Posted by Terry on December 27, 1998 at 16:23
In a couple of postings ("Letting Go Slowly" and my responses to "Peeing Jeans in Cold"), I alluded to a bar called Murphy's Pub that I frequented as a graduate student at a large midwestern American university. It was one of the best places I've ever found for wetting in public, and I think many of the regulars on this board would have been in heaven there. I'd like to share a little more about it, because this board is one of the few fora where it's appropriate.
In the early '60s, Murphy's had been a campus restaurant with a vaguely gay reputation that all of us were warned about as incoming freshmen, but after a fire in the late '60s it reopened as a bar that remained popular for over a decade with liberal faculty and a bizarre assortment of students, mainly graduates, many of whom were involved in the protests and counter-cultural activities of the Vietnam era. It was a comfortable place, with rough-hewn dark wood furniture and cheap art. for profs and grads to take turns buying pitchers as part of true "symposia," i.e., drink fests accompanied by discussion of things above and below the earth. It was also the headquarters of the university Rugby teams, men's and women's, although the men's team showed up more often for post-game libations. The liberal student-and-professor crowd were custodians to an extraordinary period in American history, when all standards were in question and the popular slogans were "Let it all hang out" and "If it feels good, do it," and together with the ruggers they set the tone for Murphy's.
Rugby players are notorious for trying to kill each other on the pitch and then gathering afterwards at any drinking emporium that'll have them, to toast each other, sing lascivious songs, and spill lots of beer in riots of male-bonding. Rituals like the "Zulu" to celebrate a player's first try and the parody on "Alouette" in which the male players honor one of their women are typical, and no one who has seen or taken part in such goings-on will be surprised that the floor in Murphy's was often quite wet. The ruggers usually occupied two or three of the long tables by the wall, just inside the front door, and on the floor in the channel between those tables and the bar the standing "water" was often so deep that it came up over the soles of my heaviest boots and wet the leather. As to the composition of the "water" -- I knew a good deal of beer got spilled and thrown, but I also had no doubt that people were pissing under the tables, maybe working dicks out through jock straps, maybe not. So many people were observably wet, going up for more beer or whatever, that it was impossible to tell who had done what. That was part of the appeal of the place.
Many of us who frequented Murphy's had gotten pinned against the wall behind one of those long tables, with friends to the right and the left of us and a wall of humanity in front, and as the pitchers kept coming our bladders had filled to capacity. I lost count of the times I eventually let go where I sat, watching the crotch of my jeans glisten as the beer piss flooded the bench in the V-shaped area between my legs and spilled onto the floor. Some did likewise, some held on valiantly till they could work their way out to the john, but it was not uncommon to see men or women standing in the lighted passageway outside the johns with big wet spots on their jeans. I'm sure some of the ruggers were just pissing whenever the spirit moved them, soaking shorts that were already wet and muddy from play.
Over appoximately seven years as a regular at Murphy's, I often saw heavy streams flow out suddenly from under tables and benches where no pitcher or glass had been spilled. I often created such streams myself, so I recognized them when they came from others. After a few beers, people would stand up to leave, and the seats of their jeans, cut-offs, or chinos would be wet. I never saw anyone in the act of wetting in full view of others -- that would have been too exhibitionistic, or too fetishistic -- but the after-effects, the wet pants, were quite common. No one in Murphy's ever behaved as though wetting was a turn-on. It was just something that happened, and no one cared. The beer kept going down, and eventually it had to come out, sometimes unconventionally. The atmosphere was laid-back rather than erotically charged, but it was a perfect place for people like me and others on this board to relax with friends. A true rarity: a mixed bar of men and women, gay and straight, all ages and builds, where you could just pee wherever you stood or sat, without pausing in conversation. I've never seen another bar like it.
Email: terry@wetjeans.com