I can remember wetting my diapers as a very young child, but
only vaguely and I don't associate any of those fleeting
memories with any particular sensations, except to note that
they were a part of growing up.
The earliest memory I have of an erotic link to this 'interest'
must have been around the age of five or six. I was home from
school on account of some mild childhood illness. The girl next
door (who was my inseparable playmate) was also at home for the
same reason. To amuse ourselves and pass the time, we spent a
happy morning playing with various toys, then tiring of those
decided to dress up in each other's clothes. I forget who
suggested this, but I can remember feeling a slight thrill of
elation at the thought of wearing Jeanette's clothes - all a bit
forbidden.
We slipped out of our own clothes and fumbled our way into
unfamiliar garments. I can remember growing quite stiff when I
pulled on Jeanette's cotton panties then covered my erection
with her cotton dress although I had no idea why doing this
should affect me in such a way, apart from knowing that it was
vaguely wrong or forbidden (from an early age anxiety often
tended to give me an erection). Then it was done, we looked at
each other, laughed and tried not to feel too embarrassed. Then
the door opened and my mother caught us each 'dressed up'. I
immediately felt guilty. She didn't actually say we had
committed a grave sin, but I got the impression she wasn't all
that amused.
By unspoken agreement we got back into our own clothes and
decided to play outside. There was a vacant section next door
with grass long enough to make a hay paddock. It was good fun
tunneling through it knowing that we were concealed from above
and before long we had reached our secret 'cave.' Jeanette
complained that she needed to do wees but was reluctant to go
all the way back inside so I suggested why not do it here, there
was no one about so it would be completely private. She hummed
and hahed for a bit, tempted but probably bashful. I was eagerly
waiting to see her slip her panties down and squat so that I
could watch her doing it. In fact what I really wanted was
examine more closely that mysterious and infinitely beguiling
feminine slit between her legs so unlike my own sex.
But Jeanette was bashful and didn't want to take her panties
down in front of me. In the event, she waited a little too long
and the white cotton darkened. She bit her lip and whimpered as
the spurt came in her panties and trickled down her leg. Urgency
overcame discretion. She hastily slipped the wet knickers down
and squatted before me and as I watched in a breath-stopping
rapture I saw the sparkling golden stream well up and spurt
through the pouting lips of her vagina and splatter wetly on to
the grass. I was overcome by a desire to become more intimately
involved in this fascinating thing but didn't know what I really
wanted or what to do about it. In the end, acting impulsively I
reached forward and thrust my outstretched hands into the
stream, revelling in the feeling of intimacy and forbidden
naughtiness as the hot spurting of her thighs wetly stroked and
caressed my hands and fingers. Imprinted indelibly on my memory
at that moment was the magical sound of her peeing, loud in the
noonday stillness, the sibilant hssss that girls often make when
they pee, so unlike a male.
Jeanette was a bit taken aback but once I took the initiative I
think she became caught up in the excitement and enjoyed the
thing too although whether in the same way or to the same extent
I have no way of knowing. I am sure though that it gave her a
certain amount of erotic pleasure doing her wees so publicly,
even on my hands!
When she had finished, Jeanette looked in dismay at her panties
with their soaked crotch. I had an inspiration. 'Here,' I said
slipping my underpants down. 'You wear these. They're dry. I
don't mind wearing your ones.' Jeanette readily agreed and
thanked me for the idea.
Pulling on her wet panties gave me such strangely sweet spasms
in the pit of my stomach that for a moment my pelvis felt quite
numb - a sensation I would associate in later years with that
magic ecstasy that wells up just before orgasm. Watching
Jeanette pee stimulated a similar urge, which quickly became
insistent. I didn't wait to see whether she objected or not, but
turned aside, squatted down the way she had and wet myself into
her panties in a glorious warm spasm of forbidden rapture. While
I was doing it I managed to gasp out to Jeanette, did she want
to feel it running over her hands too, but alas, she didn't so I
contented myself with pissing her panties in solitary bliss
until I suddenly became so stiff I couldn't do any more.
Gallantly, I insisted on wearing her wet panties for the rest of
the afternoon, revelling in the clinging sensations that the
tight feminine crotch gave me and revelling in the helpless
delight of being stimulated again and again by the forbidden
wetness between my legs, the remnants of our secret sharing.
Well of course that's a long time ago. But strangely,
recollection of the sensations are still quite vivid. I don't
think anything can quite recapture the vibrant intensity of
"first times", and anything that is associated with sexual
pleasure and arousal in those early years I found incredibly
intense.
One other experience that happened shortly after this also made
a profound and lasting impression. I lived in those early years,
adjacent to a farm. Strangely enough this farm was within the
city limits. It was actually land owned in trust to a large
organisation, and while they decided what they were going to do
with it, they hired a farmer to get some return on it. They ran
cattle and sheep. There were some hundreds of acres, some of it
in dense bush and as kids we had a marvellous time exploring
fields, trees, caves and secret hideaways. A group of four or
five of us, inseparable at the time, were walking though some
dense bush not far from home. Although we explored a lot, there
was so much of it that probably most was unexplored.
I was bringing up in the rear on this occasion, last except for
one of the farm dogs who occasionally followed us about. This
was generally frowned on because they were working dogs and not
supposed to be playing with children. I guess the dogs didn't
mind breaking the rules occasionally. Eventually I discovered I
needed to pee and turned aside off the track to point myself
behind a tree. The others quickly disappeared out of sight. My
absence must have been noticed because someone called out,
'Where are you?'
'I'm just here having a leak,' stalling for time.
'Well hurry up then we haven't got all day.'
We knew enough not to get separated. It was easy to get lost. I
fumbled in my shorts and shortly a spray splattered against the
wide trunk of the tree. The farm dog came up behind me, curious
to see what I was doing. To my surprise he came right up and
sniffed at the source of the spraying.
'Get away, stupid dog. You'll get wet,' I admonished.
He didn't move away. In an act that astonished me, the dog moved
closer then began to lick my penis. I was outraged and to shoo
him away I turned, faced him and still peeing aimed the jet in
his direction. That'll teach him a lesson I thought.
It made no difference. The dog continued to lick my cock and
when the spurting went in his mouth he either ignored it or
swallowed it. I was spellbound with astonishment. But within
moments I had another problem to worry about. The ministrations
of his tongue were producing a sensation of divine sweetness,
the like of which I had never experienced before.
Another yell sounded, close this time, 'Are you coming or aren't
you?'
I panicked. I didn't want to be caught with the dog licking my
peeing cock but as the flow began to dwindle I grew stiff and
realised I didn't want it to stop either. I was caught. 'Okay,
I'm coming.'
Just a moment longer. I begged the dog silently to keep doing
it. A crash sounded a few feet away. I could see a couple of
boys coming towards me. I felt a strange weak sensation in my
pelvis, a sort of melting ecstasy that I wanted to go on
forever. At the same time it was so powerful that the intensity
of it frightened me. I hurriedly pulled away from the dog's
licking and concealed my excited flesh in my shorts. A few more
seconds I know now, looking back on it, then I would have
orgasmed. I felt cheated and sorrowful that I had lost out on
exploring where those sensations would have led me. I fell in
behind the others, but I resolved as soon as the coast was
clear, I would find the dog and carry on where we left off.
Unfortunately the opportunity was already gone, and I didn't get
another chance. But it made its own impressions in a youthful
mind and became part of the overall pattern to which I would
respond later.
As I grew older, there were a few other incidents, not many but
each one left another imprint, reinforcing wetting with pleasure
in its own secret and somewhat shameful way. I had a few wet
beds in later years. It would probably be a rare childhood that
passed without a few 'genuine' accidents and I had my share of
them. Usually it happened after a particularly vivid dream, I
would wake in a state of sexual arousal, experiencing blissful
sensations and discover the reality to be that I was wetting the
bed. Whenever this happened I was terribly upset at the 'mess'
but at the same time there would be a sort of heady
exhilaration. I would return in my fantasies again and again to
the sensation of helpless pleasure as I lay there involuntarily
wetting myself.
I also discovered another situation which could provoke an
'accident' and that was at a time of extreme anxiety and
helpless frustration. I remember leaving my schoolbag on the bus
when I was quite young and walking home without it. When I got
home the reception was thunderous and I was promptly despatched
to flag down each of the returning buses for a quick survey to
see whether that was the one which contained my missing bag.
Needless to say my efforts were fruitless, which compounded my
anxiety and as I stood at the side of the road, overcome by
feelings of desperation approaching panic I felt myself lose
control and began to wet my pants. Feeling the hot spurts coming
in my pants and running down my legs invoked exquisite
sensations of frustration, despair and (you guessed it) erotic
stimulation.
I have since discovered that this reaction was a familiar one to
many girls. Maybe boys reacted exactly the same way. I don't
know because it's not the sort of thing that boys were keen to
confess, so I never learned their reactions. Girls had no such
inhibitions with me if the topic was discussed in a neutral way.
As you can see, the pattern was building up. Not a lot, but bit
by bit. Later at puberty I re-experienced some incidents of bed
wetting, but this time accompanied by intense sexual pleasure.
I also had the usual wet dreams that young boys experience when
they are starting to get to grips with unruly hormones, but for
some reason most of my wet dreams were accompanied by or a
follow on from the blissful feelings arising from wetting the
bed. I found this interesting and discussed it cautiously with a
few of my friends. (No one likes to be "different" at that age,
hence the caution).
I asked them, 'What happens when you have a wet dream?'
There was the usual evasiveness, guffaws of laughter and
comments like, 'Well you know,' or 'what'd yah think?'
When they saw I wasn't trying to make fun of them, they became a
little more explicit. Overall the consensus seemed to be: "Well
I was having this dream, y'know and I was watching this chick
and I was getting a good feeling watching her and it suddenly
got very strong and I woke up. That's when I found my stomach
was wet and sticky where I'd shot."
They asked, what about you? I acknowledged something similar
because I thought if they knew the truth they'd make fun of me.
What happened for me was similar up to the point of the good
feelings then I too would wake up realising I was having a wet
dream - except that the wet part was I was actually wetting the
bed. It happened over and over. The scenes would be different
but the end result always the same, the feelings of erotic
pleasure would come to a peak of ecstasy - that's when I'd wake
up with the warm spurting of my pee jetting over my tummy and
into the bed. The sensations would be so exquisite and powerful
that I would often orgasm after emptying my bladder. If not,
then the urgency was so strong that I'd stroke myself for a few
moments to produce the climax I needed so badly, spurting into
the wet sheets.
