113
While on the way there he had to relieve himself. A
piece of cake, no longer a problem, he was almost looking forward to it. . He
turned off the main road into a quiet side street and pulled up. As he got out
of the car he had a quick look around. Good, nobody was about. He went round to
the back of the Lada, opened the boot, took out the five gallon plastic jerry
can he’d purchased at a garage earlier that morning, and unscrewed the cap.
His practised eyes searched the street once more. No one was coming in either
direction. So, standing as closed to the back of the Lada as he could and using
the boot lid as a shield, he unzipped his fly and inserted his penis into the
neck of the jerry can.
He didn’t start to
urinate immediately. When you have a prostate gland problem it doesn’t
work like that, and nobody knew this more than Bond. You have to wait
for the pee to come, which it eventually does, but in its own good time. Even
though you may be dying for a pee. It can take anything from ten seconds to ten
minutes. Bond had learned that the sound of flowing water helped to start him
off, and when he was in a toilet he flushed the lavatory and this usually did
the trick. However this was Fieldacre Road, Heaton Moor, a street whose
pavements had a dozen or so lampposts, several trees, four telegraph poles,
a post-box, but unfortunately no lavatories. Bond’s contingency plan, for
times such as this when no lavatory was available, was to picture in his
mind’s eye a cascading waterfall, and this usually did the trick after a
few seconds had elapsed. It did the trick this time, and ten seconds after
he’d started imagining Niagara Falls in full flow Bond began peeing into
the jerry can - at exactly the same moment that the Lada began to pull away
from him, hi-jacked by a joy rider.
If it is
difficult for a man who has a prostate gland problem to start urinating then it
is even more difficult for him to stop, once he has started. Thus when the Lada
was fast disappearing into the distance Bond was still holding the jerry can
and urinating freely into it when a woman came walking down the street. On
seeing Bond, and in particular observing what he was doing, the woman quickly
averted her eyes in disgust and quickened her pace. Not so the two teenage
girls who now came down the street arm in arm. On seeing Bond, and with a broad
smile, one of the girls nudged the other to draw her attention to him, then
they both had a good giggle about it before the second girl took out her mobile
phone and took a photo of him. As the two went merrily on their way, pausing
only to shout “Perv!” at him, the one who had taken the photo punched
the keys on her phone and in an instant the photo of Bond in mid pee was
winging its way to all her friends. Bond wished the earth would open and swallow him. He eventually managed to stop the Niagara
of urine. But unfortunately not before a police patrol car had screeched to a
halt at the opposite side of the road. A police constable jumped out of the car
as though he had just spotted the Yorkshire Ripper and there was a million
pounds reward for his capture. “And what do you think you’re
doing?” he leered, approaching Bond.
