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An Old Problem The noise of the rain beating against my bedroom window woke me up. It was coming down in torrents and, as I looked at the blue display on the clock, which read 2.13 I thought, as I normally sleep with the window slightly open, it might be wise to close it. My room looks out over the back garden and off into the countryside. Well, it isn’t all countryside; there is a local road that runs along the back and then a sort of T-junction that goes off in another direction. However, it’s very dark and only the occasional beam from our rear motion sensor security light illuminates a few nearby trees. However, the bulb had recently blown so everywhere was completely black and though I knew there were some nearby trees beyond our fence, I couldn’t make them out. I closed the window but was mesmerised by wave after wave of rain that beat heavily against the glass. I stood there for a few minutes completely hypnotised by the rhythm of the falling rain. Then the song entered into my head and I couldn’t move as I watched deep into the pitch black; the reflective blue of my bedside clock occasionally being caught in the raindrops as they streamed down the pane. It was quite compulsive. In the distance I could see sporadic flashes and wondered if the storm was coming or going. The weather forecast had promised a period of sudden summer storms but they’d be quite erratic and some places would escape completely. I could hear a distant rumbling but it was mostly masked by the sound of rain incessantly beating against the window. However, it was a severe summer storm and standing there, wearing just the shiny green Adidas shorts I’d adopted as my favourite form of sleepwear, I started counting the seconds between the flashes and distant rumblings of thunder the way I had as a child. I don’t know why I simply hadn’t returned to bed but, five minutes later I was still looking, head pressed against the rain-streaked glass and noticed the lightning and thunder getting closer together. Over the years thunder and lightning had proved a daunting problem for me but, as I was tracking this one I thought I wouldn’t be scared as easily as I had been when suddenly in the middle of all that noisy rumbling. However, a sudden bright flash lit up the garden and nearby wooded area as I witnessed a strike about eight hundred yards away where a tree burst into flame. I instinctively flinched and ducked down below the window ledge as the instant roar around the house rumbled on for ages. Although stunned I returned to the window to see the fractured tree still ablaze but the rain trying to dampen the flames. Moments later and something else caught my attention there was liquid pooling at my feet. I’d let lose a stream of uncontrollable piss. My shorts clung to my thighs and hips as the flow of urine continued; the nylon fabric being no use at all in absorbing much of it. Not only was I pissing myself but I was actually shaking where I stood. It may seem strange that an eighteen year-old should be scared of a storm. However, this incident brought back unwanted memories of other times. # I glanced at the clock which now read 3.12. Astonishingly, I’d been standing at the window transfixed for an hour, thankfully only paddling in my own piss for a minute or so since that terrifying strike. The pool on the hardwood floor was clearly visible whilst my shorts adhered to my skin and felt very uncomfortable. A couple more flashes and distant rumbles told me the storm was in retreat but thought it better to clean up the mess before returning to bed. Not wishing to cause any further commotion I tiptoed to the bathroom, picking up a couple of cloths to clean up the puddle. I turned on the main bedroom light to make sure I got the lot and was surprised at the amount but relieved it hadn’t flowed to the edge of the rug. I mopped it up and caught a glimpse of myself on my hands and knees in the mirror. Even though my shorts still had the sheen of Adidas’s shiny nylon, they glowed even further with the addition of liquid. They may have been my favourites but felt awfully clammy to wear. The hand-cloths gradually soaked up my shame and within a few short minutes I was back in the bathroom and rinsing out my stained shorts. As I said those old shiny nylon Adidas were my favourite. I’d had them ages and loved the fact not only did they still fit but felt wonderful to sleep in, although not at that moment. I have a quite a few pairs of shorts because I prefer to wear them when I’m home. Ever since school days and made the move to long trousers, I’ve always changed the moment I got home and do the same now when I get back from work. I’m always at my happiest wearing shorts. I’d like to think it was because I was athletic... but it’s not really. Anyway, I cleaned myself up and returned to the bedroom, fished out a pair of white cotton PE shorts for the rest of the night and settled back under the sheets. Despite the rain it was still a relatively warm summer’s night so had no need for extra cover. I was however, surprised to notice I was still shaking; my stomach was knotted and in general felt more than a little nervy. Though the hypnotic rain beating against the window wasn’t letting up I turned on my side to try and exclude the storm from my brain. # I closed my eyes and immediately my mind went back to when I was three years old and mum and dad had taken me to France on my first camping trip. This was before my sister Jenny was born so there was only the three of us but, on the last night, a terrific storm had torn down the valley where we were staying. The thunder crashes seemed even worse as they echoed and rumbled for ages against the mountain sides. I was terrified and even being clutched close to mum and her soothing words didn’t help relieve the fear. I wet and messed myself as a result. Being three I’d just stopped wearing nappies during the day and my parents were experimenting with me just wearing pyjamas at night. That immediately stopped after this night, and, as it turned out, just as well because from then until I started in kindergarten, I often woke up soaked. I’m not sure if they made a link that it was because I was traumatised by the noise or not. However, from then on I seemed to be able to saturate my night time protection with or without the help of a raging thunderstorm. Much to mum and dad’s relief I eventually grew out of it but when I was seven, we went camping once more up into the Yorkshire Dales. The weather had been surprisingly warm, calm and a little muggy all day and that night, in our new two bedroom tent (we were separated by the open kitchen area) me and my three year-old sister had a room to ourselves I was woken up by another fierce roar of thunder crashing around us. It didn’t seem to worry Jenny who slept through it but I was seven, a boy and couldn’t let mum and dad in the partition across the way know I was still scared of a bit of thunder. However, the noise got more intense and lasted for about fifteen loud and, to me at least, terrifying minutes. Only at the end of which I realised I was crying; I’d messed both my pyjamas and sleeping bag completely. I lay in my shitty stew sobbing and half dozing until morning. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t done what I’d done but of course we all thought it was a one off. Alas, for the rest of the holiday, every morning I woke to a soaked sleeping bag and, even when we returned home, I woke up to a sodden bed. Mum solution was that I joined my sister and immediately put me back into nappies. This was just as well because for the next few months I needed them at least a couple of times a week. How I could have been so traumatised by it all I wasn’t sure but did notice that back then, even a noisy truck rumbling down the road produced the odd spurt, which I did my best to disguise. Mum never said anything but I suspect that, as she washed my underpants, was well aware of the yellow stains they rarely escaped. Now at eighteen, I would have hoped to have outgrown my anxiety of thunder and lightning but that puddle had been a definite clue I hadn’t. However, what undeniably made me realise I was still like a scared little boy was the fact that in the morning I was transported back to my youth having woken up to sodden shorts and soaked sheets. It had been a while since this last happened - wet shorts and even wetter sheets were not a good way to start the day. However, whilst in the middle of stripping the bed mum came in to get me up for work. “Oh, I wondered if the storm kept you awake.” In resignation I sighed. “It did more than wake me up.” “Your old problem?” I nodded and shrugged which was a bit non-committal. “I see... look... leave all that to me, you go and get yourself ready for work and tonight... we might have to see about precautions.” # Not every thunder storm produced that result because over the years there had been plenty and I’d not been too affected, well not as much for folk to notice...a little spurt maybe. It helped if it was distant and during daylight, or I was in a crowd, or at least immersed in something keeping me occupied. Unfortunately, being in my room alone left me more susceptible than I realised. Unenthusiastically I nodded in agreement with mum’s assessment but noticed in the shower I was still shaking and that perturbed me a great deal. Maybe, seeing that tree burst into flame was something both incredible but scary. In retrospect I think that affected me more than I realised. Although it’d been quite some time since my last wet disaster I knew precisely what those ‘precautions’ mum suggested would be. I know that at my age I should have cringed at the thought but in truth I agree it’s a sensible way to go... well at least until I’m over the shock. Especially as the weather forecast indicated that the meteorological oddity hanging over our particular part of the country might produce more storms. I wasn’t happy about this. In fact it sent a chill whenever I thought about it but, hopefully, now I was an adult this would pass a lot quicker than it had done when I was younger. In fact, because I was now an adult I didn’t even think about any further protection as I got dressed... I simply assumed my puddle moment was all about last night and not about the day. Getting dressed I looked out of the window at the splintered tree and even though the sun was up and no clouds dulled the blueness, I was feeling a little shattered though determined not to dwell on such an eventful night. # I was naïve. Even though I tried I was a fool to think I could ignore what’d happened. I couldn’t get much work done as I worried about how the night’s weather had affected me and the trembling seemed to get worse as the day progressed. Lack of sleep made my body clock out of sync and I was feeling quite agitated, which was silly really as, at that point in the day, there was no thunder around. My job, which I’d had since leaving school at sixteen, isn’t hard because I’m sat at a desk behind a computer most of the day. It’s a very friendly office and there’s plenty of standing around chatting. As long as we get the job done, and on time, the office manager Mrs Dewhurst is pretty easy going. Alas, just after 14.30 I was still so jittery I pissed my pants. Quite unexpectedly, and without the aid of thunder or even a passing truck, I felt a warmness where there shouldn’t have been any and saw the front of my beige chinos begin to turn dark. I could feel my briefs clinging to my crotch and decided I couldn’t sit around in wet pants for the rest of the day. I leapt from my chair, grabbed a folder and headed to the unisex washroom, which was thankfully empty. I turned on a tap and splashed water trying to disguise what had happened. I took off my chinos and held them under the powerful hand drier. However, my shirt, which was hardly long enough to hide my wet briefs, was useless at hiding my embarrassment. If anyone came in I would timidly explain that I’d splashed whilst washing my hands. My chinos were taking too long to dry and I wished I’d thought about this a bit longer because I stood there in my soaked tighty-whities feeling stupid. A couple of people came in and I explained I’d turned the tap on too high and it splashed up and soaked my pants. There were plenty of smiles and I think my excuse was bought. Thankfully they didn’t inspect my underwear. As I’m the youngest in the office, and perhaps just a tad smaller than average in height, I’m sure they thought it typical of a daft kid who hadn’t worked out the complexities of turning on a tap and the force of water. I obviously had a lot of the basics still to learn. There are twenty of us working in the open plan area, only the supervisor has her own office. Since I started they have called me the office baby, which I suppose age and size-wise I am. Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t vindictive or nasty or anything and I really don’t mind. It’s not like it’s something they’re always teasing me about. On the contrary it’s a friendly place to work and I get on well with everyone. The older ladies especially want to mother me. Anyway, twenty minutes later and my chinos were dry enough to wear. I slipped into a cubicle, pulled off the soaked briefs and slipped back into my dry trousers; all very efficient except I had no idea what to do with my sopping briefs. In the end I simply tossed them in the bin going commando and feeling a little strange and oddly guilty. # When I got back to my desk I found a message flashing on the screen with an attachment. It was a file we’d been waiting on and needed urgent attention. I’d have to work late to get it done. As I say, the firm is pretty easy-going but when something urgent comes in it’s expected that you buckle down and accommodate what needs to be done. If you’ve made plans, you put them on hold; it’s the trade-off for having the comfortable work environment we have. Get it done and your time’s flexible. I let mum know I’d be working late, but of course I didn’t mention the wet pants scenario. She said she’d clean things up and had put a waterproof sheet on my bed so wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I thanked her, told her not to make me a meal as I didn’t know just how long I’d be, and got back to work. For the rest of the day we worked hard trying to get the project complete for the deadline. We were doing quite well but an important piece of information was missing and another part of the company, in a different area of the country, was busy finding it and then had to email it over. The missing folder arrived late but only a handful of the staff was needed to work on it... I was one of them. Just before I started on my bit of the project, the clouds re-gathered and the world seemed to darken. Rain poured from the heavens and a distant rumble announced another summer storm was on its way. As I pulled up the first page on my computer I felt that strange, though not unknown, apprehensive tingle run down my spine. I closed my eyes and told myself to breathe deep, exhale after a count of five and repeat. I was with a few others, in a working environment, so should be OK... or at least I hoped so. I re-read the page and was happy to see that my part in the urgent assignment wasn’t that difficult. In fact, I chided myself for being so self-possessed about a coming storm and to just get on with it. I knew if I gave it my full, uninterrupted attention, I could have this done before 9pm... not as late as some nights I’d worked in the past. This eased my thinking, just as a brilliant flash and instant crash of thunder took out our computer system. # The associated rumble was loud and, in the dark for me at least, quite scary. The others left in the office to deal with this urgent assignment were laughing, though I’m not sure if it was because they found the situation funny or were hiding their own anxiety. However, the emergency generator kicked in but only supplied enough energy for lighting and the most basic of functions. There wasn’t enough power to run the computer systems and the associated bank of servers. Things were working but barely on essentials. I was standing in the office wondering what to do next when Paula, the head of department, noticed my wet pants. Almost at the same moment I felt a strange tingle as a trickle of pee streamed down the leg of my chinos. I looked down and was surprised to see just how wet I was then my gaze travelled back to the supervisor who had a concerned look on her face. “Thunder not your thing?” she enquired. I was struck dumb with dismay as I searched her face for censure but none was forthcoming. Instead she seemed to read my predicament and ordered me to follow. I kept mumbling my apologies as I shuffled, rather than walked, the twenty or so yards to her office. It said - Paula Dewhurst – Head of Tech and Projects – on her door. She didn’t seem to react to anything I said but once behind closed doors sat on the edge of her desk and for the first time in ages, I realised I was talking to my boss. Mrs Dewhurst was one of the most relaxed and even-tempered people I’d ever met and since joining the team straight from school, I’d always got on well with her. Although I was young and a trainee when I started, she took me under her wing and quickly earned a position as a specialist in the organisation and research of historical computer files. She herself was very tech savvy and while a good twenty years older than me (in fact about the same age as my mum), we had worked amicably together on various projects. Up until then, the office had been very relaxed and an incredibly wonderful place to work but, as she sat on her desk appraising me, for the first time since I’d been employed there, I felt what I was... a stupid kid who’d just wet his pants. She didn’t insist on a regimented office – it was all first names and friendly. However, at that moment Paula was most definitely Mrs Dewhurst... my supervisor. It could have been my mum sitting there and deciding what to do but it wasn’t... it was my boss. I felt the flame of embarrassment flow from my toes to my face. I tried to apologise but wasn’t sure if that was enough. I just mumbled. # I didn’t know what to say or do so I just stood there with my hands covering the damp patch, and I wasn’t doing a particularly good job at that. Eventually she seemed to relax as if she’d come to some conclusion. “I have a daughter who reacts to thunderstorms... human biometeorology or some such thing... and although she’s now just become a teenager, she still takes fright when one is forecast. She has a similar response but has learned to take precautions.” I stood there ashamed and not knowing quite what was expected of me. “You’ve appeared a little off all day... and now...” She pointed to the dark stain down my right leg. I could say nothing to explain, I didn’t know how to start. She delved into her bottom draw and pulled out a small package. “I can’t have you working out there in that state... and as I don’t think we’re going to get the systems back up and running before tomorrow, I suggest you put this on.” She pushed the folded package over to me. “Clean yourself up as best you can and get off home.” At first it didn’t register what she’d given me but then it dawned... it was a Tena Pants Maxi. “That should keep any dribbles or other frights at bay until you get home and... I know you may not be all that keen...” She must have recognised the shock as I looked at what I’d been given. “However, if you were my son I’d just tell you to man up and put it on. You really don’t want any more embarrassing accidents.” I didn’t know what to say because I was quite flustered but, with her saying... ‘if I was her son’ I knew this was more an instruction than a request. I’m eighteen but it felt like mum was telling me something for my own good so I didn’t feel I could argue the point. I felt like a naughty, silly little toddler but did as told and shuffled out of her office very conscious of how nasty and cloying wet pants were. Because I’d gone commando there’d been no underpants to help limit the flood... and boy had I flooded. I entered the restroom, pulled down my soaked pants and wiped the damp area with toilet paper before shuffling the strange but nicely padded feminine item up my legs. Man up indeed. I stood for a second or two... taking in the moment... ‘biometeorology’ was that what she’d said? Oddly enough, the soft quilted and supportive padding made me instantly feel better. I ran my hands over the flexible fabric and it reminded me of the pull-ups I occasionally wore when younger. Even though I was at work, and would have dreaded anyone finding out about my need for protection when a thunderstorm came, it was wonderful that my boss understood my predicament. Despite being designed for a lady, they seemed to grip me in all the right places and some of my confidence returned. Again I smoothed my palms over the soft material and the distant thunder now didn’t seem so threatening. I pulled up my chinos and whilst they were stained I thought, with a bit of manipulation of the rest of my clothes, I’d manage to get out of the building before anyone else noticed. The thunder had rumbled off but it was still bucketing down. As no doubt I was going to get soaked again on the way to the bus, drying my pants first would have been a senseless undertaking. I nervously slipped on my jacket and collected my things. Meanwhile, Paula, although I could only see her now as the authoritative Mrs Dewhurst, was waiting at the door. I nodded my thanks and said my goodbyes. “Hope you have a comfortable journey home.” She smiled before telling the rest of the office to return bright and early tomorrow morning. “Be in for 7.30 please, we need to get this all done and dusted by noon.” The look she gave me when I smiled my thanks was returned but I felt there was more to it and just hoped she could keep a secret. However, that Tena Maxi Pant hugged me all the way home and if I’m honest, not only felt fantastic but did the job it was supposed to do. I had a smile on my face for most of the journey just thinking about what I was wearing under my trousers. However, because of temporary flooding the bus got stuck in traffic, which meant the soak-ability of the Tena was put to the test. Nervously, with other passengers all around, I released my bladder, so, as the rain beat against the bus window, my absorbent girlie pants did a fine job. # # # ...to be continued