The Teacher on the Coach (Part 1)

[Lee]

It was 8:15am on a bright summer’s morning in South London and the street outside Furnell Grammar School was thronging with people. Around 300 pupils from years one to six, with an age range up to 19 years for the oldest, were in the final phases of boarding the fleet of coaches ready to transport them for their annual, end of year school outings, albeit to different locations. The 18-year-old sixth formers were on the longest trip of the day, to the Sandy Bird Sanctuary in Bedfordshire, and they had two coaches to transport the oldest students.

The event had taken a lot of planning, and the teaching staff were just relieved that the day had arrived after many months of preparation. They had organised themselves so that each coach had around four members of the teaching staff on board and the remaining few staff would fill any vacant seats.

The distance to Sandy was around 75 miles and in the absence of any motorway as well as the busy time of day, they had allowed around two hours for the journey, although that had not been relayed generally and nor had the fact that the organisers had privately allowed a further 30 minutes on top of that, so that an 11:00 arrival would be acceptable, and anything earlier a bonus.

The coach marked up as number four was carrying the oldest students who were in their final year of school. Whilst perhaps less interested in the outing than the younger pupils, it was nonetheless still a welcome day out of the classroom for the 18-year-olds. In charge of the coach was history teacher Mrs Morrison, an old-school-style mistress who was in her late fifties. With her grey hair tied up in a bun and wearing a dark green tweed suit, she looked more suited to the 1950’s, and her teaching methods probably belonged in the same era. She was a no-nonsense disciplinarian and had little time for the frivolities of the young pupils, so it suited her to be with the mature students.

Accompanying her on coach four was Mr Fraser, a slightly younger but equally staid geography master, and a much younger French teacher called Miss Wippleton. She could almost have been taken for one of the students, such was her youthful look, but she was also an extremely attractive young woman – and that was good news for the fourth member of staff who was Mr Dawson. He was the PE teacher or games master, and he seriously liked the thought of a day in the company of Miss Wippleton.

In truth, Mr Dawson had never really integrated himself with the rest of the staff. He was coming to the end of his first year in teaching after leaving training college and although the sports post at the Grammar school had seemed the perfect appointment for him, he had never really felt that he had fitted in or been accepted by the other teachers, most of whom were in the latter stages of their careers. The culture of the school was one of disciplined formality, where all the teachers wore their degree gowns and maintained an aura of aloofness from the students.

But Andy Dawson was a different proposition. He was young, only 22-years of age, and he was the first appointment at the school to have a dedicated sports role, rather than games being an unwanted add-on for a teacher covering an academic subject, as had been the case in previous years. He felt that in his role he needed a closer relationship with the male students he was helping with their sporting activities and although his young age helped considerably in that respect, his approach didn’t necessarily go down well with the more established teachers.

From day one in the job, he had also opted to wear his full sports attire on a daily basis, rather than changing in and out of his kit between lessons, so he was always seen around the school building in his shorts and that hadn’t endeared him to his older colleagues. Even today, for his first experience of the annual school outing, was no exception and he had his blue tracksuit top on with a pair of thin white shorts which scarcely reached his lower thighs. Along with a pristine pair of short white sports socks, his choice of dress showed off his thin but muscular legs to great effect – and he knew it.

Added to his dark hair and prominent dark eyebrows on his smooth and youthful face, he recognised himself as a bit of a school heartthrob – an image he was keen to maintain and develop.

He wouldn’t have called himself particularly vain, but he liked to look good, and he was aware that when he walked along the sixth-form corridors wearing his shorts, his bare legs were often the subject of admiring glances from groups of the girls, and he had taken to wearing his shorts a bit higher and his socks a bit lower to maximise the full-length attraction of his well-toned and dark-haired legs.

“Mr Dawson” called out Mrs Morrison, “if you’ve finished loading those drinks into the hold, would you mind finding a spare seat on the coach to put that large bag on, please?”

“Yes, no problem” he replied, “I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes” and with that, he sauntered back towards the entrance. He had willingly agreed to load the boxes of drinks on board, although the timing had been unfortunate as he had been just about to pop to the toilets back in the school. It wasn’t a problem though. Pretty much all the students were on the coaches by now and so a quick trip to the gents and he would be ready to join them – and hopefully have a seat alongside Miss Wippleton for the journey ahead. He smiled to himself at the prospect.

But as he turned the corner to the school gates, the smile disappeared as he saw Mr Harrison, the miserable old school caretaker, fastening the padlock on the firmly shut iron gates.

“Erm, I need to get back into the building!”

“Too late lad” replied the caretaker, “it’s all locked up now.”

Mr Dawson hated the fact that Mr Harrison always called him ‘lad’. It made him feel like one of the students rather than a teacher.

“But I need to go inside, get back in there. I need to do something before we leave.”

“Sorry lad, I can’t be hanging about waiting for people. I’ve got a full day ahead of me here without all those kids getting in the way. I haven’t got time to spare.”

“But…”

“If you’ve got a problem lad, go and speak to the headmaster. I got the okay from him to lock up.”

Mr Dawson felt his heart pound rapidly. He had put off using the toilet so that he could make sure he was available to help his colleagues. But he had to use it before they set off, there was no doubt whatsoever about that. He couldn’t get on the coach needing to go to the toilet!

Suddenly, a voice called out,

“Mr Dawson! We’re waiting for you! We’re ready to leave. You’re holding everyone up!”

It was Mrs Morrison, standing on the steps of coach four in what was now a street deserted of people.

Mr Dawson was aware of numerous pairs of eyes peering through the coach windows in his direction and he instinctively took several steps towards coach number four.

He couldn’t get on needing to go to the toilet like this, could he? But he glanced behind him and saw the caretaker walking away in the opposite direction. What on earth was he going to do now?

As he approached the doors, Mrs Morrison stepped back.

“Please come on Mr Dawson, we’ve got to get away now otherwise we’ll be behind schedule. I’m afraid there’s only one seat left and it’s a couple of rows from the back. You’ll have to sit in the seat next to the large bag.”

Mr Dawson stared along the aisle of the coach with a horrified expression on his face and an unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“Okay driver, close the doors please and let’s depart” said Mrs Morrison.


As he walked along the narrow aisle to the spare seat about four or five rows from the back of the coach, Mr Dawson was the subject of a few pleasantries from the female students, some of whom were looking forward to having the young PE teacher in their sights for the journey. He was definitely eye-candy for them, especially in comparison to the far more elderly rest of the male staff.

“Morning, sir!”
“How are you this morning, sir?”

The familiarity was not something that was evident with the majority of the teachers and certainly not welcomed by the likes of Mrs Morrison, who
was fortunately too far away to hear the comments.

Mr Dawson found the spare seat and as he lowered himself into it, the coach began to pull away.

‘How could this situation have happened?’ he asked himself, ‘and today of all days!’

His mind immediately began to turn to the timings of the journey ahead. A notice had been pinned on the board in the staff room, identical to the one issued to everyone a few weeks earlier, and it contained the schedule for the day and the timings. Mr Dawson had meant to read it but somehow had never got round to doing so. He had absolutely no idea how long the journey was going to take or even where this bird sanctuary place was, but in his head, he began to try and rationalise things.

‘It can’t be more than an hour or so on the coach, can it?’ he convinced himself.
‘If it is, they’ll be a stop, won’t there?’
‘They’ll have planned a stop, surely? They must have done’

But then a few other more scary thoughts kicked in.
‘I’m on the coach with the over-18’s, so perhaps they won’t stop for them?’
‘If both coaches are travelling together, are they going to stop just for one coach’
‘Imagine if they stop for one of the students in a lay-by or something? I couldn’t get out and have a wee as well, not as a teacher! No, they’ll definitely stop somewhere with a toilet!’

As the coaches pulled out onto the main road, Mr Dawson began to assess his current situation rather than thinking too much about what was ahead. The coach jolted as the back wheels bounced over a speed hump and the judder made him feel his bladder and the fullness of it. He wasn’t quite full to bursting, but he certainly had a serious bladderful which was making its presence felt.

He pulled in his stomach muscles and winced slightly as he realised just how uncomfortable this could get for him. Maybe his bladder was slightly fuller than he had allowed himself to think?

In his head he had an image of a bladder like a balloon inside him, with the pee swishing around. The level wasn’t quite at the top of the balloon, but it wasn’t that far off either.

‘This is going to be uncomfortable, that’s for sure.’ He couldn’t tell himself anything else.

Today of all days! His first school outing and on an occasion where he might have the chance to get to know Miss Wippleton a bit better too! How could he have let himself get in this situation? He should have simply told Mrs Morrison that he was nipping to the toilet before he started loading the boxes.

But what was done, was done. He’d just have to sit back and accept that he probably wouldn’t enjoy this journey as much as he’d hoped.


Twenty minutes later, he looked out of the window and his heart fluttered at the large volumes of traffic on the road. The two coaches were still together, but there were lines of vehicles around them in both directions, meaning that the coach was hardly progressing much faster than a crawl. It was bound to clear soon, and they’d have a clearer run, but what wasn’t so certain was that his predicament would remain the same.

Astonishingly, and extremely worryingly, his bladder felt fuller, tighter and heavier than it had done when they had set off. And this time, the bumps in the road and the continual stopping and starting were sending little waves of discomfort through his stomach.

How come he needed to go this much worse in such a short space of time?

Mr Dawson leaned back in his seat and pushed his buttocks against the back of the chair, prompting a little surge of anxiety to ripple around his midriff. He tensed his thigh muscles and gently moved his feet back slightly, but rather than easing the discomfort, it frighteningly exacerbated it, causing him to revert to his previous sitting position.

This time, his bladder tingled, and he felt his lower tummy muscles quiver gently. His brain recalled that image of the balloon in his belly and it was now showing the liquid close to the neck of the balloon and swishing closer to the opening with every movement.

He sat perfectly still. No more discomfort … momentarily. And then the coach braked and although the movement was scarcely enough for the passengers to even sense it, Mr Dawson certainly did notice. For him, it was like someone had pressed their hand into his lower stomach. Sitting motionless without any movement was not possible on a coach, and it made him tense his muscles, which in turn increased both his anxiety and his anguish.

‘I’m going to have to find out when this stop’s coming up!’


Suddenly, a voice spoke right next to him, and startled him.

“Hi mate, you okay?”

Mr Dawson looked up at a young guy, of a similar age to himself, standing in the aisle alongside him.

“Do you remember me? I watched a couple of your sports sessions a few weeks back when I was on my observation from teacher training. I’m Chris.”

“Oh, er, yes, of course. How are you doing?”

“I’m good. They invited me along on this trip, so I jumped at the chance. Hey, why don’t I see if I can get that bag next to you up into the luggage hold. I reckon it might fit, then you can have a bit of company rather than being stuck on your own. Stand up a second and I’ll give it a go.”

Mr Dawson stood up – and instantly regretted doing so. Although rising to his feet and easing some of the pressure on his bloated bladder was more than welcome, his new standing posture immediately created a different sort of pressure. Sitting down at least meant that his muscles were taut and unstretched, but standing up caused some unexpected sudden movements, and his need to relieve himself returned with a vengeance.

He glanced behind him and saw two of the girls just a couple of feet away looking down at his bare legs. They quickly averted their eyes as they realised they had been caught, but their embarrassed action was good news for Mr Dawson who found himself wanting to press his legs together in an effort to make himself more comfortable.

Thankfully, at the moment, nobody was aware of his pressing need to go to the toilet, but any action of that sort would run the risk of an eagle-eyed student spotting his predicament, and so he stood still, tensing his calf and thigh muscles as discreetly as it was possible to do so.

“There we are!” exclaimed Chris proudly, “Done it! Do you want to sit by the window now? I’ll sit here for a while if that’s okay with you?”

As embarrassing as it was, Mr Dawson knew this was his chance to get a bit of assistance without revealing his need.

“Actually mate, I wonder if you’d do something for me, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure”

“Do you think you could pop down to the front and ask Mrs Morrison what time we’re stopping?”

“Of course, but I didn’t think we were stopping. I didn’t read that on the itinerary.”

The response was like a little knife being twisted in Mr Dawson’s stomach and he had a sudden and urgent desire to give his dick a little squeeze as it twitched inside his underpants.

“Was there a reason for asking anyway?” queried Chris.

“Oh, just that I can’t remember the timings really” came the muttered reply, “I’d just like to know.”

“No problem, I’ll go and ask for you” and with that, Chris marched off towards the front of the coach.

Mr Dawson glanced at his watch as he gently eased himself into the seat again, with his bladder sending out a strong signal that his situation needed to be addressed sooner rather than later. It was 9:20am and they’d been going considerably less than an hour – and he was bursting to go to the toilet! He looked down at his legs and rubbed his hands through the hairs on his thighs as he crossed his feet at his ankles and firmly cemented them in position.

What on earth was he going to do if he had to wait until they arrived at the bird sanctuary? That could be another 45 minutes yet. What if they didn’t arrive until after 10:00am? That would be more than painful. He’d actually be struggling to hold on by that stage? And there were so many of them, he’d probably have to queue up for the toilets whilst busting. God, how horrific would that be? Let’s hope there’s either a stop coming up imminently or they were due to arrive in the next 30 minutes. He willed Chris to come back with one of the two possible outcomes.

As he saw his young messenger walking back up the aisle, he felt his stomach muscles contract and he actually had a nervous tightening of his chest in anticipation of what he was about to be told.

Chris plonked himself down heavily in the seat next to him, causing Mr Dawson to squeeze his legs together as the only means of lessening the impact of the thumping jolt.

“No mate” said Chris, “we’re not stopping anywhere. She’s paranoid anyway about us losing time because of that heavy traffic we’ve just been through. So definitely no stopping before we get there. She reckons we’re probably going to arrive at about 11:30, so what’s that? About another two and a quarter hours?”

A rush of panic, the like of which he had hardly ever experienced before in his life, surged through Mr Dawson’s body and he scarcely heard Chris say that he had been asked by Mrs Morrison to go along the coach and check that all the students were comfortably settled for the journey.

“I’ll be back later. We’ll have plenty of time for a catch-up before we get there”

But all Mr Dawson could hear ringing through his ears were the words, ‘Two and a quarter hours! Two and a quarter hours!’

There was no way on earth he was going to be able to wait that long. What was he going to do?

His heart was pounding rapidly as he tried to think of a solution.

‘Maybe someone else is going to want a toilet stop and I’ll be able to get off with them?’

‘Perhaps one of the students will get travel sick and we’ll have to stop? I can volunteer to go with him or her and while they’re being ill, I can try and discreetly have a wee up the side of the coach?’

I can’t ask them to actually stop for me, no chance! I wonder if there’s any way I could stop us on the pretext of needing to check whether the hold with the drinks in, is properly locked? Then I could do it when I’m hidden alongside the coach? Perhaps that would work?’

His range of bizarre thoughts were calming him slightly, but suddenly the coach jolted as the driver braked and as he bounced, albeit lightly, in his seat, he sensed the heaviness of his bladder. It felt like a football inside him, and he started to wonder what would happen if it got even fuller or swelled even more. Does it just keep expanding until…? Until what? What happened then?

He looked at his watch again. 9:30. He couldn’t let anyone know how badly he needed to go, and he uncrossed his ankles so that he could press his thighs tightly together and gently jig his lower legs below the knees whilst softly shuffling his feet. Every similar sort of movement eased his discomfort slightly, but each time it returned with more of a spiteful vengeance.

He discreetly lifted himself a few inches off the seat and put his hands underneath his backside before lowering himself again. Sitting on his hands meant that he could wriggle his fingers and massage his bum cheeks. As ridiculous as it sounded, that also lessened the strain on his increasingly bursting bladder, but he was starting to run out of options that would avoid anyone noticing his dilemma.

9:35 Mr Dawson stretched his legs out in front of him, pushing the soles of his trainers firmly against the bar underneath the seat in front of him…

9:40 His feet were now back under his own seat and knocking his knees together was providing a little respite between pangs from his bloated bladder…

9:45 He had his body twisted sideways on the seat so that he was facing towards the window, meaning that he could lift one thigh up slightly and rub it against the inside of his other thigh…

9:50 He bent forwards in his seat on the pretext of pulling up his socks, but the action was meant to press and squash his bladder muscles in a different way in the hope that it might provide a longer period of relief than just a few seconds…

Suddenly, he was aware of a whispered voice addressing him, “Sir, Mr Dawson”

He spun around and saw the two girls in the adjacent seat leaning forwards and looking at him.

“Sir, I hope you don’t mind us asking, but we’ve got a question for you. Only, we’ve been wondering, we’ve only ever seen you in shorts. Do you ever wear trousers?”

Their facial expressions just about managed to conceal their obvious desire to giggle.

“I don’t think that’s really appropriate, do you?” replied Mr Dawson in a soft voice.

“Sorry sir, we just wondered if you owned any trousers!” and this time, they were unable to hide their amusement at their own question.

“Okay, that’s enough” replied Mr Dawson – but as he spoke, he felt a spasm in his tummy and with a modicum of fear and panic, he clamped his upper legs together and momentarily placed the palm of his hand on his belly, before shifting on his seat to face away from the girls.

“Are you okay, sir?” asked one of the girls, but she got no response.

“I think he was trying to hide a stiff willy!” whispered one of them to the other, and the two of them dissolved into silent laughter.


9:55 The little spasm had developed into a series of mini spasms, each one testing his resolve and forcing him to struggle not to give his dick a little squeeze…

10:00 His bladder was emitting little distress signals and sending small but strong ripples around his lower stomach as his muscles quivered, and beneath his underpants, his dick twitched several times as it was trapped between his thighs.

10:05 This couldn’t go on for much longer, it just couldn’t. His dire predicament had been getting progressively worse minute by minute, and he had done nothing to resolve it, other than trying to ease the discomfort. It was clear nobody was going to stop the coach and so he was going to have to take decisive action of his own before things became impossible to conceal.

He hadn’t actually seriously contemplated the possible consequences if the coach didn’t stop before they reached their destination, but like a sledgehammer to his chest, he began to consider the potential outcome…

10:10 He HAD to do something, and fast. The discomfort in his bladder was now close to being painful and when the next stage became agony, there was a serious prospect of his bladder muscles starting to act of their own accord. If that happened, he might not be able to control himself and the gut-wrenching, knife-twisting, stomach-churning realisation was that he could actually wet his pants!

No, no, no! That can’t even be a possibility. He was a teacher, on a coach full of 18-year-old students. The prospect of ‘sir’ wetting himself was just too unthinkable for words. Life would never be the same again if he had a toilet accident!

It was time to act.

[Sam70]

Wonderful descriptions and self dialogue by Mr Fawson.When I read the short version some time ago, I couldn’t figure out how Mr Dawson could have gotten in such a state. The custodian locking up the building that had toilets I had not considered.

Mr. Dawson should have come clean and said that all he needed to do was take
a piss. The custodian would not have refused Mr Dawson. R Dawson could take this to the administration if the custodian refused to unlock the door. II would have peed on the wall of the building. if the custodian did not open the door.

[AlphaJock]

A masterpiece.