University Transformation Ch. 01

Trying to regain some composure and without seeming as flustered as he truly was, Samuel assessed the escape route to his right. It looked like a safer option, but he would still have to walk past the group of girls behind him, walk near a lone girl sat on the right-hand row, past the likes of Georgia and many others, and then out the front door via Miss Brighton. It was a longer journey but maybe with everyone watching the film, he could escape undetected?

Deciding he would try and make a break for it now, Samuel started to pack up his belongings. Reasoning he could use his bag to hide the big, damp, creamy white stain on his black jeans, he needed to get moving if he was going to sneak away now. He finished fumbling his belongings into his rucksack, not caring if residual droplets of the coffee cup leaked. It couldn't get any worse than it already was, he reasoned.

His nerves grew as he thought about making a break for it. He shifted and squirmed in his soggy seat, preparing his legs to rush into action. As he wiggled, more creamy white milk ran further down his thighs, past his knees and then out of his jeans by the top his ankles. 'Urghhhh. That feels so strange. So cold and slippy down there.' He winced.

Grimacing, but trying desperately not to let the strange sensations on his crotch and legs get to him, Samuel knew he had to keep a poker face if was to make sure others wouldn't find out what had happened. The last thing he wanted on his first day of university was to risk being exposed as a loser or as the boy who wet himself in class.

By this time the film had stopped playing and Miss Brighton was talking through instructions of where the students should go to next. All around him, students were packing away their things. 'No! This is too soon!' Samuel worried. He was still stuck in place and it was entirely possible at least one student might choose to walk along his row to get to an exit. They'd see everything.

Realising that escaping before everyone else was no longer a feasible option, Samuel decided that perhaps if he could time his departure right, he could hide amongst the crowd. It was the best backup plan he could think of to get further away from the sloppy wet patch he was sitting in.

Miss Brighton had finished speaking and students were starting to leave. Before anyone made their way along his row, Samuel braved standing up, grabbing his bag to...schlup!

Suddenly, an ice cream ball dropped from his bare knee and plopped on the floor with a soft but audible thud. 'Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit!' Samuel knew the situation was getting worse. Caught halfway between sitting and standing, he froze. Knees bent. Legs clasped together. His bum sticking out somewhat. All Samuel could think to do was stare down past the damp white patch on his crotch and to the creamy pool of milk collecting on the floor. His face burning red with embarrassment. Eyes wide with fear and anxiety.

By this time, students were up and chatting as they packed away their own belongings and continued to head for the exits. Although the room was filled with the sound of many individual conversations, the unusual sound the milky concoction made as it impacted on the floor had drawn the attention of the lone girl who had been sat across the aisle to Samuel's right, but who had now stopped in her tracks four or five empty seats away from him.

'She knows! She knows, she knows, she knows!' Samuel stressed.

What a sight it must have been for her. This geeky boy, awkwardly stood there, frozen. The crotch of his black jeans stained by a big dripping wet patch of white...fluid.

"Wow! What..." she started, before her quiet voice quickly trailed off, clearly lost in thought as she drank in the sight of Samuel's mess.

Despite being caught - Samuel did nothing. Not a thought entered his mind. He just stared back; a rabbit in her headlights. All the while milk dribbled down his legs, emerging from his ankles and adding to the growing puddle at his feet.

"What has happened? Said the woman's voice, barely a whisper.

But he didn't answer. Not because he knew the question was not addressed to him (even in his shocked state of despair, Samuel understood that her spoken words were just the vocalisation of confused internal thoughts) but because his mouth was stuck wrenched wide open; adrenaline stopping his jaw from functioning.

The woman took a step backwards, as if not to get splashed by leaking fluid. She clutched her bag and coat holding both close to her chest; like she was giving both a hug on his behalf. "I...I..." was all he could just about say as their eyes met for a brief moment.

'What will she do? Will she help me? She looks kind. But will she scream or say nothing? Or maybe she'll point and laugh?' His mind racing with a million possibilities of what could follow.

And then, quick as a flash, she turned and raced towards the front of the theatre to Miss Brighton. As he watched her push past students, Samuel, feeling defeated, dropped back down into his dripping wet seat. At the very least, it would conceal the milky mess from other students as they passed by. He held his bag in his lap, hiding the patch on his crotch from passerby's.

He could do nothing else but watch as his former onlooker tapped Miss Brighton on the shoulder and pulled her slight frame to the side. The woman leaned in, her mouth formed words Samuel could not hear as the woman point back to him.

By the time she had finished speaking with Miss Brighton and had fled the theatre, the remaining few students were exiting the room.

Alone together, Miss Brighton turned to face the young boy still sat in his seat and raised a single brown eyebrow. Samuel's breathing was unsteady. It was just him and her now.

Taking a deep breath of air, Miss Brighton, just as she had done earlier, started to head in Samuel's direction. Her heels tapping against the hard wood floor - the only sound now emanating from the room save for the final few droplets of cream running down Samuel's leg and splashing on the puddle at his feet.

Thoughts whizzed through his mind. 'How will she react? What do I say? How can I explains this? Do I lie?' All of them too frantic and frenzied to stir any action from his frozen body. His heart, still pumping rapidly, sent more blood to his rosy red face.

With a few steps left to take, Miss Brighton broke the ice. "Well, well, young man. Do you have something you need to tell me or were you enjoying my lecture so much that you thought you'd stay behind and ask for more?" Her arms folded together, two manicured hands resting in the middle of her chest before a solitary finger was raised and performed a curling motion, signalling for her student to stand.

'Whatever she was told, she clearly knows I'm hiding something.' He realised. After a moment's hesitation, Samuel braved standing for the second time since he had accidentally drenched his lower half. The wet fabric of his jeans squelched as he removed his behind from the milky puddle.

With Miss Brighton now at arm's length and desiring to protect what dignity he had left, Samuel was careful to keep his backpack buried into his damp crotch as he slowly straightened up. Curiously, despite what he had done to himself, despite the state of his dress and despite the whirl of panicked emotions and chemicals coursing through his body, Samuel was surprised that all he could think about was how he failed to match Miss Brighton for height.

'Even without those spotless black heels, she's still taller then you!'

Eventually, his head raised to meet her gaze and took in her deep blue eyes. "Why don't you place your bag on the desk?" She calmly instructed. "Let us see what we are dealing with."

Knowing he had no real alternative, Samuel slowly moved the backpack on to his desk to reveal his wet patch. Then he closed his eyes. Whatever was about to unfold, it was too much for all his senses to take in. He felt his knees shake and he was certain would topple; his face presumably splashing into milk as it hit the floor. The comfort of darkness seemed like the only respite from this deeply embarrassing encounter.

"Whoopsie. It would seem, you've had quite the accident whilst I was up on stage." She said.

"I...My....". Words failed him. Samuel's energies were spent on keeping his body upright. Anything beyond that was an impossibility. Forming an explanation was beyond him.

'I hope she marches you out the classroom like this and shows everyone your soaked pants. She should get her phone and snap a picture of the boy who wet himself. I hope she sends it to all her friends and then rings your mum asking if she wants a copy. Imagine how it would feel as she forced you to explain yourself as you tell her every excruciating detail of your first-day shame!'

"Why don't you come forward?" She went on. His legs took him forward and away from the milky wet puddle below. "You really have given yourself a good soaking, haven't you?" She said as she eyed his damp crotch before leaning forward to survey Samuel's equally drenched behind.

"I...the..."

"Well, I think we should get you cleaned up, don't you think?" Her voice trailing off as she made her way back down the aisle and towards her desk to take out a box of tissues from her handbag.

"You're going to need to be able to see for this next bit. So I suggest, if you haven't done so already, you take a deep breath and open your eyes." She shouted from across the empty room as she returned with a box tissues in hand.

And so, as instructed, Samuel readied himself to confront reality by taking a deep breath and slowly opening his eyes to let in the brightness of the room and Miss Brighton offering him the box of tissues. "Good boy." She smiled. "Now get stuck in." She said as his trembling hands took hold of the tissues.

He began the process of wiping his crotch, bum and thighs. Although the wet patches had started to dry, he was still surprised at how sodden the fabric remained. The difference in colour from his black jeans compared to the white stains were still as stark night and day.

"You know, I think this could be your lucky day..." Miss Brighton declared, disrupting the sounds of Samuel patting himself down with endless sheets of tissue. "Though of course, I don't suppose you agree right now."

'Lucky day? Is she winding me up?' He thought as Miss Brighton walked towards a row of cupboards that lined the back of the theatre. Searching through she eventually found the 'lucky charm' for which Samuel would apparently be so grateful for. "Here! Put these on instead." She said as she returned, handing Samuel a pair of university branded trousers. "These should fit, looking at the size of you. I'd say you're...30 inches at the waist?".

Samuel was pleased to be given something clean to wear, but somewhat startled at how his professor had been able to so easily size him up. He wondered how she was able to work out the exact size of his waist. Although if he was to measure his waist after a summer sitting in doors drinking iced caramel lattes, it would probably be 32" or 34".

Taking the trousers from her, Samuel just nodded. It was the first real response he had given her since he entered the room two or so hours ago.

"Good. Then take off those soggy jeans, and slip into these. They're university property so I expect you to return them to me. But they should be a marked improvement over what you have on now. We don't want you walking around campus looking like you've...had an accident now, do we? That'll make it extra hard for you to make friends".

''Extra hard'? What does she mean by that?' He wondered, feeling it was a bit presumptuous of her to say, but instead just responding with: "Yes. Umm... and thank you."

With fresh trousers and soppy rucksack in hand, he started for the door so he could find the nearest toilet cubicle to change in.

"No, no, no." Miss Brighton reacted as she watched him move. "Where are you going? Outside? To a bathroom? There isn't one nearby, the closest is in the atrium some 200 meters away. But listen: you really don't want to be walking around in ruined jeans, a wet patch visible to all and leaving a trail of milk and cream being you."

He looked down at the mess of milk seemingly everywhere. She was right. But before he could ask what to do, she said: "Get changed in here. My next class isn't for another hour. No one will come in. No one will see." She explained, before adding: "Not even me. I won't peek, promise."

And with that ordered, she returned to her desk and started typing on her laptop; the very device which Samuel held responsible for his predicament.

Even despite what had happened to him, the thought of removing his jeans to reveal his bare legs, even for a moment and even though no one would be watching, in this public place felt like such a strange thing to do. But he didn't have another option.

Looking over to Miss Brighton tapping away into her laptop Samuel un-did his top button. She wasn't looking, so after the first button, the second and third followed. Everything undone, he could see the loose cotton fabric of his blue and white stripy boxer shorts. It was at this point that he was struck by the cold sensation around his crotch. Damp and soggy underwear reacting to the cool air of the room. He watched as goosebumps formed across his thighs.

Kicking off his trainers and flinging them a few feet in front of him (a clear distance from the milky mess to his rear) he started sliding his jeans down his still-wet legs. Wanting them off as quickly as possible to ensure his professor could not seen his undefined legs, he rushed the jeans down so rapidly that he nearly tore a hole in the waist.

"Of course, I don't have any underwear to give you." Miss Brighton shouted across the room.

Still kicking the jeans off his legs, Samuel worried that she was looking over and could see his slim body, but didn't take his eyes of the task in hand to check. Not wanting to know if she was sizing him up again, he didn't even give her a response. Instead he hurriedly grabbed the fresh trousers from the back of a chair and forced them up his legs.

"So I have arranged a solution." She continued. "Having excused you from your current class, you will be free to go lost property in the university's sports centre."Her voice barely registering as he forced the trousers further up his legs. The closer to his thighs they reached, the tighter they became. "It's a new-build, but use the map in your induction guide. That'll get you there easily."

Samuel's focus was on fighting with the zipper. He just about managed to get it all the way up by taking a deep breath and ignoring the uncomfortable pain of the waist band digging into his stomach. He didn't even bother with the button, knowing without trying that the two ends of the waist band would fail to be drawn together. He would just have to pull his hoodie down further and be careful not to reveal his unbuttoned trousers for the remainder of the day.

As he slipped his trainers on and stuffed his ruined jeans into his backpack, Miss Brighton asked if that made sense. Just wanting to get out of the room, he confirmed it did. "Very good. On your way then." She finished, surprisingly cheerily.

Heading down the aisle and out of the door, Samuel was too embarrassed to look at her, let alone say 'thank you' or 'goodbye'.

This was not how he wanted his first day of university to begin. Closing the door behind him and starting down the stone corridor, Samuel swore he could have heard Miss Brighton audibly laughing. But he was too shy and too uneasy of himself to turn back and check. 'I think I'd rather question myself than know for certain'.

***

As he wound along the old English style corridors towards the sports campus, Samuel was struck by two things. The first was how quiet the corridors were whilst classes and lectures were underway. He had known this was a sought-after institute with discipline high on the agenda, but the stillness of the corridors compared to his secondary school was stark.

But the second thing which struck him, the thought which impressed most upon Samuel's mind, was how tight his new trousers were. Although in wanting desperately to make his escape from his coffee soaking carnage, he would have merrily accepted a pair of flares or even a kilt if it meant leaving the room without total humiliation and a clean pair of trousers to put on, he was now becoming increasingly worried that they would tear along the seems as he made his way down winding stone stairs and past busy classrooms.

To prevent bursting free of this trousers as he travelled through the central courtyard, he adopted a shorter gait which reduced the force his legs exerted on the tight fabric: a shimmie which kept his knees close together and his hips wiggling.

Passing the rugby pitches and tennis courts, Samuel stepped inside the sports campus. Miss Brighton was right: it was a new build. A very new build. Whereas the building he had come from was an historic stone castle, Samuel now found himself inside a modern steel and glass construction, the smell of wet paint filling his nostrils upon entry. Scaffolding covered half-built walls. Lights had no covers. Concrete floors were without tiling. Doors, classrooms and walls had no signage. He was lost before he had even began searching.

Reaching into his backpack and past his sopping wet jeans, he pulled out his university journal to find the sports campus floor plan map. But the book was ruined. Sodden with milk, the ink had run and pages would tear from a slight breeze. He knew from touch alone that it was useless.

Sighing with frustration, he picked an unmarked corridor at random and headed towards it. Surely there would be some signage or a person he could ask to point him in the right direction, he thought.

There wasn't. But after what felt like far too long pushing on unmarked locked doors and searching aimlessly up and down identical looking corridors, Samuel could hear the unmistakable sound of trainers screeching on a basketball court. He knew that finally, he must be getting close.

After pushing on a few more nearby unmarked locked doors he found himself inside a room which could be of use. It wasn't the lost property room he was looking for, but instead a changing room with freshly folded clothes neatly positioned in bundles across benches lining the perimeter of the room.

Stepping inside and hearing the door close behind him, Samuel considered his options. Continuing his quest for lost property could take hours and Miss Brighton only gave him a pardon for one lesson. He has already made a bad first impression with one teacher, he really did not want to make it two. Even stood in the doorway he could see freshly prepared underwear he could use. If he was to take it, he could be back in class within minutes.

Stepping further inside, nearing the first bundle of freshly prepared clothes, Samuel started to convince himself that this was the right thing to do. The university has prestigious sports teams and this is probably a set of clean clothes for those basketball players to change into...just like how Miss Brighton had gifted him the formal university trousers. That was a thing they would do, right?

'I must be getting close to missing the start of next class.' He worried, further convincing himself that taking a clean pair of underwear from here was the right decision. With another step taken, Samuel could see a pair of white briefs sat on top of a jacket: they looked like they would fit perfectly. 'Fuck it! I'm taking them!'

With his mind made up and really wanting to get out of his damp boxer shorts and into something clean, he quickly kicked off his shoes and pulled down his tight new trousers. Once they were off, his boxer shorts could quickly follow. Aside from socks, he now stood in the quiet changing room naked from the waist down. But the silence didn't last long! From outside Samuel could hear voices. Loud voices!