Police Constable Caught Short on Duty

[Lee]

Nobody in the watching crowds noticed as the uniformed police officer moved away from his post lining the edge of the pavement along Whitehall Place in central London, and discreetly wandered about 10 yards to his left, approaching his stationary colleague.

“I’m going ask to be stood down” said PC Liam Powell, “I’m going to have to. I’m not going to be able to make it until we get relieved.”

“Good luck then, mate. You’ll probably get your head chewed off but I suppose if you’ve got to go, you haven’t got much choice.”

“I don’t care. I just can’t take it much longer, I’ll end up showing myself up.”

PC Barry Crane grinned, "Seriously? You mean you're going to have an accident?"

"I'm not joking mate, I'll do it in my trousers if I stand here much longer, honest."

“Go on then. You should have gone when we got the chance earlier. I knew someone’d get caught out.”

PC Powell walked slowly back to his assigned spot.

That conversation had taken place around 11:45am … the time was now 12:25pm and both officers were still in their original positions. PC Powell hadn’t moved along to chat again, so Barry Crane opted to have a little wander himself, edging his way along the front of the crowds until he was alongside Liam.

“I thought you were going to ask for a break?” As he spoke he looked close-up at his young colleague’s face and saw his fresh young features screaming out discomfort.

“Mate, I’m scarcely holding on here. No-one’s been along to ask yet. I’m gonna burst in a minute!”

“Well, don’t do it all over the pavement else you really will be in trouble! Look, there’s one of the sergeants down there, do you want me to go and ask for you?”

“Please mate, I’ve got to go in the next couple of minutes and I’m not going to be able to help myself if I don’t find somewhere.”

PC Crane gave his colleague a little pat on the arm and walked away. A minute or so later he was around 20 yards in the opposite direction and in conversation with one of the sergeants.

“I know I shouldn’t have moved, sorry Sarge, but it’s the officer standing further down there – he’s absolutely desperate for the toilet and he has been for ages. Half an hour ago he was saying he was on the verge of having an accident and I think he’s just about at the end of his waiting time now. It could be mega-embarrassing if he doesn’t get stood down.”


A few minutes later, Sergeant Phil Harte was approaching Liam Powell but before he could say anything, the young constable couldn’t contain himself. Almost shifting frantically from foot to foot he blurted out, “Sarge, I’ve got to walk away now, this very minute. I can’t hold on any more. I’m going to have to go somewhere.”

“Alright lad, you can stand down. I can see you’re in trouble, you should have made your predicament known to someone earlier. I think the best thing for you do is to try and get to the drop-off point in Victoria Road, where the buses are. There’s some toilets there for the use of officers.”

“I don’t think I’ll get there in time, Sarge, I really don’t. I’m going to head off this way, there’s got to be somewhere with facilities nearby.”

And with that, PC Powell simply walked away, looking for all the world as if he was struggling to maintain his dignity and his upright stance.

Sergeant Harte wanted to call out to him to finish giving him a bit more guidance about where he should go and how to incorporate his refreshment break into this emergency absence, but he didn’t want to appear unprofessional by yelling out in front of the crowds and in any event it would have been pointless – the young constable was already on his panic-stricken way.


Around five minutes later, PC Powell was pushing his way through the vast crowds at the end of Whitehall Place, frantically hoping that behind the throngs of observers he would find somewhere to bring an end to his torture. It had taken him longer than he had anticipated to struggle past the moving crowd and with absolutely nowhere obvious for him to go, he now found himself hoping and silently praying that there would be a haven of relief close by. His over-stretched bladder was screaming to be emptied and he’d already experienced a couple of horrific moments when he feared that he was about to lose control of his straining bladder muscles.

The jostling and bumping of the masses was hardly helping him although he felt that he daren’t stop moving for fear that standing still, even for a brief second, would prove fatal. He was saying nothing but if anyone had been watching him he would hardly have been able to disguise the fact that he was as close to disgracing himself as anyone could be without actually having a humiliating accident.

Finally, sixty seconds or so later, he emerged from the back of the densely-packed crowd and into slightly less populated space, desperately looking all around him to see where he could go. To his right was a low wall bordering a small memorial statue whilst to his left a series of small arched walkways were fenced off and inaccessible for safety reasons. Liam’s eyes darted to his front and there, around 50 yards away, was potential salvation – and the open door of a small shop.

Almost running, or better described as hobbling, PC Powell headed towards the shop, feeling his acute need intensify even more to an almost unbearable level, with sharp stabbing pains from his bladder and lower stomach. He’d already noticed two women enter the shop as he made his way towards it and as he got close enough to see inside, there was another older couple being served at the high, glass-topped counter.

As he entered through the doorway, he clumsily but almost unknowingly kicked the bottom of the door, causing all the occupants to look around but PC Powell was virtually dancing as he found himself behind the couple who were still making their purchase. A sense of professional pride and macho stamina prevented him from blurting out his frantic need which was almost at the point of no return. Instead, bobbing gently up and down on the balls of his feet and desperately wanting to grasp hold of the crotch of his uniform trousers to give him a sense of protection, he stood waiting to make his request, seemingly unaware that he was bending further forwards, inch-by-inch, as the seconds passed.

The eternity of waiting had virtually convinced him that he was starting to lose the battle but as the older couple completed their purchase and turned to head out of the shop, the woman smiled warmly at him, completely unaware that the smart young policeman’s uniform was concealing an imminent deluge inside the lad’s underpants.

“Please can I use your toilet?” PC Powell asked in a tone that could easily have been described as begging.

The man behind the counter looked back without any expression at all. “We don’t have any public toilets.”

“I know, I know,” replied Liam, “I just want to use your toilet, please!” adding stupidly, “I’m a police officer and I need to go to the toilet.”

“I can’t” the guy said, apparently realising the urgency of the request, “I’m only the assistant here. I can’t leave the shop unattended and you’d need a key for the toilet anyway, so I can’t do anything, sorry.”

Liam was almost unable to muster the resources to say anything with clarity,
“Oh God, I’ve got to go, I’ve got to use it, I just can’t wait…”

And almost before he knew he’d said it out loud, he added,
“I’m going to wet myself!”

The two other women who had entered the shop just before him, spun around to look when they heard the astonishing comment whilst the assistant blushed slightly and just looked on too, open-mouthed.

Liam had said it now and aside from the fact there was no hiding what was about to happen, he couldn’t voice anything less graphically if he was to get his message across.
“Look, I’m about to do it in my pants!”

The assistant looked up and towards the street. Abdicating all responsibility and not really knowing how to react, he simply said.
“The owner’s coming back any minute now, she’s gone for food. Ask her. You need to ask her, she’ll be able to tell you what to do. She’s coming outside. Go and ask her.”

PC Powell didn’t know what to do either. Taking the assistant at his word, he began to edge himself back towards the shop door, scarcely able to put one foot in front of the other and now openly holding himself with one hand, he squeezed his thighs tightly together as he experienced one of the most horrific, albeit brief, moments of his life as he involuntarily spurted a lengthy jet of hot pee into his pants and felt the warm stream trickle down the inside of his leg.

He regained control of himself and still frantically stepping desperately to and fro at the doorway, he was confronted by a middle-aged woman who started quizzically at him, looking him up and down, before the assistant suddenly appeared and gabbled, “He wants to use the toilet but I couldn’t go and get the key because you weren’t here. Shall I go now or will you? Is it okay?”

The woman said nothing, as if she was still trying to take in what was happening and she walked into the shop still carrying the takeaway food parcels she had in her hands. PC Powell tagged in behind her, knowing that he was in the middle of his worst-ever nightmare and yet forlornly hoping that she was about to save him from his awful humiliation. As he almost crumpled under the intense strain and pressure, his bladder released another even longer spurt of urine and this time the flow weaved its way all down his leg to below his knee and he felt the warm tingle run round the back of his calf.

The young constable was in total despair and his heart was pounding as he could scarcely believe what was happening to him.
“I’m wetting myself! I’ve started going! I’m doing it in my trousers!”

He shifted his feet slightly and stood, legs astride, as he announced the onset of defeat and both he and the shop-owner looked down at the floor, almost in anticipation, and the lady yelled, “Out! Out! Outside, Go Outside!”

Her panicked anxiety not to see her shop floor soiled was remarkably responded to by the young police constable doing exactly what she said and, despite the fact that he was still aware of the dribbles all down his leg, he edged towards the shop exit and as the woman opened the door wide he found himself standing outside on the pavement.

His battle was well and truly lost as his bladder gave up its valiant struggle and the 24-year old policeman stood and wet himself in spectacular fashion. He had one hand grasping the rail at the entrance to the shop and his other hand was still wrapped around the crotch of his trousers, diverting the flow of pee down the outsides of both of his trouser-legs. The force with which he was urinating sent the scorching hot flow gushing down the front and backs of his upper and lower legs and right down through his socks and into his boots.

The spreading warmth in his underpants quickly engulfed the back of his briefs which became saturated as he felt the sticky hotness wetting the small of his back and he glanced down to see both of his shoes surrounded by little pools which were emerging and developing into a puddle on the pavement all around his feet.

The shop-owner and the assistant were standing watching in disbelief, as were the other customers and the scene was attracting attention from numerous passers-by and people in the crowd who could simply see the young police officer standing holding himself like a child with a puddle forming around his feet.

Liam stood, completely still, feeling only as if his police career was dissolving into the pool surrounding his shoes. The heat of his scalding underpants was replicated by the warmth all down his legs whilst his hot and sticky socks clung to the insides of his Magnum boots. The wetness of his trousers had made them feel clammy and itchy and his volumes of scorching urine had saturated almost the entire lower half of his body and his uniform and clothing.

He had little real concept of how long he stood there, whilst relieving himself in his pants and after the torrential flow had gradually decreased into a trickle and dribbles down his thighs, but he was suddenly aware of someone gently gripping his arm and he turned to see a woman alongside him, “Come along, dear. Let’s move you away from here” and she began to lead the officer along the pavement.

As he walked, being watched still by startled onlookers, Liam could feel his now cooling trousers clinging to his legs and his cold briefs released more dribbles of pee to run down the backs of his thighs. Having initially left several wet shoe-marks on the pavement, he glanced down at his sodden boots, with the dusty outsides now streaked with little trails of wetness, as he could feel his socks glued to his ankles.

Before he knew it, PC Powell was being led into the back of a caravan-type trailer with the woman being accompanied by another similar-aged man, “We’re volunteers, here to help with minor medical issues or illness or anything really to take the pressure away from the emergency services,” she explained, “it’s probably best for you to stay here for a few minutes until you can get yourself sorted out.” She smiled again although the other man, her husband, said nothing and frowned, barely showing any emotion whatsoever.

“Do you want us to contact someone? Tell them what’s happened?” she asked.

“No” replied Liam instantly, “No, I need to do it. Well, I need to decide what to do. I don’t really know what to do.”

“Look” the woman said, “whatever happens, you ought to get yourself cleaned up a bit and try and remove some of those wet things. Let’s get that sorted first and then you can decide what you do next, okay?”

Liam nodded, understanding the rationale of what she was saying but having little concept as to how to achieve it. Suddenly, and almost before he knew it, the woman was removing his jacket and, in an act which defied his somewhat gruff demeanour, the husband got down on his knees and began unlacing one of Liam’s boots, before lifting his foot and gently easing the boot off, revealing a very wet and stained dark grey sock. As he started to unlace the other boot, the man spoke for the first time.

“Don’t worry lad, we’ve all almost been there. You’re not the first this has happened to and you won’t be the last. We've had others who have come close a few times, like a couple of little spurts. Mind you, I’ve never seen anyone release the full gallon into their trousers, but I'm sure it's happened.”

“We can give you some clean pants if you’d like? The woman said, “We keep a small supply of disposable underwear”, adding quietly with a smile, “they come in useful for the drunks, sometimes!” and she handed Liam a small plastic bag.

Discreetly, both the woman and her husband turned their backs and stood by the door, giving Liam the opportunity to pull his uniform trousers down and ease his absolutely sodden and cold white cotton briefs down his legs and as his pants dropped to his ankles, he stepped out of them and used the towel he had been given to dry himself as best as he could. He unwrapped the small plastic bag and recoiled slightly as he unfolded the white paper underpants, feeling acutely embarrassed as the disposable tissue-like material crinkled as he unwrapped them, stepping into them and pulling them up his legs carefully.

In some ways, it was a futile exercise as he began to put his trousers back on, the material inside the legs feeling even colder than before and the wetness on the outside seemingly even more apparent. His grey sports socks were still soaked as he tugged his boots back on and re-laced them.

Ten minutes later, having offered his profound thanks to the kindly and good Samaritan couple, PC Liam Powell was walking back through the crowds, heading towards the post he had vacated what seemed like ages earlier. His wet trousers were as uncomfortable as anything he had ever experienced and he dared not look down to see how apparent the wetness was to anyone who cared to look, although the reality was that few people were focusing their gaze on the condition of the young constable’s trousers.

He walked briskly back along Whitehall Place, passing a couple of other officers on the way and as he saw PC Barry Crane grin at him and give him a thumbs-up gesture he could scarcely make eye contact or acknowledge his colleague for fear of revealing what had happened.

“You took your time, lad” said Sergeant Phil Harte, “If it took you that long to find somewhere, you’d have been better going to where I was
going tell you to go…”

He was stopped abruptly by Liam who interrupted him and said,
“Sarge, I need to be stood down from duty.”

“Sergeant Harte looked at his constable quizzically and there was a brief moment of silence before PC Powell said,
“I’ve had an accident, Sarge. I wet myself.”

The sergeant stepped back and looked down at Liam’s trousers as his constable confessed in embarrassed fashion,
“I couldn’t find a toilet in time. I went in my pants.”


It was almost 4:00pm when a casually-attired Liam Powell, freshly-showered back at the police station, sweetly-smelling and dressed in a blue and white sweatshirt, jeans and trainers, arrived back at home carrying his sports-bag. He walked in, dropped the bag on the floor and walked straight over to his partner Lisa, saying nothing but putting his arms around her and hugging her tightly.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Lisa said as her boyfriend squeezed her in his arms and gently caressed the back of her neck.

He didn’t let her go from his grasp nor did he attempt to look directly at her as they embraced in silence for a good 10 seconds before Liam spoke, quietly and clearly,

“I wet my pants, Lisa. On duty. I wet myself.”

Lisa recoiled slightly in surprise, pulled away and looked directly into her boyfriend’s watery eyes – and pulled him back into her arms, cuddling him tightly and affectionately. They were still embracing with some passion several minutes later as Lisa giggled and Liam winced as he whispered,

“They put me in a pair of paper underpants!”

[Brian]

The thing I love most about this story is how the PC tries to maintain a professional, and also a practical/pragmatic, attitude throughout the whole awful experience, but he is always unavoidably confronted with the impossibility of this given the shameful circumstances which he's in. Some of the things he has to say are just fantastic - they would be extraordinary to hear from any adult male, let alone from a uniformed PC! Of course, he's human under his uniform, if he can't hold his pee he's going to wet himself just like anyone else, and I just love how your tale shows this up.

It's touching, by the way, that everyone's so sympathetic to him. Colleagues, members of the public, and finally his girlfriend, all so understanding.

[Fred]

It's nice to see that the humiliation factor was kept to a minimum!

Because of Lee's stories, anytime I see a police officer on duty for an extended period of time, I wonder how full his bladder is. Is he manfully holding it in, waiting for his "relief man" to show up? Will he run for the toilet when he gets back to the station? Has he ever leaked a bit into those snug trousers?

[Brian]

Yeah, Lee's stories have had that effect on me too.

[Lee]

Keep watching out ... one day - you never know!!