Michael Shield was a master of the business world. Shield Insurance hadn’t just survived the recession under his reign, it had thrived. After taking over from his father, Michael had managed to skyrocket the business into minor fame, expanding throughout the Western and Mid-Western states. Businesses called up the company by name to discuss matters of coverage; Michael grew accustomed to traveling a lot. And he almost never returned from one of his trips to Oklahoma City or Austin or Albuquerque without another done deal under his belt. So it was no wonder why his son Ethan couldn’t think of a better man to show him the ropes of the business world than his old man himself. Ethan, 23, was a senior at Arizona State, business major, graduating cum laude in about six months. Michael was more than happy to help him out, too. While me might have entertained hopes that he could keep Shield Insurance in the family (hell, he’d even gotten Ethan his first internship at Shield), Michael really just wanted his son to be happy and successful, whether or not that meant going into the insurance game. He loved his son in a big way, didn’t want to restrain his options by forcing the family business down his throat. The two men got along well either way; friendly in the manner only a father and son could be. Ethan was turning out to be the spitting image of his father: both were naturally athletic, with broad-shouldered figures and thick dark hair. Michael was pushing fifty without a hint of balding and only a little graying, while Ethan’s years of athletic training in college had really filled the young man out; he’d come home for break looking like a man entering his physical prime, more than a bit similar to what his father looked like in photos from his own college age. Taking after his father’s personality was a different manner, though. Ethan was friendly as could be, but he also had a major shy streak, a self-conscious nature still left over from the excruciating years of high school. Not that it mattered much; as far as the gregarious and confident Michael was concerned, his son would grow out of his nervousness in time, especially with a little hands-on experience talking business to real suited guys.
So when Michael’s first scheduled business excursion of the summer arose—a big name client in Santa Fe needed to talk contract renewal—it was hardly a matter of discussion that he would make the trek with Ethan, the two together as a father-son business duo. They even decided to have some fun with it, making it into a road trip. The seven-hour drive would feel like no time at all when it was just the two of them, the sunny road, and their custom fusion playlist of Michael’s classic and punk rock and Ethan’s indie bands. They packed their bags, dressed in their snappiest suits—Michael had to stop Ethan in the mirror, standing the younger man beside him to take a moment in the mirror, just admiring how good Ethan looked in his navy suit and gold tie—kissed the wife/mother goodbye, and they were off.
Neither could have guessed there’d be a snag in their plans no more than a couple hours after hitting the road. They’d eaten a rather indulgent lunch before leaving town—Ethan especially had stuffed himself with two double cheeseburgers and a large fry. And now—an hour past the city limits—the young man could feel, deep in his gut, that his meal was starting to come back to haunt him. His father wasn’t exactly light as a feather, either, and he eyed out the first rest-stop on the route. But pulling into the curved, empty parking lot, both could easily see the large, faded ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign covering the set of restroom doors. “We could just piss in the bushes” was the first suggestion from Michael, but this was met by a headshake and quick explanation from the son; it was clear then that he needed a number 2. “Alright then, so we’ll wait.” Was Michael’s brisk reply, and he pulled back out onto the road.
The city long behind them, it was desert all around now; a massive expanse of barren emptiness on either side of the road, nary a shrub or pole to offer any privacy. The sun was overhead, beating down; Michael had the AC at full blast, but Ethan was still starting to sweat. And like any good dad who knew his son, it didn’t take much for Michael to tune into how badly his ‘partner’ needed a proper toilet (or even just some shrubs). He did his best to reassure Ethan: “Gonna be something soon, son.” But this was only met with a gruff “I’m fine, Dad” from Ethan. Even though within thirty minutes of leaving the broken rest-stop behind it was obvious things were going the opposite of fine. Ethan was turning over in his seat, shifting his eyes out the window with a look of concern, and every few moments their playlist was undercut by the soft, muffled hiss of Ethan farting into the seat. The stormy smell made Michael discreetly crack the back windows, but Ethan of course noticed and blushed; even with his old man, he was still shy about certain things, this being one of them.
And it wasn’t like Ethan was alone in his need; by that point Michael—having downed two coffees at lunch and already emptied his travel thermos of ice water—needed to piss pretty urgently. But it was never a matter of pulling over and whizzing into the roadside dust for him; he didn’t want to stop and take care of business unless his son could do so as well. He loved his son, wanted what was best for him. That meant sticking with him through the tough tmies.
Eventually they reached an antique gas station to stop and refill, but also to ‘take a load off.’ Ethan hobbled behind his father as the two went up to the window to pay. Only to have the attendant tell them there were no bathrooms available there, either. Michael couldn’t believe it. “None at all? I mean, what about you?” He asked the attendant, a buff latino man with slicked back hair.
“I just piss in the back, man. Gotta hold it if I need to do more than that, if you know what I mean…” The attendant smirked a little, shrugged. Michael glanced over his shoulder: Ethan, nearly hunched over, almost unaware of the conversation as he focused on restraining the unruly crap in his butt, but also a few cars pulled up behind them at the pumps, impatiently waiting for them to finish filling up…
What could he do? Soon enough they were back on the road with a full tank of gas but also still-full bowel and bladder. It was getting serious for Ethan, feeling like he was going to shit himself any moment. Serious for Michael as well: another fifteen minutes of driving went by before he felt himself squirt a dime-sized wet-spot in his briefs. The big suited businessman started to consider his options as he shimmied his thighs together: there weren’t many.
“You want me to just pull over and” he began, but Ethan cut through with a firm “No Dad,” even though he was visibly shaking, his suit showing stains under the pits, the young man sitting on his hands from the sheer desperation. Michael bit his lower lip, looked concerned. He could tell that if he didn’t figure something out soon, he would have to explain to the client waiting in Santa Fe why his partner smelled like man-mud…
He finally pulled over, coming to a stop on the curb while other cars whizzed by. Determinedly, he unbuckled and got out—jamming his thighs together for a split second as he stood up before sucking in breath and forcing his legs to move—and went around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Listen, E. I know you think you can wait…but you can’t. All of us have this happen sometime and you gotta just take it in stride. You gotta just do what you need to do.” Michael said it firmly, matter-of-factly, just like how he’d said it back when he was teaching his son how to ride a bike or pitch a ball. Ethan, though, was beside himself, squirming in the car. His eyed darted to the road and traffic behind Michael.
“No, Dad… Dad I can’t! All those cars…” In agony he doubled over, clenching his abdomen, blushing. Michael looked at the passing traffic, mostly big-rigs. He turned back to Ethan. “Yeah, son, all those cars. And look at ‘em: they’re all trucks, trucks with men who know exactly how it feels to be in your situation right now. You aren’t gonna show them anything they haven’t seen or done themselves.”
Ethan wasn’t having it, though. “But, but Dad I gotta POOP and I can’t just go here. There’s not even anything to clean up with… Please just drive and we’ll find something. I, I can wait I promise.”
Michael shook his head. “Son, I’m sorry: I know this is embarrassing, but you need to just relax and, well, pop a squat. We can open the doors to give you some privacy but you just gotta bite the bullet and do your thing. Here, I even got a towel in the back you can use to wipe with…”
Ethan bit his lip, knew he was closer than he’d ever been in his life to downright shitting himself—in his nicest suit no less… He unbuckled. His father smiled, but shifted into a grimace as he clenched his bladder, wishing he’d urinated before convincing his son. The two were standing just as a car pulled up behind them: both looked back to see a highway patrol officer getting out of the vehicle. A squat, burly-looking guy with cowboy hat, shining badge on his breast, holster at his hips…the whole works. His voice was friendly though as he called out, “You boys got car trouble?”
Michael stepped forward and shook his head. “Not exactly officer. We’ve just been driving and haven’t been able to find any facilities. My son needs the restroom pretty bad so I thought I’d pull over and give him some relief.”
The officer winked. “Don’t I know that feeling. I can’t officially condone public urination but let’s pretend I wasn’t here, shall we?” Michael sighed in relief, but his son was so utterly humiliated that the big strong masculine patrolman knew he needed to shit that he could barely look up from the ground. “We appreciate that officer.” Michael said diplomatically. “Glad you understand.”
The officer tipped his hat. “Anytime. I’ll wait until you boys are back on the road so nobody gives you another look. How does that sound? Give your son a bit of privacy for his piss?” Michael nodded, and the patrolman strolled back to his vehicle.
Now the father turned to the son. “Okay, you’re up. Don’t keep the officer waiting.” Ethan was still petrified though, even as his desperate bowels churned and forced him into a half-squat already beside the car. “D-Dad… Dad I can’t just GO here with him there.” He hissed. It felt like he was in pre-school again. Michael’s aching bladder was straining his nerves short and he couldn’t help but argue for a moment with his son before the patrolman returned towards them: “Hey! What’re you boys up to? What’s taking so long??”
“Nothing, Officer!” Michael called, more than a hit of frustration in his voice. “I’m sorry, my son is just having issues with how open it is here. He wants to wait until we find a toilet.” Suddenly the officer understood the situation. “Your son need more of a number 2?” he asked. The father nodded: “Exactly.”
The patrolman kicked his boot tip in the dust. “Real sorry to say, but I can’t just let him do that kind of business on the highway. That’s littering, my friend.” Hearing all of this, Ethan started to sob. “I’m gonna. Dad I’m gonna go in my… Dad I gotta go so bad… Dad I gotta…”
The patrolman shook his head. “Ah, no worries, boy, I got something that can fix this, I think.” He went quickly to pop his trunk while Michael knelt beside Ethan, comforting him even as his cock was wet with piss, a distinct squishy dampness in his crotch, his own need rising well past comfort. Still, he tried to force all that from his head to focus on Ethan. “It’s okay son, just wait a moment, you can do it. I’m not gonna let you have an accident, okay? I promise, son…”
In a flash the patrolman was back with a large plastic bag and a roll of paper towels. “Here son: if you do your thing in this and promise to throw it in the next trashcan, you sure won’t be littering.” He held out the black bag, the three men going quite for a moment, waiting for Ethan’s response…
The stillness was broken by Michael grabbing the bag from the officer’s hands. With obvious relief right before him, the father simply couldn’t wait any longer. A quick “Excuse me” and he was urgently releasing his bursting bladder into the depths of the black plastic. The officer smiled and patted the son on the shoulder. “Better out than in, eh?” He said. The sound of piss on plastic was audible even over the roar of the trucks going past, the father emptying himself with abandon. When he was finished—utterly relieved—he nodded to Ethan. “Come on… I’ll hold the bag so it won’t blow away.”
The officer had walked away a bit, lighting a cigarette and giving Ethan as much privacy as he could give. And having heard his dad’s eruptive relief had stirred something deep within Ethan that the young man couldn’t ignore any more. He exploded, too.
His belt was unbuckled, his cheeks burning, completely ashamed. Ethan bowed his head, legs shaking as he threw his trousers down to his ankles. His father helped out as he’d promised: holding the bag and the tail-end of his son’s white shirt out of the way as he squatted and gave up the proverbial ghost, urgently adding to the contents of the bag.
First there was a loud splat and a chorus of farts; a pained grunt. Then a steady pulse of long firm turds tunneling out of him, father encouraging him all the way. Ethan’s eyes were clenched shut, sweat beaded on his brow. The end was easier than the start: Michael tore off some slips of the paper towels, passed them to Ethan… A quick wipe and then a surprise but much-needed piss jetting out of the son’s cock (hell, Michael absentmindedly observed as Ethan squatted and urinated, even his cock looks like mine) and it was over. The last bit of serious business was tying a knot into the donated “toilet” (now weighty with two pissloads and a firmer droop in the bottom) and tossing it into the back seat.
It took about fifteen minutes all together; fifteen minutes, after hours of desperate build-up and hanging-on. It was almost comical. Suddenly the two were all smiles, assuming back into the cocky, successful businessmen the world normally saw them as. A quick honk and a wave to the patrolman and they were off. It had been a major hurdle overcome on that day, the two men would realize when they looked back on it. ‘Ethan’s first roadside dump,’ they would remember it as. Being two successful businessmen meant a lot of travel, and a lot of occasions where the perfect toilet just wasn’t available when you needed it and you just couldn’t wait. Knowing when to admit you had to pull over to find a secluded squat spot turned out to be a pretty fundamental business practice to learn if you were going to be on the road a lot, as the father and son would wind up doing.
Back on the road, Ethan started to see the humor in the situation: “Geez dad. I’ll just squat next time.” And Michael ruffled his son’s hair, he couldn’t help it. They were on their way; two men once again.