Leaving the Car Behind

This is one of my older stories, slightly re-worked for this site. I have 'published' it elsewhere on the net and I necessarily crave the indulgence of people who may have already come across it whilst hoping that those who haven't will enjoy it. If you enjoy adult knicker wetting and desperation as much as I do, I hope it will give you pleasure.

*

Dusk fell and the light gradually faded. It was teatime on a chilly November Wednesday afternoon. Office workers could be seen scurrying home, shops gradually closed and one of the cathedral bells distantly tolled in the damp air, summoning the faithful to Choral Evensong.

Anne made her way through the pedestrianised shopping centre, clutching the spoils of a spending spree on the back of Hubby's credit card. She always spent more than intended, splashing out on some fashionable new outfits at the classiest clothes shops. Fortunately Hubby never minded about this extravagance and had grown to expect it whenever she visited Woodchester. Luckily for him, her visits were not that frequent.

Today, however, she'd not just been on a shopping spree. Her car had needed servicing and she'd taken it to the garage. It was a popular garage and, much as she'd expected, they'd been busy. Seen by the manger himself, she'd been told that it wouldn't be ready until the day after tomorrow. His words still rang clearly in her ears, "I'm sorry Mrs T---- but the earliest it will be ready is one o'clock on Friday. You did say it needed a full service, didn't you?"

Her answer had been unequivocal, "Yes, it needs a full service."

In for a penny in for a pound, she might as well have the job done thoroughly. If a tyre needed replacing it didn't matter. It could all go on Hubby's plastic. He'd just smile (or rather wince) indulgently when the statement arrived.

As usual the garage had offered her the use of a courtesy car until hers was ready for collection but this time she'd declined their offer. The Deputy Prime Minister had been banging on about people using public transport and leaving their cars behind in the interests of the environment. Justly or unjustly, Anne suspected that Mr Prescott didn't actually use public transport himself and had little recent experience of it. She thought she'd put his suggestion to the test though and then write to him, explaining that if car users people were to be coaxed back on to public transport it would need a significant investment of taxpayer's money to bring buses and trains up to scratch. Alas her options were limited. Forty years ago a train would have been available at regular intervals. However, the branch line which once ran to the market town where Anne lived had long since been axed, courtesy of Dr Beeching's recommendations. Now the only option was to get a bus and so it was for the coach station that she was heading.

The coach station was every bit as grotty as she'd expected it to be. Studying the grubby timetable she discovered with dismay that the journey she'd normally have made in 20 minutes by car would take twice as long by bus. Why was it that the bus had to take such an elaborate detour instead of taking a nice direct route?

Anne's annoyance at seeing how long it would take to get home was compounded by anxiety. She'd not been to the toilet since breakfast time and whilst she wasn't yet desperate, her bladder was beginning to ache. The three coffees at lunchtime, so delicious at the time, were beginning to kick in and make their presence felt. Trying to steel herself, she headed for the "Ladies." Yuck, it was filthy! Much as she wanted to go, there was no way she'd use those loos. She did have some self respect.

Leaving the loos behind her she noticed that her bus was pulling in and went to join the queue. Boarding the bus she bumped into her old friend, Claire. Claire was startled to see her using the bus and made no secret of it.

"Hi, Anne. Surprised to see you on here! What's happened to the car?"

"Oh, it's gone in for a service. They did offer me the loan of a car until Friday but I thought I'd be 'green' for once and try out public transport for a change."

"I see. Look, I know it's none of my business but you don't look too happy. Is something worrying you?"

As they took their seats and the bus pulled off, Anne answered in a hushed whisper,

"Yes. I've gotta pee. It's my own fault. I should have gone earlier but I just didn't think and the toilets back there are so bad I just couldn't bring myself to use them."

Claire turned to her, trying to look and sound sympathetic, whilst thinking all the time that her old friend had scored an own goal.

"Do you think you'll be alright? I mean last till we get home?"

By now, Anne was feeling distinctly uncomfortable and wishing for all the world that she'd spent a penny earlier -- in some decent loos. Claire wasn't someone who could be easily fooled and she knew it.

"I hope so, Claire, if this thing gets a move on!"

The bus hit a bump in the road. Ouch, that hurt! Anne's bladder was beginning to fill rapidly and what had begun as mild discomfort was quickly turning into desperation. It was then that the bus, already slowed by rush hour traffic, hit road works. Great! That was all she needed. Jamming her hands into her crotch she pressed and hoped for the best, biting her lip.

"Come on, come on, get a move on," she muttered beneath her breath.

Claire gave her a sympathetic look but Anne felt as though everyone on the bus knew about her predicament and was judging her. She'd had a few accidents in the car over the years but never on a bus before. The bus finally moved off, jolting as it did so.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed as a squirt leaked out into her knickers.

That small leak provided a little temporary relief but it was short lived. Her aching bladder was still full and continued to fill. As the bus entered the suburbs of her town she wondered whether she would just make it home or not. As they approached some traffic lights she groaned inwardly as they turned red. Unable to hold for a second longer, Anne lost control and completely flooded her knickers, wetting her skirt and splashing on to the floor. People were staring and she went bright red. It was her worst nightmare come true. Claire squeezed her hand in a comforting gesture and whispered, "Hey, it's alright. It's not the end of the world. We're nearly home."

Soon the bus pulled up at the stop where Anne got off and Claire followed her.

By now, Anne was quite flustered and panic-stricken.

"Claire, I don't know what to do. Hubby will be furious when he sees me like this."

Claire smiled. "Hey, don't worry. He need never know. You can come round to my place, have a shower and change. I've got a spare pair of knickers you can borrow and it looks as though you've been clothes shopping. Why don't you slip into that little black number I can see poking out of that carrier and give Hubby a surprise?"

Anne smiled back. Claire was the truest of friends.

THE END