Jack the Tottenham Supporter!

[Lee]

Here's a little Christmas gift, based on the sighting I had a few weeks back...
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“I’m busting for a piss!”

The comment was scarcely audible in the packed and noisy tube train, as it rumbled through the underground in London’s tunnels, and hence the reason that there was no reaction from anyone in close proximity.

The originator of the statement was 21-year-old Jack, who was on his way to the evening game at Tottenham Hotspur, having left the pub in Vauxhall with his two mates Aaron and Zain. The three lads had all met up in the Northern Star near the station and enjoyed a few pints before jumping on the tube train to Seven Sisters – a journey expected to take around 40 minutes, but in the stuffy and crowded carriage, Jack was feeling more than uncomfortable as the train slowed down to a stop between stations.

“I’m gagging for a piss!”

This time, his comment was heard by Zain, who laughed, “Let’s hope we’re not stuck here for long, then, eh?”

Aaron said nothing, as he stared down at the floor, grinding out an imaginary cigarette with the sole of his trainer.

“What’s the hold-up?” asked Jack.

“Probably waiting for you to piss yourself, mate!” laughed Zain again.

Jack scowled, and Aaron looked up and grinned, as a few of the nearby passengers also heard the exchange.

Zain was the joker of the three, always looking for an opportunity for a laugh, whilst Aaron was a bit more reserved, but quick-witted and sharp, with his personality making him engaging company. At 21, blond-haired Jack was a couple of months older than the other two, but he was also loud, cocky and vain beyond belief. The previous year, the three of them had gone away on holiday together, and the general consensus was that Jack spent more time in the bathroom preening himself, than all three of them spent in the bars and beaches! A plasterer with a building firm, he would no doubt have been eyeing himself in the reflection of the train window had he not been hemmed in towards the middle of the carriage.

“I really need a piss!”

“Alright” grinned Zain, “you don’t have to keep saying it! It won’t go away like magic the more times you say!”, adding, “will this help?” and quickly wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist in a pressing motion.

“Don’t!” yelled Jack loudly, causing others to look over, as Jack grabbed the handrail above him, lifted his feet off the floor and made to aim a two-footed kick at his mate. Zain jumped backwards and laughed, but Jack instantly regretted his action. He said nothing but cursed inwardly as he felt his over-stretched bladder twang in the pit of his belly and the reverberation was sufficient to make him press his thighs tightly together as he regained his balance.

“You prat!” he snapped at his mate, just as the train shuddered and started to move again.

“There we are, all’s well, mate!” said Aaron.

Slightly relieved, Jack spoke in a slightly quieter voice.

“I wonder where the bogs are at the station? I’ll have to find a toilet when we get off.”


Fifteen minutes, the tube train pulled into Seven Sisters station, and crowds of people got off, filling the platform to near-capacity. The three lads were in the midst of the throng.

“Now, first things first, where’s those toilets? I’m dying to go!” said Jack.

“They’ll be upstairs mate. They don’t have them on the platform” added Aaron.

“Can you walk with your legs crossed, pal?” laughed Zain

As they got upstairs, they were faced with a huge crowd at the ticket barriers.

“Oh, For Fuck’s sake!” winced Jack, as they joined the vast numbers trying to force their way through, and unbeknown to his mates, he gave himself a short squeeze through the crotch of his jeans.

It took ages to get through, but with hardly any station staff on view, Jack found himself scouring the foyer for a sign saying toilets. “I’ll have to ask someone!” he called out, having seen nothing at all, and making his way through the crowds towards a uniformed staff member standing at the far side.

“Mate, where’s your bogs?”

“I’m sorry?” replied the staff member.

“Your toilets? Where are they? Where’s the toilet?”

“Oh, we don’t have toilets” replied the official in an unconcerned tone.

“What!” Jack looked horrified. “What do you mean you don’t have any? You must have a toilet, surely?”

But the official just shrugged.

“Christ! What am I supposed to do then? I’m busting. Where’s the nearest ones?”

The response came in an even less concerned fashion, “I’ve no idea, probably in the high street, I don’t know.”

Jack made his way back to Aaron and Zain who were near the exit.

“Where are they, then?” asked Aaron.

“You won’t believe this! They haven’t got any! Can you believe that – no bogs at the station! Shit!”

“Oops” laughed Zain, “that’s a bit of bad luck for you!”

“What am I going to do?” asked Jack, as they made their way up the stairs and were suddenly hit by a blast of cold night air, which instantly chilled their bodies.

“How far is it to the stadium from here?” asked Jack

Aaron shrugged.

“Well, look on your bloody phone!” shouted Jack irritably, “see how far it is!”

Aaron slowed almost to snail’s pace as he scrolled through his phone…

“It’s, erm, about 30 minutes.”

“Not by car! I mean walking it!” snapped back Jack again.

Aaron laughed gently, “That is walking it, about 30 minutes walk.”

“No way!” replied Jack, “there’s no way I’m going to make that without having a piss, no way!”

“Well, you’ll just have to piss your pants, then!” said Zain, throwing his head back and laughing loudly.

“Oh, Fuck Off!” barked Jack, “I’m not going to piss meself, I’m just busting really bad.”

“You sure about that?” grinned Zain.

“Look mate, I’ve done five pints before without having a piss!”

Aaron didn’t look directly at his mate, but just mumbled quietly, “Yeah, yeah, course you have.”


Five minutes later, they were part of the large crowd wending their way along the high street. Cool, calm and unflappable Jack was starting to look a bit flustered, and with his Puffa jacket pulled tightly around his slim waist, he felt like wincing with every step.

“I’m absolutely gagging here!”

“Well go and find a tree to piss behind!” replied Aaron.

“There aren’t any, are there?” Look, we’re in a high street. There’s nothing but shops, people and coppers!”

“Ask this copper if he knows where there might be a toilet?” said Aaron.

Jack stepped sideways to the edge of the pavement and approached a yellow-jacketed police officer.

“Oi mate, do you know if there’s a toilet anywhere round here?”

The officer shook his head from side to side. “You’re probably best to wait until you get to the ground.”

“Cheers for nothing” mumbled Jack, “if I could wait ‘til I got there, I wouldn’t be asking, would I!”

“Hey, try that chippie,” suggested Zain, “they sometimes have toilets!”

Jack didn’t need telling twice, and he made his way over to the chip shop, pushing his way past the waiting queue and inside, but he emerged less than a minute later, shaking his head.

“No, they haven’t got any!” adding in a loud voice, “Shit!”


Ten minutes later, and still having seen no opportunity to relieve himself, Jack was walking in an even more uncomfortable manner. His usual chirpy cockiness, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he strode along, had been replaced by a more awkward shuffling style and he had his head bowed, with his hands buried in the pockets of his grey jacket.

“How are you doing?” asked Aaron.

“I ain’t going to make it if we don’t find somewhere soon, honest!”

“Oh, leave it out!” grinned Aaron.

“I’m serious mate. I could just let go right now and wet meself, I’m that desperate!”

Aaron turned to Zain, and whispered, “What happened to five-pints-without-a-piss-man?”, and they both grinned at each other.


“Hey, there’s a pub!” announced Aaron, as they began to see the floodlights of the stadium in the distance.

“I’m going in there! Sod the stadium, I’ve got to go somewhere. I’m going in the pub. Thank Fuck!”

But as they approached, they could see a few people milling around outside and the doorway clear, other than a couple of burly looking guys, dressed in all-black.

Jack quickened his pace and was almost half-running by the time he got to the entrance, to be greeted by one of the bouncers who put out his arm to block his pathway.

“Sorry mate, full up”

Jack gasped in horror, “What!”

“It’s full, up to capacity. No more inside. You can wait if you want and see if someone leaves.”

“But… I need a piss!”

The bouncer just shrugged and kept his arm outstretched.

“Oh, come on, mate! Please! I’m desperate for a piss!” and as if to emphasise his predicament, he clutched the crotch of his jeans with his right hand and began to bob up and down on the spot, “I’ve been gagging since the train and I’m nearly fucking doing it!”

“Sorry lad, we’ve got our instructions – and it’s full up”

“Just let me run to the bog, please! I’ll come straight out again, honest. I’ve really got to go, otherwise I’ll end up pissing meself!” and Jack began to step frantically from one foot to the other, before realising that his pleas were falling on deaf ears.

He hobbled back to Aaron and Zain who were watching on.

“Bastards wouldn’t let me in. I told them I might wet myself!”

His two mates glanced at each other in genuine surprise. They’d never heard Jack admit to anything like that ever before.

“Come on mate” said Aaron, grabbing Jack’s lower arm, “the stadium’s only just round the corner, right at these lights and then it’s only about half a mile or so!”

“I don’t think I can get there in time!” said Jack in a panicky-sounding voice.

“Course you can!” laughed Zain, “we’ve all had to piss worse than this, don’t be such a wimp!”

The words were painful for Jack to hear, and he mustered all his strength, let out a deep breath, sending a raft of hot steam out into the cold night air, and braced himself for the final stretch of the tortuous journey.


The last bit of the trek was a bit further than Aaron had indicated, and by the time they turned into the main concourse area, Jack was hunched over as he hobbled along. His hands were now buried deep into the pockets of his jeans instead of his jacket and with every step, the insides of his knees touched each other.

“Where’s the entrance?” he groaned, “I’m going to piss myself in a minute!”

Aaron looked at his ticket, “Gate M”

“Must be round the next corner, then” replied Zain, “we’re only at gate C”

The extra walk was bad news for Jack.

“Jesus! I’m going to do it before we get there!”


Five minutes later, they reached their gate – to be greeted by a large mass of spectators waiting to have their covid passes and mobile phones checked.

“Oh, For Fuck’s Sake! Now what?” cried Jack, bending further forwards and pushing both hands into his crotch through the pockets of his jeans, “how long’s this going to take?”

“It’s not moving very fast, is it?” whispered a concerned Aaron to Zain, who turned, look back towards Jack, and suddenly yelled out, “Hey! Can we push through? Our mate’s nearly wetting himself!”

Numerous heads turned back and looked in their direction, but nobody made any attempt to move.


By the time they reached the checkpoint, Jack was almost beside himself. Aaron had had to get Jack’s phone out of his mate’s jacket pocket in order to show his pass to the stewards.

“Hurry up, please mate! Can you move it? We’ve got an emergency here. He needs the toilet real bad!”

The steward looked at the phone, and then looked at Jack.

“Not sure he’s going to make it, is he? Looks like he’s going to have a pair of wet pants!”

As they turned the corner, Zain looked ahead, “Oh No! Look!”

Right in front of them was a steep staircase, with probably around 30 steps leading up to another level of the concourse.

“He’s going to wet himself”

Jack said nothing, even if he did hear the comment, and propelled by Aaron, who walked right behind him, with one hand on the back of his mate’s back, he began to cautiously step, one at a time, up the staircase.

A short distance back, Zain looked at Jack. He had never seen his confident and sometimes arrogant mate in quite such a state, and as he glanced at Jack’s backside, sticking out due to his hunched posture, he smiled to himself as he recalled his statement in the pub just a couple of weeks back about his new jeans.

‘If anyone dares splash any beer on these new Diesel jeans, I’ll kill ‘em. Eighty-five quid they’ve just cost me!’

“Let’s hope he doesn’t piss in them now then!” Zain mused to himself.


At the top of the stairs, which had been like a climb of Everest for Jack, they were confronted with a row of security arches, and some tables with trays on them.

“Empty your pockets lads” a security guard shouted, “phones, coins, wallets… put them in the tray!”

“Oi mate” replied Aaron, “Please can you let him through, please! He’s on the verge of pissing himself!”

“Quicker he gets through then, quicker he can get to the toilet!” called back the guard.

Frantically, Aaron tried to help Jack to empty his pockets, as Jack bobbed up and down, dropping so low that at one stage he was almost in a squat.

As he stood up and waited for his tray to be collected and taken through, he looked at Aaron with pleading eyes,

“I’m doing it, mate! I think I’ve just done a bit! I’m starting to do it!”

“Hold on, pal, just a bit longer!”

“I think I’m starting to piss!”

Aaron pushed his mate through the arch as they were beckoned forward, hardly hearing Jack’s anguished cry of, “It’s coming out! It’s coming out in my pants!”


There was one final hurdle to get through – the automatic ticket-entry turnstiles, and as the three lads emerged inside, people were turning to look at Jack who was hobbling along bent double. His grey Puffa jacket had ridden up above his waist and his grip on the scrunched up material of the crotch of his blue jeans had also meant that the legs had ridden up, and his visible ankles were displaying his white socks, with his feet encased in his white Ace trainers.

“The toilets!! Where’s the toilets!!” shouted Zain loudly, as several people pointed over in the direction of the Gents on the far side of the inner concourse.

“Oh Christ! I’m wetting meself!” Jack groaned.

“Quick! It’s over there! There’s the gents, over there!” shouted Aaron

“I can’t make it! I’m going to piss my pants!” whimpered Jack.


Sixty seconds or so later, Jack was being pushed through the waiting mass to get into the toilets, with several blokes standing back and letting the blatantly frantic lad go forward, so that within seconds of entering the toilet, he was standing behind a three-deep crowd for the urinals.

“Please! Please! Please!”

Jack was writhing about in despair, bent over like a corkscrew, pressing his thighs together and stepping from one foot to the other in his trainers. His pristine appearance had long since been a cause of concern for him, and is normally immaculate blond gelled hair was ruffled, with long strands hanging down over his forehead and touching the eyebrows above his watery eyes. His cheeks were burning red and his whole body was trembling with the strain of trying to contain his bladder.

“I’m pissing! I’m pissing!”


There were a few muffled calls from others who were waiting.

“Let him in, for God’s sake, the lad’s wetting himself!”

“He’s doing it in his pants!”


There was almost a thud in Jack’s back, as he was propelled forward in front of a free urinal, and anyone standing close enough to notice would have seen his already undone jeans, stretched around his hips, and the jet suddenly erupt like a power hose, straight through the crotch of the thin material of his white Tommy Hilfiger underpants, with a red waistband.

It was only Jack though, who was aware of the scorching warmth cascading all down his right thigh, as he extracted himself from his pants and began to send a torrent of hot urine into the urinal.

“Oh My God! Oh Fuck! Oh God!”

Jack had his head raised and was looking towards the ceiling, as he groaned in sheer ecstasy, blissfully unaware that the force of his jet was causing a significant splashback and resulting in others in the adjacent urinals stepping back to avoid being splattered.

“Oh, I’ve never felt like this before! Fifty-five minutes I’ve been waiting for this! Oh, what a relief!”

Several others in the packed toilet were laughing out loud at the cries of unbridled relief coming from the young lad, who was standing with his legs apart and his jeans at half-mast, peeing furiously into the urinal.

“I can’t stop going! I can’t fucking stop!” he was moaning and panting.


Over at the hand basins, Aaron and Zain were both washing their hands, having already finished relieving themselves, and joining in the mostly-comical remarks from others about the state of their mate.

“You should have seen him on the way here, he nearly wet himself a couple of times!”

“I thought he was going to do it in his pants outside!”

“Yeah, he said himself he didn’t think he was going to make it in time!”

Suddenly, an older bloke replied to the last comment.

“I’ve got news for you two lads. I don’t think he did!”


Aaron and Zain both turned around and looked at Jack, who was edging his way towards them from the urinal area, and he spoke in a weak and defeated voice.

“Ask one of the stewards for me mate, ask where the nearest place is that I can get back outside.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Aaron, “what do you want to get outside for? We’re in here now.”

Slowly, Jack began to turn around, and both Aaron and Zain stared open-mouthed as they glanced down and saw Jack’s jeans, the right leg of which was saturated and stained dark in a huge patch around his groin and all down his leg to his knee, the width of his leg and around both sides. The wetness narrowed below his knee before expanding again around his ankle, where the area above the cuff was sodden.

“You’ve pissed yourself!” exclaimed Zain.

“When did that happen?” asked Aaron.

Jack bowed his head and sighed with a deep breath.

“Right there, at the pisser! Just as I got there. I couldn’t get it out of my pants in time! I’ve wet meself. I’ll have to go home”

[cutsleeve]

really intense with him busting all the way to the stadium with bladder swollen so big and stretched so tightly he had to bend over since standing pivots the hips to thrust the bladder forward plus tightens the abs to press down on the distended bladder even more. he could watch the game in his wet jeans. i have done a lot of things in wet shorts.

[cutsleeve]

I also loved how he is pissing so hard it splashes back like it's a firehose. there is a tall twink at the club that pisses that hard when he finally goes after drinking a lot of beer. he stands back so the splash does not get on him and we can all see the powerful jet out of him.

[Dazza88]

Great story, enjoyed that

[Fred]

After five pints, holding it that long gives him superhero status!

[Lee]

After five pints, holding it that long gives him superhero status!

That was clumsily worded by me. I was trying to say that he was bragging that he’d previously done five pints without having a piss, not that he’d done that this time. Not that Aaron and Zain believed his statement, anyway!

[greatwater]

I now wonder whether Aaron and Zain had been in desperate situation like this before.

[bearshel]

Great story thanks Lee. Did you write up the original sighting? How close was the story to the actual incident?

[Brian]

I now wonder whether Aaron and Zain had been in desperate situation like this before.

Our enormously talented author Lee may confirm or deny this or may choose to leave us guessing, but I think I possibly picked up one or two clues in the story text that Aaron was a bit desperate for a pee on the three lads' exciting journey but never said anything about it to Zain or Jack. But maybe I was just imagining that. There are some real subtleties in the story text anyway.

I also like the character sketches of the three friends. That's not easy to do in a story of this length, but Lee manages it. And I love that it was the handsome guy who fancied himself that had this happen to him.

Lee, thank you for a great Christmas read. I thoroughly enjoyed this one.

[Lee]

To be perfectly honest, when I wrote it, I didn’t give any thought to Aaron or Zain needing to go anywhere near as badly as Jack. It’s an interesting consideration, though!

I wonder if they’d have been so heartless to their mate as to let him go all that way back, on his own, in his vividly saturated jeans?