During the Floods

Here’s another letter from Robert and I but we’ve tried to stick to what happened around the time of the ‘floods’ at the end of 2000.
Robert’s boat has been out of action for a while so we had our wet weekend at his house and you’d be surprised how close it is to yours.
As usual I arrived at the station full to overflowing. Now I’m not very good at geography and when Robert said to take the train to Dewsbury I thought it must be the station nearest to his house so it was a bit of a surprise when he said we had to go another half an hour by car.
He had borrowed a neighbor’s car and so we had to keep it dry. I’m all right in a train but the jiggling of a car plays havoc with my lower parts. I shuffled about and rocked backwards and forwards rubbing my thighs, though that does no good, and generally enjoying the approaching desperation. Trusting Robert as I do I was sure he would have some scheme for enjoying our games without causing too much offense to the rest of the public but when he turned on to the motorway I realized that it had to be some time before there could be any sort of a toilet stop. It was especially worrying to see the sign ‘Services 9 miles.’ “Look Robert, I’m likely to wet the car if we don’t find somewhere quite soon.” He smiled and said not to worry; he had it all worked out. Well I do trust him but he does come up with unusual solutions and one of us regularly gets wet.
He kept asking if I could hold on and how bad was it. That just made it worse. We don’t plead for release till we think we’ve reached a limit so I just sat there plaiting my legs and asked if he had played fair. Our usual agreement was that when we met on a Friday we would each have two pints ‘in store’ and be at least two hours since our last relief. He kept on driving and smiling as we passed the services. “Only another 10 miles,” he said. It was already 6:30 and I had last emptied before four o’clock at the office.
As the traffic began to thin out we sped up and I began to hope that the accident might be postponed till we were at least away from too many people. It was Friday night and everyone knows the roads are chaos until well after 8 at night. A minor emergency caused the line of cars to brake suddenly and the “oops” from Robert had nothing to do with the driving. I looked across to see his hand in his lap. “Did you squirt then?” I asked.
He looked a bit sheepish and agreed that he had lost it for a moment. “At least I’m not alone then,” I thought.
As we turned off the motorway it seemed as though I might make it. “How much further?” I warbled.
“Only 6 more miles,” was the reply.
Never! I couldn’t imagine waiting what would probably be another ten minutes. He smiled in triumph, “Have I beaten my beautiful bladder friend?” he said.
“Yes, yes, if I can’t pee in the car we’ve got to stop.”
“No need,” says he airily, “use the in car convenience.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look behind my seat,” he said.
There was a plastic potty and a large towel. Just stretching around to reach them was excruciating and resulted in several warm damp feelings.
Knickers down, skirt up, potty under, it was messy but a great relief.
Sitting there perched high up on the potty, head touching the roof and my knickers round my ankles I let go. We were less than two miles from his house going through a small town, me sitting up hissing like a steam engine while he drove slowly up to a roundabout. One of his friends called out a greeting and I was momentarily afraid he would come across talking. I couldn’t imagine how to explain sitting there on my throne but I did feel so much better though when he reached out his hand to take the potty from under me I could have squealed with embarrassment for he just emptied it out the window as he drove away from the roundabout. Of course it was just before the floods so it was raining and the social damage was quite limited.
My turn for triumph came when we reached his house. I hopped out of the car to see where he lived for the first time but he stayed put.
“Come on, I want to see your house,” but he couldn’t move. He swiveled on the seat to put his legs to the ground saying, “It’s no good, I’ve lost it,” and he hobbled to the front door making his first wet trousers of the weekend.
We don’t spend all our time in wet games because he claims that he’s teaching me to be a more sociable person. This includes visits to beautiful spots or historical things like castles, art galleries, and other famous places.
This weekend we were to visit Clumber Park, which is a huge garden once owned by some titled person but now available for ‘ordinaries’ to have a picnic or walk about looking at the trees and birds. On the Saturday morning we set off in Robert’s own car with a packet of sandwiches and an enormous flask. The idea was to make another little film of me lounging about in the park looking alluring. He said it was quite possible though I had my doubts. He showed me a picture of some Greek Goddess standing in a big seashell with a grand house in the background. The idea was to try and produce the same thing with me as the Goddess. I’ve told you before that I generally feel more like a Teletubby so that I hardly expected the expedition to be more than an interesting day out.
We arrived at Clumber Park about 11 o’clock in the pouring rain so I hoped the filming would be delayed. There was an upturned rowing boat by the ornamental lake. I had to wrap an old sheet round me while he went a fair distance off with the camcorder to get the big house in the picture with me in the rowing boat.
We had a small argument about whether I would take off my clothes to make the film more like the painting he’d shown me. Luckily the sheet was now so wet that it didn’t look the part even if I had, so the project was abandoned till another occasion. Instead we sat in the car and ate the sandwiches. As we are both used to drinking quite large quantities, the flask was soon emptied. The next part of my education was a sightseeing trip around some derelict mining villages. It left me cold but Robert went on and on until the afternoon was almost over. Then we went to visit some friends we’d met on the boat. Two more cups of tea!
Early in the evening we arrived at a restaurant near Doncaster. “Would Madame and Monsieur like to order in the bar and have a drink while the meal is prepared?”
Well, we did that and were about to have our first toilet break since 10 in the morning when a coach party arrived and we had to take our table straight away. Sitting down we glanced at each other and knew that we had put ourselves in an awkward position. Soup arrived immediately along with fresh orange and a carafe of water. Next came fish and chips with peas though the menu called it trout meuniere with petit pois and pommes de terre frites. There was also a very nice white wine etc…
Rising to leave we both turned towards the toilets only to find that another coach party was queuing at both.
“Can we make it home?” The obvious answer was ‘no’ but we had both played hold it so often that we grinned and agreed to try. “Just a half hour car journey,” said Robert to encourage me but the expression on his face said, “We haven’t a chance.”
Within a few minutes I knew it would not work. This time there was no chamber pot as it wasn’t supposed to be a wet outing. We were caught by our own game and this time it was real. Dense traffic, rain, too much wine, this was a real emergency. When we ground to a halt in the market place of another small town looking around for a solution to our dilemma we saw an ideal public facility not five yards away. There was nowhere to park the car. Robert told me to hop out and he would drive around in a circle whilst I eased the pressure.
Inside the ladies’ the floor was inches deep in liquid and there was no light. There turned out to be no loo either. It had been smashed. All this I established in the first moments and slipped out again only to see the car moving off. I couldn’t run to it and each time my tight–legged walk brought me up to it the traffic moved again. Twice this happened and then I lost sight of where it went. The only thing was to go back and wait.
Standing there in the market place of a town I’d never seen before without a coat in the pouring rain dying for a pee I did the only thing possible. I peed. It was a weird experience watching the last shoppers hurrying home brushing against me as I stood at the curb peeing. What did it matter, everything was wet, I’d just dampened the inside as well as the outside.
When Robert returned he was all smiles, “OK?” he said. Climbing in while squooshing, I tried to look cheerful and nodded but he knew something was wrong. “While you were enjoying the public facilities,” he said, “I was caught short and had to give in. I stopped behind a parked lorry and went and leaked on its back wheel. So we’re both all right now. Or are we? You don’t seem very relieved.”
I told him all about my fiasco so he turned up the heater and put an arm around me. He took us home and gave me a bath, just as if I were a baby. He even covered me with Talcum powder and we finished the day in a haze of warmth and comfort eating hot buttered toast in front of the fire. I do like being pampered.
The next day the floods arrived so I never had to pretend to be a Goddess because he spent the whole time and all his tapes filming miles of water.
This is Robert writing. I did not spend the whole of Sunday with the camcorder. I had my own little adventure. Floods close roads. Three hours of filming brought me to a lane which should lead towards home but instead led across a River bridge which was marooned in the fields and there was no choice but to retrace my steps. The next crossing of the River Aire seemed all right because the traffic was flowing. My toilet time was fast approaching as I joined the line. We crossed the river and before me was an inland sea. The lorries ploughed steadily forward but the cars were turning round. The water was less than a foot deep but great waves sluiced back and forth as the vehicles surged through. Mine isn’t a 4×4 so all I could do was take a bit more film and turn round.
Back along the country lanes to find the third crossing I looked for a quiet corner to stop. No such privacy was offered, the road was very busy with people like me hunting for a way through. Do I call at a friend’s house and claim sanctuary? The promise of relief brought on a tremendous urge as it always does. I turned off into the little agricultural settlement where my friends are growing lettuce. There was no sign of them so I decided to nip into one of the greenhouses. Of course, as soon as I had entered there was a shout and my friends appeared at the far side. It would have been too much to confess what I intended so I had to invent a reason for coming in search of them. It involved a long torture whilst we country people gradually worked our way through local news.
Swaying from side to side, tapping my foot and foolishly licking my upper teeth (which always has the effect of making me want to pee more) the discussion arrived at a satisfactory conclusion and I hopped in the car even closer to breaking. To cut a long story short I got as far as my own front door. The precious camcorder slipped from my hand and in swooping to retrieve it I lost control for the second time that weekend within sight of help.
May seldom finds my accidents anything short of hilarious. They have the effect of bringing out the mother in her at first and then the mistress in her. “Oh you poor little man,” was my greeting from her.
She swept me along with her to the bathroom where she gave me the same treatment I’d given her the previous day. Bathed, dried, and powdered she sat me by the fire. I do like being pampered. I also like being treated to what she calls the big cuddle. She wraps herself around me loosely and moves slowly about until every nerve in my body is singing. It takes her some time to begin a sort of gentle vibration or shuddering accompanied by a series of little sighs. I don’t count these but would guess there may be up to ten before the stickiness between us tells me for sure what has been happening. Practice in holding one orifice closed intensifies the pleasure when trying to hold the other shut. Her aim is to ensure that we both arrive at the same feeling and she succeeds wonderfully. When you’ve held on for a long time the delight in letting go is multiplied. I think that is one of the principles of Kundalini Yoga though for somewhat higher purposes.
Another wet weekend finished dreamily that Sunday night as we drifted off to sleep early so she could catch her train back to work at 8 the next morning.
As mentioned before an email to ccco@myisp.co.uk is always welcome.
Don’t let the floods put you off.
Yours,
Robert and May