretting not having planned this outing in more detail. I had just picked a stopping point on the sea–front and not given any thought to what was now the most important thing:– getting two of the teachers into a Ladies as quickly as possible.
Suggesting that some children would also want to have a pee was only common sense on a school outing, and all I was doing was to give her an excuse to go looking for a loo. My main hope was that she would find one for me, which I was going to be in dire, desperate, and urgent need of if I had to stand about too long. The state I was in any, any time was going to be nearly too long. “I hope so too,” replied Katherine, looking more stressed that she had been, and it seemed to me that she was really quite desperate, even worse than I was feeling, so perhaps she deserved to be allowed to go first. She looked as if she almost had to. She was sitting, with her legs knotted and hands pressing in her lap, a tense worried expression on her face; if she had been a child I would have been seriously worried that an ‘accident’ was about to happen. I squirmed down harder on my heel and hoped, for both our sakes, that the coach would stop soon, and near a Ladies loo.
Of course, the local traffic authorities had to interfere, and the coach could only stop at a ‘setting down’ point, which as I stood with my legs tightly crossed guiding the children out of the coach, seemed to have no facilities for bursting teachers or anyone else in need of a loo. I was suffering badly, urgently needing a pee, now I was standing up instead of sitting down on my foot with my heel pressing between my legs helping me wait just as efficiently as if I had been holding between my legs. It was no consolation to see that I was not the only person urgently needing a loo. Katherine was standing, well hopping from foot to foot, actually, with her legs crossed, looking very tense, desperate, and stressed, and was talking to a female traffic warden who had come to check we had not stopped on a yellow line. She seemed to be giving Katherine directions and was pointing further along the sea front. Since Katherine was making no attempt to help me control the children, I hoped she was doing something useful and finding out where the nearest loo was.
I had more or less got the children lined up on the pavement and told them not to leave anything on the coach as it was going off to a coach park until we were ready to leave. Rather diffidently, Katherine came up to me and said in a confidential manner “That parking attendant tells me there is a ladies loo just down the road, I simply must get there straight away, I’m afraid it’s becoming rather important now. Can you manage with the children for a bit, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I was furious at this highhanded way, and her self–important expression, instead of the plain simple and very true “I’m absolutely bursting!” She seemed to think that she was the only person who needed a pee, but that might have been my own fault, because I hoped I had kept my own desperation hidden, and still, even though I was twisting my legs very tightly to keep control, I was not prepared to admit to being ‘dying’ or ‘bursting.’ I must admit that Kathy looked in a bad way. She was twisting her legs together and hopping from foot to foot like, well, a little girl about to wet her knickers.
I must admit that the thought crossed my mind as to how unfair the situation was. I was desperate, now I was off my heel, and worse still, though I am ashamed to say this, I was wearing quite close fitting tailored grey trousers, which might have looked smart but were not ideal for a bursting Nicola, because, as I knew only too well, that if the worst happened, and with my bladder it often did! My little knickers were not going to absorb any ‘accident’ and a wet patch would show on my trousers that could only mean I had wet my pants, something that senior teachers simply do not do. Kathy, on the other hand, was wearing a skirt and as I knew from past desperate experiences, accidents i.e. leaks of wee, when wearing a skirt and standing up could go un–noticed except to the one leaking and wet knickers were not the end of the world. Certainly not as bad as a wet patch between the legs of my trousers. Kathy’s behaviour and expression suggested that she was not as ‘advanced ‘ as me on such matters and still had the conventional attitude that wet knickers were something almost worse than death.
It really was a ridiculous situation. Two so called responsible adults, teachers, who might be expected to know better, both absolutely dying to go to the loo, and neither prepared to admit how badly they wanted to go, and even more stupidly, another, more senior teacher, who (most probably) did not want to go at all, doing nothing to help either in their plight, mainly because they were too ashamed to admit they really did need to get to a loo quickly. I did not have long to dwell on the stupidity of the situation, as I was in a pretty awful state myself. (Readers on this site would have really enjoyed watching us!) I was twisting my legs together as tightly as I could without ‘winding round’ or bending forward, and making a great exhibition of myself, at the same time pressing my thighs together as hard as I could, and ‘clenching myself shut inside,’ you know what I mean, making a great effort to hold back my wee and keep my bladder shut, an almost impossible task now I had been standing about for what seemed an age and every second it felt as if my wee was creeping nearer and nearer to my ‘outlet’ and leaking out into my knickers, and the awful moment when “Miss Steele is wetting herself! Look at her trousers between her legs, she’s doing a wee in them!” would be the whisper on every one of my pupils’ lips.
Miss Steele would never be able to live it down and she would always be known as ‘the teacher who wet her pants on the school outing.’ This horrifying thought gave me the strength born of sheer desperation, to somehow just hold back my wee, for long enough I hoped to get to the ladies.
To make the situation worse, Kathy’s need for a loo also seemed to have got worse, and as I struggled to keep control of both my bladder and my pupils, she hobbled, literally walking with her legs pressed together, towards me and in a very stressed voice she whispered, “I’m sorry, Nicola, but I really must leave you for a minute, I’m afraid it’s become a bit of an emergency” With that she seemed to abandon all pretence of normal behaviour and half doubled forward and with one hand pressing on the front of her skirt, (that is what she hoped we thought she was doing, but to me it looked very much as if she was holding ‘herself’ in the way that would have got her a reprimand if she had been a pupil and not a teacher.) It looked very clear to me that it had become a real emergency for her to get to the ladies. With hindsight, now I can think clearly about it, I suspect that she was, or thought she was, on the brink of losing control and wetting her knickers, and in her panic would have been prepared to do almost anything to stop that. Even if it made everyone clearly aware that she was nearly wetting herself. Me? I would have walked slowly to the ladies, both hands well away from my crutch and not given any outward indication that I was ‘leaking’, or about to leak, into my knickers, but, if the worst happened, just let my wee run down my legs unnoticed until I could get to the ladies and relieve myself in private and then clean myself up as best I could. I have had to do that on school outings before and if only I had the forethought to wear a skirt I might have been doing the same then, as I stood trying to organise the children. It is a terrible thing for a responsible adult teacher, to admit that she had been so desperate for a loo that she was seriously considering wetting herself, peeing in her knickers and down her legs.
No! I would have been trying everything I knew to control my bladder and wait, though I will admit that I would have taken slight comfort that I have once before wet my knickers when teaching, and that I had gone un– discovered until this day. No! I was dreaming! However badly she might want to GO, a teacher does not even think about wetting her knickers in front of her class or any of her school children. She waits! Teachers are adults, so what was difficult about that? Cross my legs and squeeze myself shut and hold in my wee. I had been doing that, (with limited success, I am sorry to admit) all my life, so there was no reason to expect to be excused from having to wait then, just because there wasn’t a loo in sight and my associate also wanted to go rather badly.
Resigned to my fate, I pressed my legs together as tightly as I could, while pretending to stand normally and trying to act and sound as casual as I could, smiled understandingly at Kathy and said “O.K. If you really have to go… “ And then trying to make the best of the situation, I continued, “Probably a good idea to find the public loos now, some of us might want to go later.” ‘And some of the teachers will want to go NOW! I nearly added, as the thought of a public loo suddenly made me want to go very urgently.
Not caring if I might be recognised as desperate, I twisted my legs almost into a knot and half crouched; the intense crossing of my legs just about stopped a spurt of pee going into my knickers, and trousers, and despite the sudden ‘curtsey’ my image survived for at least another few minutes. Oh God! If only I could get to a loo quickly, I thought. Kathy was going to make it, and it was my fault if I didn’t, because I should have overcome my stupid pride and admitted that I was nearly an emergency case, and standing about while Kathy strolled casually to the loo was not going to be an option for me much longer.
“The traffic warden says there is a public loo just down the road on the right,” Kathy informed me. So she had been asking about a loo. She definitely wanted to go badly. Still almost holding herself, Kathy hobbled off along the road towards a small windowless brick building on the right of the road; a public loo if I knew anything about such things. Kathy must have been almost frantic for a pee, because now she had her back to us, she was very obviously, to my eyes at least, holding between her legs, and she was walking faster than normal. Almost running in fact. She really was desperate! I could have felt quite sorry for her if I had not had to wait so long.
While concentrating on controlling the children, I tried to keep at least half an eye on Kathy’s progress and enviously watched her disappear round the side of the building, only to re–appear almost immediately, still very obviously holding herself, and literally run across the road. There was a line of parked cars along that side of the road and I thought she had tripped up as she seemed to hesitate and then disappear between two cars, appearing a bit later, looking flustered and straightening her skirt.
Still looking flustered she rejoined us by the coach. “The loos are closed, vandalized,” she whispered to me.
“Oh no!” I replied, wincing, just managing to stop myself adding ‘Oh shit!, f…g vandals!’ or something similarly un–ladylike, as my chance of the pee, I so badly wanted, vanished. Then I realized that Kathy was no longer acting frantic; the loos were shut, but she didn’t want to pee, or at least she was managing to behave as if she did not. The answer was obvious, but it took me a moment to work it out. She must have crouched for a pee between the parked cars, right in the street! It seemed such a preposterous thing for her to have done, that I could hardly believe it. Talk about being desperate? She must have been literally wetting herself to risk squatting in so open a place. I have chanced a squat in some pretty public places in my desperate moments, but I would never have though of going between parked cars on a sea–front road with my school party near–by.
She had been holding herself, so there was no doubt as to how badly she had wanted to go, and I imagine that if I had been as desperate, I would have been willing to go almost anywhere. Wistfully I looked along the road and wondered if there was any chance of my using the same place? Lord knows, I wanted to pee so badly I was going to have to hold myself or sit on my foot pretty soon, and I could not see any other chance of a pee.
Silently I cursed Kathy for telling me the loos were closed. If she had not, I could have asked her to take over with the children while I went, and even if they were closed there would have been a chance of a pee in the doorway, where perhaps there was enough shelter for ‘small one’ to crouch down. Or, I was that desperate, I might have been able to use the gents, or if all else failed there was still the parked cars. Literally I was thinking that anywhere would be better that going in my knickers and I was reaching the point when I was not going to be able to wait much longer. It was now becoming a full–blown emergency for me and thinking about loos was making it worse. A sudden surge of urgency almost caught me out and in panic I had to press my hand between my legs, and it felt as if I just, and only just, managed to stop a spurt of wee as it was about to come out. I was so close I did not care if I was seen holding myself, even that was better than the alternative; a big wet spot on my trousers!
I was still hoping there might be somewhere I could go to the loo, a pub, a shop, a garage, even some bushes, anywhere I could pee before I wet myself, when, Angela (the cause of all my troubles!) took charge again, and suggested that as the children were organised, we should move on to the beach and that she thought the beach across the road, looked ‘safe and suitable’ for the children to play on. ‘Safe and Suitable.’ Did it have a Ladies loo?? I would have much preferred shark infested water and quicksand so long as it had a Ladies loo, but as Angela seemed determined to torture my poor, bursting bladder as much as she could, I had to agree with her and lead the children across the road onto the beach.
The children had come prepared with towels and bathing suits, and as they amused themselves on the beach, I had my own problems to worry about. I sat down and tried to make myself more comfortable by crossing my legs as tightly as I could. As tightly as was humanly possible, almost tying myself in a knot! I was desperate and willing to do anything to help me wait. This did not help me very much; I was frantic for a pee and struggling to control my bursting bladder. I thought of sitting on my heel again, but walking on the beach had got my shoes wet and dirty and any heel sitting was going to transfer this wet and dirt onto my trousers, right between my legs and make it look as if I had wet myself even if I had not. All I could do was to cross my legs, and cross them so tightly that no pee could leak out; just about impossible with the state my bladder was in at that moment. Frantic, I had to hold my pee back somehow; I pushed one hand between my legs and hoped this would not be noticed. I was desperately in need of a loo by then and beginning to panic that I was not going to be able to wait much longer. In despair I pressed my hand between my legs to help me hold out, and even then I was nearing the end of my endurance. I was beginning to panic. I was desperate for a loo, I seemed to have been waiting for ages and I could not stand the thought of having to hold on any longer. All I wanted to do was to pee, and I hardly cared where or how, just so long as I could empty more poor bursting little bladder.
I looked frantically around. There was nowhere for a desperate teacher to have the pee she needed so urgently. Except…the sea? So much water and the thought of it made me want to go even more. Didn’t everyone wee in the sea? Why not me? Probably nobody on the beach wanted to go more urgently than me (God help them if they did, they would be wetting their knickers if they did!) For one crazy, desperate moment I considered simply running into the sea fully clothed, and I almost cried at the thought of the glorious relief as I could let my pee go as I ran into the water. Then the sensible, frugal, Nicola, the senior teacher, took over and I realized my trousers would be ruined by a soaking in sea–water and that it was not a hot enough day (British weather!) to be thinking of walking about in wet clothes. Then, out of sheer desperation, so bad that I needed to keep one hand pressing between my legs, I had the answer. Take my clothes off! No I wasn’t going to do a streak, but I was wearing a blue flower pattern, matching bra and knickers set, and that might pass as a bikini of sorts. In my frantic state it seemed a good idea. Anyway, it was the only way, short of wetting myself that I was likely to be able to wee in this awful place. Since I was at that desperate stage when every second before I could wee seemed vital, I didn’t hesitate. “The sea looks so inviting, now we are here I am not going to miss my swim,” I announced, standing up, (and nearly wetting myself as the thought that I might be able to pee made it so much more urgent!) “Luckily I came prepared for this!” And without any further hesitation I peeled off my sweater, and down came my trousers and tights, and I was standing in my blue knickers and bra. Before anyone could say anything or make any move to stop this madness, (and I was just on the brink of wetting my knickers, but making a super–human effort to hold on a few seconds longer!) I ran for the sea, the children staring in amazement at their teacher’s crazy behaviour.
It wasn’t easy to run over that beach and I thought I was not going to make it; I wanted to wee so desperately. In fact I was holding myself as I ran, which probably did no help much but only slowed me down and drew attention to my plight. But I did not care; all that mattered to me was getting into the sea where I could let my wee go.
I really did not care about anything but a wee, and as I reached the sea and began running through the shallow water I lost all control, (It was the shock of the cold water!) and let my wee pour out and run down my legs. I was splashing myself so it did not notice and as soon as I could I fell forward so I was weeing under water and nobody could possible see the stream of wee that was pouring out of my poor over stretched, over worked, bladder Oh what a wonderful relief! The sea was bitterly cold, but I didn’t care! Wee! It felt so good to be able to relax and let it go after having to hold on so long.
Then it was over and damage limitation time. I was standing on a beach, soaking wet and wearing only my underwear, but I didn’t care, or not too much. My bladder was empty at long last and I hadn’t (obviously) wet my pants, but it had been a close thing. The relief still felt so good that I did not mind how cold the water was or how stupid I must have looked. Nothing mattered except that I had managed to hold out until I got to some sort of loo and not suffered the disgrace of wetting my pants or having to wee in the street, both of which had seemed very real possibilities.
One of my more considerate pupils, teacher’s pet, sweet child, let me share her towel and dry myself, and my knickers were thin enough to dry out quite quickly, before I needed to put my trousers on again. I was also lucky that they did not go ‘see through’ when wet and I was able to maintain the pretence that I had worn my bikini under my trousers so I could go swimming without needing to change on the beach.
Naturally my sudden exuberance did not meet with Angela’s approval, and had taken Kathy quite by surprise, but I do not think that either of them had any idea of the real reason why I had to do it, and I was not going to let on. If Kathy had confessed to me that she had to wee between the parked cars (which I know she did,) I would have told her why I suddenly had to go swimming, but otherwise I kept quiet. I often wondered if I should have taken the initiative and talked to her about our bladder problems on that outing. If I had told her why I suddenly decided to go swimming, would she have confessed to her wee in the street? Perhaps, but she was of the type of person who pretended that nobody ever went to the loo or was in desperate need of a wee, so it would have embarrassed her and she could have denied ever even thinking of going in the street. She might even have asked why I had taken such an interest and noticed what she was doing.
Some things are better left alone. Angela reminded me rather curtly that teachers should ‘act responsibly’ and set an example to the pupils, which was her retribution for my swimming act. I was suitably contrite and agreed it would not happen again. What would she have said if she had seen Kathy squatting in the street for a wee? Or if I had wet my pants on the beach which probably would have happened if I had not gone swimming, or I would have had to squat behind a deck–chair.
Was this a happy ending to the day? Better than it might have been, but not as I planned it, and a warning to me that coach outings are dangerous things and best avoided at all costs, and that the modern craze for targets does nobody any good.
By: Nicola Steel