It wasn't long before Stig's bladder launched another offensive, and after traversing only a dozen or so yards, he suddenly stopped, looking all around him before anxiously acknowledging the sensation. It was one of fullness, his lower abdomen feeling dangerously strained and distended; insistent with what felt like a gallon of piss: sloshing and churning inside him - he had to go. However there were no public lavatories in the vicinity, yet even if there had been the midget doubted he'd have braved them, for they'd no doubt have been unspeakably vile. Standing in the murky twilight, he thought it odd that he hadn't encountered anyone, not even some boozed up old dosser, and his apparent solitude pressed him into wondering why he didn't just whip his piece out there and then, and go against a wall or something; why was he so reluctant? Although he wasn't especially perceptive, he figured this particular quirk had its origins on Jake's smallholding. His ghastly upbringing had brought about in him an insurmountable fear of exposing his genitals, and although there was nothing unsightly about his package, for he was blessed with a formidably large cock and bollocks - rendered all the larger in comparison to his undersized form - he still couldn't quite bring himself to face a wall and unzip his corduroys. Someone might chance past and catch him, and he could barely contemplate his reactions if they saw his wanger, an anguish that he suspected he would still feel even if his penis had been the proportions of a python. So he desperately stumbled on, hoping, wishing; praying that the 'Terror Tower' would greet him around the next corner.