
WHEN IT IS NOT YOUR DAY
in response to a prompt: on wearing your panties (or less) in public
Johan lived in a small village not very far from Amsterdam. Only half an hour by train. For Johan it could have been on another planet. Nothing ever happened in the village, everybody knew everybody and the life was just one big boring, never changing routine. Amsterdam on the other hand was everything his village was not. Adventure, excitement, challenge, romance… Everything Johan has ever dreamed about.
Every chance he had, as soon as he would have enough money for the train ticket, Johan would go to Amsterdam. He would be happy just to walk around for a few hours and soak in all the extravaganza and the magic of this enchanting and cosmopolitan place.
This is a story of one of Johan’s visits to the city, as told to me by a mutual aquaintance.
It was a lovely sunny day, just perfect for an outing. Johan was pleased with himself. The chores he did yesterday at his grandma’s have earned him the money for the trainfare and even some extra guilders for a sandwich and a beer in town. He was only one hour in Amsterdam and he had a whole afternoon ahead of him.
As he was walking across the Dam square debating which route to take, he felt a sudden heavy rumbling in his gut . Silently he cursed himself for having taken a second helping of grandma’s beans last night. After a quick glance, making sure nobody was near, he farted. That same instant he knew he had fataly miscalculated. It was not only the gas he had released. His pants were suddenly heavy and he felt a wet, soft and warm weight inside his knickers. Yes, the worst thing imaginable had just happened! Now he could smell it too! Oh dear, oh dear oh… dear! What to do now? There was nowhere he could possibly go in Amsterdam where he could wash himself and change into clean clothes.
He considered for half a second walking into some cafe and going to the restroom. But what could he really do there? No, that was not a solution. If anything, it would make the bad situation even worse. Best to “contain” the problem for now and just walk really carefully, without any sudden movements. And think…
Walk slowly and think fast, Johan boy! What you need most right now is a change of clothes. Yes, sure. You have about five guilders on you, not enough for any of that…not by a long shot!
As he was going through the worst moments of his young life, desperately searching and praying for deliverance, his eyes fell on a denim store, just at the corner of Dam and Kalverstraat. Piles of jeans on several counters throughout the shop were clearly visible from outside where Johan was standing.
Desperate times call for desperate measures
said Johan wisely to himself and walked inside. Nobody appeared to notice his presence. It was a moment of inspiration. Johan approached a wide table nearest to the entrance where all these jeans were folded in several piles. Like a sleepwalker, he grabbed one pair and slid it under his jacket, folded as it was. Still nobody approached him. Without hesitating he turned around and in two strides he was out on the street . He now retraced his steps over the Dam and continued toward the Central Station. Another 300 meters and he will be there. He walked more freely now, not too concerned any more with the unfortunate burden in his pants. He was a man with the plan now. A glance at the clock above the entrance confirmed what he knew already. He was just in time, his train home was already at the platform. Under the circumstances, for the first time he was eager to leave Amsterdam early and return home to his village.
Once on board, he went straight to the washrooms at the end of the wagon. Down went the soiled jeans , the soiled knickers. Even his socks had suffered the same fate. What a horrid stinking mess that was! It felt good to be out of those filthy things. Standing barefoot and bare-assed in only his t-shirt and a short jacket, he rolled those soiled garments ino a kind of a solid “shit ball” and threw them with great relish out of the window. Good riddance!
After having washed and wiped himself the best he could , he finally turned to his newly acquired possession, those jeans he was forced to steal in Amsterdam.
As he unfolded it, he saw with horror it was not at all the pants, but … a denim jacket he had in his hands!

