Any Port in a Storm - Part 3

Our day at the sea had started with some drama, as the planned ‘comfort stop’ on the journey to the coast had been arbitrarily cancelled, despite some teachers being in need of such a stop. While we had been able to hold out until our final destination, a closed pubic loo had only made our plight worse, and, I am ashamed to have to admit to this, I, and my companion teacher, Kathy, had both been forced to squat in public, or near public, and pee. I can only speak for myself, and say that it was a real emergency situation and it had been a case of ‘anywhere is better than wetting my knickers? and from Kathy’s behaviour, she had been in a similar state. (For full details of this see “Any Port in an Emergency”)
Thankfully relieved, at last, and having gone un–noticed by any of the children on the outing; that would have been a disaster for our images, as teachers are expected to have full control over their bladders, and be able to wait as long as required. (If only!)
Kathy and I had been instructed, by Angela Parsons, our head teacher who had rather taken over organising my outing, to sit on either side of the beach, so we could watch all our school party enjoying themselves and not getting into any trouble. (Angela is paranoid about anything happening to the children under her care, far beyond what is reasonable, and was imagining that without constant vigilance on my part, children would be eaten by sharks, lost in quick–sands, and kidnapped by passing criminals.)
I was less worried about any of this happening that that I was going to be all day on a beach without access to any loo. I had brought some sandwiches to eat, but had intended to buy coffee, water, or soda, as I fancied, on the beach. Now, I hoped that if I did not buy any drink, I would be able to last out the day without needing another loo visit. Dehydration might have been a risk, but an acceptable one, and better than Desperation. This was successful and it was well into the afternoon and I was only feeling the slightest twinges of needing to pee, which I was doing my best to ignore. (Never think about wanting to pee, or you will.) I knew full well that I was going to have to pee before we left for home, but I intended to make some excuse about looking round the town, and find a public loo or shopping centre where I could pee. I was wondering how I could explain this to Angela and Kathy, who from her behaviour on the journey down, was also going to need a pee before we left, when Angela came over to me and asked what time we were leaving.
“In about 30 minutes” I replied. “I was just going to warn the children to be prepared to leave in half an hour.” “It will be important to make sure they are fully prepared for the journey,” continued Angela, treating me as if I had no experience of school outings, “it will be very bad for the school if any are not prepared and their parents complain that they were ‘toilet deprived’ during the outing. I hope you have thought of this and made adequate provisions to avoid this happening.”
“Everything has been fine so far,” I replied, trying not to let her attitude annoy me. “Nobody has asked to go and I imagine that any that did would have gone in the sea.”
Angela visibly paled at that; “You didn’t tell the children to do that?” looking at me as if I had committed some awful crime.
“Of course not,” I replied confidently, “but I am sure that some have taken the chance to go while they were playing in the sea.” I only wished I had come prepared to splash in the sea, so I could have had a pee, but remained silent on this.
Still visibly annoyed, Angela indicated the (closed) public loo along the promenade: “I think we should take all the children to that toilet before we leave, so there will be no risk of any parental complaints.” “Unfortunately, that public loo is closed,” I told Angela, genuinely regretful, as I was going to have to find somewhere to pee before the coach left for home.
I wasn’t prepared for Angela’s horrified look when I told her this. After her stupid behaviour that morning, cancelling our loo stop without good reason, I was not convinced that she really cared whether the children, or teachers, had a chance to pee or not. Then I realised…, the way she was standing and shifting her weight from foot to foot, and crossing her legs as she moved about, she wanted to pee, and quite badly if I was any judge. If I had not also needed a pee before we got on the coach, I would have enjoyed her discomfort. As it was, I could only be thankful that she was not going to make any more ‘no stopping’ decisions.
‘I hope she is bursting,’ I thought, ‘it will do her good to really suffer on the journey home.’
But her discomfort was going to be my misery, so I had to take advantage of the situation.
“I could take the children into the town and look for another public loo before we leave,” I started, tying not to sound too convincing, “but, I don’t where that might be, so perhaps it would be better to leave now, when none of the children are actually wanting to go, and then stop at that service area we passed on the way down. It will only take 30 minutes to get there, and they can use the loos there and we should be OK for the rest of the journey.”
“Good idea,” replied Angela, “We should start getting the children ready now, so there will not be any delay when the coach is here. What time is the coach due?”
It looked to me as if Angela was pretty desperate. The way she was crossing her legs and could not stand still, she was showing all the signs of desperation. Good! The longer she had to wait the better; it would serve her right for cancelling my loo stop that morning, when I had wanted to go much more badly that was comfortable.
“There is a phone in the coach, I can call the driver and get him here in 5 minutes if you want.”
I would have very much liked to have kept Angela waiting as long as I could, but antagonising her was not going to make my teaching life any easier, so I was doing more to help her with her bladder problem than she did for Kathy or me that morning. It gave me some sadistic pleasure to see Angela squirm and cross her legs tighter as I phoned the coach and asked him to come as soon as possible.
While waiting for the coach I went over to where Kathy was patiently waiting, keeping an eye on the children who were still playing on the beach.
“We’re leaving soon, the coach should be here in about 5 minutes,” I told her.
Her worried look suggested to my obsessed mind that she too knew she ought to go to the loo before getting on the coach, and could not see how she was going to mange that. I decided to confide in her, knowing from her behaviour in the morning, that she was seriously lacking in bladder capacity.
“I think that Angela wants a loo, so she is in a hurry to get moving. I’ve suggested to her that we stop at that Service Area we passed this morning. I’m sure she will not interfere with the stop this time.”
“I hope not, because I will need to stop as well,” replied Kathy, quickly crossing her legs as if the thought of a loo was making her want to go.
“We will most definitely stop this time,” I promised, “I need to go as well, and I am not going to suffer the whole way back to school.” I did not admit that I most probably would not be able to hold out, suffering or not, all the way, and nor from her expression would Kathy.
The coach arrived on time and I gathered all the children and got them onboard. Angela was helping this time, perhaps because it was going to help get her to the loo she so obviously needed. Once boarded, I told the driver that we were most definitely stopping at the Services. I was already wanting to pee, (it must have been some response to getting on a coach,) so, I prepared myself to hold out for the 45 minutes until the Services. I was firmly sitting on my heel, and tried to console myself that waiting 45 minutes was better than waiting 2 hours until we reached our school.
Kathy, next to me, had her legs very tightly crossed giving the impression that it was going to be a long 45 minutes for her too. If Angela was suffering as well, I did not care, it would do her good to know what she had put Kathy and me through that morning.
In less than 5 minutes we were stopped in some traffic jam, which was not what I had hoped for. Nor did it suit Kathy, because she visibly squirmed and crossed her legs more tightly, and I could almost hear her groan in desperation. I knew she was bursting, seemingly having a bladder nearly as small as mine. I squirmed as well, pressing myself down onto my heel, hoping that I might want to pee less badly.
“I really needed to go to the loo before we left,” said Kathy. I kept quiet at this, thinking, ‘don’t talk about loos, please. It will only make both of us want to go more.’ Surely, if Kathy had a small bladder, she had learned that. But she persisted, continuing, despite my apparent lack of interest.
“It’s absolutely fatal to start on a coach journey when you want a loo; how long do you think to the Service Area?” (Shut up Kathy, you are not helping my bladder, and it serves you right if it makes you want to pee more.)
“About 45 minutes if the traffic is reasonable.” ‘As long as it takes if there is much traffic.” ‘Perhaps longer than you want to or can wait, so why not shut up and cross your legs?’
I had to stop this conversation before I was driven to absolute desperation.
“Don’t talk about it; don’t even think about loos, it will only make it worse.” I warned her.
“Sorry,” she replied, “I ought to know better. Not another word until we are in the loo, I promise.” Then “Oh hurry up, don’t keep stopping,” as the coach politely pulled up to a pedestrian crossing.
Poor Kathy, she was suffering, bursting, but did she want me to suffer with her? Did she realise how bad my bladder was, and that I was not equipped to cope with coach journeys without loos? I tried to get my heel pressing harder between my legs, and wished I was sitting somewhere with enough privacy to be able to hold myself properly, (with both hands!)
Kathy must have been reading my mind, as, perhaps thinking I was distracted with my own bladder problems, she put her hand between her legs and pressed hard, as one does when one is desperate for a loo. I studiously looked out of the window, pretending I had not noticed. Had she been caught by one of those sudden attacks of intense desperation that come when you badly want to pee? If so, it served her right for talking about loos. Unfortunately, this talk, and thought about loos, was making me want to go far more than I had hoped. Our journey had hardly started and I was getting beyond bursting and dangerously close to desperate. Soon I was pressing myself down hard on my heel and mentally saying ‘hurry up! Hurry up!’ every time the coach slowed down. We still were not clear of the seaside town; I was desperate, and worrying about how long it would take to reach our service are, and the loo I need so badly. I suspected that Kathy was in a similar state, as she could hardly sit still, but was squirming about like a desperate little girl who wanted to go wee–wee very urgently.
I decided that we needed something to take make the time pass more quickly, and to take our minds off our bladder problems, so I tried to start some conversation with Kathy. Nothing about loos, or the day’s events, which had featured the need for loos too much, but simple questions about her; and her home life? I found that she had been married for many years, that her husband was ‘something to do with computers,’ that their children were grown up and had left home, but not a lot else. Since I am divorced, with no children, we did not have too much in common, except it seemed, small bladders, and that topic was taboo. Kathy spoiled my idea by suddenly exclaiming “if only we could hurry up and get to that service area, I’m nearly breaking my neck here.”
Without thinking, I replied with the truth, automatically. “Me too, I’m bursting!” and we were back on the forbidden topic that neither of us could stop thinking about.
“And some!” said Kathy, and then to make her point more clear, pressed her hands between her legs with a long drawn out groan of desperation.
That only made me really want to pee more, so I had to press my hands into my lap, not quite between my legs as my heel was pressing there, but gripping the crotch of my jeans, rather as I assume a desperate man would behave. It did have some slight effect, and make me want to pee less urgently, and confirmed to Kathy that I wanted to go as badly as she did. I wasn’t having her running off and leaving me to control the children and my bladder, as she had at the seaside. There was going to be a proper loo at these services and I wanted to be the first of us to use it.
“It’s almost as if the driver is deliberately wasting time,” said Kathy, angrily as the coach pulled up at another set of traffic lights. Why couldn’t she shut up! I realise now, when I can think about the journey in comfort and not fight to hold my pee, that the poor woman must have been desperate for a pee, really suffering, so much that she could not think of anything else except pee, and the loo she so wanted to reach. At the time, when her comments were only making me want to pee more, I did not have so much sympathy for her. I just wanted her to behave like I have had to so many times, to shut up and hang on, clenching my bladder shut with all my strength. I was managing to do that, so why didn’t Kathy. She might have been, (was) absolutely desperate, but that was not my fault, and there was nothing she could do except hold on until we reached the Service Area. To show my annoyance at her regular comments about loos, and wanting to pee, I glared at her, only to see that not only had she twisted her legs almost in a knot, but that she was leaning forward with both hands pressing between her legs. No pretence any more, she was openly holding herself, and revealing how desperate she was. In fact she must have been frantic, because she was an experienced teacher, and no teacher would behave like that when her pupils might see her, unless… the alternative was even worse: that she might wet herself and the pupils see her walking about with her skirt wet. She must have seen me looking at her, but did not, or could not, move her hand. We passed a sing telling us that the Services were only 5 miles away. I was steeling myself to hold on for five more minutes, when Kathy continued to make my life a misery; “Not far now, I only hope that the coach stops near the loos, and Angela does not delay us getting out.”
It was no good; Kathy was going to insist in talking about the loos, so I had to answer her.
“I rather think that Angela will want to get to the Ladies? as quickly as we do, but you know what children are; show them a loo and they will suddenly decide that they need to go. We’ll have to organise groups for the loos.”
“Angela can supervise the boys,” said Kathy with a malicious smile, “then she will have to wait outside the ‘gents’ until they are finished and lead them back to the coach. We’ll take the girls to the ‘ladies?.’ Unless some are very desperate, ‘teachers go first.’ After her high–handed behaviour this morning, the longer Angela has to wait the better.”
I did not exactly disagree with that sentiment, but at the time I didn’t care less about making Angela wait longer for the loo, I only wanted to get in the loo myself, as quickly as possible. The next five minutes, until we go to the Service Area seemed like an age, but at long last we were pulling off the main road and into the parking area. Thank goodness the coach parking was close to the main building with the loos, and blessed relief was only feet away. But Angela had another trick up her sleeve. It was as if she had been paid to make sure that Kathy and I were as desperate as we could be, just to make this a good story; I was preparing myself for the great effort it was going to take to walk normally to the ladies, bladder clenched shut with all my strength, ready for when I stood up and my heel was not pressing between my legs, when Angela came down the coach to where we were sitting.
“Service areas are ‘high risk’ places for a school outing,” she started in her officious manner, “we must keep the children under control and not let them wander about un–supervised. They have to be kept out of the shops, in case they buy anything unsuitable like chocolate or magazines their parents would not approve of. I’ll take any who want to go to the toilets, if you can keep the children out of the shop and make sure they go straight back onto the coach.”
“I would like to visit the ladies as well,” said Kathy, a great understatement.
“Of course,” replied Angela impatiently, “you can go when all the children are safely back in the coach. I will keep them in order if either you or Nicola need to use the loo.”
I hear Kathy groan under her breath, and for a moment I expected her to hold herself and demonstrate how badly she did need to visit the ladies?. Instead we both meekly nodded our agreement with Angela’s plan and silently prayed that she would be quick and our chance for a pee would soon come.
Angela announced to the children that those who wanted ‘a toilet’ should come with her, and the rest to remain in the coach. Typically, almost all the children suddenly decide that they wanted to go, so she led them to the main building of the services, walking rather quickly, I thought, just like I would have done. Kathy and I had no choice but to grin and hold it and follow the children into the building, watching with envy as they all trouped into the loos. We stood around, between the loos and the shop; I was trying to look as normal as possible while frantically crossing my legs and clenching my bladder shut with all my strength. As I had feared, as soon as I was not sitting on my heel, I wanted to pee desperately, and it was taking all my control strength to hold back my pee. Even twisting my legs and clenching my bladder outlet shut with all my strength, I was on the verge of breakdown, and every second I stood looking at the entrance to the ladies, pee was creeping closer and closer to my knickers, and I was dangerously close to wetting myself. I was going frantic, but the service building was far too public a place to be able to hold myself, which I needed to do to avoid wetting myself. I simply had to hold myself or I was going to wet, there was not going o be any alternative, so I looked for somewhere to hide, and hold myself. The only place was behind a display of sweets in the shop we were supposed to be guarding from our children. Not thinking or caring about any CCTV in the shop I casually walked behind the display rack, only to almost bump into Kathy who was pretending to choose some chocolate bars while knotting her legs and holding herself. She jumped guiltily she heard me coming, taking her hand from her crutch and then seeing it was me, smiled and with a shrug, jammed he hand between her legs again.
I smiled and made a ‘me too’ gesture and once safely screened by the sweet display, copied her, legs twisted in a knot, hand pressing between them in a last–ditch, frantic attempt to avoid a public wetting accident.
Then Kathy had to say it; “I can’t wait much longer, I must get into that loo before I wet my pants. If only Angela would hurry!”
She was holding herself with both hands pressed between her legs, which were literally tied in a knot, so tight that she was almost kneeling down. I had never seen an adult making so much effort to hold her pee; the poor woman must have been absolutely frantic, desperate, her bladder about to explode to behave in that way. And this was in a very public place, a service area shop, where we might very well have been on CCTV, and soon to star on You–Tube. I had thought that I was desperate, but compared to Kathy, I hardly wanted to pee, managing with only one hand between my legs and still standing quite normally. To make our situation worse, the boys had finished their pee and were hanging about near the gents, where Angela had told them to wait, but it was obvious to me that unless they were taken under control, they were soon going to be heading for the forbidden shop, and discover their two teachers in an embarrassing position.
Kathy, who I would have thought was beyond any thought except of her bladder, must have noticed this as well, and said, almost through clenched teeth, “I’m going to get all those boys back in the coach, then I don’t care what Angela is doing, I absolutely have to go to the loo. If the boys are in the coach, Angela can organise the girls while we have a pee. Wish me luck,” she ended bravely, as her whole body shuddered with the effort she was making to hold her pee as she moved her hands from between her legs, and walked stiffly towards the boys, who were starting to get troublesome. I had to admire her; she was so obviously absolutely frantic to pee, needing to hold herself with both hands, yet somehow she managed to walk across to the group of boys, and then escort them into the coach which was parked some tens of yards away. Her walk might have been a bit odd, but that would only have been noticed if you had known to look for it. With what must have been superhuman control, she kept her hands by her side, though she must have been longing to press them between her legs. Once the boys were safely in the coach and the door shut, Kathy, I don’t know how she managed it, walked calmly into the Ladies. I had been watching from behind the sweet display, still with my hands pressed between my tightly knotted legs, fighting to hold back my pee. It was only when I saw Kathy walk into the Ladies that I realised that there was no need to keep guarding the shop, and I could follow her into the loo. All I had to do was to walk across 10 yards of service area without holding between my legs and without peeing in my jeans.
I summoned up all my holding power and experience; thinking that if I could not hold between my legs at least I could pull my jeans up so they were tight between my legs, and pretend that I was holding myself. Taking a deep breath, pulling my jeans tight between my legs, and trying to walk normally, and not run. Less than half way to the ladies, I could feel my control slipping away; however hard I tried to clench my bladder shut, it felt as if my pee was slowly leaking out and creeping nearer to my knickers. I was not going to make it to the ladies without leaking! Terrified that I might actually wet myself in public, in front of all of my class, I abandoned all ideas of respectable behaviour and jammed one hand between my legs, somehow stopping any pee right at the outlet. It felt as if I had stopped the leak only seconds before it happened, and worse, that I was not going o be able to stop any further leaks. I tried to run, but I was too desperate to be able to manage better than a slightly faster walk. As I finally reached the entrance to the ladies, I was brought back to the reality and embarrassment of my position by Angela’s voice, telling the girl pupils to be sure to wash their hands after going to the toilet.
Thanks to her officious behaviour, I was saved from being seen almost running to the loo with one hand between my legs by all my girl pupils.
Making even more effort to hold back my pee without a hand between my legs, and slowing down to a casual, ‘I don’t really need a pee, but I am going just because there is a loo here’ walk; I went on into the ladies. There was no sign of Kathy, she, lucky thing, must have already been in a cubicle enjoying a pee, so I announced to Angela;
“All the boys are safely in the coach. If you can get the girls back onboard now, I would like to use the loo before we leave.” What an understatement. I absolutely had to use the loo or I would wet myself on the coach, or even before I could get onboard.
I did not hang about to give Angela the chance to argue about this, but went straight into the nearest cubicle, slamming the door shut and, the second I was inside, jamming a hand between my legs, just about stopping the flood before it hit my knickers. Then I was tearing down my clothes and sitting on the loo, and oh the relief! At long last I could pee! By my standards it was an almost endless torrent, but I was finished before Kathy in the next cubicle, who had to have been holding far more pee than I had been. Her poor bladder must have been bursting, and no wonder she had needed two hands to hold it back.
At last, all the bladder strain of the day’s outing was over, and after that glorious, much needed pee, it was back on the coach with all the children and Angela relieved as well. The journey back to school was un–eventful if slow with the evening traffic, so there would never have been any chance of either Kathy or me holding out all the way back, and then he school was locked so we would not have been able to pee there.
Neither Kathy nor I had much to say on the journey, perhaps we were both embarrassed by the way we had behaved in the Service Area, but we (or me, at least,) had both been absolutely desperate for a pee and could not have held out without hands between our legs. That was nothing to be proud of, so it was best to keep quiet. Kath’s husband met her and strangely, Kathy was quite insistent that they give me a lift home, even though it was out of their way. I was perfectly capable of walking home, but it was their car and time, so I accepted. It was not until some days after that I found there had been a reason for this, but that will make another story.
By: Nicola Steel