Posted by Paul on January 16, 2000 at 04:33
A New Year Fantasy.
Recently divorced, my cousin Anna asked me to accompany her to London for the Millennium celebrations. Anna is in her late 30’s but still has a tall slim girlish figure, and thick shoulder length dark hair. She has to wear very thick lens glasses, which give her an owlish look, and stop her ever being called beautiful. For her night out in town she had squeezed herself a pair of faded blue denim jeans, that were as tight a fit as I had ever seen. I could hardly take my eyes off them, particularly the way they revealed the intimate folds of skin between her legs, and I was wondering if she could be wearing any knickers.
“I’m sorry about these jeans.” She had caught me staring, “I know they look disgustingly tight, but they’ve worn to my shape and are actually very comfortable.”
“I’m not complaining, and they certainly fit you well,” I replied, relishing the sight of her flat stomach and pronounced pubic bulge, and wishing she wasn’t my cousin who I had known since she was a little girl.
We went into to London by train, wandered along the Embankment, and into Covent Garden, enjoying all the street shows and looking for a vantage point for the Millennium count-down and the firework display. Then we went for a few drinks before heading back to Trafalgar Square, but it was so crowded that we decided to give it a miss and go straight to the river bank and get a good position for the firework display. By the time the display started it was pretty crowded there as well, but we were lucky with our vantage point, and were protected from the worst of the crush.
As soon as the firework display was over we headed for the station, hoping to keep ahead of the crowd. By that time I was feeling the effects of the beer I had drunk earlier, and was quite desperate for a pee. I considered hanging on until the station, but I didn’t really want to pay the 20p they charged, so I took advantage of a shaded doorway, already awash with pee, to relieve myself. Anna protested mildly at such anti-social behaviour, then complained ruefully that she also wanted to go pretty badly, but supposed she would have to wait until we got to the station. I, half jokingly, offered to stand guard while she went in the doorway, but she refused, just asking me to hurry and get to the station.
It was so crowded that it took at least ten minutes to get there, and queues were starting to form to get into the actual station. It was all quite orderly, and we joined the nearest, not having any idea which platform we would need once inside. While we had been walking to the station, I had noticed that Anna had her hands in her jeans pockets, perhaps because she was cold, but more likely, I hoped, because she was dying for a pee. As soon as we were standing in the queue, she confirmed this by crossing her legs tightly and twisting towards me, bending slightly forward.
“I hope this queue moves quickly, because I need to get in the loo, like, right now. I’m not used to drinking so much beer, and with this cold, wet, weather, it has really got me going. Talk about bursting! It's going to be a crisis before long.” There was a note of urgency in her voice that emphasised how badly she wanted to go.
I made some reassuring remarks, but there wasn’t anything I could do to help her, and it was obvious that with so many people heading for the station, it would be stupid to leave the queue and look for a loo somewhere else. Her best chance was the in the station, but I could not suppress a sneaking hope that we would not get there too quickly. Anna had her legs twisted together and one hand pulling up the waist band of her jeans, an absolutely classic pose, facing me, maybe to conceal her desperation from strangers, but giving me the full benefit of it. I found it difficult to keep my gaze away from the crutch of her skin-tight jeans, imagining the urgency that was building inside them, and trying to detect any bulge in her flat abdomen.
As we got nearer the entrance we could see that the police were letting people in gradually, presumably to avoid overcrowding on the platforms. Several times I heard Anna mutter “Come on! Come on!” in the direction of the police, each exclamation coinciding with her twisting her body and making a slight curtsey. The police used a loud-hailer to appeal to us not to push forward, saying that there were going to be plenty of trains for everyone.
“There’s more important things than trains on that station,” said Anna grimly, wincing and leaning forward, pushing her hands hard into her jeans pocket at the same time. “I’m beginning to wish I had used that doorway now.”
“Nearly there,” I replied putting my arm round her shoulders in encouragement, “better make sure you have some money ready, because you probably won’t be the only one in a hurry for the loo.”
“How much is it?” She took a handful of coins from her coat pocket, and I added my loose change just to make sure. “Not that I care, I’ve got to have a pee, however much they charge.”
At last we were in the station. There were porters trying to direct people to the right platforms, but Anna pushed past them, only interested in one place, dragging me along behind her
“Do you know where the loos are?” she asked, “Oh quick! It’s getting worse now I’m nearly there.”
I knew the station well, and the Ladies was not easy to find, and I had considered acting dumb to prolong her desperation, but I took pity on her and indicated the far corner, behind the bookstall. She was pulling ahead of me, walking with that tense, urgent, stiff-legged gait that signifies a bursting bladder and tightly clenched sphincter muscle. I tried to keep up, as I rather hoped there would be a queue, which would provide some interesting sights while waiting for Anna. Instead there was a locked door with a metal grill over it, and a chalked notice announcing:
‘THESE TOILETS WILL BE CLOSED AT 20.00 FOR SECURITY REASONS’
Anna was staring at this notice, legs knotted, a look of horror on her face.
“I just don’t believe it! How can they shut the loos on New Year’s eve, don’t they know that women have to pee when they’ve had a drink? Look Paul, I’ve absolutely got to have a pee, I’m nearly wetting myself. You’ll have to take me in the men’s and I’ll use a cubicle there.”
“OK, come on, you probably won’t be the only girl in there.” I led her across the station to the entrance to the men’s loos, only to find that they were also shut, and several men were showing their disgust at this by peeing against the door.
“It can’t be true, there has to be a loo open on the station somewhere. Surely they know that loads of their passengers are going to be desperate.” Facing me, Anna pushed one hand between her legs to demonstrate just how desperate she was.
I knew that there were no more loos, so dragged her over to the departures board to find our train home, telling her to try and hang on a bit longer and she would be able to go on the train. There was another queue to get on the platform for our train, and as soon as we were standing in this, Anna turned to face me, standing very close so that no-one could see that she was holding between her legs.
“How long? How long before we get on the train? Oh Christ, I’m so desperate I’m not going to be able to wait much longer.”
I put my arms loosely round her neck and held her close to me, trying to remember that she was my cousin and not a girl-friend, hiding that she was holding her crutch in desperation. Slowly we inched our way to the front of the queue, only to find that we had to wait for the next train, due in five minutes.
I tried to make idle conversation to distract Anna, but she was hardly responsive, not adding more than an occasional groan or “Hurry up!” to our conversation, as all her thoughts had to be on holding her pee, and the relief that she expected when the next train arrived.
“It’s going to be a real scrum when the train comes, isn’t it?” she was making plans, perhaps to distract her from the bursting pressure in her bladder. “I want to go so badly, I don’t think I can run, even if I hold myself all the way. We must try and get in by the first loo. I know you are not supposed to pee in the station, but this is an emergency, I’ll simply have to go as soon as we get on.”
I didn’t say anything, because I knew that the normally we had sliding door suburban rolling stock with no loos, but I wasn’t going to frighten Anna unnecessarily, as there could be any sort of train in this situation. When it arrived, the train was just as I expected, (hoped?) without loos. It took Anna a few seconds to realise this, then she had to ask me to make sure.
“No! No!, it can’t be true, this must be some sort of night-mare. What on earth am I going to do, I’m virtually wetting myself I’m so desperate. There must be a loo somewhere I can use, oh please, I don’t want to wet myself in public.”
“Anna, please try to hold on. Even if we can push our way out of the station, it’s not going to be easy to find a loo outside. You’ll be able to sit down on the train, and we will be home in 20 minutes, and you can go on the station there. It’s got to be your best option.”
It would actually take nearer 25 minutes, even if there were no delays, and there was no telling how long before the train left, but I really did think that it was the best thing we could do. It would also give me the best chance to witness her desperation, and I had a sneaking feeling that the loos on our home station were closed at night now, but there was no point in worrying Anna with details like that.
Without giving her time to consider this, I pulled her along the platform to the train, and grabbed the first two empty seats I saw. Anna had been holding her crutch as we went along the platform, but as soon as she sat down she crossed her legs and sat with her hands clasped under her knees, leaning slightly forward and pressing her legs together harder with her forearms. The grim, determined look on her face showed just how much effort she was having to make to control her pee. The train was packed, so we were pressed closely together, and I put my arm round her in a gesture of comfort and support, all I could do for her in the circumstances. She managed a half smile and whispered to me, “It’s a bit better now I’m sitting down, if only the train gets a move on, I think I’ll be OK.”
As if in response to her plea, the train started almost at once, but the jolting over points outside the station did nothing to help her bladder, and I felt her tense as she squirmed on the seat, then, as her need to pee increased, she gripped her thighs for a bit, then finally pushed one hand between her crossed legs, trying to cover this by resting her left arm across her lap. She was obviously embarrassed at holding her crutch so openly, but felt that she could not hold back her pee any other way. I took off my coat and laid it across both our laps, so it covered her holding her crutch. She whispered “Thanks” and I saw her hands move under the coat.
There was hardly any conversation on that journey home, apart from Anna occasionally asking me how much longer it would be, and groaning every time the train was delayed leaving a station, or stopped at signals. Mostly her eyes were shut, and I guess that her whole world was concentrated on one thing only, holding back her pee until she could get to the loo. Several time I saw that she was moving her hands under the coat on her lap, and from the position of her arms I deduced that she was holding her crutch with both hands. The way she was leaning forward and then straightening up, together with the expression on her face, made her condition pretty obvious to me, though no-one else in the compartment was taking any notice of her.
At last we were home, though it had taken over thirty minutes, not the twenty I had promised Anna, and remembering that she was not familiar with the station, I told her that both loos were by the main exit, on the platform we were using.
“Not far, I hope,” she replied, “I’m not going to be able to walk very far.”
Quite a few got off at our station, and by walking close behind me, Anna was able to continue holding her crutch with one hand as we walked. I began to hurry to the exit, but she pulled me back.
“I can’t hurry, every step is agony, jolting my poor bladder, I can only just walk at all.
I must hold it, I’m so close I can’t let go now.” She was encouraging herself as she hobbled along the platform.
“Anna,” I said, “the loos here are shut as well, you’re going to have to wait until we get to my flat, can you manage to walk that far?”
“That’s not funny, don’t make jokes about things like that when I’m about a second away from wetting my pants.” Then she saw that I wasn’t joking, the loos really were shut. Three girls were kicking on the Ladies’ door, another was doubled over, legs plaited together, shouting for a porter to come and unlock the door. A few men were also pushing hard against the similarly shut gents, before hurrying off into the car park. Anna stood looking at the doors in horror, both hands between her legs, fighting to hold back the pee that seconds earlier she had thought she was about to be able to let go.
“They can’t keep doing this to me. Is every fucking loo in England shut tonight? I’ve been frantic for ages, I simply can’t stand it any longer, I’ve just got to pee. I must go, I absolutely must go! I’m going to do it down my legs if I can’t find somewhere.
Oh please find me a loo Paul, I can’t wait much longer.”
“Come on, my flat, it’s not far, and I promise the loo there is open. One last effort, just hang on a few more minutes.” I took her arm and pulled her out of the station.
“A taxi! Can we take a taxi, every second is vital now, and I can hardly walk it hurts so much.”
The taxi rank was empty, with about 20 people waiting. It seemed as if the whole world was conspiring against Anna to make her suffer more.
“I haven’t got much choice have I?” she said, “I either stand in that queue until I wet myself, or try and walk to your flat and probably wet myself on the way”
We began what was normally a five minute walk, but probably took nearer ten that night. Anna was hobbling along, right hand pressed hard between her legs, no longer caring who could see her holding her crutch, the other hand pulling on the belt of her jeans, either trying to make them tighter against her crutch or to pull them away from her bladder. There was quite a lot of traffic still about, and several passing motorists hooted at her when they saw her holding her crutch, but I don’t think that she dared let go, even for a second. Her abdomen was definitely bulging, and there had to be tremendous pressure in her bladder to make jeans as tight as hers stretch like that. Several times we had to stop while she doubled over, both hands between her tightly plaited legs, as a crisis of desperation swept over her, and she came right to the brink of wetting herself. Every time this happened, I was expecting to see a dark wet stain expanding down her legs, but each time she was just able to hold on. Her last crisis was at the entrance to my flat, when she realised there were four flights of stairs to climb, and that that might well be the last straw for her tiring sphincter. Rashly, I picked her up and began to carry her up the stairs. She was pretty skinny, but tall, and more than heavy enough to have to carry up those stairs, but I just managed it, setting her down with a bump that must have gone right to her bladder.
Spurred on by “Quick! Quick! I can’t wait any longer. It’s coming, I can’t hold it, I’m going to have to piss myself, I can’t wait!” I unlocked the front door and stood aside to let Anna make her final frantic dash to the loo. As the loo door slammed shut, I couldn’t resist following her and listening at the door. A bang as the seat went down, the rattle of her belt buckle, a zip being undone, a rustle as her jeans and knickers were pulled down, and then... The most incredible blast of pee I have ever heard. Her bladder must have been stretched to its absolute limit to generate pressure like that. No wonder she had had to hold her crutch to keep it back. Then the pressure dropped to a normal stream, which did not last anything like as long as I expected, considering how desperate Anna had been. As she finished her pee, I snapped out of my reverie, and hurried into the kitchen and began making coffee.
A few minutes later, as Anna sat drinking a large Drambuie with her coffee, I had a clear view of the crutch of her jeans, which was bone dry, so somehow she had managed to hold her pee to the very end. She kept feeling her abdomen, so I asked her if she was alright.
“I’ve got a stomach ache, or bladder ache really,” she replied, “I think I must have strained something, holding back for so long. It was like a nightmare, every loo I got to was shut. I thought on the train that I could not possibly wait another minute, but somehow I did, and I honestly don’t know how I managed to walk from the station. Every step I thought I was going to give way and pee in my jeans.”
“You made it somehow, which is the important thing. It’s amazing how you always seem to be able to wait just long enough to get to the loo.” I replied, trying to keep on the subject and hoping she would elaborate on her desperation, or recount similar events.
“I have never, ever, in my life, wanted to go so badly for so long. I really was using every ounce of my strength to hold it back. What a state I was in, hand between my legs like a little girl, beyond caring who saw me, so long as I didn’t wet my pants. Not having a pee in that doorway where you went was one of the most stupid things I have ever done.”
She raised her glass to me, “Anyway, Happy New Year and all that. It was a good evening, despite the drama at the end.”
“Happy New Year,” I returned her toast. It had most definitely been a good evening, particularly the drama at the end.
Paul Tester,
Email: p_tester@hotmail.com