Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2005 05:53:14 -0800 (PST)
From: Bill <bil47_new@yahoo.com>
Subject: Bedwetter Boy - A True Story

I was a bedwetter up until I was almost 13.  It stopped just as
puberty hit... wet dreams replacing a wet bed.  Being a bedwetter
had an effect on my childhood and on the development of my
personality that goes way beyond the inconvenience of soggy
sheets in the morning.  Because of bedwetting, I could never go
to a classmate's or neighbor's home for a sleep-over, or on
overnight camping trips.  As a defense mechanism... and probably
because of shame and low self-esteem... I avoided close
friendships, even when the other kid was trying to be my friend.
It also affected my sexual fantasies in ways that I'm still
trying to figure out.

This story compiles several bedwetting-related episodes in my
life that have a sexual angle to them. This is a true story,
though absolute truth is difficult when the events took place so
long ago, and at a fairly young age.  To be sure, all the
characters were real (though renamed), and every event really
happened. But since they took place in the late 1950s and early
60s, my memory is sketchy.  There's no way I could remember the
dialogue, for example.  Moreover, countless replays of these
scenarios in my brain... usually as the mental component of
masturbation sessions... have led me to embellish some of the
details a bit.   I will try to strip away the embellishment
but... well, just read it and judge for yourself.

Most mornings throughout my entire pre-adolescent childhood I
would awake to a wet sheet on the bed. My family never shamed me
about this, and my parents always reassured me I'd grow out of
it. I never wore pajamas, but instead just slept in the previous
day's underpants... white briefs, invariably.  Made for less
laundry that way when I woke up soaked.

I stayed dry some nights, and on others I had a smaller ring of
urine on my sheet. This was because my father would sometimes get
me out of bed in the middle of the night and take me to the
bathroom to pee.  I was a very sound sleeper, and only
infrequently would I remember this the next morning.  I suppose I
was basically sleepwalking under his guidance. It was nice,
however, to come partially awake standing in front of the toilet,
my underpants lowered to mid-thigh. My father's body supported me
from behind; his left arm wrapped around my chest to keep me
upright; and the fingers of his right hand held my little-boy
penis.

"OK, Billy.  Go pee-pee.  You can do it for Daddy.  Come on and
let the pee-pee go."

On the occasions when I was semi-awake for this ritual, the whole
thing seemed to be incredibly loving and intensely personal.  I
could smell his musky man-scent, mixed with the rich tobacco
smell from his pipe-smoking habit.  Dad wasn't a big man... he
was slightly shorter than average height, and he was slender and
wiry-strong even in middle age. He always slept in pajama pants
and a white undershirt, both of cotton made incredibly soft from
hundreds of washes.  Having him press his warm body against my
naked back, holding my immature penis in his hand as the flow of
yellow fluid splashed into the toilet, was a sensual
experience... sort of a pre-sexual erotic thrill.  It was rare
that I woke up, however, and even then I would pretend to be
still asleep.  Maybe he didn't get out of bed to do this chore
most nights, because I woke to a wet bed the great majority of
mornings.

An event that had a dramatic effect on my future sexual fantasies
occurred when I was 9 (I think) and in 4th grade.  My parents had
gone out of town for several days, and we (my 6-year-old brother
and another brother who was a toddler) were left in the care of
an older widow-lady who lived in the mostly-rural area where my
parents had grown up.  I'll call her "Mrs. Smith".  She was a
down-to-earth woman who had taken the Greyhound bus more than 100
miles from her home to do 5 days of around-the-clock babysitting.
Mrs. Smith had the twangy accent and "country" way of speaking
that was common to the Appalachian area.  She was also a lot less
indulgent of my bed-wetting than my parents were.

"Billy; I cain't be washin' sheets ever day," she said, as soon
as my parents had left.  (They had obviously told her about my
secret, and I was filled with embarrassment at its mention.)
"Back home, I got a nice little grandson 'bout your age who has
the same problem.  His mama just puts a diaper on him, and that
takes care of things. If you pee the bed tonight, I'll just have
to do the same thing.  Don't nobody else have to know about it,
and I ain't tryin' to shame you, but that's just the way it'll
be.  Maybe you'll try a little harder to stay dry at night, eh?"

I was a very obedient child, and I didn't even consider rebelling
against this humiliating threat.  But just the thought of wearing
one of my baby brother's diapers (he was almost 2 years old) made
my cheeks burn with shame every time I thought about it.  I
didn't drink any fluid at all after dinner, but of course Dad
wasn't around to get me up in the middle of the night.  The
babysitter came into my room early the next day and and woke me
up.

"Well, young-un.  How'd you do?"

My silence and my helpless expression told her, and she looked
genuinely disappointed when she pulled down the covers to see the
wide circle of wetness spread out on the bottom sheet like a
wobbly yellow halo around my crotch.

"Don't you worry, darlin'.  We'll take care of that tonight."

I did my best not to think about it all day, but when it was
bedtime that night, the sitter came to my room carrying two
diapers, a couple safety-pins, and plastic pants that she had
brought from my baby brother's room.  I had already gotten into
bed in my underpants, hoping she'd forget.

"Your brothers are down for the night, Billy.  Now get on outta
bed so's we can get this done."

I got up, and she pulled the covers down to make a place to
spread out the cloth diaper.  (This was well before the invention
of disposables.)

"Take off those britches, and lay down on your back right here."
She patted the place on the diaper where my butt would be.  "I'll
bet you've seen your mama change little Bobby." (That was my baby
brother.)  "So you should know how we do this.  Come on, now."

I could feel my face blushing furiously as my thumbs looped
inside the waistband of my underpants, but I seemed incapable of
lowering them."

"Now don't git difficult with me, boy!" she said, a little
sharply.  "I raised two sons, so don't think I ain't seen what a
boy looks like down there.  Don't bother me a fare-thee-well to
see a nekkid little boy."

Well, it sure bothered me!  But like I said, I was a very
compliant child, who wouldn't dream of disobeying an authority
figure.  I pulled my white briefs down and stepped out of them,
quickly covering my little-boy genitals with my hands.

She patted the diaper again, indicating where I should lay.  I
sat down and lay back with my legs spread apart and dangling over
the edge of the bed.  She wordlessly removed my hands from my
crotch, exposing my nudity completely.  Oh, God!  The humiliation
I felt!  She was folding a second diaper into a long narrow band
that would run down the middle of the other one to hold more
urine... just the way my Mom diapered Bobby for the night.

"Pull your legs up, darlin', so I can slide this extra one under
your bottom."

I obeyed, of course, drawing my knees to my chest so my ass
lifted up.  But the added shame of displaying my anus was almost
more than I could take.  I closed my eyes, trying to imagine this
wasn't happening to me, but my heart was beating rapidly, and
every nerve in my body was responding to the slightest touch of
Mrs. Smith's hand.  It seemed like forever before I felt the soft
cotton cover my penis.  Opening my eyes, I saw her holding a big
safty pin in her teeth while she calmly attached the other to the
side of the diaper, treating me just like baby Bobby.

"Now stand up and put on the plastic pants."

I pulling up the crinkly waterproof pants, which seemed to fit
just fine.  But they made my diapered mid-section puff out even
more ridiculously, adding to my embarrassment.

A few years later, when I became aware of the eroticism of
erections, I tried to remember whether or not I sprang a boner
while all this was going on, but I don't have any memory of it.
(After I hit puberty, however, I'd get a stiff cock every time my
memories focused on this event.)  All I knew at the time was that
I was mortified... at being treated like a little baby; at having
this person see me completely naked with my legs spread and
totally subject to her control; and perhaps most of all, at the
strange feelings churning inside my body and my brain that were
unlike anything I'd ever felt.

After I put on the plastic pants, Mrs. Smith patted my bottom and
praised my cooperation as I got back into bed.  I think I might
have actually pulled the covers up over my head, so strong was my
embarrassment.  After she left my room, I was close to tears,
trying to deal with having been turned into baby.  I slid my hand
inside the diaper and cupped my genitals, as I often did at night
in bed for comfort.  For a moment, I was tempted to put my thumb
in my mouth... something I'd done as a young boy... but then I
got mad at myself for having such a humiliating thought.  I
drifted off to sleep, feeling very sorry for myself, and
wondering what I would find in the morning.

What I found was a dry bed and a very soggy diaper.  I got up and
stripped out of the wet things, afraid that my 6-year-old brother
might come in and see me in them.  I slipped on some underpants
and crept into Bobby's nursery to put the wet diaper and plastic
pants in the diaper pail.  I usually took a bath in the morning
to wash off the pee, but since I hadn't been lying in a big
puddle I didn't bother this time.  I was getting fully dressed
when Mrs. Smith came in and ran her hand over the bottom sheet on
my bed.  Her weathered face beamed with a big smile.

"What did I tell you, boy!  Dry as a tinderbox!"

I smiled weakly back at her and got ready for school.

That night, I almost convinced myself that I didn't mind the
diapering.  When Mrs. Smith came into my room with the diapering
materials, I stripped completely nude without being told, and I
snuggled under the covers with much less of the terrible feeling
of embarrassment.  The next morning yielded the same dry-bed,
wet-diaper result.

The following night... Mrs. Smith's last... as I lay down naked
on my back to be diapered, Mrs. Smith got a concerned look on her
face and said "You've got some redness down there, boy.  Did you
wash yourself good in the morning?"  I admitted that I hadn't
bathed in 2 days.  She made a huffy sound.  "You do smell a bit
ripe.  Let me wash you up and put some vaseline on it."

I knew exactly what she was talking about, from seeing Bobby
being changed, and as Mrs. Smith left the room I was seized for a
moment by a strange mix of feelings.  She was going to wash my
penis and put the sticky stuff on it.  I didn't know whether the
emotion I was feeling was embarrassment or excitement... perhaps
it was both.

She returned with a warm damp washcloth and a big jar of
petroleum jelly.  As she gently washed my crotch area, I felt a
tingling in my private parts.  She used the soft diaper to pat my
penis and balls dry.  And then she said "Lift up your legs,
Billy, so's I can check your bottom."  When I obeyed, bringing my
knees to my chest to reveal my pink anal pucker, she ran the
cloth below my tight little ball-sack and scrubbed briefly at my
bottom hole.  Then she began to spread the vaseline on me.
"This'll keep you from getting a rash down there, darlin'," she
said.  And she went about her work as if there was nothing at all
unusual about  an old woman smearing petroleum jelly on the
private parts of a 9-year-old boy whom she had only known for a
few days.  She had me pull my legs back again so she could soothe
some vaseline right on my bottom-hole!  Then she finished
diapering me and said good-night.

When Mrs. Smith left the next afternoon, she made no mention to
my parents about the diapers, keeping true to her word about not
telling anyone.  Even though I must have realized that a wet
diaper was better than a wet bed, the concept was still so
inherently shameful that I didn't mention it to my parents
either.  (In fact, I've never told a soul until writing this
account!)  I went back to underpants and wet sheets, which kept
on until sometime in my 7th grade year... late Winter or early
Spring, I think; not long before my 13th birthday.

But in the weeks that followed Mrs. Smith's stay, I found my
thoughts drifting to memories of  being diapered.  I even offered
to help Mom diaper Bobby (except when he had a poop!), and after
watching me do it a couple times, she trusted me enough to change
him by myself.  I paid particular attention to spreading the
vaseline on Bobby's private parts, and he always made happy
giggles when I put it on his penis.

Once, when I got up the nerve, I snuck some diaper supplies out
of Bobby's room and locked myself in the bedroom. (My bedroom
didn't have a lock.).  I stripped naked and lay down on my back
on the bathroom rug.  I imagined Mrs. Smith there, looking down
on me lying there all submissive and obedient.  I spread the
vaseline around my private parts (pushing my finger all the way
into my anus... something Mrs. Smith hadn't done) and pinned the
diapers onto myself.  I looked at myself in the full-length
mirror on the back of the door and again felt the strange
combination of revulsion and excitement.  The final element
borrowed from Bobby was a pacifier... his "binky".  I put it in
my mouth and sucked on it, fantasizing briefly about being held
by Mrs. Smith on her lap.  My guilt overwhelmed the kinky
pleasure, however, and I turned away from the mirror and removed
the binky.

Then, standing in front of the toilet (for some reason), I
relaxed and let the urine flow out into the diaper... feeling the
warm wetness spread around my penis and all over my crotch,
seeping down around my ass.  The pleasure was now blocking out
the shame, and for a couple minutes I enjoyed the feeling of the
wet diaper, pressing it around my penis with my hands. Finally I
removed the diaper, wiped myself clean with a wet washcloth and
got dressed again.  I snuck the diaper into the diaper pail in
Bobby's room, and felt a very weird mix of emotions for what I'd
done... guilt, residual fear of being caught, and totally
uncharacteristic enjoyment of a "good boy" doing something
naughty and taboo.  I never risked doing it again, though I
certainly fantasized about it.  And before long Bobby was toilet-
trained, and all the diapers and supplies were given to some
relative or neighbor having a new baby.


The next episode I remember involved the last time (I think)
that my father got me up late at night to go to the bathroom.
I'm pretty sure I was 11 at the time.  As sleep gave way to
partial consciousness I found myself staring down at the toilet,
snuggled back against Dad's body, totally at ease with the
familiar ritual.  My underpants had been pulled down to mid-
thigh, my bare ass rested against his pajama-clad thighs, and
Dad held my penis with his thumb and two fingers.

I was still almost totally naive sexually, but I had noticed
that my penis and balls had been growing recently.  (I remember
enjoying having other boys see my developing genitals on the
infrequent occasions when I was naked in public... in a locker-
room shower at the YMCA or the surprisingly un-private changing
facility at the ocean beach we sometime went to.)  As usual, I
was listening to Dad's soothing words, urging me to do my thing
so he could get back to bed.

"Come on Bill... go on and pee... you can do it."

I released the flow, and it splashed into the water, directed by
Dad's fingers.  When it stopped, Dad shook my penis a few times,
as I looked on in a half-awake state.  Instead of pulling my
underpants back up right away, however, Dad kept holding my
penis.  His fingers lingered... feeling along the shaft, sliding
down to fondle my balls, feeling the soft pouch that had
recently begun hanging lower.  Then his fingers glided back up
my penis again, exploring me intimately.

As I looked down at my penis, I saw that it was sticking
straight out, half-hard... a reasonably plump 3-inch boner.
Although erections happened spontaneously every once in a while
when I was 11 years old, I didn't really pay attention and
certainly didn't attach a sexual label to them.  They just...
happened.  What Dad was doing didn't seem at the time much
different from my annual visit to the pediatrician, when he
would pull down my underpants and feel my private parts for a
few seconds.  But as Dad's fingers continued their fondling, my
penis kept getting stiffer, until it was fully erect and
pointing straight up.  His fingertips kept gliding up the
circumcised penis shaft to the narrow red cock-head, then back
down, and up again.  It was more than a year later that I
realized Dad was jacking my cock in a very sexual way!

The feeling was nice, but no more pleasurable that I got from
peeing while he held me.  My cock wouldn't become hyper-
sensitive to pleasurable touch until puberty kicked in.  The
whole thing didn't last very long... probably less than a
minute.  As usual, I didn't let on that I was awake.  But the
next morning, and for the rest of my life afterwards, I
distinctively remembered Dad's fingertips sliding up and down my
pre-pubescent erection... then his hand rubbing briefly across
my slender butt before pulling up my underpants... then giving
my boner one last sensuous rub through the cotton fabric before
he walked me back to bed.

I think Dad must have felt guilty about violating the incest
taboo, because I don't remember him getting me up to go to the
bathroom ever again, even though I continued to wet the bed for
over a year afterwards.


Ah... incest.  That brings me to my cousin, Ben.  He was the
only other person I knew back then who wet the bed... though
there were undoubtedly others I knew who (like me) largely
succeeded in keeping it a deep dark secret.  Ben was a year
younger than me, and lived in New York City on the Upper West
Side.  My family had a tradition of going up to New York once
every year or two, usually in early December, to see a show, do
sight-seeing and do Christmas shopping (in addition to my father
visiting his brother).  As far back as I can remember, Ben and I
slept together in his bed on these visits, while the rest of my
family stayed in a nearby hotel.  I guess it only made sense
that the two bedwetters should be together, on a bed with a
rubber pad to protect the mattress.  Ben's family lived in a
very nice apartment in a high-rise building, only two blocks
from Central Park, and I always enjoyed my stays.  Ben and I got
along great.  I wasn't at all shy around him, and it seemed he
even admired me.

Ben and I never really talked about our shared condition... it
was too shameful to mention even to a fellow wetter. And we
didn't keep in touch with each other long-distance. But during
the two days a year when we were together, there was a bond
between us that was reinforced every time we woke up in the
morning lying together on wet sheets.  I don't know when started
it, but we had a ritual of wordlessly checking each other in the
morning to see if the other was wet. I'd put my hand on the
front of his underpants... right over his penis... and he'd do
the same to me.  We weren't groping each other (at least not
when we were younger); just checking for soaked cloth and
sharing a wordless smile and resigned shrug before getting up.
There wasn't a single time when we didn't both have wet
underpants.

One memorable visit came a few months before I turned 12.  The
incident of my Dad feeling me up in the middle of the night had
occurred  a few months before, I think.  My family had taken the
train up to New York late on a Friday afternoon, and both
families had gone out almost immediately to a restaurant and a
Broadway play.  My first real time alone with Ben wasn't until
late that night when we got in his bed together, and our parents
had said their good-nights.  Like me, he wore only white briefs.
I could feel the familiar rubber pad under the sheet and felt at
ease.  This was the only "sleep-over" I ever got to do.  Ben and
I talked for a long time... about how good the Broadway play had
been, about school, about things we were into.  After a while
our conversation tailed off in a long pause.

"When do you think we'll stop doing it?" he asked, completely
out-of-the-blue.

I guess I knew intuitively what he was referring to.  The
subject of bedwetting was coming up in discussion for the first
time in all our years of knowing each other.

"I wish I knew... I'm so sick of it" I replied.  "The doctor said
a lot of guys stop when they become teenagers."

There was another pause, and then he said "Do you ever do it
when you're in awake?

"Uhh... how do you mean?"  My pulse rate picked up as I thought
of my adventure in diapering myself and peeing into it.  Was
that what he was referring to?

"You know... in bed... like at night before I go to sleep.  I
figure I'm gonna do it while I'm asleep anyway, so sometimes I
just do it while I'm lying there awake."

I didn't say anything at first, but I felt a tingling surge of
excitement in my body.  I inched closer to Ben and whispered
"What's it like?"

"I dunno... kinda... I dunno.  Want to try it?  Both of us."

"Now?  Here?"

"Sure!  The bed's gonna be wet in the morning anyway... right?"
he said.  We had both gone to the bathroom before coming to bed,
but that had been nearly an hour ago. "Tell ya what; I'll go
first, then you.  Give me your hand."

He guided my hand down to the front of his briefs, just like our
morning ritual.

"Hold my wiener and feel the pee come out," he said.

I giggled, and then touched the 10-year-old's penis through the
soft cloth, pressing the shaft lightly with my fingers.  I
immediately felt the material turn wet and warm.  The front of
his underpants was instantly saturated with hot fluid, and I was
doubly excited -- by the taboo urine-play, as well as about
feeling up another boy's penis for the first time.

"Wow!  Cool!" I whispered excitedly.  "Should I do it now?"

"Yeah!"

I felt his hand on my penis... it tickled as he groped me, but
also felt good.  Ben was feeling me up, trying to gauge the size
and shape of my dick by feeling it through my underpants.  We
were both lying on our sides, and it took a few long moments for
my brain to convince my body that it was OK to pee.  I didn't
have all that much.  (Neither had Ben.)  But  I loved how it
felt to have the stream flow onto the front of my underwear.
Ben was holding my penis between his thumb and fingers (just
like my Dad had done!), and looking right into my eyes as we lay
face-to-face.

"That was neat!" he said, when the last of my pee had dribbled
out.

"Yeah!" I agreed.

We just lay there together, not talking, as we went to sleep.
He had taken his hand away from my crotch, and I had replaced it
with my own... holding myself through wet underwear.  I felt a
warm satisfaction, having Ben's body only inches away and our
legs touching, as we drifted off to sleep.  We woke up even
wetter the next morning and touched the front of each other's
underpants... a bit longer this time, since we were sort of
feeling each other up instead of just checking for wetness.  We
didn't talk about it, then or during the day, but I could sort
of sense he wanted to do some more playing on our last night
together.  There were times that day when it seemed like he
wanted to say something secretively, but didn't.

When it was almost bed-time, we mutually agreed to turn in
voluntarily, without waiting for Ben's parents to force the
issue.  We said our good-nights and headed toward his room.

We both started removing our clothes, looking at each other as
we did.  When we were both down to our underpants, I said
something I had been building up the nerve to say all day.

"Let's get naked!"  I whispered, as my heart thumped in my
chest.

"OK!" he replied with an eagerness that greatly eased my
nervousness.

We each peeled down our briefs at the same time, stepped out of
them, and stood there looking at the other's body.  He looked
nice!  And I was proud to show off how I looked.  Both of us had
strong, slender bodies, with solid shoulders.  But we both were
focusing on each other's crotch.  Our soft dicks were about the
same size... long as my finger, thick as my thumb, and
circumcised.  (Maybe a bit bigger than average for kids our age,
based on my careful scrutiny of naked boys in the YMCA locker
room and its communal showers after the weekly swim lessons I'd
begun that Fall.)  But while my balls had begun to hang down,
his sack was still rounded and boyish, pulled up tight. Neither
of us had so much as a single strand of hair down there.

Pressing my luck, I made another kinky proposal. "I got an
idea....  Let's go to the bathroom together and pee."  I took a
breath and continued.  "I'll hold your dick while you do it, and
then you hold mine." He agreed, with a big grin on his face.  My
memory of Dad's night-time ritual was powerful, and I wanted Ben
to hold me as I peed just as much as I want to hold his penis.
"Stand in front of the toilet, and I'll get behind you."

He positioned himself, and I snuggled in behind.  We were about
the same height, and my dick pressed in against his ass crack.
Both my arms wrapped around him as my hands reached for his
crotch... left hand to his little-boy ball-sack and the right
hand to his penis. I craned my neck over his shoulder trying to
aim.

"OK; do it," I whispered.

The flow started, and I could feel the slight vibration of his
penis shaft as I directed the stream to the middle of the bowl,
then moved it around in a little circle.  All the while I was
fondling his balls and pressing my body even tighter into his
back.  It felt great!  When the pee stopped, I kept holding
on... fondling him, just as Dad had done to me several months
before.

"That tickles," giggled.

I stopped exploring his penis and balls and we traded places.
When I came around to face the toilet, my penis was half-hard...
sticking straight out.

"Yours is making a stiffy!" said Ben, in an eager voice.

"Yeah, it gets like that sometimes; weird, huh?"

"You've got a nice one," he answered as he took it in his
fingers.

I glowed with pride at hearing him say that... I figured I had a
"nice one" too...  but we got down to the more important matter
of peeing while he held my dick.

"OK; here goes," I said, and started peeing with Ben directing
the flow into the toilet.  It was almost like Dad doing it, but
this time I was fully awake.  And this time I had my cute
cousin's naked body spooning me from behind.  I could feel his
soft penis against my ass, and I pushed back against it.  Better
yet, he pinched my penis in mid-pee, making the flow stop and
creating the most wonderful feeling.  He let go, then pinched
again.  The pressure in my penis felt wonderful... the desperate
need to pee, followed by the immediate release.

As I had done, he continued holding me after the pee had
stopped, but instead of the ticklish fondling I'd done, he held
my entire penis in his fist and rhythmically squeezed it...
squeeze/release...  squeeze/release... about once a second.  In
a few moments I was fully erect, my boy-cock straining up in his
hand.  He wasn't jacking me... neither of us had any notion of
masturbation... but my 3-inch boner felt strangely different
than I'd experienced before.  To tell you the truth, I think it
felt somewhat strange... a sensation inside my penis that wasn't
all that pleasurable.

"Now make mine a stiffy," he said, releasing my erection and
coming around beside me.  I reached for his dick and squeezed it
just the way he'd done to me... and sure enough his boyish penis
began to harden and increase a little in size.  I released it
and I examined it carefully.  His boner was very much like
mine... about 3 inches, with a slender head, glowing with a
healthy reddish tinge.

"That's cool!" I said.  "I didn't know you could make it get
like that on purpose."

For some reason, we didn't pursue the wonderful world of
erections.  Instead, we walked back to the bedroom. and  hopped
into bed, still naked.  Lying face-to-face, we inched closer and
closer together, without either of us saying anything, until we
were pressing our bodies close together... his penis pushing
right against mine.  We had both gone soft, and I don't recall
that we made each other hard again.  We just lay there together
as we went to sleep, each with an arm draped over the other's
back.  I definitely enjoyed feeling the soft warmness of his
naked body against mine, and I'm sure he felt the same way.

We woke up lying on wet sheets, but it felt nice to be naked.
(I'd never slept nude before.)  As soon as my hand touched Ben's
penis, his eyes opened, and his hand went immediately to touch
my dick as well.  Looking into my eyes, Ben then said something
that has been burned into my erotic memory (and the only
dialogue in this whole story that I'm positive is accurate!).

"Let's pee on each other!" he giggled.

"Yeah!" I agreed.

And with our pre-pubescent dicks pressing together, we emptied
what was left in our bladders.  The warm stream of his pee
sprayed against my crotch, at the same moment I was peeing on
his... as exciting a sensation as I had ever felt at that point
in my life.  It didn't last very long... neither of us had much
pee, since we'd gone in our sleep all through the night... but
it was incredibly fun and arousing.  We lay there, pee all over
our crotches, and began diddling each other's penis until we
were both erect.

"Let's rub our stiffies together!" suggested Ben.

"OK!"

We lay on our sides doing it for a minute.  Then he got on top
of me, and our wet little boners did a wonderful slip-and-slide
as he humped me and I thrust up at him. When we became bored of
this (difficult as that is to believe!) we took a shower
together in Ben's bathroom.  We even soaped each other up.  It
was great fun exploring his naked body as the water poured down
on us, and he seemed equally enthused with exploring mine.
Although I still knew nothing about sex, these activities would
feed my pre-sexual imagination, and then became a potent subject
for my masturbation fantasies a year-and-a-half later when
puberty hit and I quickly discovered what a stiff penis was
really capable of.

I went home that afternoon supremely happy... excitedly
anticipating the next time Ben and I would sleep together.
Unfortunately, things didn't work out as I envisioned.  It was 2
whole years before I saw Ben again.  By that time, I had reached
puberty, quit bedwetting, discovered boy-sex, had great fun for
about 4 or 5 months with several neighborhood boys, and then
swore off boy-sex totally... pathologically afraid of getting a
reputation as a queer.

When I next saw Ben, we were still friendly but didn't share a
bed.  And for some reason we both acted like our kinky
adventures, when he was 10 and  I was 11, had never happened at
all.

My imagination invented some wild fantasies about Ben and me..
what MIGHT have happened the time we got together at ages 12 and
13, respectively... sexual encounters with cock-sucking, making
out, and lots of peeing... spurting cum and flowing urine.
Unfortunately, these things were just the fantasies of a
celibate gay teenager....  I had a masturbation habit that
required a steady supply of arousing mental images, and that was
one of my favorites.  Maybe I should write it up as a fiction
story someday.

The End
(Write to me at bil47_new@yahoo.com)