Date: Sun, 16 Dec 2007 21:15:43 -0800 (PST)
From: dreamcat_dave@yahoo.com
Subject: Pee Wee (Chapter 17)

Disclaimer:

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted by any
means, except for reviews, without the written permission of the
author. You must be a minimum of 18 years of age (or 21 years of age in
some jurisdictions) to read this story. If you are not of legal age to read
such material, or if you consider this type of writing to be morally
offensive, then please do not read the story below.

This story contains homoerotic subject matter and episodes of social
aggression often called "bullying".  The author does not endorse this kind
of behavior. Victims of bullying can suffer from long-term emotional and
behavioral problems. Bullying can cause loneliness, depression, and anxiety
as a bullying victim begins to believe that something is wrong with
them. Victims can also have a loss of confidence and be more prone to
illness. The author certainly does not advocate that people should be hazed
or ridiculed for being different (quite the opposite).  While inspired by
real world events, remember that this is a work of fiction, and the author
insists that you do not attempt to re-reenact or recreate any event or
activity described in the text of this or other chapters. The story has
been written for entertainment purposes only.

If you do not agree to any of these terms and conditions, or if you live in
a location where such content may not be legal for you to read, please read
no further, but rather exercise your right to select an alternate form of
entertainment elsewhere. It is your own responsibility to adhere to these
terms.

Thanks to all who contacted me. PEE WEE have heard from a great many of you
so far.  It is great to hear from you, and to hear your suggestions.
Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author
at: dreamcat_dave@yahoo.com



--------------------------------



CHAPTER 17: SPLASH DAY

Pee Wee woke up the next morning, struggling to sit up, to move at all.
His arms and legs felt stiff and his sheets were soaked with cold urine.
Apparently he had wet the bed during the night and slept right through it.
He could remember a couple of times, not all that long ago, when he had
awakened midstream, his sheets and pajamas awash with warm urine.  But
couldn't ever remember wetting the bed this severely since he was a little
kid.

He had managed to pull the saturated sheets off the bed, only to see that
his mattress was soaked.  He sat down and rested his forehead on one palm.
His joints were sore now from the tumble he had taken on the driveway.

Leaving his bedroom as quietly as possible he made his way to the upstairs
bathroom that he shared with Mark to shower and to get ready for the day
ahead. He pulled back the frosted plastic curtain, stepped in, and turned
on the water, adjusting it to the right temperature before stepped
underneath the rain-like spray.  He poured some body soap into his right
hand and started soaping up his smooth hairless chest and under his arms.
He could feel the hint of stubble under his arms and the regrowth of shaven
hair forming a slight trail down from his navel to the darker shadow where
his pubes were beginning to grow back around his diminutive penis.  Pee Wee
soaped up his tummy and then worked his hand down to his stunted woody and
his tight little scrotum.

Pee Wee's penis often hardened when he had the shower adjusted to the
"massage" setting. Sometimes he leaned back and focused the nozzle's
powerful pulsing jet streams at the sensitive tip until he finally spurted.
He was careful to always adjust the setting back to its standard setting
after he was done, but sometimes he found it set to "massage" when he got
in to take a shower, and wondered if Mark had discovered the magic of
shower massage as well.

He pulled back his foreskin and soaped up his cock head.  His slender
prow-shaped erection was somewhat painful this morning, which worried him a
little, and he could see a scab forming down the prow of his shaft, where
he had slid across the rough concrete driveway on his erection as he fell.

He'd only been in the shower a couple of minutes when he heard the door
open.  A shadow went past the shower curtain heading straight for the
toilet bowl, and then he heard a jet of urine hitting the bowl like a water
cannon.  It was Mark.  He recognized the sound of his flow.

Suddenly the water went cold and Pee Wee let out an involuntary yelp as
Mark turned on the hot water in the sink.  Mark left the faucet flowing at
full blast and left the restroom chuckling to himself.  Pee Wee dodged the
suddenly chilly shower, and turned the nozzle away from him, then jumped
out of the shower wrapped a towel around his waist and turned off the
faucet at the sink.  Then went back to finish his hot shower.

After he toweled off Pee Wee went back to his room to get dressed, but
encountered his mother standing next to his bed staring down at the wet
sheets he had left in his open hamper.

"Did you wet the bed last night, Peter?"  She asked.  It was a rhetorical
question.  He was certain that she had already smelled the urine soaked
sheets and probably already felt his mattress to see if it was wet. Pee Wee
said nothing, but slowly walked toward his bed.  He knew what was coming
next.  He mouthed the words discretely as she said them.

"You'll need to carry your mattress outside and lean it against the garage
to air out."

Pee Wee grabbed the mattress and hefted it off the box springs, dragging it
toward the stairs, then realized that his towel was about to fall off, and
went to his closet and pulled on some pants he found on the floor of his
wardrobe.

"Peter, you're too old to be wetting the bed."  She droned on, "I've been
talking with Reverend Seton, and he thinks it might be a good idea for me
to take you by the church so he can talk with you."

Pee Wee said nothing.  He realized that while he might love her because she
was his mother, who had made many sacrifices for her children (as she often
reminded them), but he also hated her--hated her selfishness and her
controlling ways.  Hated the way she never let him finish a sentence.

Pee Wee quietly, and slowly, walked his wet mattress down the stairs,
stopping every few steps to catch his breath and regain his grip.  One of
his knees felt like someone was stabbing him over and over with each step
he took. By the time he reached the back door, he heard his brother Mark
bounding down the stairs and stop suddenly when he reached the bottom.

"Peter wet the bed last night." Mrs. Llewellyn told Mark.  Pee Wee could
feel Mark staring into his back.  He hefted the mattress back up and
finished sliding it through the back door, then carried it over to the
garage where he leaned it on its side.  He heard the side door open and
footsteps approaching.

"Hey Pee Wee, um Peter, are you all right?"

Pee Wee didn't bother to look at his brother, but just turned and shambled
back toward the side door.  When he reached the kitchen his mother was
drinking coffee and working the crossword puzzle.  He straightened up, or
the best he could manage, and made his way back toward the stairs.

"When you finish getting ready come downstairs and we can have breakfast,"
his mother said as he passed by her and walked down the short hall leading
back to the stairs.  Halfway up the stairs Pee Wee heard the side door slam
shut as Mark came back inside.  He headed on up toward his room knowing
that Mark was standing at the bottom of the stairwell looking up at him.
He could feel it.

Later his mother called up to him and asked if he wanted a ride to school.
Mark had told her that the boys were giving Pee Wee a hard time on the bus
without giving her any details.  Ten minutes later Pee Wee came down the
stairs dressed in baggy shirt and jeans.  His short hair was combed in some
semblance of disorder.  He walked out to where his mother's car was parked
in front of the garage entrance and looked down at the pavement to see some
sparkling pieces of metal reflecting the morning light.  He had been proud
of those trophies.

Pee Wee went to the restroom and saw that someone had bolted some panels of
wood over the glory hole and painted over them.  He stood at the urinal and
tried to pee, but it stung when his flow began and he involuntarily shut
off the stream.  He decided to wait until he really had to go, and left the
restroom.

He avoided eye contact with everyone and walked through the day in a daze,
rather like a zombie from a George Romero film.

Randy never approached him that morning, neither did any of his friends.
In fact nobody bothered him.  Pee Wee thought he overheard some whispers
but he didn't pay much attention.  He spent a lot of the morning thinking
about those shattered trophies.  They must have meant more to him that he
realized.

Pee Wee's bladder was near bursting by the time he finally made his way to
the restroom at lunch.  He stood at the urinal trying to angle his small
erection into the urinal and take a leak at the same time, and finding it
somewhat difficult, despite his bladder's insistence that it was time to
unload cargo.  When he needed to go this badly, his penis often became
erect.  The problem was that when he was erect, urination became a very
difficult thing to achieve.

Generally in the mornings he found it very difficult to piss, given his
morning woody.  His small erection, when it became this rock hard pointed
up at twelve o'clock, but the toilet is down, ideally requiring a firing
angle at five or six o'clock.  Eventually Pee Wee learned to sit on the
toilet and lean forward to accommodate the acute angle of erection to
stomach. He had heard men sometimes refer to that as a "piss on" instead of
a "hard on" since it was a full bladder, and not a desire to have sex, that
was triggering his erection at the moment.

Urinals were not quite so difficult.  A firing angle at three or four
o'clock would deliver his payload into the urinal, though perhaps with a
bit more splatter off the backwash. But still, bending his penis down
horizontal to the floor from it's normal vertical state was somewhat
uncomfortable, especially as sore as his penis was this morning, but it was
necessary if he didn't want to piss up his shirt.

Pee Wee was still standing there, desperately trying to will his wee woody
into a softy so that he could release the flood gates, when in the bathroom
door came Randy and George. They rushed over before Pee Wee could get his
dick back in his pants, and saw the red, the scrapes, and the sore spots he
received during his fall then night before.

"How much you been spankin' that thing?" Randy asked.

Pee Wee began to deny he ever 'spanked it', he certainly wasn't going to
attempt to explain how he had fallen while running naked laps around the
yard, but before he could think of anything to say, and before he could get
his erection situated safely behind a zipped-up zipper, George had gotten
in behind him and locked one arm behind his back, pulling him backward and
away from the urinal.  Pee Wee stood there, angled back against George,
with his fly still open and his red penis bobbing about.

George repositioned Pee Wee's arms so they were both locked behind him, and
couldn't move them.  He struggled some, but without success. The two boys
looked at his red pecker, bouncing willy-nilly as he tried to break free.
When he stopped to catch his breath, George shook him again, and they both
laughed.

"Dude, what happened to your dick?" Randy noticed the scab that was forming
on the underside of Pee Wee's penis.  "Look at the scab on that thing!  Why
don't you buy some lube or something if you're gonna spank it that often?"

"He beats off every chance he gets" George said. "He's a sex addict!"

"He must have jerked off every time he sucked a guy's cock yesterday!"
Randy concluded at last.

In truth Pee Wee's penis was red and somewhat bruised. But it had nothing
to do with his stint at the glory hole. Since he had fallen Pee Wee had
noticed that his erections were somewhat painful.  So was urinating.  Which
was why Pee Wee had been delaying coming to the restroom even though he had
to go, and why his bladder felt like it was ready to burst.

Randy stood in front of him, bent down for a closer look and pushed Pee
Wee's dick way down, uncomfortably far down, and then suddenly let it go.
It bounced wildly about, and both Randy and George began laughing
hysterically.

Pee Wee strained.  Randy did it again, but this time when it bounced, a
stream of urine shot out like a fire hose catching Randy in the face and
splashing into his mouth, catching him in mid-guffaw.  Pee Wee's distended
bladder must have increased the force of his morning piss stream
considerably into a fast, wet, intense, yellow torrent. His urine literally
gushed out of his piss hole and shot up into a high arc in the air and
rained down all over Randy. As Pee Wee's penis bounced rowdily, his heavy
piss stream vaulted about in wild arcs, splashing all around and all over
Randy, drenching his shirt and pants, splattering down onto his shoes, and
saturating his hair, all before he had time to react.

Randy fell back, but not out of range, and another jet of Pee Wee's urine
hit him between the eyes, drenching Randy's face and soaking his hair, then
continued to strike around him as Randy crab-walked backwards into a tile
wall, trying to get out of range.  Randy could taste Pee Wee's piss in his
mouth, a slightly stringent warm salty taste.

The reality of what he had just done smashed into Pee Wee's awareness when
he saw some of his own urine splash into Randy's face and mouth and trickle
down over his chin and neck, pasting his shirt to his chest, and down his
abs darkening the crotch of his jeans.

George laughed hysterically at his friend's plight, which made Pee Wee
shake and bounce all the more.  Pee Wee certainly had no control over where
his fountain flew.  George could have spared Randy by repositioned Pee Wee
at any time, redirecting his stream away from his partner in crime, but
that thought never even entered his mind.  All he could do was laugh.

Suddenly the restroom door opened and a bunch of younger boys rushed in,
unprepared for the situation they were about to encounter.  Randy was on
his butt on the restroom floor, his legs splayed out, as the last surge of
Pee Wee's hot piss stream struck the bulls eye between his legs.  Randy
looked down in shock, watching Pee Wee's hot geyser of urine shoot up and
rain down on his crotch for a distended moment in eternity. The splatter of
Pee Wee's stream as it struck splashed all over Randy. He felt the warm
piss soak through his jeans into his underwear warming his balls and then
trickling down the inside of his leg before the realization of what was
happening shocked him back into lateral movement along the wall behind him.

Eager-eyed and awestruck by the strangeness of the situation, the boys in
front froze in place, while the ones behind rushed forward, almost knocking
the boys in the forward ranks into Pee Wee's firing range.

Randy rolled onto his left side trying to avoid the hot stream as it
splattered loudly on the floor just to his right.  He could still feel Pee
Wee's urine splashing onto his right ankle and side, speckling his shirt
with wet dots.  But Pee Wee adjusted, pivoting his hips slightly so that
his aim was restored, soaking Randy's upper thighs.  Randy managed to crab
walk sideways beyond the range of Pee Wee's ebbing stream.

"Holy fuck!" one of the boys said, staring at Randy who sat drenched with a
comical look on his face, wiping Pee-Wee's urine out of his eyes.

Randy's hair was plastered to his forehead.  Randy could tell that Pee Wee
had eaten onions the night before from the strong stench of onion in his
urine.  The taste was bitter and briny, as disgustingly dark and pungent as
the smell.  He tried to spit it out, but the foul taste of Pee Wee's urine
lingered on his tongue.

Then the prolonged intermission in time shattered, and the silence was
broken by the hysterical laughter of teenage boys flocking into the
restroom.  They all burst out laughing at the same moment.

They were loud.

Very loud, holding nothing back.

Belly-buster laughs that only boys who haven't been fully civilized allow
themselves to have. Every boy who ever went to high school would know what
kind of laugh it was.  Something terribly funny, something that was
probably very, very embarrassing to someone, something that was against the
rules, something that would make a great story to tell, was going on in the
boy's restroom. More kids rushed in to see what was happening.

As Pee Wee's torrent of piss slowed, he let out a silent fart.  George let
go of his arms and backed away saying, "Gross! You farted on me!"  Pee
Wee's stream softened down to a trickle that dribbled out and down his now
half-soft penis and over his balls.

The hot, salty, acrid taste of Pee Wee's urine nauseated Randy, he felt his
stomach churn, could feel himself begin to gag, then abruptly threw up.
Vomit spewed from his mouth onto his left hand as his stomach muscled
locked, forcing the contents of his stomach up his throat.  The sickly
sweet smell of breakfast revisited rose up from the floor and back of his
hand and he let loose another volley of vomit.

Randy tried to stand up, but slipped twice before he gained his footing.
He stood there with a sour look on his face in front of the throng of boys
who had crowded into the restroom with urine dripping from his cheeks,
chin, and hair.  He smeared away the vomit from his mouth and chin.  He was
still in shock, looking down at himself.  No one, but no one, had ever done
anything like that to him before.  Randy felt unclean, tainted, like
someone had thrown him into the cesspool.  His shirt stuck to his skin, and
his pants were drenched.  He stood in a huge lake of Pee Wee's piss,
reeking of urine, and he wanted to feel clean again!  He could still taste
his own puke.

Pee Wee stood between Randy and George, aware of the crowd of boys who had
gathered round. One of the younger boys, who had noticed the scabs on Pee
Wee's small penis leaned down to get a better look.  Pee Wee's little rod
bounced back up into a full erection.

They all laughed again.

As Randy stood the laughter died down.  The disgusted look on his face left
no doubt about what he had wanted to say.  His face was a mask of
desperation, anger.  The boys were frightened, and on edge, waiting to see
what he would do next.  Then a chunk of his breakfast fell off the back of
his hand and splatted onto the floor at his feet. The boys reacted by
snorting and falling about in laughter.  The noise of their hysterics
attracted another two boys who had been passing by.

George realized that the situation was getting out of hand.

Randy's discomfiture had grown unbearable.  He exhaled in frustration and
steadied himself against in the tile wall in an attempt to remain
standing. His mind panicked, compensated in his rising frustration.  He was
fighting against the reality he refused to acknowledge.  Randy frowned,
fueled by the extreme feelings of humiliation bottled-up inside him. His
expression betrayed his mortification, eyebrows arching in a reflection of
his internal turmoil. His face went scarlet, angry.  Then suddenly Randy
screamed, "Don't fuck with me!"

Randy cracked his knuckles and raised his fist.  He looked as if he were
ready to punch a hole in Pee Wee. For a second Pee Wee thought Randy would
rush over and beat the crap out of him.  So did the boys standing there
watching.  But he didn't.  Instead he looked down at his clothes and pulled
back into himself gritting his teeth in frustration.  Randy frantically
broke through their ranks and ran out of the restroom and down the hall as
fast as he could.  The strong smell of urine and vomit followed him as he
ran down the hall.  And worst of all he could still smell and taste Pee
Wee's piss, even through the aftertaste of his own puke.

Finally Pee Wee thought to tuck his waning erection away and zip up.
"Everybody out! Now!" Pee Wee yelled, attempting his best imitation of a
cop at a crime scene.  "Show's over. Get the fuck outta here!"

George looked at him wide eyed.  "You're a dead man," he said, looking at
Pee Wee, as he backed through the boys gathered there and out the door,
"You are so gonna die!"  He looked around at the faces of the boys gathered
there.  George was respected, as well as sometimes feared, so the boys
scurried out into the hallway in a hurry.

Like Pee Wee said, 'the show is over,' but there was just enough time left
in the lunch period to talk about what they had just seen.  Some of them
were already asking about what happened to Randy after he ran off.  Most of
them figured he had left campus.  Two of them had a conversation about how
getting in a car with piss soaked clothes would make the car smell, and
that piss was a smell you could never get out once it set.

Pee Wee watched them leave, then opened his backpack and pulled out the
shorts he had brought to wear during athletics.  The jeans he was wearing
smelled like urine.

He felt a surge of fear when he thought about what George had said with
reference to him being a "dead man", and he was certain that Randy would
seek revenge, even though Randy had been the cause of his own disgrace.

Pee Wee slipped on his shorts then folded up his urine streaked jeans and
put them into the small plastic bag that he slipped back into his backpack.

His jeans really didn't smell like urine, he decided.

They smelled like victory.