The Teacher on the Coach (Part 3)

[Lee]

As he sat there, he was unsure as to whether he still needed a wee. The ache in his stomach was subsiding, but he wasn’t sure if the tingling sensation was his muscles settling down after being put through torture, or another warning signal that his bladder was filling up again.

His eyes were still not fully focused, and his hearing was still slightly muffled, as he was suddenly aware of a quiet and gentle voice close by, “Sir, Sir…”

Mr Dawson glanced to his left and saw the two girls in the seat opposite both leaning outwards into the aisle and towards him.

“Sir, are you okay, sir?”

He looked at them without saying anything. How could he possibly respond?

But one of them continued…

“We thought you wanted to go to the toilet, sir. We noticed some time ago that you looked really uncomfortable. Were you really bursting?”

He didn’t have either the heart or the inclination to say anything, and he just turned his head, catching the last bit of their final remark…

“Maybe they’ll be a shop where we’re going so that you can buy some clean pants to wear?”

He couldn’t bring himself to check and see whether their comment was half-serious or whether they were trying to contain their giggles and laughter.

But the next voice from almost the exact same position was softer, more sensual and comforting. Miss Wippleton was bending down on her haunches so that her face was almost level with his own. Unlike before, when her hand had brushed across his leg, this time she was clearly trying to avoid touching any part of his lower body or clothing, lifting her hand higher to avoid his leg.

“Don’t worry. I’ll try and help you when we get there. I’m sure there’ll be something they can do to try and let you get cleaned up somewhere. I’ll do what I can to try and help sort you out, we all will.”

Mr Dawson swallowed in embarrassed gratitude.

“Thank you” he managed to barely whimper, speaking for the first time since he had announced that he was about to wet himself.


It was around 11:20 when the two coaches trundled into the car park at the sanctuary.

Mrs Morrison stood up and clapped her hands, demanding silence before she spoke.

“Now then, listen carefully. When I say so, you can all get off, one row at a time, starting from the front and working backwards. You will gather in an orderly fashion alongside the coach and wait until myself and Mr Fraser tell you where to go next. We will probably visit the toilet block first of all before assembling outside the reception building.”

“It’s a bit too late for pissy pants Dawson” whispered Howard to his mate sitting next to him.

Mrs Morrison continued, “I don’t want you mixing with the other coach just yet as it will impact on the arrangements, so you are to remain in your two groups for the time being.”

She paused for a few seconds.

“As some of you may know, someone has unfortunately toilet’ed himself on the way here. Please allow that situation to be sorted first, and that means you may have a short delay before you can move on. I’d also ask you to please not discuss this incident with anyone from the other coach.”

“Some hopes of that” Chris muttered to himself under his breath.

And with that, the students began to get off, one row at a time, with almost all of them glancing back to see if they could witness any more evidence of the incident that had now been formally confirmed.


Mr Fraser had got off with the students and finally the only occupants of the coach were Mr Dawson, still in his seat, Chris, standing alongside him, and Miss Wippleton, who was also standing nearby.

Chris spoke first, “Come on mate, let’s get you off and cleaned up somewhere”

Mr Dawson carefully rose to his feet, gasping gently as the urine that had been absorbed into the seat of his underpants, was released to dribble coldly down the backs of his thighs.

As he went to step out into the aisle, Miss Wippleton moved closer and looked down.

“Wait a minute” she said, “let’s get your trainers back on your feet first”

She bent down and scooped up Mr Dawson’s trainers from the floor before squatting down and putting one of them in front of his foot. Obediently, and almost in child-like fashion, he lifted his foot and Miss Wippleton carefully clasped his ankle and went to plant his socked foot into the training shoe. But before he could wriggle his foot into the still-laced trainer, she lowered his ankle to the ground again.

“I think he’d best leave them off for now. His socks are so wet they’ll saturate inside his trainers, and if he’s going to have to wear them all day, he doesn’t want them all wet inside.”

“Do you want him to take his socks off, then?” asked Chris.

“No, best not. Not just at the moment, he’ll just have to stay as he is. I’ll bring his trainers for him.”


Around 60 seconds later, the crowd of students standing outside the coach were hushed as Chris came down the steps at the coach door, followed by Mr Dawson, who was seen in full view for the first time by everyone who had been on the coach. Even although they all knew what had happened, the sight was a genuine shock for everyone.

Mr Dawson was in his blue tracksuit top, but his thin white shorts were so wet they had almost turned from a grey shade into near-transparency, so that beneath them, his white underpants were vividly obvious, darkening the area where his briefs were clinging to his backside and moulded around his cock and balls. His legs were streaked with dry urine which had caused the dark hairs to looked matted where the rivers had run down his thighs in great volumes. On his feet, he had just his short white socks on, but in addition to looking sodden and discoloured, they were now crumpled down low around his ankles.

The near-silence was broken by Mrs Morrison, who spoke in a monotone voice, without any emotion.

“Mr Fraser, would you please take Mr Dawson to the toilet”

There were numerous muffled giggles, especially from the lads, and a few whispered comments too.

“Make sure you hold his hand!”

“Bit late to take him to the toilet!”

“What’s he going there for? He’s already done it!”

As Mr Dawson walked slowly and uncomfortably a few yards in front of Mr Fraser, he was carrying his black trainers in his right hand and he had his legs slightly apart, walking as if he was trying not to let his legs make contact with each other. But although many students were watching him, almost as many others were staring at the floor behind him.

Also watching was Miss Wippleton, who realised she had made a mistake by not putting Mr Dawson’s trainers on his feet, as to add to his humiliation, he was leaving wet footmarks on the concrete paving.


The two teachers hadn’t got more than about 20 yards from the coach, and they were still some distance from the reception and toilet block, when a young guy in a green and blue uniform and displaying the emblem of the Bird Sanctuary on his shirt, stepped towards them.

“Hi guys, my name’s Ben. I’ve heard about what’s happened and I’ve come to see if there’s anything I can do to help. I guess you’re on your way to the toilet block, but it’s really busy, including a lot of your own people. I wondered if you might want to come back to our office instead. It’s pretty basic, but it might be a better option for now, a bit more private at least.”

Mr Dawson said nothing, but nodded his head, whilst Mr Fraser saw it as his opportunity to escape from the awkwardness of the situation.

“That’s a very good idea, thank you Ben. I’ll nip back to the others, and we’ll come and check up on things soon, if that’s okay?”

And with that, he was gone, hurrying back towards the coach.

The small wooden office was pretty basic, with a few hard chairs, a small table and several green and blue uniforms hanging from the wall hooks. There was a small door and Ben opened it to reveal a single toilet and a small wash-basin.

“It’s not much mate, but you’re welcome to try and clean yourself up a bit. There are some paper towels on the shelf. Not ideal, but better than nothing. Look, I’ve got to start organising the groups, so one of us will pop back shortly, okay?”

Alone in the room, Mr Dawson walked into the toilet and stood leaning on the hand basin, looking down at his shorts and his legs.

“This is a nightmare, my worst nightmare. I can’t believe this has happened! I’ve pissed myself!”

He knew he had to do something sooner rather than later, and he gently pulled down his shorts, letting them drop to his ankles where they sat soddenly around his feet, before he began to drag his soaking white underpants down his legs until they slapped wetly on top of his shorts on the floor. He kicked the two items off and bent down to peel off his saturated socks, leaving his discarded clothes in a pile.

The paper towels and a bar of soap, with a basin of tepid water, were less than ideal, but he had just finished washing as best as he could around his nether regions when the office door opened, and he heard a male voice call out, “Hello! Are you decent in there?”

“Erm no, not really” replied a flustered Mr Dawson. He was naked from the waist down and had nothing to hide his modesty. He had been so preoccupied with cleaning himself that he had not given any consideration to what happened next, but the response from outside was a welcome one.

“I’ve found some shorts for you, if they’re of any use. One of the other guys who works here had them in his car. They’re clean, but I don’t know if they’ll fit. But they might be of use to you until you can find something else.”

“Thanks very much” answered Mr Dawson in a quiet and shameful voice, “I’m very grateful.”


About 20 minutes later, Ben returned to find Mr Dawson sitting in the small office. He still had his blue tracksuit top on, and he was wearing the pair of black shorts, with nothing on his feet. He nodded softly as Ben asked, “How are you doing mate, okay?”

“So, what happened then, on the coach?” he added.

“I don’t really want to talk about it” Mr Dawson replied.

“That’s okay, no problem mate” said Ben, putting his hand on the teacher’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

As if prompted by the comforting gesture, Mr Dawson spoke.

“I can’t believe this has happened. I was so desperate I just couldn’t help it. I did everything in my power to try and hold on, but in the end I just couldn’t make it. I’ve never had to go to the toilet that badly in my whole life and eventually, I just lost control in my pants in front of everyone on the coach. I’m never going to live this down, wetting myself at 22.”

Ben said nothing to disagree, and just patted his shoulder softly.


Inside the back room of the reception block, Mrs Morrison was in the process of making a phone call, having been allowed in by the office staff.

“Headmaster, we’ve arrived safely, but we’ve had an incident on one of the coaches. Mr Dawson, our PE teacher, had to go to the toilet during the journey, and he did it on the coach.”

“On the coach?”

“Well, on himself to be more precise.”

“Do you mean he’s wet himself?”

“Yes headmaster, that’s exactly what happened”

“I don’t believe this! Mr Dawson has wet himself?”

“The thing is, I’m not sure whether we should bring him back early or try and take him somewhere he can get a change of clothes. However, the coaches have now left for re-fuelling and cleaning and the drivers won’t be bringing them back until this afternoon when they’ve had their lunches”

“Where is Mr Dawson now?”

“I’m not too sure. I think he’s being looked after by the sanctuary staff”

“This is beyond belief. One of our staff has had an accident! Do many other people know about it?”

“Well, I’ve asked the students not to discuss it with each other.”

The headmaster raised his eyebrows at the likelihood of that happening!


Back in the staff office, Ben had made a suggestion to Mr Dawson.

“Look, I know you can’t put your wet things back on and we’ve got no washing facilities here, so there’s not much point in just trying to wash them in water. But we’ve got a line in the yard at the back that we use for hanging the bird netting over. Why don’t I hang your wet things on it? It’s a hot day and at least they might dry out a bit before you take them home with you later?”

Mr Dawson just nodded. In truth, he hardly cared. Whatever happened, things couldn’t get worse, and Ben proceeded to hang the sodden items on the outdoor line before hoisting it up high.


The start of the journey around the sanctuary had seen the students split into several smaller groups, making their way on the guided tour and all following the same path. Unsurprisingly, the news of what had happened on coach number four had spread like wildfire and virtually no-one was unaware that Mr Dawson had wet himself.

One of the students in the first group was Howard, accompanied by his mate from the coach, and as they made their way along the path behind the staff office, eagle-eyed Howard spotted and immediately and loudly drew everyone’s attention to the white items hanging high on a line behind the fence.

“Hey look! It’s Dawson’s pissy knickers!”

The white cotton shorts were pegged next to a pair of small white briefs, alongside two white socks.

“Look at his pants! He wears tighty-whiteys!”

There was some raucous laughter and a whole barrage of shouts and comments.

“For all you girls who wondered whether he was a briefs or boxers guy, well now you know”

“I wonder if he’s wrung his pants out before hanging them out to dry!”

“What’s he wearing now if his shorts and undies are on the washing line?”

Mr Dawson’ underpants and shorts were still visibly heavily saturated, but they were still pretty much a pristine shade of white. But the same could not be said for his white socks, which were almost entirely black on the soles from where he had been shoeless on the coach and then walked in the wet items all the way to the staff office.

“Eeww! Look at his skanky socks!”

It was fortunate that Mr Dawson could not hear the remarks. For a man whose appearance was of the utmost importance to him, such remarks would have been yet another dagger through his heart.


During the next 30 minutes, pretty much the entire year passed the washing line, which was being pointed out continuously, with every passing group pointing and gesturing at what they could see.

It was now close to one o’clock and as Mr Dawson remained sitting forlornly in the office, sipping a hot cup of tea which had been brought to him by one of the members of staff, the door opened, and Mr Fraser walked in.

“Right then, decision time. We’ve had a discussion and you’ve got a couple of options…”

Mr Dawson gulped his tea in awful anticipation of what was coming next.

“Well, you can either just wait in here and we’ll try and get some dry things for you to wear for the return journey, although I can see you’ve managed to obtain some shorts from somewhere. It might be better if we could find some proper trousers, though. Then you can re-join everyone when the coaches arrive. The other option is that we arrange for someone to make a special trip here to collect you and take you back to the school on your own. The headmaster has kindly agreed that he will see if he can find somebody to make a special journey to collect you, but bear in mind it’s a couple of hours drive, so it will be hugely inconvenient for whoever comes for you. But if you’d prefer not to travel back on the coach, we’ll see what we can do.”

Mr Dawson nodded as the full extent of the embarrassment he was going to have to contend with in the coming weeks and months was becoming ever-more apparent.

Mr Fraser continued, “There is another possibility. And that is for you to name someone of your own choice to come and collect you. A family member perhaps, or a friend? One of the other members of staff said they thought he had heard you mention that your family lived in Bedford.
That’s not too far away.”

“Oh no…erm…thank you, but no” Mr Dawson felt himself flush hot. His parents did live in Bedford, and that was probably only around 15 miles away, as opposed to the 75 mile distance from the school, so of course it would make complete sense. But there was no way his parents could find out what he’d done. Never! He knew his dad would be at work but the prospect of his mum being called out because her 22-year-old son had wet himself was just too unbearable for words. She’d make a real fuss too, probably bringing him a clean pair of pants. Oh God! It couldn’t happen.

“Well, take a few minutes to decide what you want to do and I’ll be back” said Mr Fraser, “I’ve just got to go to the reception and ring the coach company to see whether there will be any delay of the arrival of the coach which has been sent away for cleaning after … well, as a result of your mishap. They may have to arrange a replacement coach. Then I’ll pop back to see what you’ve decided and I’ll call either the headmaster or anyone else you’ve chosen.”

Mr Dawson sunk back in the seat as he was left alone again. Still clad in his thin t-shirt and blue tracksuit top, his borrowed black shorts were too tight and without any underwear, the coarse material rubbed and chafed between the tops of his legs, whilst his bare feet were starting to feel cold, despite the fact it was a warm day. He glanced out of the window and his stomach churned as he saw his sodden shorts, his soaked underpants and his wet socks swaying gently on the outdoor line.

Suddenly, there was a gentle tap on the door and a few seconds later, the door opened slowly and Miss Wippleton poked her head around it before speaking softly, “Is it okay if I come in.”

Mr Dawson nodded and his young colleague came across and bent down beside him.

“I just wondered how you were getting on?” she asked.

He shrugged, “I don’t know what to say, really.”

She patted his thigh tenderly, “I know, it must have been awful for you, I’m so sorry it happened” before adding, “So what are the plans now?”

Mr Dawson explained the options he had been given.
“So do you have anyone who could come and pick you up?” Miss Wippleton enquired, “I suppose it’s too far for friends or family to travel at short notice?”

“Well, my parents live in Bedford, which isn’t that far, but I don’t want them to have to be told.”

“Oh, why ever not! I’m sure your mum would help you out. That’s what mums are for!”

“I’d be too embarrassed”

“No, don’t be. Your mum would probably be more upset if she ever got to find out and knew that you hadn’t asked for her help. Let your mum know, please. I know she’d want to help you in a situation like this, go on.”

The door swung open again and Mr Fraser returned, apologising as he saw Miss Wippleton.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were in here. Anyway, I’ve contacted the coach company and they still haven’t decided whether the original coach will come back. Apparently they have quite strict cleaning protocols for significant accidents that happen on the upholstery, so we’ll have to see what they opt for. Have you decided what you want to do?”

Mr Dawson glanced up, then looked at Miss Wippleton before averting his eyes.

“Go on” urged Miss Wippleton quietly, “go on, it’s the sensible thing to do.”

There was a moment’s silence, before she added.

“Mr Dawson’s parents live not too far away, perhaps you could call his mum for him?”

“Oh right, of course” replied Mr Fraser, “it’s going to be tricky for you to go to main reception in your current condition, so if you give me her number, I’ll go and make the call and see what she says.”


A few minutes later, Mr Fraser was in the office on the phone, with a couple of the sanctuary staff.

“Hello, is that Mrs Dawson? My name’s Fraser, I’m one of the teachers at Furnell Grammar school where your son works. Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious to worry about, but we’re at the Bird Sanctuary at Sandy on the annual school outing. I’m afraid your son had a bit of an accident on the coach on the way here this morning. Unfortunately, he needed to go to the toilet and it was so urgent that he wasn’t able to contain himself until we arrived or could make a stop. I’m sorry to say that he relieved himself in his pants, on the coach. He wet himself. As you can imagine, he’s in a bit of a state because he’s got no clean clothes to wear so he’s desperately in need of some shorts and underwear and maybe a pair of socks. He’s wondering if you might be able to help him out?”

When he returned to the small office, Mr Fraser conveyed the not entirely welcome news.

“Well, your mother is happy to drive over, but she says the earliest she can get here will probably be around 3:30, which is the time we are all set to assemble for boarding the coaches, so it will be touch and go whether she makes it in time. If she can she will bring you some new trousers, pants and socks.”


For the rest of the afternoon, the sixth-form students continued their tour of the bird sanctuary, but despite the attractions, the wildlife and the spectacular scenery, there was really only one topic of conversation, especially when the smaller groups all met up for their afternoon refreshment break. There could be little doubt that not a single person had failed to hear about their PE teacher’s wetting accident during the coach journey, and nobody could conceal their astonishment.

“Can you actually believe that Dawson pissed himself?”

“You could actually see it running all down his hairy legs!”

“When he went up to the front of the coach, he must have been begging them to make a stop!”

“Imagine being so desperate he did a wee in his pants!”

“It looked like he peed about a half a gallon into his shorts!”

“Did you see the massive puddle on the floor of the coach where he was sitting?”

“There was a lot of faffing around near his seat before it happened, so he must have been telling them he was going to wet himself!”

“He fancies himself a bit, have you seen the way he struts around the corridors in his little shorts? He’s always walking past the girls and the way he smiles at them, it’s obvious he thinks he’s a bit of a catch.”

“Maybe not now they’ve all seen him in his pissy shorts!”

“My nan would say he ‘went to the potty in his pants’ – wait till I tell her that our teacher wet himself!”

“Did you see his wet pants hanging on that line to dry? There’s no way they’ll be dry enough for him to wear on the way back, surely?”

“Nor his shorts, they’ll be saturated too! No-one will want to sit next to him! He’ll stink!”

“His white socks looked rank too, all wet and dirty!”

“He must have taken his trainers off because he wears those expensive flashy ones and he probably kicked them off because he didn’t want them to get wet when he started doing it in his pants!”

“It’s going to be brilliant when he next takes us for football. Imagine all the comments?”

“Sir, I need to go to the toilet, but do you want to go first in front of me!”

“I’m going to come straight out and ask him, ‘Sir, what’s it like to wet yourself?’”

“He’ll never ever be able to say no again if anyone asks to go to the toilet during a lesson, will he?”

“It’ll be ‘Sir, let me go out, otherwise I’ll do it in my pants, like what you did!’”

“All those muscles and his toned body, and yet he must have a tiny bladder – or a weak one!”


At 3:20, with students and staff members beginning to wend their way back to the car park, there were still two major dilemmas waiting to be resolved.

- Was Mr Dawson’s mother going to arrive in time?

- What was Mr Dawson going to wear for the journey back?

“We’ll have to ask the students, I reckon” suggested Mr Fraser, “he can’t take the borrowed shorts back with him, and plus the fact he’s been sitting in them all day so they might not be as fresh as he’d want for a long coach trip. His own wet things aren’t going to be dry enough to put back on and in any event, they’re unwashed, so re-wearing them is out of the question. I’ll ask the sixth-formers.”

The large group of 18-year-olds were standing around chatting when Mr Fraser approach them.

“Look here, you obviously know we’ve had an unfortunate incident today. I’m just wondering if any of you have got any suitable items of clothing in your bags that you might be willing to lend Mr Dawson for the journey back. We were hoping that some new clothes might be delivered for him, but it hasn’t happened, so we are looking for solutions. I know some of you have got sports bags with you, so can anyone help out at all?”

“I don’t usually carry a spare pair of underpants with me, sir!”

There was a ripple of laughter.

“Anyone got any nappies with them?” resulted in another burst of giggles.

“Come on, be serious please” requested Mr Fraser.

“I’ve got a pair of football socks” called out one lad, fumbling deep into his bag, “they were for last weekend’s game, but I didn’t need them and I forgot to take them out. Mr Dawson can wear them if he wants.”

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”

“Sir” called out one of the girls, “I’ve actually got a pair of leggings in my bag. They’re not really suitable for a man, but he’s welcome to them if he’s got nothing else.”

“That would be extremely helpful too, thank you” said Mr Fraser, as the girl produced the light red, almost pink-coloured thin leggings, handing them over to the teacher who also accepted the pair of rolled-up light-blue football socks, “Mr Dawson will be grateful, I’m sure.”

Ten minutes later, back in the small office, Mr Dawson emerged from the tiny toilet area to face his colleague Mr Fraser, “There’s no way I can go back like this, I look ridiculous” he said, glancing down at his lower half.

Below his blue zipped-up tracksuit top, he was wearing pink-coloured leggings which were tightly moulded to his thin but muscular legs, showing all the contours of his thighs and calves, almost reminiscent to a pair of female tights, whilst on his feet he had a pair of pale blue football socks, rolled down around his ankles and barely reaching the bottoms of the leggings, exposing some of his lower legs. But the real focus was just below his waist, where the outline of his cock and balls were scarcely concealed beneath the thin, skin-tight material.

“I can’t go out like this. Just look at me!” he almost whispered in embarrassed fashion, “couldn’t we find a pair of shorts or trousers?”

“We were hoping your mum was going to turn up with some clothes for you. Unfortunately, she hasn’t arrived and we’ve got to leave soon. It’s all we’ve got I’m afraid. Unless you want to try and put your wet things back on, I suppose?”


Back in the car park, Mrs Morrison was in a heated discussion with one of the coach drivers.

“So how long is this replacement coach going to take? We want to travel all together and so until it arrives, we will all have to wait. And that means we will hit rush-hour traffic so all of the students will be late returning to school and we will have many parents having to wait and being inconvenienced. This is very difficult and most awkward.”

“With all due respect Mrs Morrison, if your teaching colleague had been able to control himself and not urinated all over the seat and the floor of the coach, it wouldn’t have been taken out of service. We might have been more understanding if it had been a kid, but we didn’t expect the PE teacher to have an accident and wet himself!” before adding, “We will be late back, probably between 45 minutes and an hour later than expected, depending on the traffic.”

As Mrs Morrison walked away, the driver turned to one of his driving colleagues and said, “I’m not sure she appreciates how much the guy pissed. It wasn’t a little tinkle on the floor, he absolutely flooded the floor and his seat. They’ve had to try and find a replacement seat, that’s what’s caused the problem. He must have been bursting beyond belief to have done the amount he did, a camel would have made a smaller puddle, I’m telling you. He released a waterfall in his pants, poor sod.”


It was nearly 4:15 when the two coaches began their final checks before preparing to depart. Mr Dawson had still not emerged from the office building, with the decision having been made that he should remain until the last minute when he could board the coach directly without having to wait in sight of the students. But if the decision had been made to allow him at least some dignity, that prospect was wiped out when a teaching assistant from the other coach stuck his head through the door of coach number four, and called out loudly,

“Mrs Morrison! Just to let you know that Mr Dawson’s mother has just arrived!”

The comment prompted a ripple of laughter from the students, followed by a buzz of conversation.

“Oh No! His mum’s here!”

“Dawson has called his mum!”

“Oh My God! How embarrassing! His mum’s turned up!”

“If pissing himself wasn’t bad enough, now he’s got to face his mum!”

“I bet she’s bought him clean pants!”

“Imagine having to ask your mum to bring you some dry pants because you’ve wet yourself!”

“That’s a bit of a shame, it probably means he’ll go back with his mum. I was hoping to see him get on here and see how he reacted.”

“Pissy wet knickers can’t face us all yet!”


Back in the office, Mr Dawson’s heart thumped rapidly as he heard a tap on the door and a voice outside saying, “He’s in here”

Mr Fraser held the door open to allow a woman, considerably younger than himself, to enter the room, and he discreetly exited behind her.

“Oh, my goodness!” she said, as she looked at her son, “whatever have you done?”

Mr Dawson looked at the floor and almost mumbled his response.

“I had an accident on the coach” adding in an almost softer voice, “I’ve wet myself!”

They both looked awkwardly at each other, and his mother spoke again.

“We can talk about what exactly happened later, but for now, your colleague says that you have to be ready to leave in five minutes. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here earlier, but I was out for work and I had to drive back home first. Unfortunately, you know you’ve got no clothes at our place, so I had to grab something of your dads, but he’s so much bigger than you, there wasn’t anything to fit you. It was hopeless trying to bring any of his trousers as they would have swamped you, so I picked up a pair of drawstring swimming trunks which I thought might do as underwear, and I also collected a wrap-around beach towel with a Velcro strip, so you can wrap it round your waist. I did bring a pair of socks, but it looks like you’ve managed to find a clean pair…”

Her startled son interrupted her, “A wrap-around towel!! I thought you were going to bring me some fresh clothes! Why didn’t you stop somewhere at a shop and just buy some things if there was nothing at home?”

His mum looked equally as surprised, “Because I thought the towel and trunks would enable you to get back to the car, and then we can stop somewhere on the way home and I can go in and buy whatever you want me to get.”

“But I’m not coming back with you!” replied a stunned Mr Dawson, “I can’t. All my stuff is at my place and I’ve got work tomorrow. There’s no point in me coming back to Bedford, I’ve got to get back to the school. My car is there and I wouldn’t be able to get from your place to work in time. I’m going back on the coach. I needed you to bring me something proper to wear back!”

His mother put her hands up to her face in horror, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought your colleague asked me to come and collect you?”

For a brief moment, Mr Dawson’ frustration turned to irritation.

“How am I going to walk back to the coaches in front of everyone with a towel wrapped round me? I might as well carry a flag saying, ‘I wet myself!”

There was a gentle tap on the door.

“Mr Dawson, we really are ready to leave. We can’t wait much longer.”


A few minutes later, the door of the office opened and Mr Dawson began to make his very public walk across the concourse to where the fleet of coaches were sitting with their engines loudly running. With insufficient time to try and remove the tight-fitting legs in order to pull on the swimming trunks and then replace the leggings, he was left with no option other than to make the walk of shame clad in what he had been wearing when his mother arrived, accompanied by the towel.

Through the windows of the coaches, lots of pairs of eyes were burning into him, as the students watched their fit and handsome young PE teacher make his way towards them. With his familiar blue tracksuit top clearly identifying him, his feet were clad in his black designer trainers and a pair of tightly rolled-down light blue football socks, scrunched around his ankles. But most attention was focused on his lower half, with his thin but muscular legs encased in a pair of pink girl’s leggings. He was holding the beach towel, but unable to bring himself to secure it around his waist like a skirt, he was letting it dangle in front of him, desperately trying to discreetly conceal his crotch area.

If that sight wasn’t enough to burn an ever-lasting memory in the heads of the students and teachers alike, what they could see a few feet behind him was absolutely sure to. Mr Fraser was striding along carrying a large and clear, see-through plastic bag in one hand, containing some white items, heavily damp and clinging to the inside of the plastic.

“Oi Look! Fraser’s got Dawson’s wet pants in a plastic bag!”

The ripple of astonished excitement drifted through the coach.

“And his saturated shorts!”

“His wet socks are in there too!”

“How embarrassing! It’s like a little kid wetting himself in nursery school!”


Having boarded the steps of the coach, Mr Dawson walked along the aisle towards the back of the coach where his seat for the outward journey had been, and he noticed a dark blue replacement double seat where he had previously sat on a red chair which had matched the rest of the seats. The students were all staring at him, although there was near-silence in the hushed atmosphere as he sat down gently.

“They obviously couldn’t find any spare pants for him. Did you notice?”

The two girls sitting opposite were giggling and whispering.

“I know, you could see the outline of his willy and everything!”

“Better not get him excited, those leggings might not be able to contain it!”

The girls grabbed each other and laughed furiously.

But the sight had not been missed by those further towards the front of the coach either, as one of the boys turned to some girls in the seat behind and said,

“Not only do you know now that Dawson wears little tighty-whitey underpants, you also now know the dimensions of his cock and balls! He’s got no secrets left!”


At the front of the coach, as Mr Fraser passed by the top seats, Mrs Morrison spoke to him.

“What is in the bag, Mr Fraser?”

“Er, it’s Mr Dawson’s belongings”

“Belongings?”

Mr Fraser spoke in a whisper, “The clothes he made a mess in, you know, his soiled shorts and his, erm, wet pants. And his wet socks. He couldn’t put any of them back on because they’re saturated.”

Mrs Morrison looked sternly over her glasses.

“Well, give them back to him please. There’s no reason why any of the rest of us should have to see them, thank you.”

Mr Fraser wended his way down the coach clutching the see-through bag of wet underwear, with all the students straining their necks to get a good look.

“Here we are, lad” he said as he handed the bag to Mr Dawson, patting him softly on the shoulder.

Mr Dawson dropped the bag on the floor between his feet with a gentle wet thump.


With the journey underway, a few of the students were beginning to feel somewhat adventurous and slightly cheeky. Mr Dawson was sitting alone on the double seat. The towel was laying on the chair next to him and the plastic bag containing his wet pants was in front of the adjacent seat, alongside his feet.

Mrs Morrison, who had largely kept herself out of the entire incident, was seated reading at the front near Mr Fraser, who had briefly popped back to check that Mr Dawson was settled. Miss Wippleton had taken a seat closer to the front of the coach, although she had smiled at Mr Dawson as he passed by her when boarding. He hadn’t seen Chris since they arrived, as he had been allocated a younger age group to look after and he was travelling back with them.

Mr Dawson knew that lots of the pupils were talking about him, but until now, no comments had been directly addressed to him.

“Sir…sir…”

He glanced to his right to see the two girls who had questioned him about his trousers on the outward journey, leaning towards him.

“Sir, we were just wondering, sorry about what happened, but well, how did it happen?”

He waited a brief moment to see if their faces broke into grins, but when they did not, he looked and shrugged his shoulders without saying anything.

“I mean, I know you must have been desperate, but couldn’t you hold on any longer?”

The question seemed genuine enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer, and shrugged his shoulders again, hoping that they would give up
their line of questioning.

“It’s just that, well you know, we’ve never seen anyone wet their pants before and you were the last person we thought who’d do something like that, especially in your shorts where everyone could see.”

Mr Dawson turned to face his interrogators.

“Look, I had an accident. There’s not much else I can say really.”


If he hoped that would bring an end to the intrusion, he was sadly mistaken, and from a couple of rows in front, one of the boys leaned out into the aisle, in full hearing of others around him, and said,

“Mr Dawson, when you went up to the front of the coach and spoke to the driver, were you asking for an urgent toilet stop?”

In the absence of a response, he added, “It actually looked like it was too late anyway, it looked like you were already doing it in your pants, sir!”

“Sonia Barstow said she could actually see it running all down your leg, so we were wondering why they didn’t pull over for you. Was it the driver’s fault you wet yourself, sir?”

“Were you really, really bursting, sir?”

Mr Dawson could feel his ears burning and knew that his face was flushed, and another comment of “So, have you ever been to the toilet in your pants before then, sir?” prompted him to reply before the trickle of questions became a barrage.

“Look, this is really embarrassing for me and I know you lot will never let me live it down. But it was an accident, plain and simple. I should have gone to the toilet before we left, and I didn’t. It was a bad mistake. I did ask for the coach to stop when I realised I wasn’t going to be able to wait until we arrived, but the driver was unable to pull over because of road work restrictions. I couldn’t hold on, that’s what happened, okay?”

“Wow! You did it in your pants and your shorts! That’s not cool.”

“Are they your wet undies in that plastic bag?”

“Do you know you’re wearing Linda Tolly’s leggings?”

“And you’ve got Dean Sangster’s socks on!”

“Is that your socks in the plastic bag too? If your socks are too wet to wear, how come your trainers weren’t swamped too, sir?”

“Did you kick your trainers off when you started weeing down your legs, sir?”

Suddenly, an adult voice spoke over them.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough” said Mr Fraser, “we’ll have no more comments for the rest of the journey. Anybody who has anything to say can say it to me. Is that clear?”

The students nodded as one and slumped back in their seats.

Mr Fraser looked at Mr Dawson and smiled, but the young PE teacher’s stomach flipped as he realised what he was surely going to face in his lessons for weeks, months and maybe years to come.


Meanwhile, back in the school office, the headmaster was finalising a note to leave for his secretary, ready to be typed and sent out to the parents next day via the pupils. He would need to apologise for the late return of the students, and explain the reason for the delay…

“Dear Parents, many of you will be aware that the sixth form students’ annual school outing to Sandy Bird Sanctuary yesterday was unfortunately disrupted and as a result, the coaches arrived back much later than scheduled. I regret the inconvenience caused to everyone, especially for those of you who attended the school to collect your son or daughter and had to wait a considerable time. Some of you may have already been informed by your son or daughter about the reason for the delay, but I feel it necessary to explain the full background…”

[Brian]

Phew, well it's a shame Mr. Dawson didn't get to see any of the birds at the sanctuary.

Washing line in full view, see-through bag of wet clothes, mother arriving with inadequate provision, there's just no end to the humiliation is there?

[Sam70]

Wonderfully written. The custodian may get into a bit of trouble for not opening the building for Mr Dawson.

Even at age 22, Mr Dawson doesn’t have the confidence to speak up in a situation like this. Mr Dawson should have told the custodian to open the door or he would pee on the wall of the building.

One comment about the 18 year olds in sixth form. Now, many sixth form campuses have an open toilet policy. Some still don’t. This true story is from the 70’s. While rare, there have been 18 and. 19 year olds wet their pants in sixth form or in US high schools because the teacher would not let them go and they couldn’t wait any longer.

In this story, all the teachers wanted to stop for Mr Dawson.. No teacher present was against stopmg for Mr Dawson. All of the teachers realized how bad Mr Dawson really needed to pee. They made the plan to stop as soon as they could legally do so. In just five or so minutes they could stop. Mr Dawson just couldn’t last five more minutes.

It appears that these teachers would have told the driver to stop if it/had been one of the students instead. Mr Frazier had taught 30 years and had not seen this happen. The driver agreed to stop and assumed it was a student in need, not a teacher.

The schools I attended had an open toilet policy. So, I not see this Kind desperation and/or wetting. If we moved this story into a classroom setting, all these teachers might have really jumped (18;year old) Dawson for not going before the lesson. Yet, it appears that all of these teachers would have allowed Dawson to go to the toilet when they realized that 18 year old Dawson was going to wet his pants, the chair, and the floor!

This story is from the 70’s. Teachers were more strict then as they are now.

I know that one out of twelve students have a bladder, bowel, or both issues. Most not diagnosed. I can see how a student with certain bladder issues would not have shown these obvious signs of desperation before wetting their pants that Mr Dawson showed on the bus.

My question is for those who attended sixth form for students 18 and 19 year olds who have normal bladder systems.

Did you encounter teachers who would have still said no even though they knew a student was within two minutes of totally soaking his pants just like Mr Dason?

Or in situation like this they were very stern with the student, bot on a one time only allow the student to go to the toilet as they did no want to deal with wet pants, wet chair, and wet floor.

I can’t help but be shocked that this really happens in a classroom. As a retired teacher I know we need to have students use the toilets during breaks as the routine toilet policy. But desperation like this would destroy any kind of teaching or learning for the rest of the lesson unless the student was allowed to go.

I can’ get my head around the idea that a professional teacher would witness what happened on this bus and in a classroom setting not have sent the student to the toilet before the floor was a lake of urine.

How rare is it today that there are teachers who would have told the student to hold it or pee his pants?

How rare was it some 30 years ago?

I am aware that there are members here who have bad memories of being really desperate in a lesson or they wet their pants at school.

This story may be one that brings unpleasant events at a school setting from our past

However, in this case, Mr Dawson is not 18. He is age 22. No one age 17 or younger appears in this story.

The story of the 18 year old wetting pants because there was no toilet on the tube, etc and the lad drank several pints at the pub is sometimes much more arousing because this has not happened to us, Or if it did, there is no emotional issues from it.

The 18 year old guard who wets his pants while in formation stories are legends here. I was never a guard. I suspect that some of the guards who wet their pants while in formation would not enjoy reading these pants wetting guards stories.

Thanks for your writing this story. Perhaps you might want to write some new stories that are detailed before the accident, during the accident, or after the accident.

You might add a before and after scenes from a story you have already written.

Again, thanks for writing such a detailed story. Your best story is the one that I am reading at the time!