A Coach Story with a Difference

Jenny, as the only women driver who worked for the coach company, always liked to arrive early, both to avoid any criticism in a male dominated job, and to give herself time to get ready before taking her coach out. Hence she wasn’t happy when the yard manager was waiting as she arrived.
“Change of plan, I’m afraid, Jenny,” he greeted her. “Bill has gone sick, so you’ll have to do his job, it’s urgent, there’s nobody else here yet. The coach is outside ready, fuelled and everything, instructions on the wheel. Better get moving– you haven’t got much time.”
He pointed to a coach parked opposite and turned away with a parting “Good girl, you’ve saved my life!” before Jenny had a chance to say anything. She hated to be rushed like this, and it was an older coach, not her normal modern one, but she knew better than to complain. Getting in, she looked at the instructions; a 7:30 pick up for some Choral Society at a local village hall, and then an easy, mainly motorway journey. Not too bad, except that it was already 7:30 and the hall was more than 10 minutes away. Not much time, indeed! Typical understatement, and the customer would blame her for being late. She knew she ought to have a pee before starting, but she dare not walk to the back of the yard to the ladies’, which would waste more time. She would have to go at the village hall, which was sure to have some loos.
Groups of smartly dressed, mainly middle aged people were waiting as she turned into the hall car park. One was talking agitatedly on a mobile. An officious looking little man, a parody of an army officer from some comedy show, was waiting as she opened the passenger door.
“Hi! I’m Jenny, your driver for…” she started on her normal greeting patter.
“You’re late,” he cut her short. “We are on a very tight schedule, and this has not helped.” He spoke like a comic army officer as well. “I was promised an experienced driver, it’s absolutely vital we are not late, I hope you are up to the job.”
He began hurrying the group onto the coach, while conferring with his companion who had been on the phone. To her dismay Jenny saw that the hall was being locked, and she hesitated to rush over and ask them to wait while she used the loo. Then it was too late, the last of the choir were scrambling onboard.
“OK, let’s go!” snapped the organizer. “You really do have to get a move on now. Three of our choir had a break down on the way here. They are going to leave their car and we can pick them up on the by–pass, outside Wilkins garage. It’s going out of the way, but I don’t have a choice.”
He glared at Jenny as if she was to blame for the breakdown as well. This extra pick–up was going to add 15 minutes to the journey Jenny estimated, and the two mugs of coffee she had drunk to get her awake that morning were already reaching her bladder. She told the organizer she would park in the Wilkins forecourt and pick the extra people up there. That would give her the chance to use the loo there and her need to pee would overcome her shyness about passengers seeing her go.
The organizer, or ‘the Major’ as she had named him, put an end to that idea, directing her so she was on the other side of the road from Wilkins, where the passengers were waiting. As three apologetic ladies climbed onboard, she could only look longingly at the ‘Toilets’ sign outside Wilkins’s, then try not to think about loos any more. They would pass a motorway service area in about an hour; it was going to be a struggle, but she would have to hold out until then.
As they joined the motorway, the Major was checking his watch, looking at some papers, and working a calculator. He moved next to Jenny. “Maybe your manager has not told you how tight out schedule is. We’re going to a choir festival and have to arrive between 10:25 and 10:30 to get our place in the hall. That means you have to average 59 mph on the motorway. Are you capable of driving at that speed?”
“Yes sir, I’ll go as fast as I possibly can without breaking the law,” replied Jenny, hopefully pressing the accelerator to the floor. She would have been quite happy for drive at 99 mph to get to the service area earlier, but this coach wasn’t called ‘The Slug’ for nothing, though there was no point in bothering the Major with such trivia. If he was serious about that average there was no chance of the stop she needed. Her only hope was that his precision time keeping included comfort stops, though she had a horrible feeling that a military mind like the Major’s did not acknowledge such human failings.
Jenny tried hard to ignore her need to pee, but as they approached the service area her bladder felt like a sack of cement in her abdomen, and was sending increasingly urgent messages that it had to be emptied soon. She just had to get to the ladies at this service area, she thought, wondering if she dared to just turn off rather than risk asking the Major ‘s permission first. In her interior mirror she could see a couple of passengers with their legs crossed who looked as if they would welcome a stop. She was about to signal left when the Major, who had been making more calculations, came over again.
“You have fallen another 2 minutes behind schedule,” he snapped tersely. “Can’t you drive this bus go any faster? It’s absolutely crucial we arrive on time, and it will be your fault for starting late if we don’t. They should have sent someone who was able to make up time on the motorway, the speed limit is 70 you know,” he finished, clearly implying that Jenny, as a women driver, wasn’t good enough.
“I’m well aware of the speed limit,” retorted Jenny, “but I can only go as fast as the coach will go, and I have been nearly flat out all the way,” She thought how appropriate the term ‘flat out’ was becoming as they passed the service area. She stamped the accelerator to the floor, wincing as the jolt spiked through her bladder, but at least the coach did seem to go a bit faster. There was another service area in 45 minutes. If she could make up some time… if she could hang on that long… and surely some of this choir would be bursting by then. She glanced at the Major ‘s slightly overweight figure, and willed him to want to pee as much, no more, than she did. ‘If only…’ she thought, ‘but no such luck, a pompous little twat like him would never admit to wanting to pee.’
Ten miles from the next service area and Jenny was in a bad way. She had been knocking her knees together more and more frequently, but that wasn’t doing much to help control her pee any more. She longed to be able to cross her legs, but even if she had dared risk driving like that, the Major was watching her like a hawk and would have complained that such a position was dangerous, and slowing down the coach. She just had to clench her bladder shut and hang on another ten minutes; one thing was certain, she just had to stop at this next service area, she simply could not bear the thought of having to wait longer.
The Major, checking his timings again, came over to her. “At least you haven’t fallen any further behind schedule,” he said. “I only hope the traffic round the concert hall is not as heavy as I estimated, and you can make up time then. I’ll warn you now, there is going to be hell to pay if we are late and are not allowed into the concert.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will be there in plenty of time,” replied Jenny, building up to the moment when she could suggest a quick stop ‘to let people stretch their legs.’
The Major glared at her. “I worked out these timings for various point along our journey very carefully, and at that 10 mile sign we do not have plenty of time, as you so vaguely put it. On this journey we are working to precision timing, and we are 1 minute 45 seconds late.”
A sudden increase in Jenny’s need to pee, which had her pressing her knees hard together and still only barely controlling it, prevented her replying. Their destination was well over half an hour beyond the service area, and the way her bladder was filling, she was beginning to doubt her ability to wait that long. There was no point now in asking the Major to allow her to make a stop, as it was obvious that he would refuse it. For a moment she thought of simply stopping regardless, sprinting for the loo and then taking the consequences, but the Major would raise hell if she did, and that would certainly mean losing her job. And she still had some pride; to have to admit in front of so many strangers that she simply could not hold her pee any longer was more than she could face. She was an adult, she told herself, and she had to be able wait. As the Major had sat down, she risked pressing her right hand between her legs, trying to make it look as if she was adjusting her underwear rather than holding her pee back. That felt so good it took a lot of willpower to let go again, but her driving position was so exposed she was sure to be seen if she did it too long.
Passing the service area, thinking more and more about the glorious pee she could have had there, only made Jenny’s need worse, and she was forced by the urgency of it to drive with one knee over the other, and her feet splayed to cover the pedals. It was a terribly awkward position, but she had to do something to ease her desperate need to pee. Several times she simply had to risk a hand between her legs again; it was becoming a real struggle to wait, and she needed all the help she could get. As they turned off the motorway and the local traffic made her have to brake and change gear, she could not keep her knees crossed anymore, and she began to wonder if she was going to be able to hold out. She was dressed like most coach drivers, white shirt and grey trousers, and hers were close fitting between her legs, so the slightest loss of control would show very clearly. She told herself that she simply had to steel herself to wait until they reached the concert hall; she did not have any other options, so she had to make herself wait. She made a supreme effort to clench her bladder shut, fighting for control for a few more minutes, her buttocks clenched so tightly that she seemed to rise an inch out of her seat, and gripping the steering wheel so tightly she was almost shaking. She wished she hadn’t worn such a tight pair of knickers, they seemed to be putting pressure on her bladder area, making her want to go more urgently. She wanted so much to be holding her crutch, but the Major was standing next to her giving directions. She was beginning to panic, genuinely doubting her ability to wait, fighting to hold it back, ready to grab her crutch if she felt herself losing control. It was better to be seen holding herself than wetting her pants. She was driving automatically, hardly able to think of anything except holding back her pee, praying she could find the strength to wait a bit longer. The second the coach was parked, she thought, she was going to have to make a run for the ladies, never mind looking silly, it was that or probably doing it in her knickers. There would be a public loo in the coach park, she thought, there just had to be, and please let it be near because she wasn’t going to be able to run far, even holding herself.
The Major had stuck a sign with the choir’s name and a number on the windscreen. He was checking his timing sheet again, looking worried. “We might just make it,” he told her. “When you get near the hall you will be directed to one of the entrances. Stop there to let us get off, and then follow the signs to the coach park. When we are ready to leave you will be called from there; that will be in about three hour’s time.”
Jenny could only nod in silent agreement, horrified at what she had heard. To have to sit and wait while the choir got out, however quick they were, and then drive on to a car park was going to be more than her bladder could stand. The thought was so awful she had to hold herself to bear it, then let go almost instantly as the Major turned to her to make sure she had understood.
The rest of the journey was a blur of desperation for Jenny, and she fought to hold back her pee, constantly knocking her knees together, twisting sideways in the seat, frantic to hold between her legs, which she could not because the Major was standing next to her, hunching his shoulders, almost hammering on the steering wheel with frustration at each hold–up. So urgent was her need to pee that she had to sit on her right hand, just able to get her fingers up between her legs, sort of half holding her crutch, just enough to stop her wetting herself. Trouble was, she kept needing both hands to steer and change gear, and every time she stopped holding herself she moved nearer the awful moment when she wasn’t going to be able to hold back her pee. Could anyone see what she was doing? Probably, but she really didn’t care anymore, anything was better than wetting her pants in public.
Then, at last, they were at the main entrance, and somehow she had made it without letting go in her trousers. As she stopped the coach and opened the door, she twisted sideways in her seat, as if to watch them get off, and pressed her right hand between her legs from underneath her, just blocking off the spurt of pee that had so nearly escaped.
For the first time Jenny was thankful for the Major’s efficiency, and the way he hurried the choir off the coach in record time and then waved her away with hardly a backward glance, leaving Jenny to cope with her now unbearable need to pee. She jammed the coach into gear and jerked forward, staying in first gear, steering with one hand because she dared not release the pressure between her legs. Waiting to turn into the road she changed to holding her crutch properly, from the front, because she needed every ounce of pressure to hold her pee back, changing into second gear with the other, hoping she could make it to the car park steering one handed and slipping the clutch, knowing that if she stopped holding herself for even a second she was going to lose it and wet herself.
The car park next to the hall was already full, and she was directed out into the main road, where she had to change gear, trying to steady the wheel with her elbow while snatching at the gear lever, almost hitting the curb, almost letting her pee go, and knowing she wasn’t going to make it any farther. She had to pee right now. Her bladder was about to burst, if she released her grip for a second she would go in her trousers, and it felt as if it would not be much longer before the pee leaked past her fingers anyway. She was trying to drive along a main urban road, frantically looking for a public loo, a garage, a pub, anywhere with a loo she could use. As far as she could see there were only houses, and a few local shops, but nowhere she could pee.
“What am I going to do?” she wailed out loud. “Please! There must be a loo somewhere near.”
Even holding herself wasn’t going to work for much longer. It was either squat in the road with people walking by or wet herself where she sat, or…she could pee on the floor of the coach! Yes! Anything was better than wetting her pants or going in public.
Not caring anymore about anything except peeing, she jerked to stop at the side of the road, and holding herself with both hands, staggered back down the aisle of the coach.
“Quick! I must have a pee!” she was talking out loud, as if to excuse her actions. “I must go, I’m about to wet my pants, can’t wait any longer.”
Kneeling between the seats for cover, she struggled to pull her trousers and knickers down to her knees while still holding her crutch as much as possible. Then, another struggle to change to a squat, and a spurt of pee escaped involuntarily in the panic as she tried to pull her clothes clear before she completely lost control and then she could not hold it another second. Her pee streamed out onto the coach floor, a torrent that could only come from a bladder at bursting point.
“Ooooh, the relief!” she gasped out loud, savoring the ecstatic moment of release she had been waiting for so long. Vaguely she hoped she was hidden from pedestrians and passing traffic, but really nothing mattered to her except that she could pee at last, and not in her knickers. Better to be seen peeing on the floor by some strangers than to have wet trousers for the rest of the day, she consoled herself. She might have intended to only release enough to enable her to reach a proper ladies’ room, but once she started the pressure was too much to stop, the growing puddle spreading down the aisle of the coach. It seemed to take forever before her stream began to die away, and she could shut off the flow, struggle to get dressed again, and get back to the driving seat. Her pee washed up and down the coach as she drove the 3 miles to the car park; she could hardly believe she had managed to hold so much, no wonder she had been desperate. The coach was already starting to smell of pee, but she had time to clean it, and anything was better than having wet trousers. Thank goodness it wasn’t her usual coach with carpet on the floor. In the final panic she had not quite got her knickers clear before she had let a spurt go, but the wet patch was high up, near the waist, and wasn’t going to show. The only thing that mattered to her was that she had managed to hold out, somehow not wet herself, even though she had been as desperate as she had ever been.
***
Partly encouraged by an old friend, this started out as a ‘tables turned’ story about a male coach driver who was caught desperate when driving a coach load of women. In the same way as this story, they were late and would not allow a stop, forcing him to hold his pee until he was about to burst. It was only when this story was finished and I was looking for somewhere to publish it, that I realized it could equally apply to a woman coach driver. In fact more so, since she would be even less likely to plead for a stop in front of a mixed group of passengers. Anyone more interested in male desperation can mail me for a copy of the original story.
Paul Tester ( Email Welcome… just click on the name )