jrs1989

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About jrs1989

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    he/him

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  1. jrs1989

    My fiancé wetting for me again!

    Amazing!
  2. jrs1989

    Wetting her pants in the car/driveway

    Agree. A+
  3. jrs1989

    Just a Normal Guy

    I'll shake things up and say a tight dress, ending at the thighs, offering a peak of some sort of white underwear. You can use your authorial license to fill in the rest of the details, kokandra... And, yeah, more deets on this version of the game please.
  4. jrs1989

    good date

    We stood on my roof looking out over the city. Or, rather, she was looking out over the city. I was looking at her. She was moving constantly: She bent her right leg, dipped, stood up straight, bent her left leg. I tried not to stare. “How’s the view?” I asked. “Amazing,” she said. I sidled up next to her as she took in the view and wrapped my arm around her waist. My right palm settled against her taught belly and I traced my fingers over it through her white shirt/potential onesie. That made her freak out. She squirmed, turned 270 degrees while staying within my arm, and buried her face in my neck while simultaneously burying her hand in her crotch beneath her black skirt. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she whispered into my ear. “Don’t you fucking dare tickle me when I’m this full, or get anywhere near my bladder.” “It was an accident, really,” I lied. “I don’t believe that at all,” she breathed onto my neck. Things were escalating quickly. She removed her hand from her crotch and instead straddled my leg. Holy shit. “Tell me,” I said, not believing my luck, terribly aroused, and wanting more. “How did you become someone who lets your bladder get this full on a regular basis?” Stories from one’s past might not be the best way to ride a wave of sexual tension, but I was pretty sure that these details were ones I wanted to hear. “Well, in high school the bathrooms were awful. So I stopped going.” “You stopped going?” “Yes, I just stopped. I started waiting all day rather than sit in pee, or worse.” “I bet that took some adjusting.” “From lunchtime on I was squirming. By the time I got home things were in a dangerous place. But I got better and better at holding. My bladder is large. By now, leaks are rare.” I exhaled haltingly. “And because I look so cute in skirts, I have less to worry about than if I were a pants-all-the-time person.” “Can you explain what you mean by that?” I asked, as if I didn’t get it. “Well,” she said in a falsely innocent voice, playing along gamely, “It means if I leak it’s not the end of the world.” I kissed her full on the mouth and she responded eagerly. I held her closer, subtly pressing with my torso against her bladder. I felt her twist, I felt her grip my leg more tightly between hers, I felt her rub against it a bit, and then I felt warmth. She jumped back. I gripped my leg as if she had burned me. There was a quarter-size wet spot on my jeans. “Did you just pee?” I asked. “Who knows?” she asked, walking aggressively in place, her voice an octave higher. “I’m wearing a skirt! No one can tell!” “You’re fucking amazing,” I said. “Are there any good places to grab another drink around here?” she asked. “Not the place with the annoying bartender. Another place. Somewhere you like. The night is young!”
  5. jrs1989

    Close Call in the Club!

    Amazing story.
  6. jrs1989

    old message boards

    @Anathema Nice. @Bulge_Lover Yes, which is awesome. But there used to be a message board associated with it. "WetBBS" or somesuch. It had been more or less dead for a few years by the time I discovered it, but seemed to have once been a lively and friendly place. Tons of good content, if I remember correctly.
  7. jrs1989

    old message boards

    I remember, maybe a decade ago, browsing through various forums where people described their experiences exploring wetting and desperation. There used to be some great written content out there. One such forum was associated with the Shara & Ger site, another with WetSet. There were others, too. Many of these are in various states of disrepair now or have disappeared from the internet entirely. Did anyone happen to save any older forums?
  8. jrs1989

    a series of errors

    This is a very, very, very good story.
  9. jrs1989

    Just a Normal Guy

    B & C sounds good.
  10. At first, college was hard. I showed up in another state, without friends, and didn’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to make any new ones. On top of that, my roommate and I got off to a bad start. I knew I had to put myself out there in order to find my people. I did a lot of wandering up to other groups of freshmen who already seemed to be fast friends, and attempted to work my way into their conversations. It felt so awkward. But we all just got here, I reminded myself. This is how it works. It was during one such encounter that I first met Jessica. Three people I recognized from my history class were sitting at a picnic table outside. I smelled pot. I was interested. I walked up, sat down, began to listen noncommittally to the conversation. A girl with long brown hair was talking animatedly while the others listened — something about the awkwardness of adjusting to college. A joint was making its way around. Someone passed it to me. I took a hit. Great! New friends. I can handle this college thing after all, I thought. “My roommate is so fucking weird,” one guy said in a somewhat hushed tone, looking around, presumably to see if his roommate was within hearing range. “He doesn’t have any sheets on his bed. He just sleeps face down on the bare mattress.” “Oh, poor guy,” the brown-haired girl said. “He’s probably just not used to taking care of himself, making his own bed.” “You should know how to do that by the time you get to college!” the guy replied. “Also, last night, he just sat alone in our bedroom and drank like, I don’t know, half a handle of vodka. I came home and he was lying on the carpet, blasting metal, the half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand.” We chuckled. I have to admit, I was a bit fixated on this brown-haired girl. The pot wasn’t helping. The sun was shining through her hair, her eyes seemed to be glowing. I watched her laugh at the guy’s story. She was cute. “That’s nothing,” the other guy replied. “My roommate does not stop looking at me. Anytime I look at him, he’s already looking at me. It’s so, so, so creepy. I think he might kill me.” The pot was having its effect on all of us. Everyone was laughing at this point, the brown-haired girl hardest of all. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she gasped. I decided to share. “I came back from the shower yesterday to find my roommate with his pants around his knees, masturbating into a trash can.” True story, unfortunately. “Holy shit,” the roommate of the drunk metalhead said. “That’s weird.” “Not good,” the roommate of the potential serial killer said. “Oh my god, oh my god,” the brown-haired girl cried as tears of laughter streamed down her face. “I think you win, man. You have the worst roommate,” the drunk metalhead’s roommate said. “Oh my god,” the brown-hair girl continued to gasp, doubled over in laughter. “I've gotta pee. I’m going pee. I’m going to pee.” That got my attention. Like any 18-year-old (my roommate certainly included, I guess) I had an overactive sex drive and, unlike many 18-year-olds, a particular interest in pee. “I’m peeing,” cried the brown-haired girl. She gripped her crotch over her skirt. People sometimes say that when they are laughing, I told myself. Who knows if she means it. If she was in fact peeing, I guess she staunched the flow because, when she removed her hands and crossed her legs tightly, I couldn’t see any spot. The conversation continued like that — shooting the shit beneath a tree on the quad on a warm September day. At some point, the drunk metalhead’s roommate — I learned his name was Kyle — broke out some beers he had somehow obtained. They cut through the pot high and we all calmed down. The sun went down. It started to get chilly. “It’s been fun guys but I’m gonna grab a jacket and get some dinner,” Kyle said. “Yeah, I’ll head in too,” I said, standing. “Ok, ok, we can head in,” the brown-haired girl, whose name I still hadn’t caught, said. She stood. “Oof. I’ve had to pee like a motherfucker the whole time we’ve been here and that beer really didn’t help.” She put her hand on her belly over the waistband of her skirt. “But thank you for sharing your beer, Kyle. I loved it, even if now I’m about to pee myself.” “No problem, Jessica,” he replied. “I’ll see you guys in class.” Jessica. Her name was Jessica. Kyle and the other guy were apparently in the same dorm, and headed off in its direction. The brown-haired girl, to my delight, was in mine. We walked back as the night grew colder. My hands were shoved into my pockets; she was hugging herself and walking stiffly. “Where are you from?” I asked, to make conversation. “Oregon,” she replied. “You?” “New York.” “New York City?” “No, just near it. I go into the city sometimes though.” “I went to New York City earlier this summer,” she said. “Did you like it?” “Yeah. Except, like, no public bathrooms. Which is a real fucking issue after having beers in the park.” She really wanted to talk about pee, I guess? I couldn’t believe my luck. My brain was still moving slow, a product of the pot and beer. Perhaps she interpreted my silence as a discomfort with the topic. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” she said. “TMI. I guess I’ve just got pee on the mind.” She rubbed her bladder area again to make the point. “No worries, I get it!” I jumped in, hoping to reassure her. I wanted to keep this conversation going. “I, uh, have been stuck having to pee in New York too.” “What did you do?” she asked, turning to look directly at me. I had her attention. “I guess I just waited. I was on the subway for what felt like hours. I almost pissed myself.” “Yeah man,” she said. “I know how that is.” “It was really bad. I was afraid I was going to pee at any minute. When I finally got where I was going I probably peed for a minute, maybe two.” She didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at me, intensely. “What did you do?” I ventured. “I ended up peeing in an ally. I was also literally about to piss my pants.” She smiled. “I may in fact have already pissed my pants a bit. I didn’t want to walk around all damp!” “Prudent,” I said. “That would have been something to see.” What! Why did I say that!? I needed to get a hold of myself. “Well, I’m basically in the same situation right now,” she said softly. We had been walking this whole time but now she stopped and gripped her crotch again, as if admitting her predicament had intensified the urge. She shifted her weight to one leg, then the other. As she did it, she made eye contact directly with me. We were feet from the entrance to our dorm but still she stood there, holding herself and pee dancing. “Just gotta collect myself,” she gasped. “So I don’t piss my pants.” “Piss your skirt,” I offered. “What?” She raised her eyebrows. “Piss your skirt. You’re not wearing pants, you’re wearing a skirt.” “Oh. Right. Yes. Piss my undies.” “Uh, are you going to be ok?” I asked. “Yes, yes, this always happens to me. Just be a gent and get the door?” she asked. With her still standing in one place, shifting and holding herself, I walked over to the dorm door, unlocked it and opened it. “Come on in,” I said. With one hand still in her crotch she hustled toward me, through the door, across the lobby of the dorm and up the stairs, headed, I assumed, for the second-floor women’s bathroom. I closed the door and followed her into the stairwell. I heard her shoes clacking somewhere above me. Suddenly, I heard a yelp. I rounded a bend in the stairs to find her sitting on one of them. I wasn’t sure what was happening. Her face looked incredibly relaxed; her eyes were closed, her jaw was slack. I looked down. Liquid was running down her right leg from under her skirt, onto her foot. “Oh my god,” she said. “Oh my god, I’m peeing.” She buried her fist in her crotch and bent forward, clenching. The stream trickled to a halt. She had peed for, at most, several seconds. She lifted her hand, revealing a large, damp patch on the front of her grey skirt. She looked down at it, then closed her eyes. Did a slight smile cross her lips? She opened her eyes and looked at me. I looked right back at her. That intense, charged eye contact again. She seemed unfazed. “Well,” she said. “Maybe I’ll learn my lesson. College is about learning lessons, right? I need to learn to pee sooner.” “Yes,” I said. I was a bit overwhelmed. “I was going to do laundry tomorrow anyway,” she murmured. Her calm had worn off quickly, now she also seemed flustered. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said. Then she stepped forward, down a stair, so she was one stair above me, and, awkwardly, from that slightly higher height, wrapped her arms around me. “It was great to meet you,” she said. The hug tightened and she pressed her leg, the leg she had peed down, against mine. I was extremely confused. This hug felt a little more than friendly. What was going on? “Don’t tell anyone,” she said again, this time whispering it into my ear. I felt her abdomen rub against mine. I was intensely aware of the curves of her body — and that damp patch on the grey skirt that was now firm against my torso. Then she stepped back. “I still really, really have to pee,” she said. And with that, she pivoted on her toe, raced up the remaining steps, and out of the stairwell, out of my sight. I heard the jangle of keys, then the door to what I presume was the women’s restroom, and then the click of a lock. I stood motionless in the hallway for a good two minutes, processing. My confusion lingered, but now I was also catastrophically aroused. Slowly I turned, walked back down the stairs to the men's dormitory on the first floor, and returned to my room, where I sat, awkwardly, shell shocked, aroused as fuck, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Jessica as my roommate watched episode after episode of “Friends.” I want to make this a three part series, but everyone always says they want to make everything a series and it rarely happens. So I'm not gonna promise anything. Still, I'll do my best.
  11. jrs1989

    Just a Normal Guy

    A
  12. jrs1989

    Just a Normal Guy

    B
  13. jrs1989

    Online Dating Isn't All Bad

    Great story. Writing drunk seemed to work out fine.
  14. jrs1989

    Just a Normal Guy

    A.