I Wet Myself On Purpose When I Was A Kid
Pee Game on the Bus Ride Home... When I was about 13 and up I had a long bus ride home from school (40 minutes on public transit), to almost the end of my route, and no-one was going to be there to meet me most days.
I'd been playing a lot of wetting games at home for the better part a year by this point. Usually I acted out a scene of being caught desperate and having an accident, or being a small child again and peeing in my pants, diaper or bed. Then I would pleasure myself in my wetness in more mature ways. I'd accidentally and intensely linked the feeling of losing control of my bladder to the pleasure of surrender to having an orgasm in the fog of puberty, and loved everything about it: the way it felt, the helplessness, the exciting 'forbiddenness', the warmth, the way it looked when it happened. I loved having such a daring secret, and sometimes replayed the real accidents I'd had, or imagined what it was like to be an even littler me, who still wet all day long, anywhere I happened to be.
It turned into a favourite game to pass the time on the bus. I'd sit in the back seat and observe all the passengers and the people and places we passed by. The rule was that any time I got a clear look at something that made me think of wetting, I had to pee a little, right where I was sitting. I either had to give one good push until I could feel my wetness (a wet spot would show and start to spread on the front of my school pants after two or three of these, always one of the most exciting moments in the game), or, more riskily, I'd set a number, like 3 or 5 or even 10, and have to relax my bladder muscles completely for that many counts at every sighting.
I might not pee at all during the count, or if I miscalculated I might start wetting my pants a whole lot, and even have to decide whether to cheat and stop. The risk and childishness of maybe being about to pee my pants on a public bus without any control were always thrilling, but I would usually stay pretty dry with this version. Then as I got near home I would make up some excuse or extra rule that let me start wetting anyway before getting off the bus.
Realistically, the cue to 'let go' would almost always be diapers. There were always stores on the route with early Pampers in sight on a shelf. There were still lots of cloth diapers and sleepers and plastic baby pants hanging on clotheslines in those days, and on hot days there might be babies whose diapers weren't covered up. On garbage day there'd be boxes from used diapers with people's trash. A few times there was a baby or small child on the bus who'd visibly leaked or had an accident. Once only, a year or so old boy got on with his dad in just a disposable diaper and a t-shirt, and he'd clearly pooped, the shape of the mess showed right through the seat of his diaper.
When we got to my stop, my pants would pretty much always be wet enough to have to hold my backback in front of me to try to hide what I'd done. I was often, but not always, the last one on the bus. I couldn't count on that for safety. There were times I let things go too far obeying the counting rule, or every store on the route seemed to have a special on Pampers, and the wet spot had spread up to my waist and was the size of a dinner plate. I loved making the wet spot and feeling and watching it grow...
The block and a half walk from the bus stop to my house was along a four-lane road. If no-one else was too nearby on that short walk home I might raise the stakes and let go for an extra long count. Or I'd push a quick little spurt of pee in my pants as I passed each telephone pole, or just as each car went by. Or (a favourite, because the uncertainty and risk were so high) I'd relax my control for a minute at the bus stop until the pee was just about to flow, and then walk at a normal pace until I reached our hedge, or a certain parked car or street sign, committing to let anything that happened in that time happen, no matter what. It was incredibly exciting when it did.
If it didn't, I would sometimes still find a last-ditch way to lose, like playing one of my at-home games — becoming a little boy again, hurrying home to go to the bathroom too late, and doing it all in my pants at the door. Or heading for the bathroom, wetting down my legs on the way. Or making it right in front of the toilet holding control and then having an accident while trying to get my pants down, something I'd read often happens in toilet training.
I'd been playing a lot of wetting games at home for the better part a year by this point. Usually I acted out a scene of being caught desperate and having an accident, or being a small child again and peeing in my pants, diaper or bed. Then I would pleasure myself in my wetness in more mature ways. I'd accidentally and intensely linked the feeling of losing control of my bladder to the pleasure of surrender to having an orgasm in the fog of puberty, and loved everything about it: the way it felt, the helplessness, the exciting 'forbiddenness', the warmth, the way it looked when it happened. I loved having such a daring secret, and sometimes replayed the real accidents I'd had, or imagined what it was like to be an even littler me, who still wet all day long, anywhere I happened to be.
It turned into a favourite game to pass the time on the bus. I'd sit in the back seat and observe all the passengers and the people and places we passed by. The rule was that any time I got a clear look at something that made me think of wetting, I had to pee a little, right where I was sitting. I either had to give one good push until I could feel my wetness (a wet spot would show and start to spread on the front of my school pants after two or three of these, always one of the most exciting moments in the game), or, more riskily, I'd set a number, like 3 or 5 or even 10, and have to relax my bladder muscles completely for that many counts at every sighting.
I might not pee at all during the count, or if I miscalculated I might start wetting my pants a whole lot, and even have to decide whether to cheat and stop. The risk and childishness of maybe being about to pee my pants on a public bus without any control were always thrilling, but I would usually stay pretty dry with this version. Then as I got near home I would make up some excuse or extra rule that let me start wetting anyway before getting off the bus.
Realistically, the cue to 'let go' would almost always be diapers. There were always stores on the route with early Pampers in sight on a shelf. There were still lots of cloth diapers and sleepers and plastic baby pants hanging on clotheslines in those days, and on hot days there might be babies whose diapers weren't covered up. On garbage day there'd be boxes from used diapers with people's trash. A few times there was a baby or small child on the bus who'd visibly leaked or had an accident. Once only, a year or so old boy got on with his dad in just a disposable diaper and a t-shirt, and he'd clearly pooped, the shape of the mess showed right through the seat of his diaper.
When we got to my stop, my pants would pretty much always be wet enough to have to hold my backback in front of me to try to hide what I'd done. I was often, but not always, the last one on the bus. I couldn't count on that for safety. There were times I let things go too far obeying the counting rule, or every store on the route seemed to have a special on Pampers, and the wet spot had spread up to my waist and was the size of a dinner plate. I loved making the wet spot and feeling and watching it grow...
The block and a half walk from the bus stop to my house was along a four-lane road. If no-one else was too nearby on that short walk home I might raise the stakes and let go for an extra long count. Or I'd push a quick little spurt of pee in my pants as I passed each telephone pole, or just as each car went by. Or (a favourite, because the uncertainty and risk were so high) I'd relax my control for a minute at the bus stop until the pee was just about to flow, and then walk at a normal pace until I reached our hedge, or a certain parked car or street sign, committing to let anything that happened in that time happen, no matter what. It was incredibly exciting when it did.
If it didn't, I would sometimes still find a last-ditch way to lose, like playing one of my at-home games — becoming a little boy again, hurrying home to go to the bathroom too late, and doing it all in my pants at the door. Or heading for the bathroom, wetting down my legs on the way. Or making it right in front of the toilet holding control and then having an accident while trying to get my pants down, something I'd read often happens in toilet training.
