Ashley at the Race Night

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Lee
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Ashley at the Race Night

Post by Lee »

The 18-seater coach pulled off the motorway and headed towards Newmarket Racecourse. It was a late afternoon/early summer evening and the Friday traffic was busy. The small group of staff from Manning Property Estates were getting ready for their evening at the races and having finished their working day earlier than usual, they had all met up in the pub near their office before setting out on the hired coach.

Three seats from the back, 24-year old sales negotiator Ashley was sitting in near silence, cursing the fact that he’d not had just a soft drink in the pub because the pint of cool lager which had proved so refreshing on the hot afternoon had been making its presence felt for the past hour. The early twinges in his bladder had got progressively worse and the jolting reminders had become so frequent that scarcely a minute passed without a distress signal being emitted.

Dressed in his mid-grey, tight-fitting Paul Smith designer suit, Ashley was desperately trying to sit still, willing himself not to make his condition obvious to his colleagues. He was also furiously admonishing himself for not asking for a stop when they were on the motorway. They had passed a couple of service stations and the ribbing that he would have received would have soon faded into a distant memory, compared to the anguish he was now experiencing.

They had around 10 miles still to travel and every 100 meters or so produced its own panic-inducing moment for him. There was no way he could ask for a stop at this late stage, not now that they were so close to their destination. Ten miles was hardly a marathon – except that his bloated bladder needed to be at that finishing line sooner rather than later and much, much sooner!

The excited chatter and peals of laughter from his colleagues were all around him but Ashley was starting to jig his leg back and forth. He just couldn’t help himself. The discomfort was such that sitting motionless was becoming impossible for him. Not just that, but he was getting a numb feeling in his buttocks where he had been sitting awkwardly, unable to relax properly.

As the coach passed a road sign showing “Racecourse 6 Miles”, Ashley’s heart was pounding in his chest. This was going to be a close call. He was absolutely bursting and frantically wanted to clutch himself through the crotch of his suit trousers. Such action would, of course, have been out of the question in such circumstances but he feared that he would find himself with no choice if they didn’t arrive very soon.

With two miles to go, panic had turned to agony. As ridiculous and unacceptable as it was, he was actually beginning to wonder if he was going to be able to hold on. He couldn’t ever remember being in a situation where he genuinely didn’t know if he was going to make it to a toilet in time.
The road sign in front of them said “Newmarket – Welcome to the Home of Racing”. Ashley lifted his backside slightly from the seat and wedged both of his hands under his aching buttocks. Sitting on his hands he began to gently scissor his legs back and forth. The ache in his tummy was now a tight bloated sensation all around his midriff and every jolt of the coach sent a mini spasm through the pit of his belly.

The groan from several of his colleagues echoed through Ashley’s ringing ears and he strained his neck muscles to see what had caused their consternation. He hardly needed to look as a voice blurted out,

“Oh, look at this sodding queue to get in the car park!”

The queuing cars and line of coaches reduced every vehicle down to a speed of scarcely more than 7-8mph as the snail-like procession edged its way towards to the sprawling grassy car-parks. They were so near that the racecourse itself was in full view, but so far away as to know that this last leg of the journey would be a frustrating and slow one.

In his seat, Ashley was in a blind panic. Having extracted his hands from beneath his backside, his sweaty palms were now tenderly massaging his swollen bladder whilst he was gyrating himself on the seat, shifting himself back and forth and willing the pain to go away. Although moving at a crawl, the coach was not being forced to brake or stop and that was just adding to his anguish. If they had ground to a halt, even momentarily, he could have overcome his embarrassment and demanded to be let off, even though there was nowhere obvious to relieve himself. But as the traffic moved steadily and slowly, stopping was just not an option without adding to the major jam.

The final few hundred yards were simply tortuous. Ashley had never been in so much discomfort. He was using all his will-power and muscle power to contain himself, absolutely terrified that he would disgrace himself in front of his work colleagues and as the yellow-jacketed steward pointed the driver in the direction of the coach park, Ashley was unable to swallow as his throat almost clammed up with the acute panic that he was about to humiliate himself and simply go to the toilet in his pants.

As the driver opened the door, with the coach now stationary, there was a bit of a scramble to get down the small aisle and off the bus into the bright summer sunshine. Standing in the aisle and literally meters from salvation, Ashley felt an extraordinary calm sereneness sweeping over him. He’d only made it! He knew he still had to get into the racecourse but the sheer fact that he was no longer trapped and was unable to walk, and out in the open, reduced his panic to miniscule proportions. His heart was still thumping but this time in grateful thanks. He really had made it okay!

As they all gathered next to the coach and started to collect their admission tickets from Luke, Ashley’s bladder was still absolutely screaming for relief but he could almost step from one foot to the other on the spot, un-noticed as the milling and jostling continued. The release of his tension was so palpably absurd that he almost wanted to grin at the ridiculous situation he had been in.

“First thing I want is the beer tent” announced Dave.

“I think I want the loo before anything else” said Georgina.

“Me too” added Tina.

Ashley couldn’t resist adding his own comment, “And me” he whispered.

Tina turned and looked him in some surprise. She hadn’t expected a male voice to join in. “I hope there’s not a queue to get in” she replied quietly.

“I know” Ashley said, “I’ll seriously wet my pants if there is!”

Tina giggled and Ashley gave a grimaced grin. He could hardly believe he’d said that but the sense of relief he was feeling at that moment after such a terrible ordeal overcame all else in those all-too-short few moments.

With their tickets handed out, the group headed towards to the main entrance. As they walked, Ashley’s bladder decided that the frivolity of the last few minutes was to be cut short and with every step, the crisis began to re-introduce itself. Each time he put one foot in front of the other, a stabbing pain shot like a bolt of lightning through his groin and his bladder felt like a baseball in his stomach. If every step was agony, it was being matched by his panic as the walking movement made him feel as if all his muscles were starting to relax.

Ashley wanted to try and run the last 50 meters but that was impossible – and not just physically. The queue at the turnstiles was short enough not to be really noticeable but for someone so utterly and unbelievably desperate for the toilet, it was like a dagger to the heart. As they joined the short line of waiting punters, the sudden necessity to stand still was almost fatal for Ashley. His pain was such that he wanted to bend forwards to try and ease the agony. His bladder felt on the verge of giving out and he knew that he just simply had to hold himself to prevent the most awful thing ever happening to him. He plunged his hand into his trouser pocket and without caring whether it was discreet or not, he clasped himself through his underpants. Two or three squeezes seemed to avert immediate catastrophe but as he approached the turnstiles, his eyes were darting from side to side to see where he could run to once inside.

As he pushed through the turnstile, the effort of doing so caused a knife-like discomfort that told him in no uncertain terms that his body was close to ending this torture, whether Ashley liked it or not. He was as close to wetting himself as he had ever been in his adult life.

Once inside, the group were re-gathering but all Ashley heard was ‘…meet up outside the betting office at 6.00pm…’ and with that, he launched himself away from his colleagues. He felt as if he was staggering slightly like a drunk man and he had absolutely no idea where he was going as he felt somewhat dizzy, but as he saw a racecourse official steward slightly to his left, he blurted out,

“The toilets, mate. Where are the toilets?”

The steward gestured with his arm, “Just around that corner…”

Ashley heard no more as he stumbled on, half-walking and half-running as best as his body would allow. He got to the end of the building he was facing and turned left, as instructed by the steward.

If the Devil had been conducting proceedings with an objective of destroying a man’s salvation and crushing his dignity on the spot with one foul swoop, then this was this occasion. Ashley almost stopped in his tracks as he was confronted by a Gents and Ladies toilet block – each with a queue of dozens waiting to get inside.

The queue for the Ladies was long and stretched back to almost where Ashley was standing. The Gents was fronted by more of a mass than a single-line queue and so it was impossible to assess how many were waiting.

Ashley lurched forwards and found himself right behind a group of about six blokes, obviously mates, who were standing in a little crowd, chatting away and with a couple of them drinking from beer bottles. They had no reason to take notice of someone joining the rear of them until Ashley gave them good reason to.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do!” he suddenly said, loudly and startlingly.

Three of them turned round and looked at him,

“What’s up, mate?”

“What can I do? Where can I go?” Ashley’s voice was again loud and panicky beyond belief.

Before anyone could respond again, Ashley astonishingly began to do the only thing he could to cope with his predicament. Completely averse to the acutely shocked reaction of others, he started to bob up and down on the spot, lifting one foot and then the other, whilst crossing his legs tightly and pressing his thighs together. As if that was not embarrassing enough, he plunged his right hand to his crotch and gripped himself tightly, blatantly squeezing and clutching the material of his grey trousers. Within seconds his jigging on the spot increased to a near-dancing motion and he found himself grabbing and clutching his crotch with both of his hands.

Each one of the group in front of him had turned to look at the spectacle, glancing at one another in amazement as Ashley started to mutter to himself, making inaudible comments which sounded like a lengthy anguished groan.

“You can jump ahead of us mate, but you’re not going to get to the front.”

“He’s not going to make it in time, is he?”

“Blimey! I think he’s peeing himself!”

One of the group yelled out, “Hurry up in front, we’ve got someone going in his pants back here!”

The comment caused a few more heads to turn and a few muffled words were exchanged.

“I know, there’s a guy literally wetting himself behind us.”

“I think it’s too late, it looks like he’s already doing it in his trousers!”

If Ashley had been slightly more in control of himself and aware of his situation, he would have noticed that the crowds in front of him was starting to part like the Red Sea. Some of the movement was caused by others shifting their positions to try and see what was happening but others were stepping aside to let him through, based on the comments that had been flying around.

Ashley never moved the position of his feet at all, remaining where he was stood as his frantic jigging around began to ease and he began to bend at the waist, leaning forwards with his head bowed and extracting one hand from his groin area and placing his palm flat on his thigh as his legs bent as though his knees were buckling. He was almost motionless in his upper body as he adopted a classic posture of someone sitting on an invisible chair.

All Ashley could feel was the stabbing belly-ache intensifying momentarily and then starting to ease with a strange and tingling sensation all around his waist and tummy region. There was an incredible warmth all around his balls and his upper leg muscles, which had been taut and painful were suddenly engulfed by heat and sticky wetness as he felt a surge of scorching hot urine fill the seat of his pants and force its way up the crack of his backside.

That initial burning sensation was quickly overwhelmed by the torrential flow streaming all down his legs. Jetting through his underpants and quite literally pouring down both the front and back of his thighs, the flow reached his knees and began to trickle down his shins whilst dribbling all down the backs of his calves until the rivers reached his socks.

“Bloody Hell, he’s actually pissed himself!”

“Jeez, look at that all running down his legs! He’s wetting himself!”

One of the guys looked forwards and in apparent response to a comment from someone further forward, he simply said,

“He’s wet his pants, mate!”

Ashley still hadn’t moved. His Grementin brand black leather pointed-toe shoes were fixed to the floor with his feet about 12 inches apart and placed almost parallel. The scorching hot urine was continuing to run from out of the bottom of both legs of his trousers, running all down his short black socks and forming a series of small puddles on the concrete path, with thin wraiths of steam drifting up from his feet as the pools merged into one large glimmering puddle.

The queue for the Gents had dissolved into a crowd trying to get a look at what had happened whilst the adjacent queue for the Ladies had remained pretty much intact although seemingly every head was turned to witness the incident, with several of the females covering their faces with their hands in horror.

Bizarrely, Ashley was still holding himself with one very wet and sticky hand as the trickles diminished to a few wayward drips and dribbles and he was gradually straightening himself up from his near squatting position as he felt a firm a hand being placed on his shoulder and a steward said to him,

“Are you okay, sir?”

Ashley didn’t answer and the steward had no other words to offer either and there was an awkward silence of about 30 seconds before Ashley
started to move, walking slowly and uncomfortably away from the area, watched by the dozens of amazed race-goers and heading towards the perimeter fence of the racecourse. As he walked, with his legs apart and his wet socks squelching coldly inside his shoes, he had no idea where he was going or what he was doing.

He reached the fence and leant against it, breathing heavily and still in a daze. He looked down at himself. His grey suit trousers were sodden and stained dark right down to both of his knees with further wet streaks down as far as his ankles. He couldn’t see the back of his trousers but he could feel his soaking wet underpants clinging coldly to his backside and the clammy stickiness all down the backs of his thighs. His shoes were radiating a warmth although with every step he could feel the cold dampness inside them.

After a minute or so, he walked to the exit gates, still in full view of numerous smartly-dressed on-lookers who were open-mouthed in surprise at what they were seeing and there was absolutely no doubt about what had happened to him. As he got to the gates, one of two stewards opened the exit for him, saying nothing as Ashley walked through but as he closed the gate behind him, one of them said quietly to the other,

“Wet himself in the toilet queue, apparently!”

Five minutes later, still walking uncomfortably with his legs astride like a little schoolboy who’d had an accident, he approached the coach where Brian the driver was stretched outside on a chair reading his newspaper. He turned, somewhat startled as Ashley appeared next to him,

“What are you doing back here, mate … oh Bloody Hell, mate, you haven’t have you? Whatever’s happened?”

Ashley was almost relieved to be able to say something to someone, “I’ve wet myself. I was queuing for the toilets. I couldn’t wait and didn’t make it in time.”

When Brian recovered his composure he said, “Well, we’re stuck here for the next three hours, mate. I don’t know what you’re going to do. I’d suggest you get those wet things off though, there’s a blanket in the hold if you want it for now. Sorry mate, I don’t know what else to suggest.”

Ten minutes later, Brian was on his mobile phone speaking to Luke, who was the organizer of the trip. As he was talking he was glancing back along the side of the coach where Ashley was sitting on the steps of the bus. He still had his white shirt on with a light blue blanket wrapped around his waist and he was sitting in his short, damp black socks. His suit trousers were draped over the back of a small folding chair and hanging from the door handle of the coach were a pair of sodden-looking white CK cotton boxer briefs with a black waistband.

Ashley was sitting staring down deep in thought, holding one of his shoes on his lap, fiddling with the laces and looking at the bright crimson inner of the fashion shoe, stained dark in patches with wetness.

“He’s wet himself, I couldn’t believe it. He must have been bursting all the way here, surely? But he never said anything, did he? He said it happened while he was queuing for the toilets… oh really? Oh she saw him doing it, did she? Oh I see, she was in the queue for the ladies, was she? She saw it first-hand, then?”


Back on the racecourse concourse, several of the others were still standing around chatting, waiting for Georgina and Tina to come back from the ladies and also speculating about where Ashley had disappeared to, although they assumed he’d also dashed off to the gents.

Suddenly, the two girls came hurrying back, looking as though they had something urgent to say. Georgina had both hands on her face in an expression of shocked horror and it was Tina who spoke first,

“Oh, you’re never going to believe what’s happened?”

“It’s Ashley!” said Georgina.

The rest of the group all spun round in surprise.

“What? What’s happened to him? Where is he?” snapped Dave.

Georgina was still covering her face as Tina continued,

“We didn’t know what to do. We were in the queue for the ladies and suddenly we could hear a bit of a commotion in the queue for the gents. When we looked back, it was Ashley? Oh My God! We couldn’t believe it!”

“Not in a punch-up, surely?” asked Dan.

“No, no, no! He looked like he was dancing and squatting and then… he started weeing!”

“No way!” laughed Dan, “In the queue? On the floor in front of everyone? That don’t sound like Ashley, he must have been busting!”

“No!” shrieked Georgina, “he was wetting himself! Standing there doing it in his trousers and going in his pants!”

“You are joking!!” said Dave, “He’s wet himself?”

“Completely” replied Tina, “Everyone was looking at him, he totally wee’d himself, you wouldn’t believe how much he went. His trousers were soaking all down his legs and everything, it was awful, he must have been so, so desperate.”

Adam seemed as shocked as everyone else, “But he never said anything on the coach? Did anyone know he was bursting to go?”

They all shook their heads.

“Why on earth didn’t he tell anyone he needed to go or ask to stop the coach? I can’t believe this. Wetting himself! Wetting himself!!” Dan added, “So where is he now? Still in the queue?”

“Not much point if he’s been in his pants, is there?” said Adam.

“No, he’s gone” replied Tina, “He just walked away afterwards, with a steward I think. Everyone was staring at him. We think he might have gone back to the coach…”


With that, Luke’s phone rang and he answered it, “Hi Brian”.

All the others stopped speaking and listened to the conversation.

“Right, is he okay?”

“I know, Tina saw him do it”

“Yes, she was queuing for the ladies, she watched him.”

“I know, she said he stood there and did it in his pants, he was waiting in the toilet queue”

“Well, he never told any of us he was desperate to go”

“He’s taken his trousers off, has he? And his pants?”

“Well, he’ll have to sit in the blanket, we haven’t got anything else for him?”

“I’ll pop back in a few minutes to see him. We won’t all come back, it’ll be too embarrassing for him although he’ll have to see us all later.”

“I’ll give his girlfriend a call and tell her what’s happened, in case she wants to come and pick him up”
Brian
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Re: Ashley at the Race Night

Post by Brian »

The descriptions of how Ashley feels throughout the ordeal, both the physical pain and the emotions at the changing fortunes, are so detailed and wonderfully described. We can really identify with him. I particularly love the sheer relief when he makes it off the bus and can actually admit his problem to others with some humour, only to be confronted by the subsequent unexpected delays. I've really enjoyed re-reading this for the first time in quite a while. The witness accounts by Tina and Georgina are newly written, aren't they? But I do remember Brian the bus driver who has the very nice role of being on hand to help when Ashley returns to the bus prematurely. I'd like to be him. :lol:
Fred
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Re: Ashley at the Race Night

Post by Fred »

Reading the detailed progression of desperation made my own bladder twinge! It's actually typical of lads of this age to stop at a pub before embarking on a trip, perhaps thinking that a quick wee before boarding will take care of the couple of pints ingested. Then the expectation that they can hold it fades to a hope and then to a prayer. The other expectation, which was dashed here, is that there will be a toilet readily available the instant they get off the bus.

Good story!
Jamester81
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Re: Ashley at the Race Night

Post by Jamester81 »

Only just registered on the new site. And happy to read this amazing story. :)
evergreen
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Re: Ashley at the Race Night

Post by evergreen »

A great story Lee. I enjoyed the way it was all laid especially the gradual spreading of the news of what he did, Funny thing about guys pissing their pants - what in the way of the world is a minor mishap will stay with him for the rest of his life. I peed my pants in university. It was most certainly not deliberate and friends I still have from that time still remind me of it sometimes
briefs
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Re: Ashley at the Race Night

Post by briefs »

This is an absolutely brilliant story Lee!
love your description of how poor Ashley became more and more desperate, and the false hope when he saw the road sign for 2 miles, his hopes only to be dashed when he saw the queue.

2 miles is a long time when you've been drinking, but a queue as well must have been awful.

No wonder his legs were scissoring and he was in a blind panic.

We've all been there!
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