Detective Constable Dan Scott

[Lee]

Eight officers from Metropolitan Police serial 561 were trundling their back to their station, tucked away in the police van which was cramped, uncomfortable and had the slightest aroma of a football dressing room. The occupants were bored, tired and lifeless after a lengthy day on public duties and the long-awaited return to the nick couldn’t come soon enough.

Most of the officers were stretched out, as best they could, tensing their aching feet and legs after standing around for hours and dreaming of removing their boots. Some felt a bit grimy and sweaty and a few were conscious of their overfull bladders although that was very much an occupational hazard for police staff.

The radio crackled and the conversation between the driver and the operator fell almost entirely on deaf ears as what appeared to be another unimportant exchange took place, but when the driver eventually turned round and revealed the reason for the exchange, there were numerous groans from his passengers.

“Sorry lads, we’ve got to divert to the town hall car park, we’ve got to pick up someone who’s being dropped off from a coach and take him back to the nick with us. You’ll have to all shove up a bit to make some space. Sorry.”

The groans continued, “Oh Charming. Who is it?”

The driver struggled to recall the information he’d been given, “I think he’s called Scott, DC Scott. Yeah, that’s right, Dan Scott. He’s a detective constable doing some work back at your nick I think. I’m not sure where he’s been on a coach, but he’s coming back with us.”

The name immediately rang a few bells with several of the officers.
“That’s all we need, smarmy Dan.”
“Do you know him, then?”
He was at training school in our year, you remember him Jamie, don’t you?”
“Yes, definitely. He’s alright, just a bit full of himself.”
“Couldn’t wait to get out of uniform, could he?”
“Get his designer suits on, more like.”
“Oh yeah, he’s a right flash dresser for sure!”
“Do you remember when he got bawled out at training school for not wearing any socks?”

They all laughed and began to share a few more tales of DC Dan Scott’s training school trials and tribulations, mostly revolving around his need to dress to impress.


Fifteen minutes later they were all sitting, lifeless again, in the car park of the town hall, awaiting the arrival of the coach. Suddenly, a mega-bus type coach trundled slowly through the open gates, looking and sounding as weary as the occupants of the police van.

“Blimey, that old charabanc doesn’t fit with Dapper Dan’s image, does it?”

After they had watched several passengers get off the rickety old bus, someone suddenly announced, “Look, there he is!” and a smart, suited young lad disembarked down the steps, moving in an uncomfortable manner as if he had been confined to his seat for several hours.

There were a few sniggers and muffled comments from the uniformed officers as DC Scott appeared exactly as they had predicted. The slim 25-year old detective constable, with his slightly wavy mousey-coloured, gelled hair style, was wearing a grey designer-type suit with a crisp white shirt and pale blue tie. His light blue socks matched the colour of his tie and his pocket handkerchief whilst his shiny black shoes looked narrow and tight-fitting. He had a pink folder tucked under his arm and having spotted the waiting police van, he quickly made his way towards them.

“What’s the betting the first thing he mentions is the pong in here?”

As DC Scott climbed into the van, the aroma was the last thing on his mind. Without even greeting the others or introducing himself, he was not coy about announcing his immediate priority, “I’m absolutely dying to go to the loo!”

The others all looked at him with an element of surprise.

“They won’t have any toilets here, will they?” he asked, knowing the obvious answer.

“Wouldn’t have thought so mate, it’s a car park” replied the driver.

The officer clambered through the confined space and made his way to the spare seat that had been created for him by the others shuffling up closer together and he plonked himself down on the edge of the chair.
“Where have you been then, mate?”
“Nottingham” he announced, “crime conference.”
“So why the bus?”
“My car’s out of action and they wouldn’t pay the train fare, the coach was cheaper. I’m gagging for the toilet.”
“Wasn’t there a loo on the bus?”
“Out of order. I’ve been desperate for the last hour or so. How long will it take to get to the nick?”
“Half hour, if the traffic’s okay.”
“Oh God!” and Dan swept his hand through his hair, pulling his knees together and raising his legs so that his feet were on tip-toe.

Some of the others grinned amongst themselves.
“Don’t do it on here, will you?”

Dan didn’t answer.


During the next 10 minutes or so, there was little in the way of conversation but all eyes were on Dan, who was fidgeting his feet and legs constantly and every so often, he kept blowing out his cheeks and letting out little gasps of air. Occasionally, the sound became that of a small whimper, accompanied by a longer exhaling of breath and a noticeable shift on his seat.

Finally, someone spoke, “You okay there, mate?”
“No” Dan replied testily, “I’m absolutely busting for the loo”.
“Yeah, so you said when you got on” came back an equally irked response, “we’ve all been out all day with hardly time for any sort of break either, mate.”
Dan’s response was spoken in a quieter tone and with an expression of serious worry plastered across his face,
“I’m not sure if I’m going to make it back in time” and as he spoke, he tapped his knees together in panicky fashion.

There were a few smirks and smiles but from a seat behind, PC Sam Smithers piped up with a verbally vicious comment,
“Ere Vic” he addressed the driver, “you ever had anyone wet themselves in the van before?”
There were several loud laughs,
“Erm, let me think,” Vic pondered, “I think I’ve had a few wet seats left behind but no-one’s ever admitted to them.”
“Anyone owning up, then?” asked Sam.
“I’ve a had a few close calls, I don’t mind admitting that,” said Paul Peplow, “don’t think I’ve ever wet the seat, though!”
“Coming back from that first training day at Oxford was a bit fraught for me” added Matt Hammett, “although I suffered in silence.”
“I was on that coach with you” said Bradley Dance, “I didn’t know you were bursting!”
Matt Hammett laughed, “I was sitting there wondering what to do if a puddle started forming!”
“STOP THE VAN!” yelled Dan in a loud panic-stricken voice.

Everyone turned to look at him.
“Stop! Now! Stop please! Pull over, now!”

The driver Vic spun his head round to see the commotion.
“Please! Stop, I’m going to wet myself!”
“Hey mate, calm down a bit!”
“Just stop, PLEASE! I’m about to do it in my pants, please!”

DC Scott was half-raised out of the seat, with one hand tightly clutching the crotch of his suit trousers and with a look of sheer panic on his face.

“You’d better pull over somewhere Vic, he’s serious. He’s about to have an accident”.
“There’s nowhere to stop, is there…” but before Vic could finish his sentence, Dan pleaded, “Look there’s the courthouse, stop there, please, just stop there, I’ll run in and use theirs, please, please, I’m nearly wetting!”

Vic swung the van off the main road and into the small parking area at the front of the court building and almost before the wheels had stopped moving, Dan was clambering across the others and pulling at the door handles. A couple of the others helped him by propelling him with their hands on his legs, buttocks and back and he was also assisted in getting the door open. No sooner had his feet touched the tarmac than he was running, awkwardly and ungainly towards the open doors of the old Victorian-style building.

As he disappeared through the doors, the officers in the van were left amazed by what had just happened.
“Bloody Hell, I think he was weeing himself, don’t you?”
“There was nothing showing on his suit, so I don’t know?”
“Is his seat wet?”
“No, doesn’t look like it. It’s a bit warm, but not wet!”
“God, that was embarrassing. Let’s hope he makes it in time.”
“That was panic if ever I saw it. I reckon he’d definitely done a bit in his undies!”


The courthouse foyer was completely deserted and it looked as if the court hearings for the day had finished. DC Scott was still running, half-hobbling and half-hopping as he headed for the Gents toilet at the end of the waiting area. He wasn’t even sure whether he was wetting or not, he knew for sure he’d done a spurt whilst in the van which had caused his blind panic so he could still feel the clammy dampness in his underpants but whether he’d wet them further was unknown to him.

As he reached the large wooden door, he was totally oblivious to the hand-written sign on the door and he clumsily barged against it as he attempted to push it open. The door remained firmly closed and with watery eyes, he read the short message on the white piece of paper, “Please use the toilet in the small waiting area outside court four”

DC Dan Scott simply turned and ran in the other direction, heading back through the empty hall and towards the other courtrooms. He had no idea where court number four was but his need to find it was excruciatingly urgent. This time he knew for sure that he’d urinated some more and the scorching hot wetness was between the tops of his legs and around the base of his backside which probably suggested that he’d soaked the lower crotch of his pants. Terrified to even imagine whether anything was showing on his suit trousers, every step accentuated the warmth and he could feel the soft cotton material of his underpants clinging to him and tingling.

He burst through the swing doors into the newer part of the building and immediately saw to his right a wooden door marked ‘toilet’. As he frantically pushed the door, he could not even contemplate how or why it appeared locked and he rattled the brass handle, pushing and tugging at it as the realisation hit him starkly that it was also closed.

A second stark realisation was also overwhelming him, faster than the hot urine was flowing all down his legs. Still holding onto the brass door-handle with his clammy right-hand, he began to sink into a squat to try and ease the immense pressure which was intensifying in his belly as his bladder continued to empty itself. The scorching heat which was searing all through his underpants was cascading down his legs in rivers as his straining muscles gave up their valiant battle and the young constable wet himself in sheer torrents.

Still squatting abjectly, like a schoolboy trying to conceal his shame, DC Scott was clinging onto the door handle to retain his balance, meaning that the flow was pouring through the crotch of his suit trousers as well as streaming down his legs. A powerful jet was emerging through the grey material to the right of his zip-fly, leaving trickles, dribbles and rivulets to seep through the seat of his trousers, dripping from his bum like a tap and rapidly increasing the size of the amber puddle which was shimmering and steaming on the wooden floor, all around the officer’s shiny black lace-up shoes.

His designer white cotton underpants were so sodden that they were clinging both to his crotch and his bum and around his ankles his short light-blue cotton socks, now streaked with darkness, were cooling as the warmth in his shoes rapidly diminished. Still squatting as he finished his marathon wee, wetting his suit and underpants in an unbelievable fashion, he glanced up for the first time since he’d lost control of himself.

On his haunches, still dripping and dribbling down his ankles and with a momentous puddle around his feet, he looked over to his left to see a row of six padded seats, occupied by three young lads, a young woman accompanied by an older man and another youth. Still trembling after what had just happened, DC Scott could scarcely take in the words, as one of the youths said, “I think you wanted the toilet over there, mate”, nodding his head to a small area less than 10 yards away ... with a sign saying “Courtroom Four and Toilets”.

[Brian]

Vividly described as we are so used to from you. And the story's new, isn't it? I love how Dan's notorious for his precious image and the typical designer suit. Another great detail for me is how he picks the wrong door in the court house right at the end, and he had obviously staked everything on that door being the one he needed. That final so-near-yet-so-far phenomenon in this sort of emergency is something that's quite familiar. Thanks so much for this lovely new story Lee!

[Fred]

Nicely done, and with a clever ending! We all know someone whose ego needs to be punctured….

[Lee]

I was prompted to write that after I was in London at the weekend and saw two British Transport police officers at Embankment underground station. They were just standing around when they were approached by someone matching exactly the description I provided in the story. He seemed to know them pretty well and he was a bit loud and seemed overly-confident in his manner. I found myself imagining him with a bursting bladder and started to visualise this brash young chap squatting outside a locked toilet, with something matching his worst possible nightmare, happening in his underpants!

Of course, don't forget, he's still got to get back on that van!

[Brian]

Oh yes, which of us hasn't seen a brash, confident guy in a grey designer suit showing off in front of others and then thought about the most embarrassing thing imaginable happening to him in that suit?

I really can't think how poor DC Scott is going to handle returning to his uniformed, and presumably subordinate but nonetheless impudent, colleagues in that police van. Hope you can enlighten us at some point, Lee.

[evergreen]

I think the description of him finally losing it is brilliant. I enjoyed his super flash, smart gear becoming soaked, trousers, designer underpants , pee dripping through them. Some of us will know and be able to share his shame!