Max the Estate Agent's Awful Day

[Lee]

The background to this little story is that the opening section, about the white-socked estate agent insulting his clients was actually a post on another completely unrelated forum, in their general banter section where someone was moaning about estate agents - right up to the bit where the home owner (the poster) said he felt like throwing the estate agent's shoes at him. I have just added the rest for fun and fantasy.


It was 10:30am when the doorbell rang and Paul Cookson glanced at his wife Susie who was making some final tidying adjustments in the lounge. They were having a local estate around to carry out some measuring and descriptive work as well as taking some photos in readiness for putting their house on the market and Susie wanted to make a good impression with what was already her immaculately clean and tidy home.

Paul opened the front door to be greeted by the agent they had been told would be doing the work. His name was Max and he was typical of the guys who worked in the local branch – they all seemed a bit loud and confident, maybe even cocky and Max looked no exception. He immediately stepped into the hall without even being asked and introduced himself with a broad grin.

He may have had a touch of arrogance about him but he was certainly well turned out in a perfectly-fitting blue suit with a flashy patterned waistcoat and pale pink shirt and dark tie. He was probably around 23/24 sort of age but certainly did not have any youthful uneasiness about him and he brushed a speck from the shoulder of his jacket before saying “Right then, where do we start?”

Suddenly Susie appeared at the end of the hall, “Excuse me, but we have a house rule here. Would you mind taking your shoes off please?”

Max seemed a bit taken-a-back and also, for the first time, looked a tiny bit uncomfortable.

“Erm, yes, sure, of course if that’s what you want, although I will be going all over the house and maybe into the garden too. I’ve already photographed the front but I do need to go everywhere else. I wonder if I might need to be in my shoes for some parts.”

“That’s okay” Susie replied firmly, “if you need your shoes for outside we’ll bring them to you. If you wouldn’t mind taking them off and putting them on the small mat, please.”

Max nodded but said nothing and bent down to begin unlacing his pair of fashionable-looking shiny tight-fitting black shoes. Having done so he stood back up and eased his shoes off his feet. Paul was slightly surprised as Max revealed he was wearing a pair of plain white cotton socks.

“Dark trousers, black shoes and white socks…I thought that look went out in the 1980’s!” he mused to himself, but said nothing.


Almost half an hour later Max was still padding around the house, using his fancy digital measuring contraption and snapping photos with his digital camera. He’d completed both floors and was now out on the rear patio but the immaculate wooden decking just outside the door had not necessitated the need for his shoes and he was digitally measuring the garden dimensions.

Back inside Paul said to Susie, “He seems okay I suppose, but what’s all that about with his socks!”
“I know” she replied and they both grinned.


Another 10 minutes passed and Max was back in the lounge sitting on the settee making his final notes prior to presenting some details of what he had noted to his prospective clients. Susie was in the kitchen making coffee and Paul was sitting adjacent to Max in an armchair. As the agent finished his jottings and put his I-pad on the sofa next to him he bent down and casually pulled up both of his socks in the customary fashion but his actions exposed the bright whiteness and Paul couldn’t help himself commenting,“Is the white socks fashion trending for estate agents again, then?”

Max laughed, “No not as far as I know, but every month in our office we have a show-off-your-socks day and we try and outdo each other for the most outrageous but stylish socks. Sometimes all the luminous and patterned designs can’t beat a good old-fashioned pair of plain white ones although they do have their drawbacks.”

He bent forwards and gripped his socked right foot and lifted it up onto the top of his left thigh to show the sole where the bottom of his white sock was shaded a bit darker, “Walking around houses in just your socks like this doesn’t do you any favours when your socks are white as they really pick up and show all the dirt.”

In the chair opposite, Paul felt his hackles rise, “what a cheeky sod!” he thought to himself.

He excused himself to go out into the kitchen, seeing Max’s shoes nestled near the front door and he almost felt like picking them up and throwing them at the young estate agent. He went into the kitchen and told Susie what had been said.

“What a cheek!” she exclaimed, “This place is spotless. I feel like tipping this coffee in his lap.”

“I’ve got a better idea” replied a still-raging Paul, grabbing a huge over-sized mug from the shelf and putting in on the work surface. “Give him his coffee in that” before adding “And this too…” as he reached up onto the shelf and took Susie’s water tablets which had a hugely diuretic effect, popping not one but two small pills into the mug.

“Don’t!” snapped Susie, “he’ll be running to the toilet for the rest of the day!”

“Well that’ll teach him to call our house filthy, he can wet himself for all I care, the saucy git.”


Around half an hour later Max was driving to his next destination and as he approached the new estate where he was due to meet some possible buyers, he was feeling more than uncomfortable. He’d needed to go for a pee before leaving the last place but for some reasons the clients had seemed a bit frosty in their approach before he’d left and he decided not to ask to use the toilet. But he was regretting that a bit now as his bladder was filling rapidly,

“Damn, that coffee seems to have gone right through me” he cursed to himself as he turned into the new estate which was still being constructed. “I wonder if I’ll have time to nip to the showroom to see if they’ve got a toilet I can use before the clients get there.” But his heart sank as he pulled up only to see his clients already there and waving at him.

The fullness of his bladder became even more apparent as he climbed out of the car and as they walked to the property chatting away, every step was a sharp reminder of his need. Inside the brand new and still uncompleted property the buyers walked around excitedly, taking an age to examine every aspect of every room and annex. Max was trying to be as encouraging and professional as possible but his urge to go to the toilet was getting worse and worse and he was starting to feel a bit panicky.

“I don’t know what’s caused me to have to go this badly, I never have to pee like this usually”

As they all stood looking out onto the garden, Max had to gently jiggle his legs as they stood still, hoping that his clients wouldn’t notice, although in truth they were too focused on the property to see that the agent was in discomfort.

With the downstairs tour finished, they went upstairs and climbing each step was torture for Max but the agony wasn’t over as they walked straight into the bathroom, standing in front of a bath, shower and a gleaming toilet bowl.

“As you know, there’s no water supply connected yet” Max told them as his befuddled brain started sending out all sorts of unwelcome messages, standing in front of a toilet with a desperate need to relieve his aching bladder.

A short while later they were in the master bedroom where the clients really started to get excited. They were chattering away about how their furniture was going to be arranged and then they produced a tape measure and began measuring for curtains and blinds. The standing around was proving almost impossible for Max who felt as if his bladder was going to burst. He was having to step from one foot to another and his stomach muscles were tense with the strain of holding on.

“If you’d excuse me for one moment” he said, as the clients hardly noticed his request, just nodding their approval as they carried on measuring.

Max walked out of the bedroom and across the landing into the second bedroom. He didn’t really know what he was going to do or why he’d walked out but he was genuinely fearing that if he stood there any longer he was going to wet himself!

In the semi-privacy of the next room he grabbed himself through his suit trousers and tried to stretch himself to ease the discomfort whilst pressing his legs firmly together. He could hardly believe that he was doing something like this whilst with clients but he was in a desperate situation. If he shocked himself by doing that, his next thought was almost incomprehensible but he started to wonder if he could get away with weeing behind the door. It was a ludicrous thought and he quickly dismissed the notion but the very fact it had even crossed his mind was a signal of how badly he had to go.

“God, if only that toilet was working! I’m going to wet myself if they take too much longer!”

Feeling his face reddening at the awful possibility and with no means of obvious escape from his predicament, he felt his heart pounding and as he leaned forward against the window with his legs crossed as tightly as he was able to do so and his hand plunged down the front of his trousers and inside his pants, bobbing up and down on the soles of his feet, he suddenly heard,

“Max, are you there?”

Straightening himself up and quickly re-adjusting his clothing, he walked back into the hallway.

“I think we’re done here for today, we’ve seen all we need to if that’s okay?”

“Of course” Max replied whilst silently whispering to himself, “Thank God for that, just get out now, PLEASE!”

Predictably it took them around four or five minutes to leave the property as they kept stopping as they noticed other things and behind them Max was biting his lip, gyrating and gently rubbing his legs against each other, “Please, just go, otherwise I’ll wet my pants!”

Outside they walked towards their car as Max offered his goodbye, “If you’ll excuse me again I just need to call into the showroom.”

He half-expected them to say they were coming with him! But they thanked him, said goodbye and got in their car. Max wanted to run towards the showroom but he knew that would probably prove fatal and he hobbled across the garden area praying that they’d have a toilet he could use. They had to have a toilet, of course they did. People worked there so they just had to have a toilet. Any embarrassment he might have felt about asking was overshadowed by the fact that the alternative was wetting his pants humiliatingly.

How on earth had this happened - but salvation was surely so close.

As he approached the showroom door with his stomach turning somersaults and his bladder throbbing his heart didn’t so much pound as stop and thump when he saw the hand written sign stuck on the glass door.

“Closed For Lunch”

“Oh Jesus! I’m going to wet myself!” he muttered in a voice loud enough to have been heard if anyone had been in the vicinity. Frantically, he looked all around him. There was a small flowered garden he had just walked across but as he looked at it, a car pulled up and some people got out. There was just nowhere, absolutely nowhere he could go.

Suddenly he was startled by his phone ringing in his pocket. He fumbled for the mobile unit and answered it with an abrupt tone,

“Hey Max mate” said Chris from his office, “you dopey git, you’ve left the digital measuring tool back at the Cooksons. They’ve just phoned. You need to get it now because they’re out this afternoon and we need it for first thing tomorrow morning. Call back and pick it up on the way back, can you?”

Of course Max couldn’t reveal that he was in most dire straits he had ever been in for the toilet and yet he also knew that he couldn’t ease his predicament where he was. Driving back to the Cooksons might well prove too much for his distended bladder but he found himself thinking that at least if he wet himself in the car it would be better than doing it somewhere in public. And maybe, just maybe he’d see somewhere on the way that he could run into and have his pee.

As he walked back to his car he could feel his tummy muscles starting to spasm a bit and he felt as if he was only a few minutes away from urinating uncontrollably – and probably in his pants.

“Please, please, please, don’t let me wet myself!”

Strangely, sitting down in his car seat seemed to slightly ease his discomfort and pain as the spasms disappeared, leaving him with a heavy bloated feeling and a numbness all around his midriff and groin area. But as he drove, every gear change caused a tingle to permeate through his tummy and every time his foot pressed on the pedal his resistance weakened a little bit more, with a firm press on the brake as he stopped sharply at some traffic lights almost caused him to wee a little bit. Most of the journey was spent with one hand massaging his groin to help him hold on and when the discomfort got so bad that he almost started to wet himself, he had to resort to rubbing himself through his trousers to prevent any leakage.

Whether or not he passed anywhere with toilet facilities during his 15 minute journey he had no idea as he was totally focussed on not losing control, with his eyes watering and his teeth grinding as he drove.


As he pulled up outside the Cooksons house and stopped the car he was scissoring his legs frantically back and forth and he clambered out in an ungainly fashion, unable to stand still as he saw Mr Cookson in the front garden.

“Your tape is in the kitchen” he called out, “Go round the side and into the back garden, Susie’s in the kitchen… and take your shoes off, please”

Max began to run down the side alley of the house. Running had proved impossible previously but now he was in so much pain that he hardly cared. He could not feel anything below his waist and his bladder was pulsating and screaming for relief. As he burst through the garden gate and onto the pristine varnished wooden patio he could see no sign of Susie but he could not concern himself with manners or politeness, he had to get in and go to the toilet as he was seconds away from doing it in his trousers.

Standing on the patio he frantically forced his shoes off, extracting his feet without undoing the laces and leaving them lying untidily side by side on the wooden floor before hobbling into the house in his socks.

“Mrs Cookson! Mrs Cookson!” he called with a croaky trembling voice, “Can I use your toilet?”

“Hold on a moment, I’m just coming down” she responded.

Max had no hope of holding on for a moment longer and in sheer despair and on the verge of an absolutely horrific accident in his pants he stumbled
through the kitchen and into the empty lounge before heading out into the hallway. As Susie came down the stairs she gave a little shriek of surprise as she saw the estate agent already in her hallway, dancing from foot to foot and holding himself … as his bladder started to empty itself.

Max was gripping himself tightly as he felt a warmth beneath his hand and although he had no sensation of urinating he began to experience a wetness spreading through his fingers as both he and Susie glanced down at the same time to see a dark patch emerging on his blue suit trousers.

“Oh No! You’re going in your trousers” shrieked Susie, “Not here, go outside!”

Max was in the depths of despair. He knew he couldn’t get himself up the stairs and to the toilet in time in this state and he’d already started to wet himself. In a panic, he turned back and with little child-like steps he ran back out through the kitchen and on to the patio, stopping and standing still for the first time.

His trousers continued to darken all around the crotch and down the insides of both legs and on the varnished wood floor a puddle began to form all around his white-socked feet. As his suit trousers glistened and shimmered all down his legs, the stream became more torrential and poured right through his saturated trousers, splattering on the floor and dripping off the bottom of his trouser-legs. All around his socks the pool began to steam as it grew bigger and bigger and his thin suit trousers started to cling to his wet legs as the gushing showed no signs of decreasing in its volume.

Eventually, with Max having not moved at all, the flow began to subside and he could feel scorching hot trickles dribbling all down his legs. The easing of his tummy pain was such a relief but the hot wetness in his tight white CK underpants was clammy and uncomfortable and he could feel that his socks had fallen slightly down around his ankles. Still standing in the same position, he glanced down to see the huge puddle swimming around his sodden socks soaking into the wooden flooring and some areas of his white socks had turned a greyish colour.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve done it in my pants” he mumbled to an astonished watching Susie, who had been joined by husband Paul, and he picked up his shoes, took the digital measuring tape that Paul was holding out to him and began to walk slowly, awkwardly and with his legs apart back down the side alley and out to his car.

“That was your fault” said Susie to her husband.
“Well, his socks are going to be even more stained now!” replied Paul.

Sitting back in his car and breathing deeply to try and regain his full sense of emotions again, Max felt humiliated, ashamed, relieved and uncomfortable. But he also felt a tingle of weird excitement in the pit of his stomach. Now he knew what his brother in the army had experienced a couple of years back and his previous feelings of embarrassed envy were suddenly overcome with a tinge of desire for a shared experience.

As he struggled to pull his shoes on over his soaking wet socks he wondered if that opportunity might just arise at some stage in the future?

For now though, he had to somehow explain what had happened to his colleagues back in the office. Show off your socks day was never going to be quite the same again!

[Brian]

It's brilliant the way you've taken a short true incident and made a fabulous story which all of us here can thoroughly enjoy. Paul might be one of us: certainly he had exactly the right idea to get his own back for the smarminess and the cheeky remark suggesting that the house wasn't quite clean. I wonder if Paul deliberately confiscated the tape so that Max would come back, or did Max just forget it because he was distracted by his developing pee desperation and needed to get away in a hurry? Anyway, the change in Max' image from smarmy cheekiness the first time he was with Paul and Susie to the humiliation when he saw them again is a treat to read about. I want to read this through some more times now!

[Wombat48]

Absolutely brilliant! I love the idea of an estate agent being that desperate!
There used to be a true confessions type article on the internet about a young estate agent wetting himself in the queue for the toilet after a major traffic jam on the south circular (London)

[greatwater]

I love your story! I was thinking about using the idea of toilet without water supply as well, but now you wrote one. I might write about something else. Your story is great, anyway. Just like the desperation!