Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2005 05:53:14 -0800 (PST) From: Bill 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)