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Stinky, Squishy & Proud
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By MinnesotaWriter · Posted
Chapter 26: It Couldn’t Be Wrong I stared at the package of pull-ups I had set on the bed. It was the worst type of disappointment, the kind that comes completely as a surprise shortly after being certain that success was inevitable. For the shortest time this morning, I had been certain that I was going to get what I wanted. My gambit with Dr. Mathorn had paid off, as I managed to prompt her to bring up the topic of protection, which I was then able to tentatively accept over my mom’s objections. On the drive from the hospital to the store, all I could think of was of the pull-ups I had worn briefly at Emma’s place. That Mom would have multiple options to choose from was inconceivable. And of course she had managed to choose the wrong one. And the worst part of it was that I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to correct this situation. How was I supposed to convey to her that she needed to switch to my preferred brand of pull-ups? I tried to think on the bright side. Perhaps these pull-ups Mom had purchased for me would fit as comfortably as the others I had tried. Perhaps they would perform as well when I wet them in bed later tonight. Perhaps they would be capable of satisfying that itch that had begun three years ago. I walked over to the window and watched as Mom pulled out of the driveway. Here I was. The entire house to myself. Grace had gotten herself a summer job, with hours during the day, unlike previous summers when she had been forced to stick to working evenings as my parents hadn’t wanted to leave me home alone. Her eight-hour shift would have her arriving home in our old minivan around the same time that Mom and Dad finished with work and picked up Jackson from his day camp on the way home. As I had left to head upstairs with the pull-ups, Mom had given me one final reminder of the chores that she and Dad expected me to have done by the time everyone was home for dinner. The cat litter still needed to be cleaned, my laundry needed to be done, and I was supposed to empty all the garbage cans and take them out to the garbage bin in the garage. I picked up the package of pull-ups to examine them one last time before returning downstairs to eat my lunch. But I didn’t discover much more information than the cursory glance I had given the package before. Aside from not being specifically for girls and having boring designs, the notes on the package touted the same basic features that I’d seen in ads for the pull-up brand I had been coveting. I checked the information about the sizing and found that I was squarely in the middle of the size range for the pull-ups. I managed, though just barely, to avoid ripping open the package of pull-ups right then and there. That wouldn’t do. I couldn’t risk Mom thinking I was actually that eager to wear them on the off chance that she noticed what I’d done. I debated for a moment about where to put the pull-ups, then decided that the underwear drawer at the top of my dresser was the most suitable location. That decision elicited a small laugh. It brought to mind the phrase that Hannah had used to describe her pull-ups. She had referred to them as absorbent underwear. I shut the dresser drawer with a sigh. Tonight couldn’t come quickly enough. But there were other fun things that I could still do in the meantime. I walked down the stairs nervously. It was hard to explain, but I could somehow just feel that the house was empty, and not empty in the sense that someone had stepped out and would be back in a minute, but the kind of solitude that came from having a place to myself without any interruptions for the next five hours. And I wouldn’t be leaving. My parents had made it clear that I was to remain in the house and not leave or let anyone in unless it was an emergency. My half-unpacked lunch of chicken strips and fries was sitting on the kitchen counter. I took the lunch with me to the living room, but not before grabbing a Harry Potter book to read. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Dad to reverse the block on the fan fiction website Hannah had told me about, so for now, I would need to continue with reading the real thing. For the first time in my life, I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted at home, and I found that, for now, I was doing exactly what I would have been doing had Grace been left home with me like in previous summers. I quickly gulped down all of my pop well before I was finished with my chicken and fries that I was eating with a fork to avoid getting any greasy fingers on the pages of my beloved books. It was time to get something else to drink from the kitchen. I grabbed the largest plastic water cup that I could find and filled it to the brim with the filtered water pitcher from the fridge. I took a few large sips and then topped the cup off again. I was already beginning to squirm with anticipation at the thought of how I would soon be wetting my pants again later this afternoon. This time, I wanted to wait until I couldn’t avoid peeing any longer, and the best way to do that was to make sure I drank as much as I reasonably could. While I wouldn’t be wetting a pull-up, this would be the next best thing. I considered my options for where I should have this fake accident. When I had wet my pants last week, I had done so in the laundry room. With the cement floor with a built-in drain next to the washing machine, it had made cleanup a breeze. The bathtub would be the easiest to clean up, but that simply felt too weird and gross to do. I simply couldn’t do that given everyone else in my family would stand in it, well, except for Jackson, who was still young enough that he almost exclusively took baths. Wetting myself over carpet was an obvious no-go, though there were a few other places that could still work, such as in the kitchen or in the bathroom. I could have done it in a room with a wood floor, but I remembered Dad’s complaints from when I had spilled a glass of lemonade on it and his concerns about how the flooring might get warped or stained. That was another option to be ruled out for now. I had spent the weekend thinking through various scenarios that I could play out. What clothes should I be wearing when I had an accident? Did I want to try seeing what it would be like to pee myself while sitting in a chair rather than standing? I kept a close eye on the time as I continued to hydrate, making sure to take another sip of water every few pages. An hour and two full cups of water later, I was now finding it almost impossible to sit still, my body squirming in anticipation of my afternoon plans. I still had a book open in front of me, but I hadn’t switched over to a new page in more than ten minutes. I had made up my mind. I was going to change out of my leggings into a different outfit, and when my bladder couldn’t last any longer, I would be sitting in a chair in the laundry room. The only chairs in the basement were folding ones that were only brought upstairs for special occasions when there were enough guests to warrant it. But those chairs were immediately ruled out, as the fabric cushion on them would be impossible to clean. That left me needing to hall one of the wooden chairs from the dining room table set downstairs. I posited it right over the laundry room drain. By this point, there was no question that I needed to pee. It wouldn’t have been difficult to go now. All I would have to do is give my bladder the word, and it would release. But that wasn’t what I wanted to experience today. Nothing but the biggest possible accident would suffice. I wasn’t in any danger of having an accident yet, so I headed upstairs to retrieve my laundry and changed into a pair of stretchy denim shorts. Once I got the washing load started, I took a seat on the chair. I had made sure to only put about half my clothes in with this load, as I would have another to start when it came time to clean up after wetting myself. I wanted it to be as close to a genuine accident as possible, so despite the pain now coming from my bladder, I forced myself to continue to desperately hold on despite the increasingly irresistible urge to pee. I wanted to experience something that felt like an actual accident rather than a fake one. The sound of water sloshing around in the washing machine wasn’t doing me any favors. I clenched my hands between my thighs. My bladder ached worse than anything. I finally reached the point where I couldn’t hold on any longer, even if I had wanted to. I lifted my hands up not a moment too soon as my legs involuntarily unclenched. I looked down at my waist as I began to pee uncontrollably. I gasped as a massive, ever-expanding wet spot appeared between my legs. The pain in my bladder was suddenly gone. That alone was a massive relief. The seat of the chair wasn’t completely level. It had the slightest of slopes from the front to the back. The result was that the puddle forming in front of me was steadily drifting backward, soaking through the entire bottom of my shorts and then dripping down onto the floor like raindrops. My heart was racing audibly. This was no less exhilarating than the first time I had wet myself in the basement. Something wet touched my feet. I jerked them off of the floor. I hadn’t thought much about how I had positioned the chair, but with how I was sitting, my feet had been directly in the path the urine was taking down into the drain. I immediately ripped off my wet socks as I continued to pee. I didn’t like the sensation of them being wet. It was like having to play soccer in the rain or on an early spring morning when the grass was still covered with dew. And then it was all over. My shorts and underwear were fully soaked, wet, and warm. The seat of the chair was wet, but basically, all the urine that hadn’t been soaked up in my clothes had dripped down to the floor and had turned into a couple of small streams headed for the drain. I wished that I had thought to time how long it took me to empty my bladder. I couldn’t recall ever having peed for that long before. I wondered if I had been going for nearly a whole minute. I stayed seated in the chair for several minutes with my feet hovering above the floor. For how much buildup it took to arrive at these moments, they were always over far too soon. I stood up from the chair, careful not to step on any wet spots on the floor, and stepped back to a dry spot a few feet back from the chair. My shorts felt far heavier than before. Unlike my leggings, the shorts had absorbed quite a bit of urine. The evidence would be gone soon enough. Once this first load of laundry was finished in the washing machine, a hose would spit out all the water into the drain, washing away any trace of what I had done. It hadn’t taken long for my wet clothes to begin to cool off, becoming clammy and clingy against my skin, the comfortable, warm wetness having devolved into a clammy, cold, damp sensation that wasn’t at all pleasant. With that cooling off, the exhilaration of the moment began to wear off, and I started to take in the sight of what I had just done. The chair that was noticeably wet. The puddle of urine that was gradually disappearing down the drain. Demin shorts that had changed from a faded light blue to a much deeper color. There was a lingering sense of unease in the back of my mind, whispers that what I had just done was gross, unnatural, weird, that I should be ashamed of even thinking of doing it, let alone actually going through with the deed. I tried to shake that feeling, to refocus on how good I had felt only minutes ago. It had all felt so good, so why was I now feeling bad about it? I thought about Hannah again. I didn’t want to be anything like her, a freak who wasn’t potty trained despite being in middle school, a weirdo who needed to have a watch to give her reminders to go to the toilet. I had never experienced anything more enjoyable than peeing myself, whether that was while lying in bed or just now while sitting on a chair. It couldn’t be wrong. I just couldn’t be. Everything from the slowly building anticipation as I made sure I was fully hydrated to the moment when my bladder finally couldn’t hold on any longer had been exactly what I wanted. So why was I experiencing this emotional drop-off now? I blamed Hannah for it. I hadn’t felt anything close to this before meeting her over the weekend. Sure, there had been some embarrassment at how my parents and Grace had learned about the bedwetting, but that hadn’t come with this same sense of wrongness. I mean, Hannah was practically a baby, from how she couldn’t tie her own shoes or properly drink from a water bottle to how she fussed and whined when her needs weren’t being catered to. There wasn’t any way she liked peeing in her pull-ups and diapers. She probably didn’t even notice doing so half the time. Looking at Hannah had been like looking into one of those mirrors at a carnival, the kind that returns some sort of distorted reflection that is too tall or too short or too fat or too skinny, where the reflection doesn’t quite match in some way but is close enough to be discomforting. When I pictured Hannah, the resemblance was like that. I could hear Emma’s disdain for her autistic cousin ringing in my ears, along with the specific epithet Emma had used to describe her. I looked down again at my soaked shorts and the evidence of the accident in front of me on the floor. It had felt so good just now. It had felt so good every time I had done it before. And I knew despite what I was feeling at the moment that it would feel so good this evening when I finally was able to pee into a pull-up. I wasn’t Hannah. I wasn’t some stupid dumb girl who wasn’t potty trained. Not me. I wasn’t some awkward baby who couldn’t behave like a normal kid when necessary. I was going to be a teenager for real after this first week of getting a taste of independence. I could indulge in these desires without compromising my status of being a big kid. I did what I did of my own volition. I was completely in control. Besides, it all felt good. It couldn’t possibly be wrong. --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/ -
By SashaButters · Posted
“I *slap* told you *slap* to get *slap* a second opinion!” *slap* -
I always wake up wet, I wet alot during sleep and wake up relaxed and well rested. -
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By peeboytravis · Posted
I'm in Manchester would love to make some diaper friends
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