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Wetting And Rewetting While Alone All Day


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As with anything I post, this is verbose and focuses more on situations and details than the act(s) they accompany. Male solo wetting only.

*****

I haven’t had the urge to pee myself in at least 10 years. I did it once or twice with the woman I would go on to marry, as a couples wetting sort of thing, but to me this has mostly been a spectator sport. Today was way outside of the norm.

My wife and kids are traveling to friends and family throughout their summer vacation away from school. I, however, still have to work so I stay home with a self-assigned list of home improvement projects that are much easier to take care of without the kids around. They’ve been gone about three days. I woke up this morning, having watched a few videos of this particular fetish before bed last night, and a thought as alien to my conscious self as if it had occurred to the cat that was unceremoniously walking across my head, was front-and-center.

“I’m going to wet myself today.”

“Wait, what?” Rational Me said. “Self, where the hell did that come from?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” My recently-encamped alien answered back. “Why not? You have the house alone, nowhere to go, and all day to get there.”

“Fair point, Self,” Rational Me concedeed.

After this internal dialogue I rolled over to open my underwear drawer and pulled out the only pair of white briefs I own, the last time they were worn was for a similar purpose. Loose boxers, what I generally prefer, are pretty terrible to get wet. I slipped these on, along with a T-shirt I would wear for the painting I had scheduled for myself today. I went downstairs and started the coffee, and began loading up my bladder. I walked out on the back porch to enjoy a rather stormy morning, listening to the rain falling.

An hour and a few cups of coffee later the need was there. My back yard is quite private, and” the rain ensured no neighbors on the few areas that could be seen. I stood up, stretching, and walked to the doorway. Part of me internally was still questioning whether this was going to happen. Again I thought - why not? 

I tried to let go, but as this isn’t something that happens, it was difficult. But not impossible. I felt the warmth flow out of me and around my scrotum, then falling by my feet on the porch. It didn’t take long, and it was over in a moment. The warmth was not unpleasant, enjoyable after a fashion. I may stay like this if I can control myself.

I could not control myself. The feeling gave me inspiration to search around with this fetish, which gave me another kind of inspiration. 

I had wasted a good chunk of the morning being decidedly unproductive, so I cleaned up, changing into blue athletic boxer briefs and old painting Wranglers, and got to work.

A couple hours later my bladder was making its presence known again. I hadn’t given this morning’s actions a second thought, losing myself in my work. But now, I thought, “well - why not make a day of it?” I walked to the bathroom, removed my jeans, and stood over the toilet, boxer-briefs still on. It was easier this time, I had to go more than I had initially thought. Most went quickly through the thin athletic material, leaving less of a wet spot than I had suspected. 

“I can use this to a somewhat perverse advantage,” I thought. I turned, pulled my jeans back on over my wet underwear, and returned to painting. 

I was more surprised by how I didn’t feel abnormal working around the house with wet underwear still on, and a slight dampness showing on the front of my jeans. Two or three hours later everything was dry and no trace could be seen, either on the underwear or jeans. I decided I needed to grab dinner at the supermarket. Not thinking twice about leaving the house in clothes that were soiled a few hours prior, I hopped in the car and went shopping. 

It was somewhat of an internal thrill walking around the store with this knowledge, that anyone who looked twice at my clothes were simply looking at the smattering of paint stains on my jeans. 

When I returned home, I had to pee. “To hell with it,” I thought, putting my dinner and drink down, and walked back to the bathroom, again removing my jeans. This time I didn’t have to pee with the force of the last time, and more ran down my leg, soaking the legs of the boxer-briefs. I shrugged, not particularly caring, pulled my jeans back on, and grabbed my dinner. I finished off the evening working a couple more hours as the underwear and jeans dried around me. 

I don’t know where these urges came from, wetting myself isn’t even a suppressed urge. And rewetting myself is unprecedented, but thrilling. At one point my wife and kids video called me to say goodnight, and I stood in wet underwear talking to all, yet none will ever know. I do, however, wish my wife were home and would like to participate with me. It’s been several years now since she’s performed for me, and longer since she’s asked me to do it with her. 
 

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