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The only time I've ever wet my bed


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So the weather is getting colder. Much colder. And I was lying in bed this morning, wrapped up in my duvet and the waning warmth of a hot water bottle, trying to put off getting out of my covers and running through the freezing cold bed to go and pee. Times like this, I always envied men. They can take themselves out and pee in bottles and containers with very little effort, but the plumbing is a little more complicated as a woman. 

I must have been about a seven or an eight on the scale. Enough to feel strong pressure and to have me wriggling about to find a position that wouldn't make me need to go even worse. The bedroom was cold and it was slowly taking its toll on my bladder. I always have to pee like a racehorse of a morning but I'll put it off for the longest time. My mind started to wander as I squirmed about and I suddenly remembered something from many years ago.

I was never a bedwetter. But I wanted to be. I remember subtly asking my mother if I could have the training night pants that were worn sort of like nappies/diapers "just in case" but she never bought them as I'd never wet the bed once in my life and had stopped having natural accidents by the age of about 5. I had always wanted to wet the bed, experience what it felt like to wake up wet... and probably reuse the nappies for further wettings if they would hold it. 

When I was 15 though, I made the decision I wanted to wet the bed. Just once. 

Drinking a lot was never a chore to me. I'd guzzle as much water and juice as I could in the hours before bed and fall asleep dreadfully bloated. But whenever I got woken up by my bladder, maybe only a few hours after I fell asleep, I would just be greeted with such a horrible sharp pain and my muscles would clench in protest at being released in the warmth and softness of the bed. I'd end up just shuffling despondently to the toilet and go to bed feeling defeated.

After about a week of trying, I gave up. 

Winter came in and our house was always cold. I had the room at the back of the house so it felt like all the cold wind would just penetrate my room and nowhere else. I had a heater in my room but wasn't allowed to keep it on overnight as it was really heavy on the electricity. I took hot water bottles to bed, sometimes 2 at a time, to keep my bed warm right into the morning. 

One early Saturday morning, I woke up desperate to pee. 

It happened very quickly. Whenever I used to deliberately wet myself it would happen so agonisingly slowly. This time, by the time I had barely stirred awake, I felt a moistness bubble between my thighs. Instantly my hand shot to my crotch and squeezed. The need hadn't quite registered properly and when it did, it hit like a truck. I clenched down, trying to keep myself in control, but a tiny spurt escaped and I felt it leak through my hand and the fabric of my trousers. I was shaking with the effort of keeping it in and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but that's when I lost it. 

The pee was hot, completely drenching my thighs that were rife with goosebumps. It gushed down my thighs, down my ass, down my legs, unstoppable. I started panting, quickly pivoting myself upwards to raise up the duvet away from the mammoth waterfall that was pouring from between my legs. My face burned with shame but it felt GOOD. I was 15, just on the cusp of sexual attraction, and I felt a wet puffiness between my legs that I knew for sure wasn't pee. 

It must have lasted a good few minutes. The gushing stopped but little bits sputtered out again and again, rewetting what was already wet and already rapidly cooling. I lay there in sheer unbridled ecstasy as it slowed to a stop. 

I laid there, getting my breath back, before snapping on the light and investigating. There was a respectable wet patch in the centre of the bed, but it didn't look all that incriminating. I was suddenly exhausted, leaned back against the pillows with the intention of figuring out what to do. But next thing I knew it was morning and there was movement all around the house. I froze, lying there in cold, wet, sticky sheets. I must have fallen asleep in my own pee. 

My foot brushed something at the foot of the bed. The hot water bottle. It was now tepid and the sound of the water sloshing about made me need to pee all over again. The wet patch under me was still damp so I just relaxed and let a fresh pee out all over again. There wasn't much but I appreciated the heat. When I was done, newly warm and newly wet, I had a brainwave. 

I hopped out of bed, shimmied out of my wet pyjamas and uncorked the hot water bottle. I poured the lukewarm water all over the damp patch on the bed, replaced the lid and shoved it back into the bed. I dressed again, smelled the wet patch and after detecting not even a little trace of urine, pulled open my bedroom door and started angrily telling my mother all about "That shitty hot water bottle leaked all over my bed!" 

No-one ever suspected a thing!

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43 minutes ago, chubbybirb999 said:

So the weather is getting colder. Much colder. 

Times like this, I always envied men. They can take themselves out and pee in bottles and containers with very little effort, but the plumbing is a little more complicated as a woman. 

 

I live out in the country, at the edge of the plains. All that cold air from the Arctic gets pushed down here this time of year.

While I don't have a small bladder (I've had some hiking partners who'd take two or three pees for my every one), It's not as large as it could be. I usually have to get up at some point during the night. As one in the IT business would say, output exceeds capacity.

Since I really don't want to get up and walk across a dark, chilly house, I've been keeping a empty hiker's water bottle close by the bed. You're right, it doesn't take much effort, but I do need to pull back the covers and swing my legs out to use the container.

Knowing that I can never completely empty lying down (is this just me or a general male thing?), I'm going to stand up. There are few things more embarrassing than, thinking you've finished peeing, having an extra spurt or two jet out.

So, for this reason, I take issue you with you saying a woman's plumbing is more complicated. From what I've seen, it's a pretty short and direct outlet. Men, on the other hand, have a bit more elaborate setup. While there is this extra length of tubing which often helps with directing things (although for some reason, I often miss the toilet), there's also the greater chance for blockage along the way, if not by the prostate, than by a state of arousal. Can I help it if I was interrupted in the middle of a good dream?

But, go ahead and keep envying me.

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I didn't intend for anyone to take issue with what I said; I simply meant that for me, peeing can be somewhat messy. Streams can taper off unpredictably, you don't have the ability to aim unless you have a lot of practice. In my experience and to my envy, that doesn't seem to be as big of a problem for men. Again, apologies. 

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2 hours ago, chubbybirb999 said:

I didn't intend for anyone to take issue with what I said; I simply meant that for me, peeing can be somewhat messy. Streams can taper off unpredictably, you don't have the ability to aim unless you have a lot of practice. In my experience and to my envy, that doesn't seem to be as big of a problem for men. Again, apologies. 

You're telling me! And, I likely have a several inch advantage over you. Talk about unpredictability, I've had more than one complaint that I missed the toilet.

But, you are absolutely right about the need for a lot of practice aiming. If you're in need of a tutor, I'm very reasonable.

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