Where are the toilets?

My old primary school used to open up its outdoor swimming pool for pupils to use during the school holidays. It was simply a case of registering and then you were put on a rota which showed the days and times you were allowed to use the pool. Although the pool was always freezing cold and contained approximately 50 dead flies per square metre, I normally put my name down to use the pool as it was free. Not only this, you were allowed to bring a friend with you and the person supervising (normally parents of children at the school) didn’t give a toss what you got up to. It was not unusual to see a number of kids attempting to run the length of the pool over its cover, and inevitably nearly drowning when their legs got caught amongst the polythene as it began to sink below the surface of the water.

 When I was in year 7, I was on the pool rota during the Summer holidays. One particular day, my brother and I decided to make use of the free facilities as it was particularly warm, and we thought it would be an ideal way to cool down. Our cousin Jake was also with us, and he is the star of this story, for reasons that you will soon find out. We arrived at the pool early in the afternoon to find it pretty much empty; from memory I think that there were only a couple of other children in the pool.  We quickly got changed in the run down changing rooms; for once it wasn’t worth trying to peer through the cracks in the wall which looked directly in the girl’s changing room, as it was vacant.

 The time we spent in the pool was brief. It was rather boring to be honest and after half an hour or so we were already cold and fed up and talking about what else we could be getting up to. A decision was made to get out of the pool, get changed, and go and play some football in the park. In the changing rooms, we all wrapped our towels round our shivering bodies. The sunny weather did nothing to heat up the chilly water and so all three of us were very cold, goose-pimpled from head to toe. One thing I miss about being young was the fact that a towel would easily cover my body like a huge duvet, and I could get snug and warmed up I no time. I was enclosed in my towel and wriggling free of my swim shorts; even though we were family, there was no way that we wanted to see each other’s knobs.  I noticed Jake struggling somewhat in his corner of the changing room, with a concerned look on his face.

 “Are you alright, Jake?” I asked, “Get dressed and you’ll be warm in no time”.

 Jake just looked back at me with a blank expression on his face. He was completely naked, holding his towel out in front of him to protect his modesty. He reminded me of a matador holding up a red rag to a bull, and I smirked at the thought of my brother charging at him, sending them both crashing through the wall of the changing rooms.

 “Erm, lads…where are the…” Jake stopped momentarily and I speculated at what the next word would be. I didn’t have to wait long.

 “TOOOIIIIIIILLLLETTTTTTTSSSSSSSS?!”

 As Jake said the word ‘toilets’, the pitch of his voice went up a few octaves.  He began pissing instantly, his frantic hands clambering to control his penis which was snaking in the air in a frenzied manner; such was the force of his release. The power and ferocity with which he was urinating meant that he couldn’t get a proper grip of his member and so instead he picked up his towel and held it in front of him, soaking up his salty spray. Still he pissed, a torrent of liquid soaking the towel that Jake held in his outstretched arms. My brother and I were pissing ourselves too, only with laughter as we watched in amazement at the amount of piss that Jake was spraying around the place; his chipolata flapping around like a fireman’s hose with no one holding the end. I swear I saw his stomach shrink inwards as his bladder emptied, and I saw all life and energy drain from Jake’s body

 Eventually he stopped and his tired, naked body stumbled backwards against the wall of the changing room before sliding down it so that he was sitting on a bench that ran all the way around the inside wall. I was struggling to breathe as I was laughing so much, and my brother was on the floor holding his sides which were aching.  Jake’s sodden towel, which he had dropped as he staggered backwards, was in a pile on the floor, and the urine that had missed the towel had formed a large damp patch on the carpet. We all looked at each other and then at the mess on the floor and exploded into laughter in synchronisation.  My brother was the first to start speaking,

 “Ha-ha-ha! You’ve pissed everywhere! HAAAAA!”

 Yes, he’d stated the obvious, but what else was there to possibly say in this situation? Jake was grinning,

 “I just couldn’t hold it in”

 “You’d need a cork to keep that in”, I retorted.

 After a good hearty laugh, we eventually managed to get ourselves dressed, being careful not to tread in the spillage. Jake had to pack his smelly towel in to a plastic bag before putting it in his rucksack. We laughed about the incident all the way home that afternoon. Never before, nor since, have a seen a piss like it.