Incident reported by Jeff
Dramatized by David North

      During a train journey from the South Coast to Waterloo, a girl of around twenty, with shoulder-length blonde hair, boarded the carriage at a tiny village named Liss. She was accompanied by an older woman who, based on some commonality of features, I assume was her mother. I shall refer to her as such from here onwards.

      The two of them sat three seats ahead of me on the opposite side of the carriage, the girl on the aisle side, which meant that I could see her quite well. Viewing her from behind and to the side meant that I could watch what she was doing without her noticing my attentions.

      She was dressed in a denim jacket, tight black skirt that stopped around four inches about her knees when standing, and a pair on fawn-colored boots that came up to the middle of her calves. Her clothes were not exactly coordinated, and her face was not the most stunningly attractive I'd even seen, but she was good looking, and she was sporting a good figure.

      She sat with her legs crossed, relaxed, chatting to her mother. I heard bits and pieces of their conversation, which mostly seemed to be about problems the girl was having with her boyfriend. As the conversation went on, I gathered he had just become an ex-boyfriend, and she was busy pouring her heart out.

      The British railway system has been undergoing a lot of engineering work lately, and we were traveling on a Sunday, which was asking for it really. We had to leave the train and board a bus to take us from Haslemere to Guildford, a journey that took about half an hour, and when we reached the station in Guildford, the connecting train was already there, so we all hurried to get on board in case it pulled out without us. I managed to select a seat behind and to the left of the blonde girl again, and as before, she chose to sit on the aisle side of the seat and let her mother have the window side.

      One thing I should mention about these trains is that, while they are open carriages, and you can go from one carriage to the next, there are no toilets in them. I wouldn't have thought anything about this if the blonde girl hadn't said in a voice that was probably louder than she intended, "I hope this train hurries up. I'm dying".

      Dying meaning that she was desperate for a piss. At least, I hoped so. I shifted in my seat, feeling myself having an erection which was being strangled by my pants and jeans. It started to hurt as the swelling went on, and I had to shift around a bit to ease my discomfort.

      I watched her even more closely while trying not to stare, and observed that she was leaning forward a bit, legs crossed, with her arms folded across her lap. I could see the fingers and long (probably false) fingernails of her right hand peeping out beneath her left elbow, and noticed that she was flicking her thumbnail on each of the other nails in turn, a ritual she performed over and over again. I then saw her lift the leg uppermost for a moment, and if she was about to uncross her legs, but instead she just shifted it over a bit more so that she was crossing her legs even more tightly.

      I pretended to look out the window, but constantly flicked glances at her, feeling myself growing more and more excited by her constant fidgeting. I prayed for the train to get delayed even more than it already was.

      Soon, the train stopped at Clapham Junction, and while things were a little quieter, I thought I heard the girl say to her mother in a low voice, "Oh fucking hell. How much longer?"

      She put her boots up on the facing seat, knees bent a bit so that the hem of her skirt rode up a few inches. She didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she apparently wasn't bothered, perhaps because her mind was on other, more pressing things. She still had her arms folded, only now she was resting her elbows on her thighs -- she was leaning forward that far. The fingernail plucking was still going on, even faster. She was also tucking her right thumb under her fingers periodically and squeezing down on it.

      The train pulled away from the station but failed to pick up much speed. After about a minute, it stopped again. An announcement came over the intercom that the train was being delayed by work on the line ahead, and that we would be there for a few more minutes. The blonde girl suddenly sat up, lowered her feet to the floor and crossed her legs once more, and I could see she was crossing them really tightly this time, squeezing her thighs firmly together. My erection hardened, and I sincerely hoped I would not be called upon to stand for any reason, because it would have been impossible to hide the bulge in my jeans.

      The blonde leaned right over so that her head was close to her knees, still resting her elbows on the lower part of her thighs. She looked a bit frantic, and I knew she just had to be so close to pissing herself. I strained to catch any more of their conversation, but whatever she was saying to her mother now, she was speaking too softly for me to catch. I longed to hear her say that she was leaking pee into her knickers, and that she didn't think she could hold it in much longer.

      I made a conscious effort to stop staring at her then because several of the passengers opposite me seemed to be noticing my rapt attention, and were glancing around to see what I was looking at. I pretended to be interested in something outside the train, but on the periphery of my vision, I was still aware of the girl's movements. They were now jerky and rhythmic. I wasn't really seeing anything through the window of the carriage at all; my mind was entirely focused on the blonde in the black skirt.

      When she straightened up again, I cast caution aside and unashamedly watched her now knocking her knees together. She suddenly pressed her thighs together, which surely meant she was fighting the urge to start pissing in her knickers. After a few seconds of this, she leaned forward again, laying her folded arms back across her thighs, clicking her fingernails faster than ever before. I began to really believe for the first time that she might actually not make it into the station in time. If she didn't, I thought, I'd witness a water loo of a very different kind.

      Suddenly, the train lurched forward and resumed its approach to the station. The girl made a sound and said something to her mother. The older woman rested her hand on her daughter's back, clearly a gesture of consolation. As the train gathered speed, the blonde seemed to become even more seriously agitated, probably induced by the prospect of being able to pee very soon.

      As the train arrived at the platform, everyone got up and blocked the aisle, just as they do on an aircraft. I stayed in my seat, watching the blonde who also got to her feet, clearly in a hurry to get off, but was totally unable to do so because a group of four wrinklies got in her way and dithered around with bags and other paraphernalia before getting off the train. Since the exit was behind me, I could now see the girl's face clearly. Her expression was one of rising panic. She was doing her best to stand still, but just a glance down at her knees showed that she had her thighs clamped together as she stood there waiting for the old farts to get out of the way and allow her to make a much-needed dash for the loo.

      After the girl and her mother had passed my seat, I rose and left the train some ten seconds behind them. They were hurrying along the platform, disappearing and reappearing as the other passengers weaved across my line of sight. I picked up my pace, anxious not to lose them; I just had to see if the blonde made it to the lavatory in time.

      Located halfway along the platform was a stairwell offering access to the underground. As they passed it, the mother turned and actually took a step down the stairs. The blonde stopped and looked round at her in alarm, then said something while beckoning urgently with her hand. As the mother rejoined her, the blonde resumed her stiff-legged hobble along the platform in the direction of the main station. The mother had seemingly not believed her daughter's situation was as bad as all that, because she had been about to lead the girl down into the underground where there were no toilets, either on the platforms or the trains.

      I couldn't help admiring the blonde's shape as I followed behind her. Her backside and hips curved beautifully, pushing and stretching the material of her tight black skirt. I could only imagine how that snug fit was currently offering resistance to the swell of her abdomen, adding just a little extra pressure against her poor, overfilled bladder.

      A minute later, the two entered the main station. They moved out into the centre, looking around as if lost. I realized then that they didn't know the station very well, and were looking for the toilets. It has always struck me as odd that the signs for the Ladies and Gents are placed about fifteen feet up the wall of the station, out of most people's line of sight.

      After ten or fifteen seconds of standing there looking around, the girl started pacing. On impulse, I walked towards her, choosing a path that would allow me to pass between her and her mother, who was still peering around a bit vacantly. As I stepped between them, I slowed down, so that as the girl turned, she was very close to me. I caught her eye, and saw a flicker of recognition.

      "Hello," I said, smiling. A frown broke through her troubled expression, and I added, "I was just on the train with you."

      "Oh yeah," she said distractedly, and actually crossed her legs because I was now standing in the way of her pacing. By engaging her in conversation, I had effectively made her stand still.

      "I can't see it," the woman, who was now at my side, announced.

      "Can I help?" I asked, sounding all innocent and unaware of what was going on.

      "I really need the loo," the blonde blurted out.

      "Oh, it's over there," I said, pointing to the sign half way up the station wall.

      "Oh, for fuck's--" the blonde started to exclaim, and without pausing to finish her sentence, she made a dash for the opening below the sign. The mother paused long enough to thank me, then walked quickly away in her daughter's wake. I watched them go until the blonde hurried through the entrance of the Ladies and vanished from sight.

      Why did I help her when I could have just watched? I suppose because they would have spotted the sign before long, and then I would never have had the chance to interact with the blonde at all. As it was, I was able to get very close to her, and even delay her from reaching the loo for a short while.

      That isn't quite the end of my story. I bought myself a coffee and stood against a pillar as if waiting for another train, although Waterloo was my final stop. I kept a casual eye on the opening to the Ladies, sipping my coffee, waiting for the two to re-emerge. It was more than ten minutes before the blonde came out, which told me she had been forced to queue for access to a cubicle. She must have been doing the most amazing pee-dance in those last few minutes of her desperation.

      As she and her mother walked across the station, I looked to see if I could observe a wet patch on her skirt. But I couldn't see any evidence of one. Of course, her skirt was black and would have hidden a lot. She happened to spot me watching her as she passed on her way back to the Underground entrance, and even gave me a smile just before she walked out of my life forever.