Posted by Terry on December 20, 1998 at 16:13
After years of furtive seeping in my pants, raising small wet spots in school and elsewhere that went unnoticed and dried quickly, I really began coming out as a wetter in college, when I was finally in charge of my own laundry. For the first couple of years, I kept my self-indulgence to the dorm room. I'd be sitting at my desk studying and feel a little pressure, let it build up while I worked on, and at some juncture relax and enjoy feeling the warm stream inside my briefs. It would soak through my jeans or whatever, raising a wet spot and sometimes wetting my whole crotch, as well as running down around my butt. I liked to lean back in my chair and watch the glistening as it rose and subsided. Sometimes I'd check out the wet crotch and ass in a mirror before changing and sticking the wet things in my laundry bag.
My first roommate in college was a guy who nowadays would probably call himself bi. His behavior was predominantly heterosexual, but he liked to horse around with other guys in the dorm in ways that made us wonder. At a water fountain in the hallway, for instance, he'd cup a handful of water, turn around fast, and grab one of the other guys in the crotch -- wetting the other guy's basket, of course. He'd laugh and pass it off as a lark. Most of the guys were afraid to talk much about it, maybe for fear they'd sound too interested. This was around 1965. The closet was a very crowded place back then, and people were very defensive and close-mouthed.
This roommate -- I'll call him Jesse -- tried to crawl into bed with me once, and I was so well conditioned as an all-right guy that I rolled onto my back and hit him hard with both fists, right in the chest. Knocked him halfway across the room. He stumbled back into his own bed, laughing. I had hoped before coming to college that I might be so lucky as to get a roommate who shared my enjoyment of wetting, and now I apparently had one but was too closeted and protective of my image to connect with him.
On our very first night as roommates, on a walk across campus, he had told me that he had one of the weakest bladders in the world. He also said he found it challenging sometimes to see how long he could hold it. "Sometimes I get a little wet," he said. I feigned distance and disinterest, but my pulse was pounding. As the months passed, it became obvious that he occasionally let go a little while studying or while talking on the phone with his girlfriend, raising a two- or three-inch wet spot. And it also became clear that in this girlfriend (call her Annie), he had found a true playmate. I never saw her wet, but he made a number of remarks suggesting that she wet herself a lot when they were out on dates. I recall one time when she was visiting our dorm room and we were chatting with some other guys, Jesse said that Annie was like a puppy. "Whenever she gets excited, she pees." A little later in the same conversation, he said they needed to go do their laundry. "You'd better throw in those cut-offs of yours, Annie," he said, for everyone to hear. "You've peed in them so often they're starting to smell." She gave him the classic look of daggers. Whatever they had going between them, she was not ready to be "outed" as a wetter in front of his friends. They broke up a few months later.
Jesse and I roomed together for two years, and in all that time we never came out to each other on any level. For the 60s, he was remarkably frank, and he used to chide others as hypocrites. But although I had all the opening the times allowed, I was never able to compromise my reputation by admitting even to him that pissing my pants or watching someone else do it made my blood race. Coming out is a long, difficult process. I made a lot of progress in my junior and senior years, wetting myself in increasingly exposed, public settings, but not until my second year of graduate school, in 1970, did I really start letting go. The scene was a bar called Murphy's Pub, undoubtedly the wettest venue for men and women, gay or straight or whatever, that I have seen in my half-century or so. More about that another time.
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