The Teacher on the Coach (Part 2)

[Lee]

10:15 Mr Dawson was just about to face his worst nightmare and walk to the front of the coach and tell Mrs Morrison that he was bursting to go to the toilet and couldn’t wait any longer, when suddenly, the student teacher Chris re-appeared alongside him and wedged himself into the aisle seat.

“Shift over a bit mate. I’ll sit here with you for a while, if that’s okay?”

Mr Dawson turned to look at his companion and without saying a word, his face revealed that all was not well. His complexion was redder than usual, and his forehead was glistening, whilst his normally immaculate dark hair was ruffled a bit at the front where he had swept his hand across the top of his face a couple of times. His eyes were darting about instead of his usual calm and composed look and there was a general display of panic in his features.

“What’s up mate? Are you okay? You look a bit distracted” asked Chris.

Mr Dawson initially said nothing, but as he felt his bladder expand and contract in rapid succession and his dick cried out to be given a firm squeeze to help maintain control, he knew he had to ask for help right now!

“I’m actually bursting to go to the toilet!” he said, in a barely audible voice scarcely above a whisper.

“Are you?” replied Chris, looking at his watch, “well, we’ve probably only got about an hour or so left.”

Mr Dawson pulled his legs up so that his knees were raised about six inches higher and with his left hand he grasped the arm of the chair nearest the window.

“I can’t wait that long!”

Chris looked uncomfortably and awkwardly concerned.

“Well, what are you going to do? I mean, you might have no option!”

Still whispering, terrified of being overheard, and yet in a more forceful tone, Mr Dawson was left with no choice other than to reveal the nightmare of all nightmares.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve just got to! I can’t hold it much longer. If I sit here, I’ll… I’ll just do it in my pants!”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Chris didn’t know what else to say and certainly didn’t know what to do. He had gleefully accepted the day out as a bit of fun, but here he was sitting on a coach next to a teacher who was on the verge of wetting himself!

“I’m going to go and tell Mrs Morrison” he quickly said, standing up and making his way into the aisle as Mr Dawson offered no resistance in words or actions.

Chris’s saunter down the aisle to the front attracted little interest as he had been up and down the coach for the last 30 minutes, but the two girls sitting in the seats opposite Mr Dawson were certainly more than interested in what they could see.

In the window seat opposite them, Mr Dawson was sitting hunched forwards with his hand buried deep into his lap. His legs were bouncing up and down and jigging back and forth and he had slipped his feet out of his black trainers, one of which was under the seat in front and the other was lying on its side under his own chair. His white-socked feet were wrapped one around the other and his toes were curling constantly, visible through his socks.

“Look! Do you think he needs a wee? It looks like it!”
“I think he’s dying to go, look at him!”

And as another girl looked over from the seat behind, they couldn’t resist passing the information on, accompanied by a little giggle.

“We think Mr Dawson might be bursting to go to the toilet!”

At the front of the coach, Chris approached Mrs Morrison, who was sitting reading a book.

“Er, excuse me Mrs Morrison” he said in a shaky voice, “we’ve got a bit of a problem at the back of the coach”

Mrs Morrison dropped her book down onto her lap and looked up quizzically.

“It’s Mr Dawson. He’s erm, well … he wants to go to the toilet”

“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed a surprised Mrs Morrison

“Mr Dawson needs the toilet!” Chris repeated.

Mrs Morrison seemed almost astonished at the ridiculousness of the comment.

“Well, he’ll have to wait. Why on earth are you coming to tell me? He can deal with it when we arrive at the sanctuary”

Chris looked as embarrassed as he felt.

“I don’t think he’s going to be able to wait that long. He won’t last out until we get there. If you see him you’ll realise. He’s not going to make it in time. I think he’s going to have an accident in his seat!”

Mrs Morrison looked again, even more startled and seemed lost for words in response, but Chris had to make her understand the urgency of the emergency.

“Mrs Morrison, it’s serious. Mr Dawson is going to wet himself!”

Mrs Morrison turned around in her seat and called out to Mr Fraser who was sitting a few rows behind her and beckoned him to come forward. He immediately complied and walked up to join Chris alongside the front seats, but the senior teacher still didn’t seem to have grasped what was happening.

“Mr Fraser, it seems that Mr Dawson is having a toilet situation at the back. Could you please go and make sure he’s alright. I don’t know what’s going on, but can you please sort the situation before it becomes more widely known, and we don’t want the students getting to hear anything.”

Mr Fraser walked briskly back along the coach, followed by Chris, and by now it was apparent to some of the students that something was amiss somewhere. As they approached the back rows, Mr Fraser was unable to conceal his amazement.

“Oh, My Goodness!” he said as he saw Mr Dawson.

The young PE teacher was bent forwards in his seat with his right hand firmly buried in his crotch and through his white shorts he was squeezing and then releasing the tight grip around his dick. He was no longer knocking his knees together but instead his socked feet were shuffling back and forth on the coach floor in frantic fashion. His left hand was tightly-clenched, and his fist was pummelling the arm rest desperately.

Mr Fraser lent over his colleague.

“Calm down lad, just calm down. You’ve got to try and compose yourself”

Mr Dawson mumbled in the quietest of voices, almost as if he was trying not to reveal his situation despite the fact that he was displaying the most obvious signs of his distress.

“I’ve got to go! I’ve got to go now!” he whimpered.

“How on earth have you let yourself get into this situation?” Mr Fraser asked almost as quietly.

Mr Dawson’s voice was almost a whisper, “Please stop the coach! I’m just going to do it otherwise!”

“Look, just try and get yourself together. We’ll try and sort something out for you, but you need to try and help yourself and just clear your head so you can pull yourself together, okay?”

But the words were hollow sounds to Mr Dawson, who mumbled so softly that the sentence was almost inaudible as he uttered the most extraordinary phrase for a 22-year-old teacher…

“Please! I’m going to do it in my pants!”

“Stay with him” instructed Mr Fraser as he strode back up towards the front of the coach, with more of the students wondering what could be going on.

He walked straight up to Mrs Morrison.

“We’re going to have to try and stop the coach. Mr Dawson is in a terrible state back there”

Without waiting for any sort of response, he walked a bit further forward, “I’m sorry driver, but we’ve got a toilet emergency back there. We’ve got someone in desperate need and we’re going to have to make a stop otherwise we’re going to have an accident on here.”

“Okay, I will make a stop, but not yet I’m afraid. Look!” the driver said, nodding towards an impending sign on the side of the road which stated ‘No Stopping for 10 miles’.

“As soon as we reach the end of this stretch, I’ll try and pull over somewhere. Tell whoever it is to try and hold on. I don’t want someone making a mess on my coach. This lot are all adults, surely they should be able to control themselves?”

Mr Fraser hurried back to the rear again and when he got to the seat, Mr Dawson was half stood up from his seat, in anticipation of being told he was going to get off the coach.

But instead, Mr Fraser delivered the nightmare announcement.

“We are going to stop for you, the driver’s agreed. But we’re on a restricted road at the moment and there’s no stopping for 10 miles. Once we get through that, as soon as we get through that, he’ll pull over somewhere for you, okay?”

The news was like a punch in the stomach for Mr Dawson, who rose fully and attempted to force his way into the aisle.

“I can’t wait! I can’t hold it much longer!”

He no longer cared or knew or even realised who could see or hear him, and he started to hobble painfully forwards, clutching the crotch of his white shorts firmly before stopping and crossing his bare legs as tightly as he could manage. Hardly knowing what he was doing he began to walk back again and then spun around and walked forwards once more, all within the confines of his seat. His actions were doing little to ease the terrible stabbing pains in his belly and suddenly he started to bob up and down on the spot, lifting one socked foot and then the other and stepping frantically from side to side.

His jigging was painfully embarrassing to watch as he began to dance on the spot, lifting his knees and sporadically crossing his legs whilst bouncing up and down, all the while standing with one foot on top of the other in his white socks.

Suddenly, there was absolutely no hiding his predicament a moment longer.

“I’m going to wet myself!” he blurted out quietly, but in a voice louder than anything he had previously uttered since getting on the coach.

Mr Fraser was as horrified as he was embarrassed, hoping fervently that Mr Dawson’s astonishing announcement that he was going to wet himself had been heard by as few people as possible. He was aware of what could happen, and probably would happen, but his own chest began to thump in dreaded anticipation. In 30 years of teaching, he had never seen anything remotely like this and regardless of the impact on his young colleague, the sheer stigma for the school’s reputation, with parents and students alike, would be horrendous.

He just had to try and lessen the publicity of what was happening.

“Sit down! Sit down!” he barked as quietly and yet forcibly as he was able to manage, whilst almost manhandling his young colleague back into his seat.

Mr Dawson dropped heavily into his chair, gasping open-mouthed in distress at the pain that surged through his midriff as his backside hit the seat. Remarkably, having incredibly revealed that he was close to having an accident and wetting himself, he actually felt a tiny sense of relief. Maybe it was just that others now knew and so he could get some help, or perhaps it was the realisation of admitting to himself that something unspeakable could happen and he just HAD to strain every muscle and sinew to avoid the ultimate horror of disgracing himself.

But within a few seconds, his entire body began to tell him that the struggle to contain himself was in danger of defeating him.

- His bladder was bursting so much it was virtually overflowing and he could feel his muscles twitching with painful little spasms, like a series of tiny needles piercing his belly.

- Around his sides, an uncomfortable tightness was turning into a stitch-like sensation which made him want to twist his body one way, and then the other.

- There was a numbness spreading across his stomach, which felt as if it was recovering from the aftermath of a punch right into the pit of it, almost forcing him to double over as someone would react after being firmly hit. Even his ribs were aching.

His leg muscles were stinging as a result of him tensing them continually and both of his hamstrings felt ready to knot up whilst lower down, his calf muscles were burning with the stress of trying to keep stretching them and even his feet were tingling inside his warm socks.

Beneath his shorts, his tight-fitting white briefs were clinging to both his backside and his crotch, whilst his dick was throbbing and twitching, crying out to be clasped firmly and threatening to release the first trickle of urine which was almost seeping along his shaft, as his balls felt clammy, and his small mass of dark pubic hair was matted and damp.

More generally though, he could feel himself trembling with the intensity of struggling to contain himself, and little patches of perspiration were forming in the creases of his extremities.

Mr Fraser sat down beside him.

“Look Mr Dawson, you’ve held on for this long, you’ve just got to focus on keeping control for a little bit longer. We WILL be stopping, and you’ve got to make sure that you’re still in a position where you can get off and relieve yourself. You can do it; you know you can. You’re a strong-willed lad and I know you’ll be okay if you can just compose yourself. Take some deep breaths and just hold on.”

Mr Dawson’s eyes were wide and watery, and his mouth was open slightly as his lips trembled. He wasn’t even thinking about the humiliating consequences if he were to go to the toilet in his pants and wet himself – all he could concentrate on was desperately trying not to lose control and praying that his agonised body did not let him down. For a young man whose occupation and lifestyle was all about fitness and demonstrating the strength and ability of the human physique, surely his own body would not betray him in such circumstances?

He was aware of movement in the seat next to him as Mr Fraser stood up and before he knew it, the seat was occupied by Miss Wippleton, who had decided she needed to see what she could do to help in a situation that was obviously unfolding a few rows behind her. She had seen Mr Dawson hopping from foot to foot in the aisle behind her and heard him muttering something, but she hadn’t heard him say that he was going to wet himself.

As she sat down closely to him, she could see his legs shaking as he scissored them back and forth and she moved her hand across to touch his arm, unintentionally but gently brushing the palm of her hand across his exposed thigh and tickling the hairs on his upper leg. Ordinarily, that sensation would have been pleasurable in the extreme, but Mr Dawson could hardly even feel the contact.

She softly clasped his lower arm, “Oh you poor thing!”

Whether it was the sympathetic offering of the young woman he had been so keen to impress on this trip that caused him to momentarily weaken his resolve, or if it was just a case of inevitability, but suddenly Mr Dawson felt the most incredible sensation in both his bladder and along his shaft as his shrivelled dick uncontrollably released a long, warm spurt of pee. He gasped and let out a little cry of despair as he felt the hotness seep through his pants in a lengthy dribble.

“Aargh” he groaned, in a whimper that lasted a couple of seconds, and he stiffened his entire body in a frantic bid to stop the little flow. His emergency action achieved its aim and he stopped himself peeing, but some serious and apparent damage had been done.

As Miss Wippleton heard the despairing moan and looked down, she saw a small dark circle suddenly glisten wetly on the crotch of his white shorts. It initially got no bigger, but already several centimetres in diameter, it appeared as a round grey patch on the front of his shorts, spreading slowly until it grew no more. Even in his worst moment, Mr Dawson couldn’t grab himself in front of Miss Wippleton and instead he moved his right hand to his groin and covered the wetness with his palm before gently caressing the material of his shorts.

Miss Wippleton looked up at Mr Fraser, who was talking to Chris and did not know what she had seen, but the look of horror on her face told them that she had witnessed something.

“It’s too late!” she whispered as quietly as she could, before mouthing “He’s doing it!”

The two men glanced down, unable to see the evidence that had caused her comment, but they could see Mr Dawson frantically rubbing his feet together and fidgeting almost his entire body.

“It doesn’t matter if others see him. Let’s just get him to the front of the coach! Otherwise, he’ll do it in his seat!” snapped Mr Fraser.

As Miss Wippleton moved out of the way, Chris stepped forward and grabbed Mr Dawson by the arms, “Come on mate, quick!”

In front of by now an array of hushed and astonished students, they began to make their way along the aisle to the front of the coach, with Chris propelling Mr Dawson ahead of him, but scarcely able to walk, he was hobbling along, taking small steps and letting out little whimpers of anguish.

At that stage, nobody had noticed another significant-sized wet circle appear on his shorts, adjacent to the first dark patch, as once again Mr Dawson strained every sinew to stop the leakage as he felt it soaking into his underpants.

Mr Fraser managed to squeeze past the duo and approached both Mrs Morrison and the coach driver.

“We’ve got to stop. Now! He’s actually having an accident!”

The driver kept his eyes firmly on the road, “I can’t stop mate, I told you. I’m not allowed to stop on this road. I’ll get done if I do. There’s nowhere to pull over. He’ll just have to hold out as best he can until we get to the end…”

As he said so, he turned his head slightly and looked in his mirror to see the PE teacher in his shorts almost dancing on the spot…

“Oh ,Bloody Hell!” I didn’t realise it was one of you lot!”

Mr Dawson knew the game was almost up as he turned and began to head back to the sanctity of his seat before he lost complete control in his pants. As he took a couple of steps, a longer spurt of scorching hot pee jetted into his underpants, and this time he was unable to control it before it had trickled out of the bottom of his shorts and dribbled down onto his upper leg.

He stopped still as another shorter spurt escaped, but this one was powerful enough to soak straight through his pants and his shorts, and a couple of tiny droplets splattered onto the coach floor. Leaving two small wet spots glistening on the grey flooring, he managed another couple of steps before a 2-3 second torrent escaped again, causing his agonising tummy ache to intensify, and jetting a more lengthy trickle to run down his leg to his knee and then fall to the floor, making the tiniest of puddles.

Still in his socks, Mr Dawson hobbled a couple of paces more as the next uncontrollable jet ran down the entire length of his bare leg and he felt the warm trickle seep into and underneath his white sock, resulting in a sole-shaped wet stain being left on the floor as he lifted his foot to move forwards.

The students sitting at various points along the aisle were watching agog as they saw little droplets on the floor of the coach, with each one dripping from Mr Dawson’s shorts. The more eagle-eyed could see several wet tramlines streaked down their PE teacher’s leg, weaving their way through the dark hairs and making shiny little streams which glistened like tinsel.

“Mr Dawson is wetting his pants!”

“He’s peeing in his shorts!”

“He’s going to the toilet!”

“Dawson is doing it in his pants!”

The astonishment of the students was off the scale of amazement.

Incredibly, the continual spurts into his pants were actually making his need worse and by the time he got back to the row of his seat, the stabbing pain in his bladder and stomach was worse than ever. He stumbled into the row and found himself grasping the back of the seat in front, with his whole body shaking noticeably, as he tried to manoeuvre himself into a position where he could sit down.

Mr Fraser and Chris were right behind him whilst Mrs Morrison had left her seat and was a few rows further back, instructing the students who had stood in their seats to try and get a better view, to sit back down again, although she had failed to notice the little wet marks on the coach floor.

Although no incident had actually happened as yet, at least not as spectacularly it was seemingly going to happen, and in all likelihood in just a few seconds time, Chris’s predictive statement was as accurate as it was horrifically unbelievable as he muttered to himself, almost mouthing the words...

“Oh Christ! He’s wetting himself!”

Mr Dawson did not attempt to get to the window seat but remained clutching the back of the aisle seat, with his arms firmly gripping the top of the head rest of the chair in front of him. Clad in his blue tracksuit top and thin white cotton shorts, his body was contorted and twisted. Slightly leant forwards at the waist and with his knees also slightly bent, it meant that his backside was sticking out a bit, whilst the calf muscles down the backs of his lower legs were bulging as he tensed himself further.

His feet were planted side by side, just a short distance apart on the coach floor and as the moment approached, he wiggled his bum slightly as if to get himself into position for what was undoubtedly about to take place, all the time grinding his thighs together in a constant back and forth motion.

The sweaty palms of his hands were clammy and although he knew fully where he was, the thumping sensation in his head, the ringing sound in his ears and the glistening moisture filling his eyes meant that he could hardly comprehend what was going on in the immediate vicinity.

His body was trembling all over and both of the toes of his white socks were curling frantically.

Suddenly, Mr Dawson experienced an almost indescribable sensation all around his midriff. It was as if every muscle, tendon, sinew and organ fell perfectly still for a couple of split seconds – there was no pain, no stabbing tingles, no raging spasms and no desire to strain to keep control.
In those few seconds, he felt calm and serene and almost light-headed.

But only for that second or two…

… the next thing he was aware of was incredible warmth around his balls – and then the hot sensation surging up the crack of his bum.

The stream of scorching hot pee running down his left thigh was gentile at first, weaving its way haphazardly through the hairs before trickling all the way down his leg to the top of his sock, but the start of the flow down his other leg was stronger and more rapid, quickly becoming a stream which widened to several inches as it cascaded down his thigh and began to dribble from his knee onto the floor.

The sensation of hot urine pouring down his legs, spreading through the crotch of his pants, and forcing its way around his bum cheeks, was as intense as it was horrifyingly pleasurable.

The relief! Oh, the relief!

To finally let go, albeit involuntarily, and give in to the struggle that his internal organs had been experiencing, was beyond orgasmic.

His body was shaking more than ever, almost violently, as he urinated uncontrollably in absolute torrents. His quivering legs could hardly support him and even his head was trembling as his face turned from a picture of contorted agony to one of unbridled relaxation.

His eyes were half-closed although his mouth remained slightly open, and he was unwittingly emitting little moans and whimpers as if he was reaching the climax of orgasm.

The rivers of amber liquid streaming and cascading down his legs became more fierce as they merged into a glistening film across his thighs whilst in addition to the torrents running down his legs, a continuous jet was firing through the crotch of his white shorts and splattering onto the floor around his socked feet which were now completely still.

The forming puddle was encompassing the little droplets and splashes which had initially marked the floor and as his socks became surrounded by the pool, there was steam rising up from his feet.

Mr Dawson was barely aware of anything other than the hot pee gushing into his pants and all down his legs, accompanied by the magnificent easing of his discomfort as he gloriously relieved himself…

In the immediate aisle alongside, Mr Fraser was staring down at his young colleague’s legs, watching in stunned disbelief as they were engulfed by the cascading urine, streaming down them in rivers.

Chris was just behind Mr Fraser and his stare was fixated on Mr Dawson’ face, which portrayed both anguished panic and a sense of orgasmic relief, although all the colour had drained from his cheeks and there was a redness surrounding his neck. There was no sound and no more frantic movements, just the sight of the young PE teacher standing motionless as his bladder was emptying itself.

Miss Wippleton could see none of the activity taking place below the back of the seat and she was only aware that Mr Dawson was standing up and had his hands clasping the headrest of the chair in front, but she knew full well what was happening. A relatively new teacher herself, she had always maintained her professionalism in the job and made sure that as little as possible distracted her from her teaching responsibilities, but she fully understood why Mr Dawson was viewed as a ‘bit of a heart-throb’ by the female students and in truth, she had tried not to spend too much time looking in his direction when he paraded around the corridors in his shorts and bare legs. Best not to allow herself to be open to temptation, she had told herself.

But here she was now, watching the handsome school heart-throb wetting his pants like a racehorse, in front of everyone!


To the front and back of the seat where the horrifically embarrassing incident was taking place, the students could see no more than the three teachers standing closely together, and it was apparent that something major was happening. Those who had seen Mr Dawson’s antics when he had headed to towards the front had realised that he was the centre of attention in the incident, but the others who had seen the little trickles and drips out of his shorts not only knew full well what was happening, but they were quickly and excitedly conveying the graphic description to all their mates.

“Dawson is pissing himself!”

“Honestly, he’s seriously weeing himself!”

“I think he ran up to the driver and asked him to make a stop, then as he was going back to his seat, he was doing it in his pants! You could see it running down his legs!”

“He has! He definitely has! Mr Dawson has wet himself!”

“He’s standing there going to the toilet! He must be!”

“Dawson is having a wee-wee in his shorts!”

Remarkably, there were still several rows of students right at the front of the coach who hadn’t quite realised what was happening, and despite Mrs Morrison’s promptings, a few of them were trying to stand up to see what was taking place further back.

Suddenly, a lad called Howard, who was not known for his tact or diplomacy, yelled in a typically loud voice, “Someone’s wet themselves!”

And as more students rose from their seats to see whether they could see any evidence of the startling discovery for themselves, it quickly became apparent what had led to that absolutely correct assessment by loud-mouthed Howard…

… as what had caught his eye was a stream of liquid snaking across the floor in the aisle of the coach next to where the teachers were standing, with it’s rapid and mazy progress being watched by dozens of pairs of astounded eyes!

Mr Fraser and Chris also had their eyes fixated on the trickling stream wending its way across the floor towards the seats on the other side of the
coach and as the little river gathered pace, the two girls sitting opposite, who had questioned Mr Dawson about his lack of trousers, let out a simultaneous, sharp shriek as they lifted up their feet to avoid the urine touching their shoes.

“Eeww! He’s weeing his pants!”


Back in front of his seat, Mr Dawson was still standing motionless, peeing furiously, with the torrent firing directly through his saturated underpants and his flimsy shorts before weaving its way down both legs and initially splattering onto the floor between his feet, in small pools and little droplets, before spreading out into a puddle all around his socks.

If his facial expression and what was happening around his crotch and down his upper legs were not bad enough to witness, the spectacle of what was happening around his feet was undeniably worse. The puddle was not growing significantly bigger, but it was starting to steam, with little wisps drifting upwards, and the scorching hot urine was frothing and virtually bubbling around both feet, whilst numerous trickles were escaping and snaking off in different directions.

His white sports socks had been dragged slightly lower around his ankles by the constant shuffling of his feet on the floor, and on the insides of both ankles the socks were a slightly greyish colour as a result of their soaking condition, and from the tops of his feet, his socks were also steaming slightly.

How long the uncontrollable flow lasted for, nobody really knew or was focused enough to hazard a guess, but as the torrential pouring began to ease, Mr Dawson could feel the little dribbles tickling his legs, which were warm and sticky. The rivers had made thin pathways down both of his thighs, and the dark hairs had been parted to leave several shiny streaks leading down to his knees, with much wider areas of wetness all over his shins and the backs of his calves.

Although his bladder was beginning to tense up in readiness to stop the dwindling flow, his body was actually shaking more violently than whilst he had been at the peak of wetting himself, and he could feel his head trembling as he glanced sideways, catching a glimpse of the faces of numerous stunned students who had watched their young PE Teacher astonishingly and spectacularly wet himself!

“You’d better sit down mate!” whispered Chris, realising that, somehow, they had a good half an hour still to go before they reached the bird sanctuary.

Almost as if he didn’t want to be the one to make the formal announcement, Mr Fraser suddenly said quietly to Chris, “You’d better go and tell Mrs Morrison. Oh, and the driver.”

Chris began to make his way along the aisle, but not before stealing a glance back at his colleague, who was gently starting to lower himself into his seat. He also did his best to try and ignore the barrage of questions from some of the students, wondering if he was possibly an easier target for their questions than he would have been if he had been one of the actual teachers.

“Has Mr Dawson actually wet himself?”

“What’s happened? Why has he been in his pants?”

“Was he desperate to go to the toilet?”

“So, he couldn’t wait?”

“No way! He’s seriously done it in his pants?”

“I can’t believe he needed a wee that bad and he’s ended up wetting himself!”

Chris managed to avoid providing any responses or even making eye contact before he reached the front of the coach and Mrs Morrison, who was standing up in her seat awaiting his arrival. She said nothing but waited for Chris to speak.

“He’s done it, Mrs Morrison. I’m afraid Mr Dawson has just wet himself.”

“I see” she replied, without any emotion at all in her voice. “We’ll deal with the situation when we arrive at the sanctuary.” And with that, she sat down in her seat.

Chris stepped forward and bent down to speak with the coach driver.

“Don’t worry about pulling over mate, it’s too late. We’ve had an accident on here, unfortunately.”

“Oh No! He hasn’t tiddled himself, has he?”

“Yeah, he’s just done it!”

“In his trousers?”

“Yes, well, in his shorts. He just couldn’t wait any longer.”

“And he’s one of you lot, a teacher. I’ve seen everything now! I’ll have to tell my boss and see what he wants me to do about cleaning the mess up.”


Back in his seat, Mr Dawson was sitting in his chair, and now quivering rather than trembling. It might have even been more of a shiver, because his pants were cold and clinging to his backside. With every jolt of the coach, he could feel the icy discomfort between his legs and underneath the back of his thighs. The wetness down his legs was clammy and stickier than ever and the slightest movement of his feet disturbed the still puddle which was soaking into the soles of his socks and making them feel sodden and heavy.

‘Oh My God! I’ve wet myself!’

‘I’ve actually done it in my pants!’

The full realisation of what he had done was reverberating through his head, and with his heart pounding and his chest thumping, he was trying to comprehend the enormity of his accident and the repercussions. They were almost too horrific to even contemplate and now was not the time. He had to try and calm himself so that he could deal with the next few minutes, let alone the next few hours and days to follow.

[Sam70]

Your descriptions of the stages of desperation are so realistic. Magnificent dialogue! You could not have written this any better than you did. A real masterpiece!

[briefs]

This is a fantastic account of sheer distress and desperation.

Your descriptions of Dawson are brilliant, and I love the fact you described how he felt, and also that he was wearing tight white briefs (not that he'd have cared).

I've been in a very similar situation to him, on a minibus ride which got caught in traffic, and funnily enough, I was also wearing white briefs.

I honestly feel his pain, as I'm sure many here do too. It's not fun.

[Lee]

Thanks. Appreciate the comments.