The Rugby International

As a South African working in England, Sonia wanted to see her national team when they were touring, and she was delighted when one of her office colleagues, Tony, a dedicated rugby fan, offered to include her in the party he was organizing to the England v. South Africa match at Twickenham. Tony was a regular at Twickenham internationals, and the group followed his usual plan to avoid the worst of the crowds– travel by public transport, stop at a little–known pub, and then walk to the ground. As well as Tony and Sonia, there were two other couples, both about Tony’s age, while Sonia was about ten years older. She was a tall, well–built, girl of 35, with short blonde hair, and was wearing a knee–length tweed skirt and short quilted anorak, which made her feel the odd one out, as both of the other girls were wearing jeans.
Typical of rugby fans, they were all beer drinkers, and Sonia found it was a struggle to keep up with their consumption in the pub, but, grateful for being included in the group, she did her best. Besides, they were not going to allow her to do otherwise. When she asked for just a half pint, she was firmly told that ‘they didn’t do halves.’ Sonia was normally a wine drinker, so she could tolerate the alcohol intake, but found the volume of liquid difficult to cope with. She was needing to pee frequently, more than any of the others, and returning from her third visit to the loo she found they had moved her chair so she was nearest the Ladies’ and would not disturb anyone when she got up. She found this mildly embarrassing, because, while she did not consider herself prudish or shy, she thought such things as going to the loo were best kept private.
For the rest of the time in the pub, Sonia tried to cut down on her loo visits, sitting with her legs tightly crossed until she felt she could not bear to wait any longer, so she was more or less keeping pace with the other two girls. Nothing more was said about her capacity, or lack of it, but when they finished their drinks and left, Sonia had been to the loo only five minutes before, and could not bring herself to go again so soon. Tony had said the ground wasn’t very far away, so she would wait until then, when it would be good sense to go before the match started.
The first part of the walk was through suburban back streets, and they were walking slowly, laughing and joking as they went along. It was all normal, slightly drunken, behavior, not doing anyone any harm, and with plenty of time before the match started there was no reason to hurry. Except that already Sonia was beginning to feel the need for a loo, which, while not being anything serious, was worrying her because it was so soon after they had left the pub. She tried to hurry the group along, but it was difficult because she didn’t know the way and nobody regarded her as a leader. Another five minutes passed, and there was still no sign of the ground, but Sonia’s need to pee was most definitely worse, and that it had got worse so quickly was making Sonia even more worried. She wasn’t used to drinking beer, certainly not in the quantity she had that day, and she did not realize how quickly it would make her want to pee, nor how much going from a warm pub out into a bitterly cold day would speed this up.
She could neither hear the crowd nor see any sign of the floodlights, which suggested that the ground wasn’t very near. Unless there was a loo on the way, she had an awful feeling that she was going to be in urgent need of a pee when they reached the ground, and she was not looking forward to that.
At last they had left the back streets and were walking along a more open road with a sort of public garden, backed by a river, on one side. Sonia scanned this garden in the hope that there might be a public loo there, but it was hardly more than an open space with a few bushes. She wanted to pee badly, very badly, and was actively looking for anywhere that might have a loo she could use. She was still convinced that there would be a proper public loo, or at least a pub she could sneak in, or that in the last resort she would be able to wait until they reached the ground. Even though there was still no sign of it, they must be getting near.
They were crossing a main road, and further along that, perhaps 400m away, she could see what looked like a church. Churches, and church halls that went with them, often had loos, she thought, or there was bound to be a pub nearby, if only they could walk that way. But instead Tony was leading them down what looked like a dead–end road. She hesitated, seriously considering whether she should suggest a diversion to the church/pub, because she really had to have a pee soon, asking Tony if he was sure they were going the right way.
“Of course,” he replied, “there’s a footpath along the river. This is the quickest way; trust me. This is one reason why we don’t come by car.”
Sonia had to follow him. She could not bring herself to say she wanted to go another way because there might be a loo there. If she had been able to actually see a loo, and it had only been 100m away, that would have been different. Besides, she tried to reassure herself, there could easily be a public loo along this footpath. England was a civilized county and there must be regulations about providing enough public loos, so they had to come across one soon. This brief stop had given her a chance to cross her legs, which had helped a lot, but as she started walking again she struggled at the sudden urgency of her need to pee. This was getting beyond a joke, she thought, she absolutely had to find a loo soon.
The footpath did not have the loo Sonia so desperately needed. Instead there were two men, part of another rugby group, peeing against the wall at the end of the road. The other two girls laughed at this, but Sonia didn’t find it at all funny. Apart from not needing anything to remind her how much she wanted to pee, she thought it was disgusting that anyone should pee in the street like that. She was not at all a liberated girl, and the thought that she could squat there, even with the other two girls covering her, never entered her head. She still firmly believed that there would be a loo for her soon, and if not she would just have to suffer the discomfort of holding on until they reached Twickenham.
There was a family of ducks swimming on the river, and one of the girls stopped and threw them some biscuits. This was another delay that Sonia did not need, except that it was another chance to cross her legs, and this time she really twisted them tightly together, hands across her now aching bladder. That felt so good that she was sorry when they started walking again, and she kept one hand on her stomach, hoping that would make it hurt less. Her bladder felt enormous, as if it was sticking out about 10 cm, though she could only feel a slight swelling, and she could feel a jolt from every step she took. This was getting serious, she thought, she had hardly ever wanted to pee this badly, and she just had to get to the rugby ground as quickly as possible. It was going to be a miserable, desperate, walk, but she just had to grit her teeth and get on with it. If only she had been to the loo just before they left the pub, like the others. She might have looked silly going twice in five minutes, but it would have been worth it not to be so desperate now.
At last she could see the floodlights and stands of Twickenham, though they seemed terribly far away. Their footpath had the river on one side and a fenced–off industrial estate on the other, running straight for several hundred meters until it crossed the river and turned out of sight.
‘Why wasn’t there a loo somewhere?’ she asked herself, this was becoming a nightmare. ‘Over the bridge they would be near the ground, and there were always pubs round rugby grounds,’ she thought.
She just had to hang on a bit longer and they would find a pub, they must. And it didn’t matter what the others thought or said, she was going to use the loo, even if she had to buy a drink to be allowed in. She didn’t care about the cost– the only thing that mattered to her was having a pee as soon as possible. If a loo had materialized in front of her, she would have happily paid ’5 to use it.
Having decided that there was going to be a loo just out of sight over the bridge, Sonia also convinced herself that she could hold her pee until she got there. She might be bursting beyond anything she had ever experienced before, her stomach aching with the pressure in her bladder, but she just had to bear the pain a bit longer. It was no worse that toothache or a migraine, and at least she knew when this was going to end. Not being used to drinking beer like she had that day, she had not realized that she was going to get still more desperate, and quickly. Before she was halfway to the bridge, which seemed to have taken an age, she not only had the ache from her distended bladder to cope with but also was having to fight to hold back a need to pee more urgent that she had ever known. It was no longer a case of just having to bear the pain; she had to clench her bladder shut as hard as she could to hold in her pee. Crossing her legs suddenly became essential to ease the strain on her bladder, and she had to lean against the fence with her legs knotted to recover her composure. For the first time in her adult life she began to doubt her ability to hold her pee until she found a loo, but she quickly dismissed that thought. Little girls might wet their knickers, but not grown women. It was just a matter of willpower and making herself wait a few minutes longer. She was managing it now and she could go on holding it, keeping her muscles clenched shut. But it was taking so much effort she could only just manage to hold it, and as she walked she tried to press her thighs together, the nearest thing she could do to crossing her legs. She was holding back her pee with all her strength, gripping the hem of her anorak with clenched fists with the effort she was making, suddenly frightened because it seemed to be getting worse, and she was not going to be able to hold it much longer. She shuddered with the effort she was making, but it wasn’t enough, she could feel herself beginning to lose control and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop a trickle of pee escaping into her knickers. She stopped, leaning against the fence, legs crossed, as if admiring the view (of an industrial estate!) Helped by her hand involuntarily pressed between her legs, the last resort to stop herself from breaking down completely, the shock of what had happened somehow gave her the strength to contain her pee again. The group had stopped and were looking to see why she was behaving so strangely, and she had to make a huge effort to compose herself, pull her hand away from her crutch before they saw what she was doing, and try to act as if nothing had happened. She mumbled something about getting dust in her eyes and tried to walk normally to catch them up.
She could hardly believe what had happened, that she had actually started to wet her knickers, but there was no getting away from the cooling wetness between her legs. She could not let that happen again, she just had to make herself hold it– she was so near to a loo that she must be able to wait. For a moment she considered throwing all caution and decorum to the winds and running over the bridge, and the loo she was convinced was there, but two quick steps were enough to convince her that running was not an option in her state. Even walking was jolting her bladder, and she needed to keep her legs pressed together as much as possible to hold her pee.
Then, what was the worse moment of a day that was already becoming a nightmare happened. They were over the bridge and onto a road again, but instead of the pub, with a loo, she had been dreaming of, there was just a car park, more industrial estates, and the beginnings of Twickenham rugby ground, all fenced off from the road. There was absolutely nowhere she could go to the loo until they were inside the ground, and the entrances were several hundred meters down the road. How could she possible wait that long? She was already frantic, worse than she had ever wanted to go in her life. She had lost control once and was on the brink of doing so again. If only she could do something to help herself wait, like sit down or cross her legs, but she had to keep up with the others, who were telling her to hurry as there wasn’t much time before kick–off. Walking was unbearable, but how else could she get into the ground and the loos that must be there? If only she had worn a long coat, it would have hidden her holding herself, but even in her frantic state she could not bring herself to openly hold her crutch with so many people about.
She tried to walk faster, to catch her companions, to get to the loo quicker, but she had not gone ten meters before she realized how hopeless it was. She was hobbling more than walking, trying to keep her legs pressed together, concentrating every ounce of her strength, so it seemed, on keeping that little hole between her legs clenched tightly shut. But the pressure of pee inside her was too much, and she could feel herself coming closer and closer to losing control again, and she just could not stop it happening. This time it seemed to be a longer, more serious, leak, worse than before. She felt wet warmth between her legs again, swamping the cold clamminess of her previous accident, and spreading further down her thighs, soaking her tight almost to her knees, before she somehow managed to clamp herself shut again.
She was starting to wet herself! In public! In broad daylight! With someone she knew! It couldn’t be happening to her; grown women with normal bladders did not do that, they waited until they got to a loo. She must get herself under control, not allow anything like that to happen again, and, more important, she had to keep walking and act normally, so nobody suspected what she had done.
‘Hold it! Hold it! Hold it!’ she kept repeating to herself and she walked. Hands clenched and pushed hard down into her anorak pockets, her whole body so tensed with the effort she was making to hold back her pee that she was walking as if she was wearing a tight skirt and high heels, she had to do everything she could to make herself wait just a few more minutes. She glanced down at her skirt. There was no sign of any wetness at the front, and she could only hope that nothing showed at the back either.
She could make it, she told herself. They were almost halfway there and she was only minutes away from a loo– she just had to make herself hold on a bit longer. Thinking that was fatal, the thought of a loo was too much for her, it triggered a spasm from her bladder that she was powerless to contain, and a spurt of pee, much worse that before, escaped. She could feel it running down her legs, past her knees, past the hem of her skirt, some trickling into her shoes, some, she presumed, dripping onto the pavement. She dare not look, in case she drew attention to what she had done, she had to concentrate on not letting it happen again. Don’t think about loos again, she told herself, don’t think how near you are and just concentrate everything on holding it, keeping the pee inside. She had horrible visions of there being wet streaks showing down her legs, or worse, a wet patch on the back of her skirt, telling herself that if there wasn’t one already there would be if she leaked again, and she must not, simply must not, lose control again.
By some miracle she held out until the queue to get into the ground, which was mercifully short and moving slowly forward. This allowed Sonia to cross her legs and shuffle sideways, giving slight relief to her exhausted bladder muscles, and she was even composed enough to feel the back of her skirt, which seemed, thank goodness, to be dry. Inside the ground at last, both the other girls were ‘dying for a loo,’ and seemed to know where it was, so Sonia, fighting a surge of anticipation from her bladder so intense it brought tears to her eyes, just followed them. Of course there was a queue, but most of the women were obviously desperate, contorting themselves, tying their legs in knots, twisting round, hopping from one foot to the other, one or two even holding themselves under their coats, so that Sonia wasn’t ashamed to reveal her desperation, plaiting her legs and adopting a half crouch with her fists clenched in her pockets. One of the other girls was holding her bladder area with both hands, saying she was about to go pop if she didn’t pee soon and the other was agreeing with her, complaining that there was always a queue when you were desperate. Sonia, who was in a far worse state than her companions, said nothing. She was too busy fighting for control, because she simply could not stop little dribbles of pee trickling down her legs, and was seriously considering forgetting all civilized behavior and just charging into the next vacant cubicle. Instead, she waited her turn, managing to almost contain herself, at least not giving way completely and collapsing in disgrace and a pool of pee, not banging on a cubicle door and begging someone to hurry up, even trying to walk in normally and not fling herself onto the loo like she wanted to.
She was shaking so much trying to wait that she could hardly manage to bolt the door, and then it was so difficult to drag down her wet tights and knickers that she let another spurt of pee go before she was on the loo, but it didn’t matter any more. She could pee and pee and pee, get that relief she that had been screaming for, for so long. And did she pee. She might have soaked her knickers, but her bladder was still bursting with more pee than she had ever held, and she was going to enjoy letting every drop out.
This gave her time to consider what an awful situation she was in. If she sat down wearing her wet knickers she would get a wet patch on her skirt for certain, so they had to come off, even though she didn’t have a spare pair. She might be able to dry her tights enough to wear, and the wet streaks hardly showed unless you were really looking. Before she had finished her pee she was taking her shoes off and peeling off her tights and knickers. She dried her legs as best she could with loo paper, and used the rest of the roll trying to dry her tights. Then it was a rush to get dressed, because she had already taken too long for a normal pee, quickly checking that the back of her skirt was still dry after her leaks in the queue.
Sonia welcomed a large coffee to drink before the match started, the hot sweet drink calming her after the frantic last ten minutes. It had seemed like a lifetime, but she realized they had only left the pub forty minutes ago, and she could hardly believe the rate her bladder had filled. She presumed that the other two girls were used to this level of drinking, and had developed bladders like an elephant’s. Thank goodness she had worn a skirt, so nobody knew what she had done. What on earth would she have done if she had worn jeans? She would have just had to make herself wait.
Despite the excitement of the game, the coffee and the remaining beer made Sonia want to pee before they were halfway through the first half, but with her bladder still aching from her last wait, she did not even try to hold out until half time. She missed South Africa’s first try, but she preferred that to sitting in agony for another twenty minutes.
Paul Tester ( Correspondence and non–abusive comments always welcome, just click on my name )