View Full Version : Our teacher wet her knickers

Tue, 2 Apr 02, 11:09 PM
Somebody asked, do I recall any teachers who wet themselves.? Well indeed I do – and I was one of them, and a few months ago I posted one or two experiences that I still remember with shame and excitement. But yes, I can remember the same misfortune over taking teachers at the schools I went to.

Before I went to boarding school I attended a private girls day school in the town near our home. I enjoyed it there. Naturally, at a school that took girls from 5 to 12 years of age, there were occasions when pupils wet their knickers. Speaking only for myself, I can recall occasions when I was to shy to ask and found myself sitting in class, going for a wee-wee in my combinations and knickers, just as if I had been in the lavatory with the knickers own and the combinations carefully held apart. Or concentrating on an exercise, a lesson or a story and forgetting myself, until reminded of my oversight by sudden the warmth and wetness around my tummy, bottom and legs. Or scampering out at the end of class, and spending the rest of the day with the damp reminder that I had “left it too late” again. Not to speak of girls who would wet themselves two or three times a week, and one or two others who would never wet themselves, despise those who did, and then when 11 or 12 years old, would one day find themselves with a full bladder and no opportunity to relive themselves and disgrace themselves with a flood in front of a whole class.. Teachers, of course, only occasionally. When I was about nine our classroom was in a converted stable at the bottom of the garden, and I have to confess that running up the garden during lessons back to the lavatories in the main building was not encouraged and not easy to ask to do – especially with girls watching from other classrooms. Quite few of us, that year, succumbed to our shyness or misjudged our ability to hold on and had accidents, sometimes concealed in our knickers and sometimes spectacular and public, in the classroom. For a teacher, of course, abandoning the class to go back to the house for obvious reasons was no longer possible. The teacher we had for most of the year was not someone whom this seemed to be a problem. But she was ill for a couple of weeks on winter, and she was replaced by a teacher who had left the school to marry a few years before. Mrs Denison was now in her thirties, looked older, with wispy grey hair, the long skirts that old-fashioned ladies wore in those days (mid-1930s), thick stockings and a general sort of kindly vagueness. She lived not too far from us and had two children. Perhaps having had the babies made things harder for her, but also I think the stable rooms had been adapted since she left the school and the problem of going to the lavatory during lessons hadn’t dawned on her. She was kind – very kind to me when I hesitated one wet afternoon to make the cold journey back up the garden, found before the end of the afternoon that I couldn’t wait, and wet myself completely as we stood round her desk looking at the shapes and colour of different dried leaves. I stood in the resultant puddle for several minutes before anybody noticed! But a day or two later, at the end of one morning, we noticed she was not really paying attention to our questions. When she stood in front of the class she was holding her legs tight together, she moved uneasily from one leg to another, and then sat down and crossed her legs. The girl next to whispered “Mrs D. needs to go!” At one point , Mrs D. leant forward, clasped herself, and looked greatly alarmed. Then the bell went, she hurried us out of the classroom, struggled into her overcoat, and instead of going back to the main building hurried down the drive and out of the grounds, stopping as we stared at her from a distance to stand as if she had stopped to think of something. Two girls from our class followed her down the drive and reported two large wet places on the gravel surface. The rumour that Mrs Dennison had wet her knickers spread rapidly round the school over lunch time and was confirmed for us when she returned, barely on time, for afternoon school in a brown skirt instead of the one she had been wearing that morning, and blue woollen stockings instead of the black ones.

She must have taken more care for the next few days, but towards the end of the following week must have missed the opportunity to go to the lavatory either before or after lunch, which she had to help to supervise that day. As the afternoon wore on she was obviously more and more uncomfortable. One or two of us, of course excused ourselves during the afternoon, but she could not. She taught bravely on, and I think guessed that we knew what her problem was, but clearly couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it. About half way through the afternoon she sat down , asked us to open our reading books at a certain page, and sat with her hands folded over her skirt and an expression of severe concentration on her face. Many of us were watching he slyly as we read. Suddenly she looked up, breathing in sharply with a look of alarm. At that moment the headmistress came in. She stood up, as well all did, we were ordered to carrying with our reading, and there were several minutes of conversation about some school business, Mrs Denison standing between the headmistress and the chair she had been sitting on, with her back as far as she could away form us as well as the headmistress. Then the headmistress left, Mrs Dennison stood there transfixed , saying nothing, and then she shoulders slumped, her face crumpled with dismay, and in front of us all she wet herself, a cascade pouring out for under skirt on to the floor. As she stood in horror, somebody looked out of the window, and said “Mrs Johnson is coming back again!”. Mrs Denison looked horrified, and then one of my friends did a very brave thing. She got up, went to where Mrs Dennison stood helpless with shame, lifted her skirt , parted her legs, and in the twenty seconds before the headmistress arrived, wet her knickers into the puddle Mrs Dennison had left and said “I’ll say it was me.” By this time I and another girl had also wet ourselves with excitement. When the headmistress came in, she took in the scene with a glance, brave Dorothy wailed, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait”, the two of us who had wet ourselves in out seats sat silent, Mrs Dennison withdrew to her desk, and instead of carrying on with her conversation, the headmistress gave us a all a lcture on being ladylike, not leaving it too late, and how silly it was to “go in our clothes”. One more girl wet herself during this lecture, She then swept out, and Mrs Dennison burst into tears. We comforted he her, and Dorothy said, “Can I take my knickers of and put in front of the stove to dry??” “Yes, said Mrs Dennison, “I think we all can if we’ve….” And as Dorothy pulled her bloomers down, Mrs Dennison took her skirt off, lowered her petticoat and vast below the knee bloomers, and I and the other two did likewise, and we hung out garments over the guard round the hot coke stove. We stood in front of the class, Mrs Dennison and I one or girls had the problem of what do about our wet combinations, and we stood in front of the big stove for the rest of the afternoon, The others who had wet themselves sat in damp stockings, decent only because of vests and liberty bodices. Mrs Denison was nearly in tears, and one or two kind girls stood beside her comforted her. “It’s not the first time Marjorie’s wet her knickers”, “Jennifer” (not one of those who had wet themselves on this occasion) “is always doing it”. “Miss, it’s all right, I sometimes wet the bed as well as my knickers!” Dorothy, the long vest tucked below the liberty bodice and suspenders steaming gently in front of the hot stove, said “I sometimes just have to let go if I can’t wait.- and she giggled, and said, “last week I wet the bed too!” And very daring she asked, “Mrs Dennison, do you every wet the bed?”. Mrs Dennison blushed and admitted she did. She said, “I used to wet my combinations and drawers when I was at school, and since I had the babies, it’s got worse. And I’ve never quite stopped wetting the bed, it just seems to happen in my sleep, and I wake up all damp and uncomfortable.” And she told us how she had wet her knickers in class the first week she had come to this school, more than ten years ago. “I needed to go so badly and I just didn’t know what to do. I did it sitting in my seat and only two girls knew about it.” Jennifer asked, “Mrs Dennison, did you wet your knickers last week?”. She blushed, and said “How did you know?” and we explained, and she blushed even redder. The we realised it was nearly time for home, and to much laughter and giggling the unlucky ones pulled their knickers and skirts back on – damp rather than soaking, and we were dismissed.

I quite missed Mrs Dennison when our regular teacher returned.


Wed, 3 Apr 02, 5:26 AM
Thanks Marjorie, it was me who asked and I enjoyed your story. I suspect that some new teachers make a point of checking out the whereabouts of the staff loos and using them on arrival at a new school but I expect others, over confident of their holding capacity, try to brazen it out without going. When I was at school (around 30 years ago) I don't think any of the teachers ever had actual accidents to my knowledge but I know one or two cut it really fine and had what might be called 'close calls.' Thanks for your story though. images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif images/smiles/icon_razz.gif

Wed, 3 Apr 02, 4:19 PM
Thanks for a really nice story. I myself remember when my first grade second grade and other teachers even thru high school would leave the room for few minutes. They would leave the door open to the hall so the principal would hear any carrying on. It was pretty obivious the poor lady has the runs, or hadda make a number of pee pee breaks for some reason.
It was kind of you kids though to cover for your teacher.