Message-ID: <202302Z20071994@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.watersports
From: an115986@anon.penet.fi
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.fetish.watersports
Organization: Anonymous contact service
Reply-To: an115986@anon.penet.fi
Date: Wed, 20 Jul 1994 20:13:36 UTC
Subject: Another true life story
Lines: 247

                                     
                                     
                  Personal history of the world
                                     
                       By Tinker, July 1994
                                     
                                     
                                     
My very first experience with wetting myself must have been that
I did not have that much experience with it. According to my
mother, I was exceptionally quick in toilet training, and out of
diapers very early. Of course, I do not remember anything about
this.

My second experience I don't remember either, but my mother still
tells it sometimes to friends, so it must be true. I was in the
hospital to get my tonsils out (at what age? Probably three or
so). For some reason, I got brought in one day before the surgery
and therefore had to spend the night in the hospital, in a rather
big room with about six or eight beds with other boys (and girls?
Don't know). When it was time to get to sleep, the nurse(s) came
around with diapers, and everyone got one. Including me.
According to my mother, I yelled and cried that I did not need
one anymore (which was true), but got one nonetheless, and was
not allowed to leave my bed to go to the toilet! This sounds like
a fiction story, but it actually happened! The nurses probably
had decided that this was the easier way to copy with a lot of
whining kids. Anyway, I was explicitly instructed to wet my
diaper (which was advertised as being easier than going to the
toilet, so shut up) and then the lights went out. Of course I
don't remember wetting myself, since it probably was a negative
experience for me and I deleted it. But the next day, I
complained so angrily to my mother that she still remembers it.

Of course, as a kid, I sometimes wetted myself by pure accident,
and I remember at least one case in which I wore shorts and had
to pee real bad. We lived practically in the woods, but still I
ran from a ditch nearby to our house, and rang the doorbell. My
mother took quite some time to arrive, and apparently I must have
looked in big distress since I can remember her saying, wondering
and irritated, "Don't be silly, just pee!". Probably she wondered
why I didn't pick a tree, like everyone else did (I wonder so
myself). Anyway, suddenly I felt something warm in my pants and
I soaked them right off, looking down, while my mother still
insisted to "just pee". I didn't want to wet myself, and so here
the memory stops again.

Then the major breakthrough happened. While I was about four or
five, maybe six, my mother casually remarked that she had seen
something stupid that day. She looked out of our front window and
saw a girl we knew, she must have been about three, riding on the
sidewalk on a bike (with two small support wheels). She wore a
short little-girl's dress. I try to quote my mother: "Suddenly
she stopped the bike, stepped off it, squatted down, and peed on
the sidewalk. And she did not even take her panties off! After
she had finished, she just mounted her bike again and rode on,
with her wet pants on the saddle like it was normal. I think that
she must have started peeing while she still sat on the bike, and
that she already had wet pants before she squatted down." I found
this story mildly interesting, but it must have been the seed
that started growing quickly afterwards.

Around this time, I must have discovered masturbation. Although
it still was dry, I could easily induce an orgasm by grinding my
crotch against my mattress while laying on my belly. Maybe I just
thought about that naughty girl while this happened for the first
time; anyway, I now had found a way to experience great pleasure
and I always included wet panties in it.

My fantasies split up in two directions. First, I started
imagining girls (of my age) wetting themselves under their
dresses. Usually I had one or two favourite girls I knew from
school (changing over time) that just would go outside to their
secret sheltered spot, either squat down or spread their legs,
and wet their panties. I even invented some mirror setups that
allowed them to look up their own skirts to see their panties
getting wet. One of my girlfriends often wore a short one-piece
straight leather dress, more a tunic, and of course she very
often peed herself under it in my imagination.

This was in the early seventies, and with mini skirts being the
norm, there was always some girl or woman around that I could
pick and let her wet herself. It even turned heavier when I
started to add messing in their panties; eventually, I had built
a whole world in which every girl carried her own toilet under
her skirt.

Sometimes when I was with girlfriends, I made remarks when their
panties showed, but nobody ever reacted as I hoped they would.
Being about eight, the girls were not that shy about exposing
their panties yet, but they certainly had outgrown the wetting
age.

The second branch of fantasies split off shortly after I started
thinking about girls with wet underwear. I started to imagine
that I myself was that girl and was wetting myself. Of course,
I wore a dress, since that girl wore a dress; and so some
crossdressing and transgendered behaviour crept in. I did not
really wanted to be a girl, but I certainly wanted to be a girl
once in a while to get the opportunity to wet myself under a
skirt. I invented a second world in which I regularly went to a
sheltered terrain with a fence around it, changed into a dress,
and together with fellow boys and girls was allowed to wet and
mess myself as much as I liked. Note that I never thought about
diapers; it always was plain underwear, and it stayed that way
during my whole adolescence.

Since I now imagined wearing a skirt, I wanted to really wear one
while masturbating, and e.g. took off my pajama pants so that the
remaining shirt at least gave the impression of a very short
dress (I always pulled it tightly down). Sleeping without pajama
pants became exciting, although I think that nobody ever realised
that before! Later I even pulled down my pants (never my
underwear; I needed that to virtually wet in!) to my knees to
feel the skirt dictate how far I could spread my legs. I actually
spread my legs just before (in my head) I soaked my panties.

Still later I started wrapping a towel around my waist and
securing it with wash pins or diaper pins, to imitate a skirt,
which caused a lot of excitement by itself. Still, never anything
serious happened except for a small amount of liquid in my pants
since I grew up. I never had wet myself on purpose.

When I was seven or so, that changed. I started to wake up early
in the morning, put on my swimming trunks, go to the toilet, and
sit down. Then I imagined that I was a girl squatting down, and
delightfully peed in my pants while sitting on the toilet.
Afterwards I would go back to bed to masturbate with my wet
trunks on, which added a lot to the realism of the experience.
Then I would put my wet pants back in the closet and left all the
things as they were. Of course, this led to my mother detecting
stains on my sheets, and I remember her catching me while I
walked in my wet swimming trunks once. Again, there the memory
stops. I most probably didn't get punished, but I was of course
not encouraged to go on.

For a time, I sometimes undressed, wrapped toilet paper around
my waist and crotch as some kind of paper diaper, and wet it on
the toilet (even while visiting my grandmother). But this was so
clumsy that I stopped.

Years later, I still had the same fantasies, and on a day I
suddenly relived the whole thing and started searching for my old
red swimming trunks. I was about twelve I think, and had trouble
keeping my now erect penis inside the trunks. Anyway, with a lot
of excitement and pleasure, I peed them on the toilet again, and
from then on I have been hooked.

Quickly after that "first" experience, I started to look for good
dress imitations. Basically towels (I do not have sisters to
sneak something from). I also started to wet the crotch of my
underwear under the tap, add a towel as a skirt, and go to bed.
And a few times, I wetted myself on the toilet wearing my
swimming trunks and a towel, which was a disaster since the towel
got wet. So I dropped the towel, and started to regularly wet
underwear that I got out of the laundry basket. I put that back
while still wet, and so naturally provoked my mother's anger
(real anger this time; understandably). Fortunately I also
discovered that in our cleaning cloth box I could find my old
underwear, and of course that could be thrown away after use.

Finally, I found a skirt in a box with old clothes that fitted
me nicely and that I could take and put back unnoticed. I created
a waterproof underskirt with a plastic shopping bag, and when my
whole family was out, I dressed myself in that skirt, the
underskirt, some underpants, my sweater and my mother's high
boots. I can assure you that I was trembling all over my body
when I stepped out onto our sheltered balcony and felt the wind
blowing around my skirt. It took a while before I actually parted
my legs and waited for the wonder to happen. I still can remember
the wonderful feeling of my pee coming up while I was fully
clothed, and the explosive sensation of truly pissing in my pants
with my legs spread as far as my skirt would allow. Everything
worked out exactly as I had imagined it, and it was absolutely
wonderful. Afterwards, I would walk around for a while with my
wet pants under the skirt arousing me to a great extent, and
finally lay down on my belly on my bed to finish it off. I had
discovered heaven.

Later I found more skirts, all long, and even a cheerleader-like
short dress that had once been of my mother (there are still
pictures of her wearing it!). Especially that dress opened up new
possibilities. I invented more things to protect my underwear
from getting soaked at the front, such as sewed-in plastic
sheets. Finally I settled for little plastic bags used for
carrying sandwiches to work. You pull them over your erect penis
as a wide condom and the result is an almost completely female
wetting, with your skirt remaining completely unstained.

Dressed in that way, with my old underwear under the short dress,
I had many great wetting sessions, in the garden at night, in the
shower during the day. And a few times I even messed my panties
under it, which was a delightful experience (you can literally
do it everywhere you like, unlike peeing). Of course I could not
resist sitting down on the hump in my pants, and it really was
nice. But very messy as well, and I have not done it again for
over ten years now. I even go to the toilet to relieve myself
before dressing up, to prevent "accidents."

Once I had just wet myself under my dress when the whole family
suddenly came back, having bounced on a visit to relatives. I
couldn't possibly escape my mother, who saw me in my wet swimming
trunks (fortunately I had time to hide the dress). She very
discretely came to my room to inform what had happened, and I
explained the whole thing, glad to get it off my back. She took
it with remarkable understanding.

So a few weeks later, when everybody except my mother was out,
I very shyly passed her a note to announce that I would like to
put on my swimming trunks again. She yelled up the stairs that
it was my life, and that if I liked it, I could go on. I jumped
about three meters high and rushed to get the stuff I needed. She
even started to look for old underwear herself, and told me that
since there were no old underpants left, I should just go into
the pants that I wore! It was fantastic. I even showed her myself
in my dress, which led to ironic remarks about my male black-
haired legs. Then I rushed up the stairs and had a great wetting
and messing session, all-in, while my mother prepared the meal
in the kitchen. I'll never forget that, and only regret a bit
that I didn't ask her to give advice, witness me wetting myself,
or look up my skirt when it all was done.

Since then, my habit of wetting myself under a dress once in a
while slowly died out to the current level of about three times
a year. It got partially replaced by more "normal" fantasies
about the girls I have been in love with (never mutually, alas),
and I really got stimulated by the access I suddenly got to the
a.s.f.ws/d groups. It appeared that my fetish certainly was not
that eccentric, and also that some women (not many, but still
some) loved to wet themselves in exactly the way I fantasised.
So, although my physical practices are dying out (waiting for a
girlfriend to show up?), my mental exercises have tripled since
last November.



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