Off-duty accident

Loraine Bentley dried her hands after finishing the washing-up and stooped to open the door of the washing machine which had just finished its cycle.

Her second and unexpected wash of the day was a small one and she took out a white police shirt, shook it and hung it on a hanger on the back of the door. She reached inside the tub and extracted a pair of men’s white cotton underpants which she raised to her nose, as if to ensure that they smelled thoroughly washed and pulled them into shape before taking out two navy blue sports socks and stretching and flattening them out.

She glanced round, wondering where to put the items to keep them out of sight and she opted to put them in the conservatory, hanging the uniform shirt against the window and draping the pants and socks over a radiator.

As she went to walk out and switch off the light, she noticed the pair of well-worn black police shoes, standing upright against the wall, each one with a wad of newspaper stuffed inside leaving the tan-coloured inners barely visible – and she sighed as she exited the room, daring not to look at the plastic carrier bag which was lying on the floor nearby, its contents unseen but knowingly obvious.

Back in the kitchen, she glanced into the lounge and saw her husband of four years, 27-year old police constable Simon Bentley slumped back on the sofa, wearing a green sweatshirt and a pair of light grey tracksuit bottoms with his white sports-socked feet resting on a footstool. He was gazing towards the TV but appeared to be looking past the screen and almost in a world of his own. The recent meal-time had been uncomfortable and Loraine knew that she was going to have to break the silence soon enough.

She made two cups of tea and walked in, sat down next to her husband and they both sipped the hot drinks without saying a word…

…around 90 minutes earlier, Loraine had been finishing the preparation of the meal when she heard the key in the front door. Simon was slightly later than he normally was when on the day shift but the meal was just about ready.

Several minutes later, Loraine puzzled as to where he was. He always took his shoes off at the door but he seemed to be taking forever. She went to move through the lounge and into the hall when suddenly, the door slowly opened and a somewhat forlorn-looking Simon emerged. He still had his cream-coloured jacket on and his police uniform jacket was lying on the telephone table.

In each hand he was holding one of his shoes, holding the backs of the shoes with the laces dangling downwards and each shoe had a navy blue sports sock draped across the inside.

Loraine looked startled and instinctively reached out and took the shoes from her husband who made no attempt to stop her. Her hand brushed against one of the socks and she could feel its dampness,

“What’s happened? You’ve taken your socks off, why are they wet?”

As Simon bowed his head, Loraine’s gaze was drawn to his trousers and despite the dark material, the shiny glow and the sodden state of the material caused her heart to pound. The sudden waft of an unexpected aroma crept past her nostrils and although Simon’s mumbled response was inaudible, he hardly needed to repeat the phrase although the fact that he did served to confirm Loraine’s awful discovery,

“I’ve wet myself!”

No more words were exchanged at that moment as Loraine stepped into the kitchen, put Simon’s shoes on the floor and went back to take his jacket off him like a mother undressing a little son and with that Simon turned and headed off upstairs and within minutes, the sound of the running shower could be heard.

Loraine tried to comprehend what she had just been told and also the evidence before her own eyes and still puzzling to understand what had happened she headed upstairs and heard the shower water splashing noisily. A few minutes later, the shower stopped running and, somewhat cautiously, Loraine gently pushed the semi-open bathroom door.

Simon was sitting on the edge of the bath with a white towel wrapped around his waist. His head was bowed and he was staring at the floor. Without exchanging comments, Loraine bent down and picked up the white police shirt that was on the floor. It felt warm and soft but the same could not be said for the pair of white cotton underpants that were strewn alongside it. As Loraine picked them up they were heavy and wet and the coldness of the material caused her to wrap the shirt around the pants.

The police uniform trousers were equally as damp and as Loraine held them up she could smell the faint whiff of urine and she quickly folded them up, realising the extent of their saturation as she held the bundle in her arms,

“Erm” Simon mumbled, “the trousers need to be dry-cleaned, not washed.”

“I know” whispered Loraine, adding quietly, “whatever happened, Simon?”

Simon shook his head, “Not now, Loraine, give me a few more minutes, please”.

Loraine nodded, “Okay, but you’re alright aren’t you? I mean, you’re not ill or hurt are you?”

“No, no, no” re-assured Simon, “nothing like that at all, I’m fine. Just give me a bit of space for now.”


The mealtime had been almost too uncomfortable to bear as they ate their meals in near silence, with Simon pushing his food around the plate and breaking into long periods of apparent vagueness, staring into space as if trying to recollect a series of event.


As the couple sat sipping their tea, Simon suddenly turned to Loraine and looked straight at his wife,

“I’m sorry, I just needed to get my head right.”

“It’s okay” she moved closer to him, “as long as you’re okay.”

He nodded and Loraine hesitated for a good few second before she asked,
“Where did it happen? I mean, where did you do it?”

Simon twisted his neck and raised his head, “Outside Primark, right outside, I was stood right outside the store, I did it on the pavement.”

Loraine put her hands to her face, “Oh Simon, I thought it had happened at work, were you on the way home?”

He nodded, “It was awful Loraine, awful, a terrible experience. I can’t believe I did it.”

Loraine sat silently as Simon revealed all.

“You know what I’m like, I never need a wee. All the lads are always saying so. The trouble was that today we were stuck outside that bloody community centre for hours on end. Because of the tensions, we couldn’t go inside and use the toilets and we kept getting plied with coffee, water, orange juice – the lot.

Quite a few of the lads really needed the toilet before the end of the shift and the skipper said we could use the library toilets, which had been opened up for us so almost everyone nipped over there, leaving just a couple of us – including me, iron-bladder, to hold the fort. The thing was, by the time they got back, the van had arrived and the skipper got us all on.

I was busting to go, really busting but I thought we’d only be about 10 minutes getting back to the nick. Anyway, the traffic was terrible and it took us nearly half an hour, I was gagging to go and I really wanted to stop the van somewhere but you know what that young sergeant is like. He’s a real stickler for regulations. If it had been Dave or Nigel, I would have asked but I just decided to hang on until we got back. But then because we were so late, he decided that we’d all be booked off by him and that he’d drop off a few of us who used the tube off at the station.

Four of us got off and I was as desperate as I’ve been for years. I was telling the other lads how bad I had to go and they were having a laugh but you won’t believe this, they haven’t got any toilets at Ickenham station! I was panicking a bit about getting on but what else could I do, the others were egging me on to get on and in the end I thought ‘well, it’s only five stops so I should just about be okay. But I was panicking, though.

It was alright for the others, they all got off at the next stop at Ruislip but just as we got past West Harrow, by which time I was breaking my neck to go, the bloody train ground to a halt and we got held by some signal failure.

I was in agony. I really thought that a couple of times I was going to do it in my trousers, I really did. If I’d have relaxed myself I’d have done it there and then, I know I would.

Anyway, eventually we got going again and crawled into Harrow station and I was on the verge of having an accident. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to go as badly, ever. We got off and there were crowds of us trying to get up the stairs and I was thinking ‘I’m not going to get there in time. I’m not going to make it’.

We finally got to the top of the staircase and I managed to get out of the crowd and towards where I knew the toilet was and … you’re not going to believe this, it was only marked “Out of Order”. I just didn’t know what to do. I tried the door just in case but it was locked.

I could hardly manage to walk but I got back to the ticket gates and, well, I was literally starting to ‘go’, believe me. There was a young guy from the station staff standing there and I just said something like,

“I’m a police officer, please can I use your staff toilet, the public one’s shut.”

He just looked at me as if I’d asked a complicated question and then said

What?”

“Please mate, please can I go to the toilet. I can’t wait, I’m a police officer, please let me use it, now”.

He replied, “You can only use the public one, I’m afraid, we don’t let people use the staff one.”

“I’m a Police Officer! Please! I’m about to wet myself!”

He looked a bit flustered and said “Hold on a sec” and he switched his radio on and started to press the digits, said something I couldn’t hear and then turned back to me and said,

“Have you got a warrant card on you?”

I tried to fumble in my back pocket to get my wallet out but I was literally starting to go in my pants.

“Please, I’m actually wetting myself!” I was fumbling around trying to grab my wallet but I was desperately trying to stop myself peeing too and I don’t know what I must have looked like.

“Leave it, leave it!” I said to him, “I’m doing it. I’m about to do it standing here!” and with that I just knew I had to get away before I stood there and went in my trousers in front of him.

I sort of hobbled to the entrance and thought maybe I could get to the shopping centre and to the toilets but as I got to the crossing, the lights had changed and there was a load of people standing there waiting to cross and as I stood still, I started doing it down my leg.

I’ve never ever experienced anything like it in my life. I was actually going in my pants. I just turned around and walked back a little way, still doing it all down my leg.

I just got to the window of the Primark store and that was it, I just lost it completely and I was going in my pants, totally. I just stood there doing it. I couldn’t stop myself. It was an incredible relief but I was just standing peeing down both legs like a waterfall.

Loraine was agog listening.

“Did people see you? Did they see what was happening?”

They must have done, I was doing it on the pavement, it was all running away from my shoes and snaking round my feet. I could feel it pouring down my legs and it was running all into my shoes. I just stood there wetting myself, there was nothing I could do. I’ve no idea how long I stood there but until I finished going.

I didn’t even look at people looking at me, I just started walking away, god knows what sort of puddle I left on the pavement. I just walked away. I knew I couldn’t get on the bus so I walked home.

Talk about uncomfortable. My trousers felt all cold and my pants and socks were all soggy and my shoes were all warm and sticky.

Oh God Loraine, I wet myself, in the street! I’m 27 years old and I wet my trousers! I can’t believe I did it in my pants, in my uniform too. If the lads at the nick ever find out, that’ll be it!

Loraine put her arms around his neck and hugged him.

“It’s okay Simon, honestly. You had an accident, that’s all. It doesn’t matter how old you are or what you do. You couldn’t help it.”

She kissed him and Simon gave a deep sigh.

“Don’t you dare tell that bloody woman in the dry cleaners that I widdled in those trousers, will you?”

———————————————————————————————————-

Poster’s note: The author of this story has since written a sequel. At the author’s request, this sequel has been posted to this site and can be found at this link:
http://wetpantsboy.com/stories.php?view=story&id=362

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