A bad day for PC Bennett

A BAD DAY FOR PC BENNETT

It was a cold spring morning when Craig Bennett looked out of the window of his parent’s kitchen, having finished the hot tea that his mum had made for him. Although it was officially a rest day for him, the last before he started four days of nights, he wasn’t overly bothered about having to go to court.

He glanced at the file on the table and felt confident that he had collected all that he needed for the trial. He was the only police witness with two civilians to support his evidence. He glanced down; his white shirt had been neatly pressed with his open collar ready for his black clip-on tie which was upstairs with his jacket. He brushed a few specks from his uniform trousers and curled his bare toes on the lino floor before heading up the stairs to his room where his black lace-up shoes were sitting side-by-side on the floor next to his bed. He sat down on the bed and opened his sock and pants drawer.
“Haven’t I got any clean black socks?” he called out.
“I don’t know” his mum replied, “You’ve got whatever’s in your drawer.”

Craig cursed to himself under his breath. He knew it was his responsibility and no-one else’s but when he was preparing for normal shifts he always had a quick check the day before but he had omitted to do so last night. ‘Oh well’, he thought, “it’s only the magistrates’ court. Once it’s over I’m back home again so no-one’s going to see what I’m wearing. He pulled out a pair of light fawn ribbed cotton socks and smiled to himself as he saw that they had been neatly ironed by his mum!

He pulled the loose-fitting beige-coloured socks on and wriggled his feet into his shoes. Ten minutes later he was heading down the path, his navy blue zip-up jacket over his shirt and his police uniform jacket over his arm as he headed towards the bus stop. The 220 bus would take him directly to Epsom Magistrates court and as it was a rest-day appearance he could make a phone call to the nick at Epsom Green to report on. He stood at the bus stop, zipping up his jacket and gently pinched the front of the thigh of his uniform trousers and lifted the material slightly to see his flesh-coloured sock between the cuff of his trousers and his shoe. ‘It looks like I haven’t got any socks on!!’ he thought to himself. For a brief moment he wondered whether he should nip back home and try and find some more suitable socks but he quickly dismissed that thought; although, the twinge from his bladder almost made him think twice.

‘It’s okay’ he mused, ‘I can use the loo at the court’ even though the prospect made him cringe a bit. The public toilet was rank and most coppers tried to avoid using it. A further ten minutes later he was on the bus, glancing at his watch and wishing he had given himself more time and also mentally noting that he was definitely going to have to use that awful public loo. The bus eventually pulled up in the High Street and Craig looked at his watch – 09:52.

‘Damn, that’s hardly given me any time to sort myself out and speak to the witnesses’ he thought to himself ‘let alone use the toilet!’. As he strode briskly down the street his bladder was sending out warning signals; he really was dying for a pee and he glanced down at his shoes as he walked, conscious that his less-than-sensible choice of socks was going to come back to haunt him, especially if that awkward court sergeant was around and spotted them. As he walked into the as-ever packed court foyer, he managed to fight his way through the crowds to look on the notice-board to see which courtroom his case was in. Hoping it wasn’t courtroom number two which meant a trek to the other side of the building, his eyes scanned the list of names but he couldn’t see what he was looking for.

After two or three careful looks, all the while being jostled by noisy court users, he made his way to the lady court usher, with his stomach churning somewhat about the time he was losing. If only he’d caught that earlier bus! He waited until she was free, all the while tapping his feet urgently on the floor and wondering whether to go and see his witnesses first – or make his way to the toilet. Ludicrously, for such a busy building it was only a single facility and his tummy flipped a bit as he wondered if there might be a queue – that would be all he’d need! “Sorry,” the lady usher suddenly spoke to him, “there’s no-one of that name on the list today”. PC Bennett looked horrified, ‘there had to be, it was definitely today.’ “Erm”, he fumbled with the file to show her the date written boldly in black pen on the front, “Look, Tuesday 26th April” he told her. “Well, there’s nothing here, you’ll have to go and ask at the listing office. No-one else has asked about it.”

Somewhat puzzled and now a bit panicky, Craig headed down to the listing office. He liked the court staff in there, they were nice people and they’d sort out what had happened. He arrived in the small listing room by now bursting for a wee! Unfortunately the listing officer wasn’t there but one of the girls who worked with him looked in the diary and responded in a way that almost caused PC Bennett’s bladder to betray him. “It’s not here officer, it’s being heard at Ewell Court. I’ll ring and check whether the others involved have turned up there.”

As the young Australian girl made the phone call, Craig stood there with his heart thumping, unsure whether to make a dash to the loo whilst waiting or to stay put but within seconds, the girl put the phone down and gave him the worst possible news. “Yes, it’s definitely at Ewell, it’s the trial in court three over there. The prosecuting solicitor, the defendant and his witness are all there and your two civilian witnesses are there too. Everyone’s waiting for you to arrive. The magistrates are waiting too.”

“Oh God” mumbled PC Bennett, feeling his cheeks burning, “I’m going to have to go by bus!” “Quickly” the Aussie girl said, getting up and opening the side door into the alleyway leading to the street, “Go out this way and you can hurry to the bus stop. It’s going to take you a while if you’re not going by car. I’d better ring back and tell them you’ll be about half an hour at least.” and with that she almost ushered him out of the side door. Before he knew it, Craig Bennett was standing in the exit to the street, now in a state of real panic and also absolutely dying to go for a pee. Over at Ewell Court, Sergeant Phil Banton was furiously heading back from courtroom three where he had delivered the bad news that although everyone was ready to start the trial, including the three lay justices the police officer was not there because he had gone to the wrong place! What an embarrassment to the Met! That young officer would get the full force of Sgt Banton’s wrath when he did arrive.

On the 220 bus, Craig Bennett was sitting downstairs towards the back, his police jacket draped over his lap, which was just as well because it meant he could discreetly wedge his hand between his legs when the need arose and give himself a little squeeze to aid his predicament – and the need was arising with a worryingly increasing regularity. He had seriously thought about getting the bus back to his house and collecting his car but that might have taken even longer and he just had to get to Ewell as quickly as he could. He had been to court numerous times and never had a really bad experience but this was falling into that category almost before the day had started. He dreaded the response he was going to get from the magistrates for being so late. Little did he know the reputation of the court sergeant, though!

As the bus hit heavy traffic, Craig was almost starting to sweat with the anxiety of it all, and more so with the discomfort in his tummy. He had a taut feeling all round his waist and belly and he was constantly jigging his legs around – displaying those blasted fawn socks, but they were the least of his concerns. He was actually starting to wonder if he could think of anywhere that he could get off and go to the toilet even though he knew he daren’t. But it was becoming a real possibility that he might not last out as he tried to calm himself down and think logically.

As the bus pulled into Ewell High Street, Craig glanced up at the clock on the Town Hall and saw it displaying 10:43. He was three quarters of an hour late!! He stood up and desperately wanted to clasp his hand around his throbbing groin tool for fear that if he didn’t, he might actually and unthinkably wee a bit into his underwear, but he managed to resist the temptation. With the small courthouse about two hundred yards in the distance, PC Bennett began to try and hurry, almost trot along the road. He felt as if he wanted to replace his windcheater with his police jacket as he moved but his condition meant that he wanted to keep his body as stiff and taut as possible. He fumbled to make sure that his tie was clipped on properly and he hoisted up his uniform trousers, cringing slightly as his apparent sockless ankles were exposed to all and sundry.

He knew that he wanted to pull up his sagging socks too but as he glanced in front of him his heart sank as he saw Sgt Phil Banton standing on the front steps, with a face like thunder and pointing menacingly at his watch. On the approach to the front entrance, PC Bennett’s bladder felt like a football in his belly and every step gave it a jolt that it neither needed nor wanted.

“Where the bloody hell have you been, lad?” Sergeant Banton growled with menace,
“My magistrates have had to sit and wait for you”.
“I’m sorry Sarge, I went to Epsom Court,” Craig stammered, red-faced and awkwardly. With that, Sgt Banton snatched the uniform jacket out of Craig’s hands and almost bellowed at him,
“Get this on now – and smarten yourself up. At least let my magistrates know you’ve made some effort. Come on, give me that coat.”

Craig fumbled and removed his windcheater before quickly putting on his police jacket over his crisp white shirt – the extra strain causing his bloated bladder to feel even more like it was about to empty itself. With his jacket on and his tie straightened by the combined effort of himself and the skipper, the two of them began to enter the foyer, PC Bennett trailing behind his marching Sergeant who was clasping the young officer’s windcheater.

“Sarge … err, Sarge …” Craig’s semi-whispered response seemingly fell on deaf ears as they made their way through the waiting throng of court users. “Sarge”
“What lad, what…what now” snapped back an irate Sergeant Banton. Somewhat sheepishly, but with a panicky tone to his voice, PC Bennett asked,
“Where’s the toilet please, Sarge?”
“The toilet, the toilet!” snarled the skipper, “you don’t think you’ve got time for a toilet stop, do you? That’s the last thing you’ve got to worry about lad, my magistrates are not going to be kept waiting a minute longer for you to go for a sodding wee.” A couple of young blokes waiting to go into court overheard and sniggered but Craig’s own embarrassment was overcome by his now-more-then-pressing need.
“But Sarge, I’m bursting to go, I can’t go into court like this, I’ll never be able to last out.” Sergeant Banton stopped in his tracks and glared and the young constable,
“That’s your sodding problem, my son – and what the blazes have you got on your feet?” They both glanced down and the sergeant stretched out his hand and pinched the thigh of Craig’s left trouser-leg, lifting the material so that Craig’s fawn sock was displayed right up to above his ankle.
“Why haven’t you got black socks on?”
“I couldn’t find any,” Craig mumbled, leaving a fuming Sergeant Banton muttering under his breath.
“I desperately need the toilet, Sarge” pleaded PC Bennett.

“Tough” came back the response, “get into that courtroom” and with that, the courtroom door opened and Craig Bennett found himself almost propelled through the door and into the small court, smelling of fresh polish and occupied by the court clerk and female court usher only.
“At last” said the clerk, looking up over his glasses, “I’ll get the magistrates in. Usher, can you call the defendant and the prosecutor”

As they both got up and moved, Craig was in a panic. His bladder was screaming for relief and he desperately wanted to cross his legs or give his twitching organ a squeeze. He knew that he was never going to be able to survive whilst he gave his evidence – and he hadn’t even got himself prepared for that. What a nightmare!

‘I’m not going to be able to wait’, he told himself, making his pounding heart thump even more with such a statement. The clerk peered round the door, checking that all was finally ready before bringing the magistrates into court and the defendant appeared through the public door accompanied by the usher who lead him to his seat in the courtroom.
“Are you all set, officer?” the usher asked Craig.
“I’m dying to go to the toilet” PC Bennett replied, almost before he knew what he’d blurted out. The usher stared at him with surprise and Craig gingerly touched his crotch as he felt certain that a little spurt of warm pee had seeped into his white cotton y-front underpants.

“All Rise” called the usher and as PC Craig Bennett turned to face the bench, he was left in no doubt as a longer spurt of scorching hot wee wetted the fresh cotton of his pants.
“Oh God” Craig mumbled to himself, desperate to clutch the crotch of his uniform trousers, both in desperation and simply to feel whether there was any sign of wetness, as the magistrates took their seats and said their good mornings to everyone. As Craig stood there, trembling with tension and sheer panic, the chairman of the bench addressed him,
“Officer, we understand that you went to the wrong court. That’s very unfortunate and the bench doesn’t like to be kept waiting, but you’re here now so let’s proceed immediately, shall we?” Never could there have been less of an opportunity to blurt out, “Actually Your Worship, I’m dying to go to the toilet, can I be excused”!! The initial formalities seemed to fly by, with the young defendant less than respectful in his demeanour and the young police constable standing with his legs taut and trembling and an ache in his belly that was rapidly turning into a constant and stabbing pain, almost forcing him to bend slightly forwards to ease the growing discomfort.

Craig’s white underpants were brand new, he ridiculously remembered getting them out of the packet and even more stupidly he found himself nonsensically wondering if their newness might make them a bit more absorbent if he were to wet them slightly! However, wetting his pants ‘slightly’ was becoming less and less likely. His need to wee was such that, although he daren’t even think in such a way, a fully-blown ‘slash’ into his underpants was a more and more probable outcome. As PC Bennett began to recount the facts from his notebook, he had one hand gripping the crotch of his thick trousers, kneading the palm of his hand against his manhood and he was almost unable to stand still without grinding his thighs tightly, leaving him standing with his knees pressed together. If anyone had been able to see behind the witness box they would have seen the young police constable standing with one foot on top of the other, his upper shoe continuously boring and grinding into the other shoe. He wanted to desperately to extract his foot from his shoe and rub it up and down the back of his calf – his beige socks were no longer in the forefront of his mind – and he could feel his loose-fitting sock sagging and slightly uncomfortable inside his police shoe. As Craig Bennett reached the last sentence of his initial evidence – and the defendant yawned in apparent boredom – Craig strengthened his grip on his twitching tool to titanic proportions, as a long stream of scorching hot urine seeped into his underpants and horrifically trickled down the inside of his left thigh.

“Oh My God, this can’t be happening, not here, please no!” “Please, please don’t let the defendant have any questions. If he doesn’t ask anything, that will be the close of my bit of the prosecution case – and I can ask to go to the toilet. I’ve got to ask, I’ve got to – otherwise I’m going to go in my pants standing here. Please, don’t let him ask anything!” Craig almost had his request in his throat, ready to blurt out that he was practically wetting himself, if he had to say, so-be-it – anything, but he simply had to get out of the courtroom…

“Yeah officer, I’ve got quite a few things to ask you about…” smirked the defendant, almost as if he knew exactly what was happening inside PC Bennett’s trousers!”

“So officer, when you said that you saw me …” …the words almost drifted away inside Craig’s ringing ears; with his eyes watering and beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the defendant’s question lost its focus totally amidst the trauma of what was happening in the witness box. PC Bennett had his right leg bent at the knee and lifted so far from the carpeted floor that his shoe was almost a full six inches off the ground. It was his last futile attempt to try and prevent himself urinating uncontrollably. It wasn’t working.

Almost scalding his inner thigh, hot urine was gushing through the soft cotton of his white y-fronts, spreading all across the top of his groin and streaming down his leg whilst being absorbed into the thick material of his police uniform trousers. His rapidly escaping pee, which had been leaving his twitching organ in spurts was now releasing itself in a long stream, easing his agonising tummy ache and almost orgasmic as the young policeman wee’d in a way he hadn’t done before – uncontrollably – with a torrent of hot piss jetting into his pants and running down both of his legs, trickling right through his trousers and streaming onto the floor, whilst dripping out of the bottom of his trouser-legs, dribbling down over his socks and into his shoes and making a puddle which was steaming on the carpet all round PC Craig Bennett’s warm shoes. Standing in the witness box, a sight surely never seen before – a policeman wetting himself!!

PC Bennett was conscious that he had closed his eyes momentarily, the all-consuming relief temporarily engulfing his whole body as his ridiculously over-worked bladder muscles completely gave up the struggle and continued to release a jet of urine which poured down his legs with such ferocity that he only really felt the intense warmth from his knees downwards, tickling his shins, dribbling past his ankles and streaming underneath the soles of each of his feet.

“Erm, PC Bennett … Officer…” Craig opened his eyes wide and almost stared towards the source of the voice. The court clerk was looking at him in a bemused manner, wondering why the young constable was leaning a bit to one side, slightly hunched forwards and appeared to be breathing heavily. The magistrates were also aware that something was amiss but from where he was standing, the young defendant was sure he’d heard a sort of gentle pattering noise and his curiosity caused him to step to his left to see what was going on. As he craned his neck to look even further, he could just see the back of the side of the small witness stand – and he saw the officer’s lower trouser-leg, his black shoe raised from the floor, a light-coloured sock … and a darkening stain on the courtroom carpet! “I think he’s weeing himself!” he blurted out, surprising even himself with the statement.

At that moment, the court usher recalled the comment that the officer had made just before the magistrates came into the courtroom and she stood up and moved to the back of the room, right behind the witness-box. Scarcely able to believe her eyes she could see the young police constable standing with his legs now slightly apart – and streams of liquid running out right down the length of his uniform trouser legs onto the floor, where it was puddling around his shoes. She stared momentarily and then walked up to the court clerk’s desk and in a voice audible enough to be heard by everyone else in the small courtroom, she simply said,

“The officer’s going to the toilet in his trousers, he’s wetting himself.” The clerk frowned in astonishment and the magistrates, having clearly heard the comment, whispered briefly amongst themselves and, with discretion their only option, announced that they would retire and they all got up and hurried from the courtroom. In the witness box, PC Bennett was coming uncontrollably to the end of his marathon piss. The torrent into his pants was subsiding and the flow down his legs was dwindling to a stream, trickling all down the backs of his calves having already saturated his shins. On the carpeted floor, the dark stain was huge and glistening as the pee seeped into the woven fabric forming an irregular shaped puddle.

“Get the sergeant”, the clerk had instructed the usher and almost before he could come to terms with the cold, soggy and clammy stickiness of his trousers down his legs, Craig was confronted by Sergeant Banton, standing immediately in front of him, breathing furiously almost like a dragon about to emit flames of fury from his nostrils.
“What the bloody hell… What have you done?” PC Bennett swallowed visibly before he spoke,
“I’ve had an accident in my pants, Sarge”.
“In your pants!” mouthed back Sergeant Banton, “IN YOUR PANTS?”
“In my trousers, Sarge. I’ve done it in my trousers.” The defendant, who had been watching the whole thing in amazement, burst into laughter and had the sergeant yelling,
“Get him out of here!” as the court usher carefully manoeuvred the defendant to the door and out into the corridor.

“I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe this! Never in my whole career have I had an officer embarrass himself like this, never! What on earth have you done? How could you? In my courtroom too, in front of my magistrates! You wet yourself!” PC Bennett could only look down at his shoes, staring at his shame and abject embarrassment. Half an hour later, with the court proceedings having been abandoned for the day and even the defendant accepting the postponement in the knowledge that he had a story to dine out with his mates, at the pub for days and months to follow, PC Craig Bennett was still in the police changing room.

He had attempted to clean himself up as best as possible but his efforts had proved pretty futile and he remained almost as saturated as he’d made himself in the courtroom. He had taken off his underpants, rinsed them out, wrung them out and they were now lying damply on the wooden bench next to him. He had put his trousers back on and the cold, sticky, heavy sensation all down his legs was as unpleasant as it could have been. He had one foot raised up onto the bench and was lacing up his shoe as the door opened and Sergeant Banton walked in. He said nothing but walked over to Craig, put his hand gently on the young constable’s back and simply said,

“I’m sorry lad. I shouldn’t have stopped you using the toilet. I didn’t really appreciate that you had to go so badly. I wouldn’t have wanted that to happen and I apologise.” Craig almost felt his eyes welling up and just nodded in acknowledgement. He’d already been the victim of some well-meant and good-humoured banter from a couple of officers who had been tasked with transporting him back to his home and had popped in to the changing room to check on him.
“Do a big wee-wee then, did you?”
“According to Sarge, you did it IN YOUR PANTS!” (cue riotous laughter)
“Or was it an accident in your trousers? Oh, how polite!”
“Who’s gone and wetted himself, then?”

Craig had smiled and knew this was just a taster of what he faced from his own colleagues in the coming weeks and months, maybe even longer. As he gathered up his underpants in one hand, rolling up the sodden pair and clenching them in one hand leaving just glimpses of the white cotton still visible, he tightened up the shoe-lace he had just finished tying and before he could lower his foot from the wood bench, Sergeant Banton looked down at Craig’s black shoe and fawn sock, sighed, tutted and said, “It really isn’t your day, is it son?”

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Responses

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  2. You set the scene really well and there is some great description of desperation.
    I used to be a reporter who covered the courts but unlike police officers or witnesses I often had to sit and hear the hole case in case I missed anything important.
    Many is the time I was forced to sit there close to having an accident and on at least one occasion I had wet trousers after hurrying to the toilets.
    The only saving grace was that magistrates were often elderly men and they would often halt things "on a point of law" when they really needed a wee!

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