Sitting in the car, at first Lucy found her Mum’s predicament absolutely hilarious, and barely stifled a giggle as she first squeezed her legs together and dashed from the car, although seeing her struggle to waddle to the toilet, and noticing the anxious, worried expression on her face she soon began to feel real concern and compassion. She could see just how close her Mum was to having a very pubic, very humiliating accident, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine how something like that happening would feel to an adult…a teacher at that, and not only in front of all of these strangers, but her own daughter too.
Lesley winced with every hobbled step, never having felt so much discomfort in her life. She was so very close to losing the little control she had over her bladder muscles, and knew that unless she was sat on a toilet in the next 20 seconds, she would be left standing, humiliated, in a puddle of her own making. Reaching the electronic sliding doors, she was horrified when they did not open as she approached. Looking around frantically, she spotted a release button which had to be pressed, presumably a security measure, but nothing more than a hindrance to poor Lesley, wasting valuable seconds which she didn’t have to spare, not if she was to make it out of this mess and home with some dignity remaining.
Triggering the release, Lesley allowed the doors to open barely a foot, just enough for her to slide in sideways, before charging at them, her mind spinning as her bladder contracted and the threat to her reputation grew ever greater. Once inside the shop, she scanned the walls for any sign of a bathroom, frowning, and then blushing profusely as she approached the cashier, both hands firmly wedged between her legs, with any vestiges of decorum long gone.
“T..Toillet, please. Where’s the t….toillet?”
“Ah, sorry Madam, it’s just on the other side of the building. Pop back outside, and turn to your left. It’s the next door along, and it should be unlocked.”
Ordinarily Lesley would have made a point of thanking him for his assistance, and she’d usually have bought something, even if just a chocolate bar, as a thank you and payment for use of the facilities. Today, however, she could barely manage a grunt as she turned on her heel and walked painfully back outside, hoping the fact she hadn’t left a puddle for him to mop up was payment enough.
Seeing her Mum returning so quickly, Lucy’s heart sank. She felt sure this could only mean that she hadn’t made it in time, and was dreading the awkwardness that was sure to follow. Her Mum was great at helping her deal with her own shame and embarrassment, but on the very rare occasion she’d seen her face her own humiliation, she knew this wasn’t something that Lesley could cope with easily.
Rather than heading back to the car, however, Lesley turned along the building and headed for another door. Lucy surveyed her clothes, and could see no sign of wetness, although she was wearing a long, flowing summery dress therefore she knew from personal experience that an accident may not be clearly visible. It was the hobbling, staggered walk which gave away the fact that the battle was not yet lost, that and the anguished yelps which Lisa let out every few steps, steadying herself against the wall with one hand as she clung on with the other, determined to make it to the toilet and not to lose control with so many people around.
Reaching the door, Lesley froze in place as she felt a spurt escape her, clamping down all the harder, and gingerly feeling her clothing for dampness. Not detecting any, and remembering from being a child herself that holding her clothes against her was a way of leaving a visible stain if she did leak any more, she quickly hiked up the front of her dress, and adjusted her grip so that she was holding directly through her now soggy underwear, hoping against hope that nobody behind her could see the spectacle that she had become.
Once safely inside the bathroom, with a steady trickle now flowing into her pants and no way to stop it, Lesley slammed the stall door closed and threw herself upon the porcelain toilet, dress held aloft and not even bothering to lower her underpants, accepting that the damage there was done, and just grateful that she’d avoided leaving a puddle or getting her dress wet, which would have been impossible to hide from Lucy.
As she sat and emptied her bladder through her undies, Lesley’s thoughts travelled back to the last time she’d suffered such misfortune. It had, fortunately, been a long time ago – in fact, she’d been barely older than Lucy was now, probably aged about 12 and in her first year at secondary school. She remembered all too clearly and painfully how she’d asked to use the toilet at school, and had been denied, told to wait the 20 minutes until class was over. She succeeded, but then in a similar fashion began to lose control on her sprinted run to the toilets at the end of the lesson. Unfortunately, not yet having the benefit of experience in such situations, she hadn’t known not to grab at herself through her clothing, other than it not being seen as ladylike, and at that very moment she had thought it far more dignified to hold herself though her dress than to wet herself though it. The end result had been the same then, too, and she’s found herself sat on the toilet in the girls bathroom with her dress held up and her school knickers still in place, weeing strongly through them. The only difference being that she had glanced down, the front of her grey school pinafore had been clearly soaked, leaving no way of hiding the fact that she’d had an accident. At 12 years old, and in her first weeks at senior school, she’d been faced with that awful walk of shame to the school office, having to admit that she’d wet herself, something which haunted her until she finally left school, and which even to that day played on her mind in situations where she felt out of control.
Her minding retiring to the present time, Lesley hurriedly inspected her dress, and was relieved to find no damp patches. Removing her undies, she rang them out over the toilet, visibly cringing at the substantial amount of liquid which fell into the bowl, and then wrapped them in toilet paper. Having cleaned herself up the best she could with limited resources, and dropped her dress to cover her modesty – accepting that she’d have to travel home ‘commando’ and hoping her dress covered her up well enough – she reached for her handbag to secrete the soggy bundle, only to realise that in her hurry she’d left it in the car.
Shamefaced, she hung her head and walked back to the car, doing her best to hide the bundle of tissue paper and wet fabric which she carried, intent on shoving it into the glove compartment or door pocket before Lucy noticed, She couldn’t quite believe that aged 38, a fully qualified teacher with two children of her own, she’d just wet her pants for the first time in about 26 years.
“Did you make it in time Mum?” Lucy asked, concerned.
“Let’s just get home, shall we love.” Lesley answered, subdued, as she shoved the pants into her glovebox. “I don’t know about you, but Im really hot and sticky, and could really use a shower before we head over to Graham’s.”1
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