London Train Incident

[Connor]

Hell all - I am reposting here a story I wrote some time ago and posted on the old forums. It is based on the true events from a London to Essex commuter train that were reported in several news outlets - hope you enjoy.

Although it was a cold January night, the heat was definitely building on board the train from Fenchurch Street to Shoeburyness.

Cancellations, delays, missing drivers…it had all lead to this particular train being late and overcrowded. And not just the sort of overcrowding that has become something of the norm for London commuters – this train was packed full like a tine of sardines, with little room for anyone to breath, let alone move.

Owen had managed to get on at least, but was squeezed in between the door and a wall. He felt lucky that at least he had something to lean against, unlike some of his fellow passengers who were simply crammed in between other people.

“I’ll be home soon, the train was late. It’s pretty crowded too, so I don’t know if that will make it later. No, really crowded, like people are totally squashed in. Yeah, I’ll see you when I see you.”

Owen ended his call and slipped his mobile into his pocket. He was wearing sandy coloured suit trousers and a pale blue shirt. He was 24 years old, and just over six months into his first IT job in the city. To save on costs he was still travelling back and forth from his parent’s house in Basildon.

As he stood there, Owen was beginning to regret having that second glass of wine. He had contemplated popping to the loo at the station, but was worried about the numerous cancellations on the C2C network and was just keen to get on a train, just in case it was the last.

Not long into the journey and Owen was glancing around, trying to suss out where the nearest toilet on the train was. Unfortunately it was at the opposite end of the carriage from where he was, but to begin with he wasn’t overly worried.

“Right, I’ll hang on just now and go once it has quietened down a bit” he thought to himself.

However it didn’t quieten down. If anything it got busier – hardly anyone got off at the first couple of stations, but a few extra bodies hopped on, somehow managing to squeeze themselves in.

As the pressure began to build in his bladder, Owen contemplated trying to find a way through to get to the loo. He was reaching a stage where he no longer just needed to go, he was actually desperate.

He started to edge forward, but whichever way he went he was encountering people.

“Excuse me,” he stated, fairly quietly at first, a request that fell on deaf ears, “Excuse me please,” he said slightly louder in response.

“Sorry, I can’t move here at all mate,” said one of the other passengers, a middle aged business type.

As Owen continued to try and get through, he met similar comments wherever he turned. At this stage he hadn’t mentioned anything about why he needed to get through, and decided to quietly retreat back to his corner by the door and try to wait it out a bit longer.

However, the situation for Owen was already getting to a point of emergency. Unconsciously he was already jiggling about to some degree, and his hand slipped down for an occasional squeeze. He managed to get into a reasonably comfortable position back where he had originally been standing, but the pain in his abdomen was increasing, it seemed, by the second.

As he was contemplating his situation and wondering what to do next, he was aware of another guy trying to fight a path through the crowded carriage. He was too far away to pick up everything that was going on, but it was apparent that the chap may have been in a similar situation.

He could see the man, mid-30s, dark business suit, try to push through from where he had been sitting.

“Sorry, I just need to get through here.” he said.

“If I could let you though I would,” came the reply from a nearby passenger, “do you need to get off soon?”

“No, its okay, I just really need to get through to the toilet.”

This went on for a few minutes before the chap sat down again, seemingly resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get anywhere.

As for his own predicament, Owen was reaching a stage of severe desperation. He was aware that he was visible holding himself more and more frequently, but he felt he had no other choice.

After another 10 or 15 minutes of internal deliberation, and with the crowds not abating at all, he decided that he would simply have to make another attempt to get through the carriage to the loo.

He managed to eke past a couple of people fairly easily, to a point where he was standing in the middle of the aisle rather than pressed against the door. He could now see however just how close together people were – it was going to take a lot of effort to get past everyone, but it was an effort he was willing to make.

“Sorry, can I just get through here, thanks.”

One person was able to shimmy slightly to the side so that he could move slightly further down, but nobody else was able to move, it was just physically impossible.

“Hi, sorry, can I just squeeze past here.”

“Listen mate, I don’t think anyone can let you past,” said one man.
“Can’t you just stay where you are, I don’t know where you think you’re going to go,” said another.

Owen stopped still for a moment, tensing every muscle in his body as he tried to hold back the impending flood, the pained look on his face clearly obvious to anyone who looked closely enough.

A minute or so later, he felt he had to keep trying.

“Sorry, I know there’s not much space, but can I just try to get through here, sorry again.”

“Listen,” said one of the guys who had spoken before, “there is no bloody chance of you getting through here so will you just shut up.”

Owen was concentrating so hard on not letting go of his bladder that he hardly noticed how feisty the people around had become.

On lady passenger, a youngish professional, was obviously aware that something wasn’t quite right with Owen and asked with an air of concern. “Is everything okay there, is there something urgent that you need to get through for?”

“Yeah, I just need to get through to the toilet.”

By this time he was squeezing his crotch almost every ten seconds or so, and was severely struggling to stand still.

“Oh sorry,” said the young woman, “are you sure you can’t wait, I just don’t think anyone can physically move to let you through.”

“I have been waiting,” Owen said to her quietly, “I really need.”

“Hey everyone, I know you’re all a bit annoyed, we all are, but this lad really needs to get through to the toilet – any chance we can make room?”

A couple of people on hearing this did try to move to either side of the aisle, and Owen was able to make a couple of steps forward, but it really wasn’t enough.

“Oh Jesus, I am absolutely bursting for the loo,” he said, louder than he intended to.

By this stage, he had an almost constant grip on his crotch and the pain was becoming unbearable. He wasn’t sure if he had started to dribble, or whether his underpants were simply damp with sweat, but either way he was incredibly uncomfortable.

“I think I’m going to wet myself.” He said out loud, much to the embarrassment of everyone around him. He repeated this at least four times, simply out of sheer panic.

Eventually Owen reached a point of complete resignation. He realised that he was never going to make it to the toilet on time and he could not cope any longer with the intense pain and discomfort he was in.

Everything around him was in a complete daze, as if he had entered some kind of dream. Still clenching hard onto his willy, he felt the first trickle of hot pee come out into his pants.

“Oh God, I think I’m doing it” he said out to nobody in particular.

The girl who had earlier jumped to his aid was still trying to get people to move out of the way. A young chap, probably about the same age as Owen was also helping. He grabbed Owen by the arm and was practically trying to drag him through the crowds to get him to the toilet.

But there was no point.

“Please, stop. It’s just too late.” He proclaimed as the little trickle into his pants turned into a steady stream.

Meanwhile further back in the carriage, the man that Owen had spied earlier also trying to get through was thankful in a way that the young lad’s situation was distracting from his own predicament.

After failing to make any headway, he had had no choice but to sit down again. Although he had managed to get into a reasonably comfortable position, his desperation had grown and grown until the point where his bursting and aching bladder simply gave up.

He was glad that people’s attentions were elsewhere, as he had quietly ended up soaking himself sitting in the chair, the seat of his white cotton briefs and suit trousers absolutely drenched in urine.

Back in the middle of the aisle the pee was streaming down Owen’s legs, soaking his crotch and his buttocks, the wet material of his boxers clinging tightly to his backside.

It eventually started to subside, but not before it had soaked into his socks and shoes. He simply couldn’t believe what had happened.

Those around him were making comments, in general, not aimed directly at him.

“Oh dear it looks like he’s done it.”

“Jesus he must have been absolutely bursting.”

“Look at that twat, he’s only gone and pissed all over the place.”

He hung his head low with a sense of shame and embarrassment, more embarrassment than he had ever felt in his entire life.
He eventually looked up again and simple said, in a soft voice, “I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t wait.”

After some time had passed and the train was quieter, he could be seen slumped by the door. It looked as if he was trying to hide his accident from anyone who hadn’t already seen, but it was clearly obvious what he had done as the material of his sandy coloured trousers was still dark.

After passing Upminster station the suited 30-somethings accident also became apparent as a fellow passenger declared out loudly, pointing to the soaked fabric of the seat.

“Looks like that lad’s not the only one. The guy who was next to me is going to have to get his trousers cleaned!”

Later Owen could be heard on the phone.

“No please, you don’t need to pick me up,” his voice sounding jittery, “honestly I will walk home from the station. It’s late anyway, you and mum don’t have to stay up, just go to bed if you want.”

Eventually he scampered off at Basildon station, trying as much as possible not to make eye contact with anyone and hoping that he would never have to go through such an ordeal ever again.

[greatwater]

I love this story. I'm ready to re-read this. Thank you, Connor!

[Brian]

Great psychological exploration (for two different guys!) of the way attempting to get through to the toilet changed from advisable, through "oh forget it", into necessary, then hopeless, then panicky imperative, and finally not possible without letting go in his suit trousers anyway. It's how it indeed probably happened for both young men on that train. Thanks for reposting your memorable story. Great read!

[Connor]

Glad you've enjoyed re-reading. It is just such a great situation to explore....oh how I wish I had been there, or had the opportunity to actually speak to those guys, find out what was really going through their minds!

[Fred]

Great story. Plausible and well-described! Thank you.

[spreadingwarmth]

Great story. Being trapped on the train like that,forced to gush down his legs.

I needed this.

[evergreen]

I loved the admission of defeat, the soaking briefs and the soaked bottom. Relief and joy mixed with a little shame !

[Connor]

I loved the admission of defeat, the soaking briefs and the soaked bottom. Relief and joy mixed with a little shame !

I think what makes it even more exciting too is the fact that it's bases on reality. I always wonder what was going through the minds of these poor guys on the night.