Wet in the Witness Box

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Lee
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Wet in the Witness Box

Post by Lee »

When I was looking back for some bits about the PC Aaron Wilkins story (in the private section) I found a few old stories that never seemed to find their way over to the new board. Here's one that I've amended and altered quite a bit so I'll put it here rather than in the re-postings section.

It was a cold spring morning when Craig Miller looked out of the window of his parents’ kitchen, having finished the large mug of hot tea that his mum had made for him. Although it was officially a rest day for the 21-year old Metropolitan Police constable, the last before he started four days of a night shift, he wasn’t overly bothered about having to go to court. He glanced at the file on the table and felt confident that he had previously collected all that he needed for the trial. He was the only police witness with two civilians due to attend to support his evidence.

He glanced down to see his white shirt which looked pristine and neatly ironed with his open collar ready for his black clip-on tie which was upstairs with his jacket. He brushed a few specks from his uniform trousers and curled his bare toes on the lino floor before heading up the stairs to his room where his black lace-up shoes were sitting side-by-side on the floor next to his bed. He sat down on the bed and opened his sock and pants drawer.

“Haven’t I got any clean black socks?” he called out.

“I don’t know” his mum replied, “You’ve got whatever you put in for wash so whatever's fresh is in your drawer.”

Craig cursed to himself under his breath. He knew it was his responsibility and no-one else’s and when he was preparing for normal shifts he always had a quick check the day before but he had omitted to do so last night. Only another four weeks before he moved out of home and into police accommodation so he’d have to be a bit more forward thinking when that happened.

‘Oh well’, he thought, 'it’s only the magistrates’ court. Once it’s all over I’ll be back home again so no-one’s going to see what I’m wearing'.

He pulled out a pair of light grey short cotton socks and smiled to himself as he saw that they had been neatly ironed by his mum! He pulled the loose-fitting grey socks on and wriggled his feet into his shoes before tying the laces tightly.

Ten minutes later he was heading down the path with his navy blue zip-up jacket over his shirt and his police uniform jacket draped over his arm as he headed towards the bus stop. The 220 bus would take him directly to Barnet Magistrates court and as it was a rest-day appearance he could make a phone call to his own nick to report on. He stood at the bus stop, zipping up his jacket and he saw his reflection in the full-length Perspex covered advertisement. As he moved slightly he caught a glimpse of his light grey-coloured sock visible between the cuff of his trousers and his shoe.

‘They’re a bit lighter than I realised, it almost looks like I’m wearing white socks!!’ he thought to himself.

For a brief moment he wondered whether he should nip back home and try and find some more suitable socks but he quickly dismissed that thought, although the twinge from his bladder almost made him think twice.

‘It’s okay’ he mused calmly to himself, ‘I can use the loo at the court’ even though the prospect made him cringe a bit. The public toilet could be rank at times and most coppers tried to avoid using it.


Another ten minutes further on he was on the bus, glancing at his watch and wishing he had given himself more time and also mentally noting that he was definitely going to have to use that awful public loo. The bus eventually pulled up in the High Street and Craig looked at his watch – 09:52.

‘Damn, that’s hardly given me any time to sort myself out and speak to the witnesses’ he thought to himself ‘let alone find time to use the toilet!’.

As he strode briskly down the street his bladder was sending out worrying warning signals. He really was dying for a pee and he glanced down at his feet as he walked, conscious that his less-than-apt choice of socks was going to come back to haunt him, especially if he found himself sitting down in the courtroom and in view of some eagle-eyed magistrate. They often found reason to gripe for the most ridiculous of reasons and only a few weeks back one of his colleagues had been reprimanded for wearing a badge on his tie.

As he walked into the as-ever packed court foyer he managed to fight his way through the crowds to look on the notice-board to see which courtroom his case was in. Hoping it wasn’t courtroom number two which meant a trek to the other side of the building, his eyes scanned the list of names but he couldn’t see what he was looking for. After two or three careful looks, all the while being jostled by noisy court users, he made his way to the lady court usher, with his stomach churning somewhat about the time he was losing. If only he’d caught that earlier bus! He waited until she was free, all the while tapping his feet urgently on the floor and wondering whether to go and see his witnesses first – or make his way to the toilet. Ludicrously, for such a busy building it was only a single facility and his tummy flipped a bit as he wondered if there might be a queue – that would be all he’d need!

“Sorry,” the lady usher suddenly spoke to him, “there’s no-one of that name on the list today”. PC Miller looked horrified, there had to be, it was definitely today.

“Erm”, he fumbled with the file to show her the date written boldly in black pen on the front, “Look, Thursday 26th April” he told her.

“Well, there’s nothing here, you’ll have to go and ask at the listing office. No-one else has asked about it.”

Somewhat puzzled and now a bit panicky, Craig headed down to the listing office. He liked the court staff in there, they were nice people and he was sure they’d sort out what had happened. He arrived in the small listing room by now bursting for a wee! Unfortunately the listing officer wasn’t there but one of the girls who worked with him looked in the diary and responded in a way that almost caused PC Miller’s bladder to flinch uncomfortably.

“It’s not here officer, it’s being heard at Hendon Court. I’ll ring over and check whether any of the others involved have turned up there.”

As the young Australian girl made the phone call, Craig stood there with his heart thumping, unsure whether to make a dash to the loo whilst waiting or to stay put but within seconds, the girl put the phone down and gave him the worst possible news.

“Yes, it’s definitely at Hendon, its set for a trial in court three over there and it’s the only case listed in the court. The prosecuting solicitor, the defendant and his witness are all there and your two civilian witnesses are there too. Everyone’s waiting for you to arrive. The magistrates are waiting too.”

“Oh God” mumbled PC Miller, feeling his cheeks burning with embarrassment, “I haven’t got my car, I’m going to have to go by bus!”

“Here! Quickly” the girl said, getting up and opening the side door into the alleyway leading to the street, “Go out this way and you can hurry to the bus stop. It’s going to take you a while if you’re not going by car. I’d better ring back and tell them you’ll be about half an hour at least” and with that she almost manhandled him out of the side door.

Before he knew it Craig Miller was standing in the exit to the street, now in a state of real panic and also absolutely dying to go for a pee.


Over at Hendon Court, Police Sergeant Phil Barton was furiously heading back from courtroom three where he had delivered the bad news that although everyone was ready to start the trial, including the three magistrates, the police officer was not there because he had gone to the wrong place! What an embarrassment for the Met Police! That young officer would get the full force of Sgt Barton’s wrath when he finally did arrive.


On the B25 bus, Craig Miller was sitting downstairs and towards the back. He had his police jacket draped over his lap, which was just as well because it meant he could discreetly wedge his hand between his legs when the need arose and give himself a little squeeze to aid his predicament, because the fullness of his bladder was escalating at a frighteningly worryingly pace.

He had seriously thought about getting the bus back to his house and collecting his car but that might have taken him even longer and he just had to get to Hendon as quickly as he could. He had been to court numerous times and never had a really bad experience but this was falling into that category almost before the day had started. He dreaded the response he was going to get from the magistrates for being so late. Little did he know the reputation of the court sergeant, though!

As the bus hit heavy traffic in the high street, Craig was almost starting to sweat with the anxiety of it all and more so with the discomfort in his tummy. He had a taut feeling all round his waist and belly and he was constantly jigging his legs around – displaying those blasted grey socks, but now they were the least of his concerns. He was actually starting to wonder if he could think of anywhere that he could get off and go to the toilet even though he knew he daren’t. For one awful moment the thought about what might happen if he couldn’t wait and ‘did it’ before he got to the courthouse but having banished an unpleasant hot flush at the prospect, he tried to calm himself down and attempted to think more logically.

As the bus pulled into Hendon High Street, Craig glanced up at the clock on the Town Hall and saw it displaying the time of 10:43. Shit! He was now three quarters of an hour late!! He stood up and desperately wanted to grip the crotch of his trousers for fear that if he didn’t do so he might unthinkably release a spurt of wee into his underwear, but he managed to resist the temptation.

With the small courthouse about two hundred yards in the distance, PC Miller began to try and hurry along, almost at a trot. He felt as if he wanted to replace his windcheater with his police jacket as he moved but apart from the unprofessional image it would present out in the street, his condition also meant that he wanted to keep his body as stiff and taut as possible. He fumbled to make sure that his tie was clipped on properly and he hoisted up his uniform trousers as he made sure his shirt was fully tucked in, cringing slightly as his grey socks, which were now sagging around his ankles and needed pulling up, looked almost white-coloured from a distance.

As he glanced in front of him his heart sank as he saw Sergeant Phil Barton standing on the front steps of the courthouse, with a face like thunder and pointing menacingly at his watch. On the approach to the front entrance, PC Miller’s bladder felt like a football in his belly and every step gave it an unwelcome jolt that threatened disaster.

“Where the bloody hell have you been, my lad?” Sergeant Barton growled with a menacing voice, “My magistrates have had to sit and wait for you!”

“I’m sorry Sarge, I went to Barnet Court,” Craig stammered, looking red-faced and feeling awkward.

With that, Sergeant Baton snatched the uniform jacket out of Craig’s hands and almost bellowed at him, “Get this on now! And smarten yourself up! At least let my magistrates know you’ve made some sort of effort. Come on! Give me that coat!”

Craig fumbled and removed his windcheater before quickly putting on his police jacket over his crisp white shirt as the extra strain caused his bloated bladder to feel even more like it was about to start to empty itself.

With his jacket on and his tie straightened by the combined efforts of himself and the sergeant, the two of them began to enter the foyer with PC Miller trailing behind his marching Sergeant who was clasping the young officer’s windcheater.

“Sarge ... err, Sarge ...” Craig’s semi-whispered response seemingly fell on deaf ears as they made their way through the waiting throng of court users.

“Sarge” he said more loudly and sharply.

“What lad? What? What is it now?” snapped back an extremely irate Sergeant Barton.

Somewhat sheepishly but with a shaky and panicky tone to his voice, PC Miller asked, “Where’s the nearest toilet please, Sarge?”

“The toilet! The sodding toilet!” snarled the sergeant. “You don’t think you’ve got time for a toilet stop, do you? That’s the last thing you’ve got to worry about lad, my magistrates are not going to be kept waiting a minute longer for you to go for a sodding wee.”

A couple of young blokes who were sitting waiting to go into court overheard the exchange and sniggered between themselves but Craig’s own sense of embarrassment was overcome by his now-more-then-pressing need.

“But Sarge, I’m bursting to go. I can’t go into court like this. I’ll never be able to last out.”

Sergeant Barton stopped in his tracks and glared and the young constable, “That’s your sodding problem, my son… and what the blazes have you got on your feet?”

They both glanced down and the sergeant stretched out his hand and pinched the thigh of Craig’s left trouser-leg, lifting the material so that Craig’s light grey sock was displayed right up to above his ankle.

“Why haven’t you got regulation black socks on?”

“I couldn’t find any,” Craig mumbled, leaving a fuming Sergeant Barton muttering incomprehensively under his breath.

“I desperately need the toilet, Sarge” pleaded PC Miller, his voice shaky as he added, “Or else I’m going to wet myself in there!”

“Tough” came back the irked response, “Now get into that courtroom!” and with that the courtroom door opened and Craig Miller found himself almost propelled through the door and into the small court which smelled of fresh polish and was occupied by the court clerk and female court usher only.

“At last” said the clerk, looking up over his glasses, “I’ll get the magistrates in. Usher, can you call the defendant and the prosecutor, please?”

As they both got up and immediately disappeared, Craig was in a panic. His bladder was screaming for relief and he desperately wanted to cross his legs or give his twitching manhood a squeeze. He knew that he was never going to be able to survive whilst he gave his evidence, and he hadn’t even got himself properly prepared for that part of the ordeal.

‘What a nightmare! ‘I’m not going to be able to wait’, he told himself, making his pounding heart thump even more with such an admission.

The clerk peered round the door, checking that all was finally ready before bringing the magistrates into court and at the same time the defendant appeared through the public door, accompanied by the usher who led him to his seat in the courtroom.

“Are you all set now, officer?” the usher asked Craig.

“I’m dying to go to the toilet” PC Miller replied, almost before he knew what he’d blurted out.

The usher just stared at him in astonishment and Craig gingerly touched his crotch as he felt certain that a little spurt of warm pee had seeped out into his white cotton y-front underpants.

“All Rise” called the usher and as PC Craig Miller turned to face the bench he was left in absolutely no doubt as a longer spurt of scorching hot wee wetted the fresh cotton of his pants.

“Oh My God” Craig mumbled to himself, desperate to clutch the crotch of his uniform trousers both in desperation and simply to feel whether there was any sign of wetness, as the magistrates took their seats and said their good mornings to everyone.

As Craig stood there trembling with tension and sheer panic the chairman of the bench addressed him, “Officer, we understand that you went to the wrong court. That’s very unfortunate and the bench doesn’t like to be kept waiting, but you’re here now so let’s proceed immediately, shall we?”

Never could there have been less of an opportunity to blurt out, “Actually Your Worship, I’m dying to go to the toilet, can I be excused!!”


The initial formalities seemed to fly by with the young defendant less than respectful in his cocky demeanour and the young police constable standing with his legs taut and trembling and an ache in his belly that was rapidly turning into a constant and stabbing pain, almost forcing him to bend slightly forwards to ease the growing discomfort.

Craig’s white underpants were brand new and he ridiculously remembered taking them out of the packet that morning and even more stupidly he found himself nonsensically wondering if their newness might make them a bit more absorbent if he were to wet them slightly! Rational thinking had gone out of the window! However, wetting his pants ‘slightly’ was becoming less and less likely. His need to urinate was such that although he daren’t even think in such a way, a fully-blown slash into his underpants was a more and more possible outcome.

As PC Miller began to recount the facts from his notebook he had one hand gripping the crotch of his thick trousers, kneading himself with the palm of his hand and he was almost unable to stand still without grinding his thighs tightly, leaving him standing with his knees pressed firmly together. If anyone had been able to see below the top of the higher-than-waistline witness box they would have seen the young police constable standing with one foot on top of the other, his upper shoe continuously boring and grinding into the other shoe.

He wanted desperately to extract his foot from his shoe and rub it up and down the back of his calf. The issue of his light-coloured socks was no longer of concern and he could feel his loose-fitting sock sagging and uncomfortably crumpled inside his increasingly warm and sweaty police shoe.

As Craig Miller reached the last few sentences of his initial evidence, the defendant yawned disrespectfully in apparent boredom as Craig strengthened his grip on the scrunched up material of his police trousers to titanic proportions but a long stream of scorching hot urine seeped into his underpants and horrifically trickled down the inside of his left thigh.

'Oh My God, this can’t be happening, not here, please no!'

Craig was in the sort of panic he had never experienced previously.

“Please, please don’t let the defendant have any questions. If he doesn’t ask anything, that will be the close of my bit of the prosecution case – and I can ask to go to the toilet. I’ve got to ask, I’ve just got to – otherwise I’m going to go in my pants standing here. Please, don’t let him ask anything!”

Craig almost had his request in his throat, ready to blurt out that he was practically on the verge of wetting himself. If he had to actually admit that in front of everyone, so-be-it. Anything but he simply had to get out of the courtroom…

“Yeah officer, I’ve got quite a few things to ask you about…” smirked the defendant, almost as if he knew exactly what was happening inside PC Miller’s trousers! “So officer, when you said that you saw me standing outside the entrance to the club …”


...The muffled words almost drifted away distantly as the sound was lost inside Craig’s ringing ears. The young officer’s eyes were also watering and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead as the defendant’s question lost its focus completely amidst the trauma of what was happening in the witness box.

PC Miller had his right leg bent at the knee and lifted so far from the carpeted floor that his shoe was almost a full six inches off the ground. It was his last futile attempt to try and prevent himself urinating uncontrollably, but it wasn’t working. Almost scalding his inner thigh, hot urine was gushing through the soft cotton of his white y-fronts, spreading all across the top of his groin and streaming down his leg whilst being absorbed into the thick material of his police uniform trousers.

His rapidly escaping pee, which had been spilling into his pants in spurts was now releasing itself in a lengthy stream, easing his agonising tummy ache and feeling almost orgasmic as the young policeman wee’d in a way he hadn’t ever done before. The release was uncontrollable, with a torrent of hot piss jetting into his pants and running down both of his legs, trickling right through his trousers and streaming onto the floor, whilst dripping out of the bottom of his trouser-legs, dribbling down over his socks and into his shoes and making a puddle which was steaming on the carpet all round PC Craig Miller’s warm shoes.

A policeman was actually standing in the witness box and wetting himself!!


PC Miller was blissfully unaware that he had momentarily closed his eyes whilst the all-consuming relief temporarily engulfed his whole body as his ridiculously over-worked bladder muscles completely gave up the struggle and continued to release a jet of urine which poured down his legs with such ferocity that there was a numbness all round his groin and thighs and he only really felt the intense warmth from his knees downwards, tickling his shins, dribbling past his ankles and streaming underneath the soles of each of his feet.

“Erm, PC Miller … Officer…” Craig opened his eyes wide and almost stared towards the source of the voice which was emanating from the court clerk who was looking at him in a bemused manner, wondering why the young constable was leaning somewhat to one side with his upper body slightly hunched forwards whilst he appeared to be breathing heavily and erratically.

The magistrates were also aware that something was amiss as the young policeman was looking in a trance-like state and they were wondering if maybe he was unwell as he seemed totally unaware of his location.

But from where he was standing, the young defendant in the dock was sure he’d heard a sort of gentle pattering noise and his curiosity caused him to step to his left to see what was going on. As he craned his neck to look even further he could just get a glimpse of the back of the side of the small witness stand and he could not believe what he was seeing…

He could see the police officer’s lower trouser-leg from just below his knee. He could see the black laced-up shoe raised up from the floor and he could also see around four to five inches of the officer’s ankle which was covered in light-coloured grey or possibly even a white sock… which was darkening in colour as the defendant looked in astonishment at liquid spilling out of the bottom of the leg of the trousers and forming a dense stain on the courtroom carpet!

“I think he’s pissing himself!” the defendant blurted out, surprising even himself with the statement.

At that very same moment the court usher recalled the comment that the officer had made about needing to go to the toilet just moments before the magistrates had come into the courtroom and she stood up and moved to the back of the room, right in line behind the witness-box. Scarcely able to believe her eyes she could see the young police constable standing with his legs now slightly apart and streams of liquid running out right down the length of his uniform trouser legs onto the floor where it was puddling all around his shoes.

She stared momentarily as the deluge continued, frothing and bubbling in a steaming pool on the green carpet before walking calmly but urgently up to the court clerk’s desk and in a voice audible enough to be heard by everyone else in the small courtroom, she simply said,

“The officer’s going to the toilet in his trousers. He’s wetting himself.”

The clerk furrowed his brow in utter astonishment and the magistrates, having clearly heard the comment, whispered briefly amongst themselves and, with discretion their only option, announced that they would retire and they all got up and hurried from the courtroom.

In the witness box PC Miller was coming uncontrollably to the end of his marathon piss. The torrent into his pants was subsiding and the flow down his legs was dwindling to a stream, trickling all down the backs of his calves having already saturated his shins. On the carpeted floor, the dark stain was huge and glistening as the urine seeped into the woven fabric forming an irregular shaped puddle with was still emitting thin wispy wraiths of hot steam.

“Go and get the sergeant!” the clerk had instructed the usher who also guided the astonished but gleeful defendant from the courtroom and the cocky lad couldn’t contain himself…

“Has he pissed himself? Seriously? Did you need a wee then, officer? Unbelievable!”

Craig swallowed as he just stood there looking straight ahead of him and he heard the defendant bellow out to his waiting mates/witnesses as he walked out through the door, “You’ll never guess what! The copper’s wet himself! Seriously! He’s gone and pissed in his pants in the witness box!”

Still in the witness box and trying to come to terms with the cold, soggy and clammy stickiness down the legs of his trousers, Craig glanced down and saw the huge puddle swimming all round his shoes but as he glanced up again he was confronted by Sergeant Barton charging through the doorway, breathing furiously like a dragon about to emit flames of fury from his nostrils.

“What the bloody hell…! What have you done?” he roared.

PC Miller swallowed visibly before he spoke,

“I’ve had an accident in my pants, Sarge.”

He could only look down at his shoes, staring at the abject shame swimming around his feet.

“Come on lad” said Sergeant Barton, instantly mellowing as he saw the saturated state of the young constable’s trousers, and he gently put his on the officer’s back to guide him out into the corridor where the defendant and his mates were craning their necks to get another look as PC Miller began to walk with his legs apart as he uncomfortably made his way to the police office.


Ten minutes later, with the court proceedings having been abandoned for the day and even the defendant accepting the postponement in the knowledge that he had a story to dine out with his mates, at the pub for days and months to follow, PC Craig Miller was still in the police changing room. He had attempted to clean himself up as best as possible but his efforts had proved pretty futile and he remained almost as saturated as he’d made himself in the courtroom.

He had taken off his underpants, rinsed them out, wrung them out and they were now lying damply on the wooden bench next to him. He had put his trousers back on and the cold, sticky, heavy sensation all down his legs was as unpleasant as it could have been. He had one foot raised up onto the bench and was lacing up his shoe as the door opened and Sergeant Barton walked in.

He said nothing but walked over to Craig, put his hand gently on the young constable’s upper arm and simply said “I’m sorry lad. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped you using the toilet. I didn’t really appreciate that you had to go so badly. It goes without saying that I wouldn’t have wanted you to end up wetting yourself and I apologise.”

Craig almost felt his eyes welling up and just nodded in acknowledgement. He’d already been the victim of some well-meant and good-humoured banter from a couple of officers who had popped in to the changing room to check on him and knew what he was in for during the coming months.

As he gathered up his underpants in one hand, rolling up the sodden pair and clenching them in one hand leaving just glimpses of the white cotton still visible, he tightened up the shoe-lace he had just finished tying and before he could lower his foot from the wood bench, Sergeant Barton looked down at Craig’s black shoe and light grey sock, stained all dark and wet, sighed, tutted and said “It really isn’t your day, is it son?”


Suddenly the door opened and one of the magistrates walked in. Craig immediately stood up respectfully and as Sergeant Barton made a discreet
exit, the magistrate beckoned Craig to relax before he spoke in a quiet tone,

“I do appreciate how awkward this all is for you officer but on behalf of me and my colleagues I just wanted to say that we have great sympathy for what happened this morning. This might sound a bit unnecessary after the event but if you ever have to go to the toilet that badly again whilst in the courtroom, you must ask. We might not have been overly pleased if you’d asked to be excused in the middle of the proceedings, especially after the unfortunate start to the day, but rest assured we would not have wanted to see you going in your trousers like that. I can’t imagine the sort of discomfort you must have been in whilst you were giving your evidence but to stand there and wet yourself is beyond the call of duty. Please, in future just ask.”

And he patted Craig on the shoulder and walked out.


A further ten minutes later he was sitting in the passenger seat of a police vehicle being driven back home by an officer who he didn’t know and was not much older than himself.

“I’m sorry you’ve been landed with this job, mate” said Craig.

“Oh don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse things to do” replied his colleague, “although I’m intrigued as to how to you managed to piss yourself like that.”

“I really don’t know” sighed Craig, “it was a combination of things basically, but the long and short of it was that I was busting when I arrived, and I mean seriously busting, and the sergeant was angry that I’d been so late and he wouldn’t let me use the toilet. I was panicking whilst giving evidence and then it just happened, all in my pants and everything. It was all gushing down my legs and I just stood there and wet myself.”

“Wow!” said the other officer.

“What bothers me is what sort of reaction I’m going to get in the coming weeks and maybe even months. I don’t know how I’m going to cope with
that, to be honest. Or even if I will cope.”

“Oh you will mate, trust me” replied the driver.

“Easy for you to say that” said Craig, “it’s not you who’s just done a gallon and a half in your pants and wet yourself. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I certainly do, pal” came back the response, “and you want to know how? Because I did the same at training college. I actually wet my pants during an exam in one of the classrooms!”

A startled Craig spun his head round and looked at the other officer who replied “By the way, my name’s Carl Blake.”

:shock:
GottaLovePiss
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by GottaLovePiss »

That was amazing! Really good, I enjoyed it a lot ;)
greatwater
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by greatwater »

I love it. I used to write about people peeing in the podium as well. I also had this vicious fantasy about a sexy, academic man speaking at the podium and peeing at the same time. Your story is marvellous!
"What a relief! I thought I was gonna wet myself at the interview!"
"Damn the traffic! Been holding for about three hours!"
"Here we go! Ahhhhhhh Amazing piss!"
Brian
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by Brian »

Yes, one of your best ever in my opinion (which is saying a great deal). I haven't read this one since we were all on the old board and I'm really glad you found this again. Even if you hadn't made any alterations, of course, it would belong here as your own work because you were and are the author. I remember the poignant detail of the wrong coloured socks from your original version and loved the way that changed from a source of worry for Craig to a complete irrelevancy due to the sheer magnitude of the disaster in the witness box. Since then, if I remember the earlier version right, you've expanded on the reactions from the other people in the courtroom to what happens, right? And your reference right at the end to another great police incident which many here will remember puts me in excited anticipation of reading about PC Carl Blake's terrible exam once again.
Lee
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by Lee »

Thanks for the kind comments from everyone.

It's interesting isn't it - I've never found it to be one of my favourites which is one of the reasons I altered a few bits to try and make it more readable. I even changed the colour of his socks to try and spice it up a bit! :lol:

But PC Blake in the exam room is a different matter!!
Lee
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by Lee »

The story I'd love to find was one that I recall writing about a police officer giving evidence at the Crown Court and being in the witness box for a couple of hours. It was a new building for him and when he was finally stood down he was desperate to go to the toilet but didn't know where it was! Frantically searching for a loo and panicking because he had to go so badly he opened a door to an empty room, went in and saw what he thought might be a toilet but when he opened the door it was a tiny store cupboard.

But suddenly he heard voices and realised people were coming into the room and in a blind panic he stepped into the cupboard as he realised to his horror that the people coming in were members of the jury. Knowing the consequences if he were to be found in the jury room after giving evidence as a witness he closed the cupboard door behind him and stood in terrified silence, unable to flinch or move a muscle for fear of being discovered He had no option but to stand there in the darkness and in a tiny confined space for around 20 minutes whilst jury members were in the room, terrified that even the slightest movement of his feet would cause the shadow under the door to show.

No prizes for guessing what happened next!?

Does anyone remember that one? It's sadly vanished from my collection.
Brian
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by Brian »

That one's on backup from the old forum, fortunately. I'll see if I can PM it to you.
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by Fred »

I'm grateful to those who have salvaged some of the gems from the old board to post them here. :D

And thinking about the subject matter, I'm sure that police officers frequently need to hold their bladders longer than many of us do, and that they might become (over)confident that they can do so - only to discover that they aren't invincible. In this story, after all his breakfast tea PC Miller should have taken a precautionary pee before leaving the house, but perhaps he was so used to controlling a filling bladder that it didn't get his attention until he fell into a series of "no toilet available" events. :shock:
WetYs73
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by WetYs73 »

Another real favourite story from Lee. The level of detail is just spot on. Not too much, not too little. I love the extension of the story beyond the wetting to the humiliating consequences - especially having to deal with the wet pants!
Adrian6970
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Re: Wet in the Witness Box

Post by Adrian6970 »

Very good story and well written, Lee. Well done.
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