Mishap in the car

“Right, Ferrybridge services three miles!” said Andrew in the back who had been staring hard out of the car window for the last fifteen minutes. There at last was the familiar blue sign announcing imminent motorway services for which he had desperately been looking out for so long. “You ARE stopping, aren’t you Gary?”

Barry, seated next to Andrew in the back snorted with amusement. “He can’t sit still anymore! Ha ha ha!! He’s almost weeing himself! Don’t wet yourself, Andrew! Ha ha ha!!”

Andrew had by now stopped making any secret of his desperate need of a pee, Barry’s immature amusement at his plight notwithstanding. The four lads had been on the road now for about two and a half hours since leaving the Lake District where they had spent a week’s walking holiday, and now Andrew was indeed unable to sit still in the back of the car, knocking his legs back and forth and grabbing the crotch of his light blue faded jeans with both hands. Up until this point he had been looking out of the window and straining to see how far they still had to go before the stop he so desperately needed. Now at last here was the indication that it would be a matter of minutes.

“Stop worrying, Andrew,” replied Gary. “Of course I’m stopping! It’s where we were planning to stop, after all.”

“He’s wetting himself, you know! He’s not going to make it! Ha ha!!” Barry was engrossed in the spectacle of Andrew’s wriggling and squirming which had suddenly escalated to extreme proportions in just the last five minutes, despite the fact that it was a mere ten minutes ago that Andrew had told them that he was “bursting for a piss”.

Dennis, who had a map on his lap and was seated in the passenger seat next to Gary who was driving, turned round to look at Andrew. “Why on earth didn’t you say before if you were this desperate? We could have stopped in Keighley or Bradford.”

Andrew made no reply to Dennis but merely continued to stare out of the side window, all the while banging his knees together and willing himself to hang on for the final three minutes before they would stop for relief. There was no point in trying to explain to Dennis how, when they were just two hours into their journey and were approaching Bradford, he had noticed some public toilets ahead and wondered whether he should pipe up and say that he could do with a pee. He had decided against that because they had all planned to stop at Ferrybridge for a bite to eat which should be a mere half an hour away, and no-one else seemed to want to stop any sooner than that. His bladder had at that stage merely been a bit uncomfortable. Half an hour could be coped with, and he was unwilling to come across as a wimp by making them all stop just for him.

But half an hour had turned out to be a gross underestimate. The four of them had then been caught up in huge traffic delays on the Bradford bypass during the evening rush hour. As Andrew had sat there in the back feeling steadily more uncomfortable and wishing he had asked for a stop before they had reached this urban concrete jungle, he had no longer been taking any part in the conversation and had been constantly scanning for signs to toilets, ready to tap Gary on the shoulder and voice his need the moment he spotted what he was looking for. The slow progress through the traffic jams had been tortuous and he had become increasingly concerned as his constant searching revealed no toilets.

The pangs in Andrew’s bladder had only reached serious proportions, however, by the time they had finally escaped from the urban snarl-up and were back up to speed on the M62 motorway. After some ten to fifteen minutes of motorway travelling during which Andrew had started to feel rather desperate, he had suddenly pressed his legs tightly together, leaned forward and asked the map-reader Dennis how long it would be until their scheduled stop. It was at this stage that he first mentioned to the others that he “could do with a leak” which was by now significantly understating the urgent pangs he was getting.

“It’s just down by Pontefract,” Dennis had replied. “Quick jaunt down this motorway and we’re there. It’s right by the junction where we turn off onto the A1. Ten minutes, maybe.”

Andrew had held on for another ten minutes, pressing his hands into his groin now and then and ignoring Barry next to him when he asked Andrew “are you wetting yourself or are you just playing with it?”, and then, with still no signs of any service station, he had leaned forward again, speaking to either Gary or Dennis: “I’m actually really bursting for a piss. Aren’t these services coming up about now?”

Dennis had replied that they still needed to pass by the Pontefract-Castleford exit which would be coming up shortly, then it would be at the next junction after that. “Few minutes to go, Andrew. Hang in there,” he had added. Barry had remarked “Squeeze it tight, Andrew, don’t let the piss seep out, don’t wet your jeans, ha ha ha!!”. And Andrew had sighed, knocked his legs back and forth once again as he held on, all the time scanning the side of the road for the first indication of the desperately needed Ferrybridge service area.

And now, at last, here was the sign which he had been looking for. Three more miles! Andrew ignored both Barry’s hilarity when he double-checked with Gary that he really was going to stop there and Dennis’ question about why he had not said anything earlier when there might have been a chance to stop. His heart was racing, his mouth was dry, and what had until a few minutes before had been a steady aching in his bladder was now a painful throbbing which extended right the way downwards to where he was clasping his hands and holding himself. The thought entered Andrew’s mind as he continued to hold on, sweating and shifting around on the seat, that he would just have to pee on the ground outside as soon as Gary had stopped the car because there would be no way he could get inside the building and make it to the toilets in time. It was dark after all by now, he would turn towards the car to shield himself from any members of the public who might see him, and he would just let it all go there and then. Andrew felt certain in his mind that if he tried to get into the service area toilets he would just do it in his pants on the way. No, he needed to let it out the moment he could get out of this car.

As Andrew plucked again at his crotch, pressed his legs tightly together, and ignored another hoot of laughter from the lad on the back seat next to him, he steeled himself to hold out for the next three minutes and readied himself to jump out and pee on the ground the moment he could. Dennis meanwhile was studying the map again and talking to Gary.

“You need to follow the A1 southbound. It will probably be signposted Doncaster. But the services are at that same junction as far as I can see. It’s a bit unclear on the map.”

“Yeah, I’m taking the lane for Doncaster now,” replied Gary as he glanced at the overhead signs.

“Is this right for the services?” called out Andrew at once from the back. “We are stopping, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we’re stopping,” replied Gary. “Stop going on about it, will you?”

Barry hooted with laughter. “He’s not gonna make it! Ha ha!”

Andrew’s sudden anxiety that they were already in the lane for leaving the M62 but not as yet in sight of the service area turned to outright panic as they joined what was clearly the new main road without encountering the services which had been imminent on the previous road. As he clenched his bladder again and strained to see what was going on, his worst nightmare was confirmed when Dennis drew in a breath of annoyance.

“Oh! Looks like the service area is slightly further along the M62. We’ve missed it. Sorry, guys, this map’s not very clear. Well, we’re on the A1 now. Let me see where the next services are so we can all take a leak.”

Andrew could take no more. “I can’t believe this. I’ve got to piss now! Pull over now, Gary!”

Dennis turned round. “Shut up, Barry,” he said to the other lad who was now laughing uncontrollably as he watched the panicking Andrew. “Can you wait just a bit longer, Andrew?”.

“No, I can’t! Pull over, Gary! NOW!” shouted Andrew.

“Ha ha, he can’t wait!” shouted Barry, continuing to laugh uncontrollably during the next heated exchange.

Gary made no immediate reply. He was busy merging into the stream of traffic heading southbound on the A1 towards Doncaster.

Andrew ignored both the serious-faced Dennis and the uncontrollably giggling Barry who had pressed a button on his mobile phone and was evidently filming Andrew. He addressed Gary using a seriously emphatic tone in what he knew was his last chance to prevent a complete disaster. “STOP! Seriously, I’m about to piss! I’m gonna wee in your car! I’m gonna wee in your car!”

“I can’t!” replied Gary. “There’s no hard shoulder, otherwise I’d pull over!”

Andrew continued in the same tone, enunciating his words slowly and emphatically as a final attempt to force Gary to pull over and let him out. “I can’t hold it in! Seriously I’m gonna piss myself! I’m pissing myself in your car.” Barry’s volume of laughter increased to hysterical proportions. Gary continued to drive, Andrew to berate him. “I’m really going. I’m actually going! I’m actually going in your car. How do you feel about that?”

“Andrew, I’ll stop when I can, but I can’t stop here!”

Andrew, whose pee had started to pump out in sequential scorching spurts into his underpants at the point when he said “I’m actually going”, felt his sphincter give way completely as soon as Gary had uttered this final refusal to stop immediately. He spread his shaking legs wide open and groaned loudly as the hot urine collected in his groin, ran over his fingers where he had been gripping there tightly and cascaded over his crotch and down his legs, soaking through the denim, and dribbling down under his backside. Barry leaned over him to look and confirmed the catastrophe to the guys in the front by squeaking “He’s peeing! He’s weeing himself all over the place!!”, at the same time pointing the filming phone straight at Andrew’s legs. Andrew just groaned again and moved his now wet hands away from his groin in resignation as his bladder gradually emptied itself.

Dennis turned to Gary and spoke to him above the cacophony of hoots and yells which were still emanating from Barry in the back. “He really has wet his pants, Gary. Best find somewhere to stop as soon as you can so we can try to sort him out.” Gary nodded.

Twenty minutes later, at a conveniently quiet parking spot and by which time even Barry had calmed down sufficiently to lend a hand, Andrew’s three friends worked as a team getting towels and spare clothing out of their holiday luggage, and drying off the back seat where Andrew had been sitting as best they could while he got changed. The opportunity for a pee in the shrubbery, whilst too late for Andrew, was also gratefully used by all of Dennis, Gary and Barry.

Before they set off again, Gary made a point of giving Andrew a hug and apologising to him about not being able to stop in time for him, also telling him not to worry about the car seat. And by the time they had stopped for something to eat and the conversation amongst all four friends had returned to the holiday they had enjoyed together, Andrew finally felt that his accident in his pants and on the car seat in front of all of them could be forgotten.

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  1. Another gr8 story Brian-those services at Ferrybridge are easily missed if you don’t know where you are going!

  2. similar thing happened to me while sitting in the car in a chicago traffic jam. i wet my pants behind the wheel in my vintage oldsmobile. i had a pee stain on the fabric for a long time. it was clear to friends what had happened.

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