The Burger Stand
Posted: 14 May 2018, 07:07
This tale goes back to the mid 1970's when I had bought myself a house and my full time job did not bring enough money to live on. Desperate, I got myself a weekend job working on a burger van at various events. On the day I describe we were parked up in the South East of England in a car park in Ashdown Forest.
Joe my boss drove the van there and sorted me out and told me he would be back later to see how things were going with me, then jumped into his second van that had been following and headed off with that guy to a different location in a lay-by on some main road, I know not where.
No sooner that I opened up there were folk waiting and a queue formed. It was hard graft keeping up with business but I was quite pleased with myself coping as well as I was, slicing onions, frying the burgers, slicing rolls and dishing out endless coffee and tea. An hour had passed and I needed a piss. I realised when the initial non-stop action ceased. It had never entered my thought train that I might need to pee and had no idea what to do about it except hope Joe came back soon. He didn't and I was trapped in the van. Slowly the need got greater and after two hours had passed I was worried, very worried.
I was grateful for the good apron I was wearing and that it even covered a good deal of my backside. Something told me cover was whatI would need. I mean 'would need' because whilst pouring the last coffee for a customer I had fought hard to stop my first trickle of wee. I could feel the wet patch in my briefs.
A few years earlier at football with my Dad he had told me, after I'd wet myself, that the best way to cope was to dribble your way through the crisis, letting small amounts out trying not to let it soak through your trousers and that was what I resorted to now.
I was so needing to piss that when I let go the first dribble on purpose it was hard to stop but after a few seconds I was under control. My Jockeys were much wetter now . I gave it a few minutes and released again. It was warm and coping like this was not so bad really. No one could see. I couldn't see either, just feel the warmth of the wee and the increasing wetness of my briefs and that my old cords were getting wet down between my legs. My confidence increased and when I got a quiet moment I got a chance to sit on the high stool and I ceased the dribbles and just let it happen. Business had slowed and every now and again I served another customer some trickles would run down my legs but I knew the damage was confined to my upper regions.
Business slowed and I began to tidy up. Joe returned and asked me how I'd got on. He seemed impressed with the takings and told me I had a weekend job permanently if I wanted it, I thanked him and told him I'd take it, took off my apron and he saw my soggy light brown cords. He grinned and then burst out laughing, apologised for dumping me and gave me an extra fiver.
Over the years I've had many accidents, along with a few "accidents" as well. I have often remembered my Dad's advice about dribbles and short bursts and am still grateful for it so many years later.
Joe my boss drove the van there and sorted me out and told me he would be back later to see how things were going with me, then jumped into his second van that had been following and headed off with that guy to a different location in a lay-by on some main road, I know not where.
No sooner that I opened up there were folk waiting and a queue formed. It was hard graft keeping up with business but I was quite pleased with myself coping as well as I was, slicing onions, frying the burgers, slicing rolls and dishing out endless coffee and tea. An hour had passed and I needed a piss. I realised when the initial non-stop action ceased. It had never entered my thought train that I might need to pee and had no idea what to do about it except hope Joe came back soon. He didn't and I was trapped in the van. Slowly the need got greater and after two hours had passed I was worried, very worried.
I was grateful for the good apron I was wearing and that it even covered a good deal of my backside. Something told me cover was whatI would need. I mean 'would need' because whilst pouring the last coffee for a customer I had fought hard to stop my first trickle of wee. I could feel the wet patch in my briefs.
A few years earlier at football with my Dad he had told me, after I'd wet myself, that the best way to cope was to dribble your way through the crisis, letting small amounts out trying not to let it soak through your trousers and that was what I resorted to now.
I was so needing to piss that when I let go the first dribble on purpose it was hard to stop but after a few seconds I was under control. My Jockeys were much wetter now . I gave it a few minutes and released again. It was warm and coping like this was not so bad really. No one could see. I couldn't see either, just feel the warmth of the wee and the increasing wetness of my briefs and that my old cords were getting wet down between my legs. My confidence increased and when I got a quiet moment I got a chance to sit on the high stool and I ceased the dribbles and just let it happen. Business had slowed and every now and again I served another customer some trickles would run down my legs but I knew the damage was confined to my upper regions.
Business slowed and I began to tidy up. Joe returned and asked me how I'd got on. He seemed impressed with the takings and told me I had a weekend job permanently if I wanted it, I thanked him and told him I'd take it, took off my apron and he saw my soggy light brown cords. He grinned and then burst out laughing, apologised for dumping me and gave me an extra fiver.
Over the years I've had many accidents, along with a few "accidents" as well. I have often remembered my Dad's advice about dribbles and short bursts and am still grateful for it so many years later.
Or he could use a "stadium buddy" (male external catheter).