Posted by Terrier on December 14, 1998 at 21:44
I have always found this very satisfying. Okay it's more than
satisfying, for me, it's intensely stimulating. But I don't get
to enjoy it as much as I'd like. I'm married and my wife
wouldn't understand. So I have to reserve this pleasure for
those occasional travels which involve an overnight stay in a
motel. I don't think it's fair to wet an unprotected bed so I
have always asked the proprietor if they would provide
protection in case I had a wet accident.
It took a lot of courage to ask that question the first time.
But so far I've never been refused and I've found an unexpected
amount of "sympathy" for my condition, especially from female
motel owners. I've now come to the conclusion that it's pretty
common and not just children, adults too. I wonder how many of
these "unfortunate" people are recreational bedwetters like me?
I had an unexpected bonus at one motel I've used a number of
times. In fact I have used it often enough that the staff have
come to know me as a "regular". I booked in one Monday evening
at nine pm. It was pretty quiet and to pass the time I got to
chatting with the barmaid. She told me she was a university
student earning money in her spare time. We exchanged views on a
variety of topics until she reluctantly said she was going off
duty and what were my plans.
I said I was booked in so I was staying the night. 'Oh,' she
said, 'Are you in the new wing?' I said I was staying in room
42, the one I usually used. Without thinking she said, 'Oh
that's where the guy wets the bed,' then realising what she had
said she apologised profusely and looked terribly embarrassed. I
said, 'That's okay.' Apparently the staff do talk among
themselves. I didn't know it got that intimate.
She was still upset and tried to make up for it by confiding
that I wasn't the only one, that the occupant of Room 24 had the
same problem. She indicated a woman sitting at the far end of
the bar. I felt my heart lurch a bit. I didn't hear the rest of
her explanation. I was thinking how can I get into conversation
with another bedwetter, and a woman at that!
I should explain that I doubt that motel staff discuss their
guests in any detail, especially with other guests. It was just
that the barmaid and I hit it off together and had got into some
intimate conversation. I think she now regretted her earlier
lapse. On the spur of the moment I said, 'Well I'd feel a bit
better about it if you got talking with her and made the same
mistake you made with me, pointing me out as a fellow sufferer.'
My new acquaintance looked at me strangely for a moment but
probably decided I wasn't dangerous. She was reluctant to get
involved but evidently still felt somewhat responsible for
repairing the damage. She said she'd see what she could do.
I sipped my drink with a pounding heart, trying not to look at
the pair of them as the barmaid presumably asked about topping
up the woman's drink. I didn't think it was going to work but
after a poor start, they did get into conversation.
Ten minutes later the barmaid said goodnight, she was now going
off duty. As she passed she whispered, 'Have fun, you're on your
own.'
From the corner of my eye I could see the woman at the far end
of the bar staring straight ahead. I didn't feel at all
confident. What the hell could I say. Anyway, by the time I
plucked up enough courage to approach her, she would probably be
gone. If I did speak to her what could I expect other than a
frosty refusal to discuss her personal affairs? If so, I
could hardly blame her.
By now I had a full bladder and was looking forward to retiring
to my room, and a night of satisfying wet spasms in the motel
bed. The exit led past a dark haired woman in her mid-thirties,
homely in appearance with intelligent grey eyes. I had already
decided I wasn't going to get anywhere with her and with the
confidence that comes from such a realisation I nodded, smiled
and said, 'Good evening.'
Her answering smile was reassuring.
What the hell. I had nothing to lose as I hadn't expected to
gain anything in the first place. I paused, leaned forward and
remarked conspiratorially, 'I hope you won't be offended if I
sympathise with you. The barmaid apparently knows I'm also a
bedwetter.'
The woman coloured slightly and looked discomfited. Bad mistake.
'Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.' I went to move off.
The woman looked at me curiously. 'Are you trying to pick me
up?'
I mumbled that I wasn't. It was true. I wasn't sure why I had
even spoken to her. Maybe a fantasy of sharing a wet bed
together, but that was stretching reality a bit far.
The woman looked at me steadily with her knowing eyes. 'I have a
serious medical condition,' she said coolly. 'Why do you wet
your bed?'
I was overcome by a rush of shame but I said it anyway. I had
intended that after the announcement I'd disappear to my room.
'I wet my bed for pleasure,' I said truthfully, now regretting
my impulsive move.
'Well that's refreshing candour,' she said with a laugh. 'Would
you like to hear something equally remarkable?'
'If you wish,' I said cautiously.
'I do too.' As she said this, the woman seemed highly amused.
I was stunned. I learned that my new acquaintance was a
representative for a medical supply company and that she had
joined the company only a month earlier. I also learned that she
was married and hoped to stay that way by not engaging in idle
encounters with casual bedwetters. Okay, I took the point.
We spoke for at least an hour, during which time my urge to pee
moved up several notches from urgent to desperate. Finally I had
to reluctantly cut short our conversation by confessing that I
could not wait any longer. My newfound friend mischievously
suggested, 'Why not just do it in your pants?'
I said I'd love to, but I didn't want to be thrown out of the
motel, so I was saving it for my bed instead and did she want to
join me?
She just laughed and said she'd be thinking of me as she warmed
her own. We parted the best of friends and I spent one of the
most stimulating nights of wet pleasure I can remember - solo
admittedly, but then most of my wet nights are solo these days.
During the night when things became intense in my bed, my
thoughts kept turning to Ruth and I wondered what was happening
in room 24 and how it would have been had she taken up my
suggestion to try out the double bed in room 42.
I'm sorry there isn't too much pee fun in this post; sometimes
it works out like that. But there's always tomorrow. If I meet
another Ruth, I'll be sure to let you know.