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Charlie Kirby

Soaked Member
  • Posts

    264
  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    16

Charlie Kirby last won the day on March 11 2015

Charlie Kirby had the most liked content!

About Charlie Kirby

  • Rank
    Soaked

Personal Information

  • My pronouns are..
    she/her

My Kinks

  • I'm into..
    Bedwetting
    Diapers
    Hyper wetting
    Watersports
    Cuddling
    Pleasure control
    Stomach bulging

Recent Profile Visitors

20,431 profile views

Charlie Kirby's Achievements

  1. Agree. The last picture is a great pose, nice to see something different. Keep up the good work!
  2. I know right! The big problem with my line of work is everyone spends a lot of time waiting around without much clue of what’s going on, but if you’re not ready to go the moment you’re asked to, you in such big trouble you could lose your job. Often restrooms are some walk away from where you’re working, hence why it becomes impractical to use them. The radio thing is really annoying. I sometimes avoid it by telling a nearby colleague where I’m going, but depending what your role is, it maybe a must that you announce on the radio - mainly because someone who actually knows what’s going on may be kind enough to say if they think you leaving is a bad idea… if that makes sense.
  3. There are day when my work has very limited toilet access. Not necessarily because there are no restrooms, just because the schedule can be so packed there’s no time to use them. Also, there are days which we are on comms systems and have to announce when we are going to the restroom, with codes for number 1 or 2. For me, being as shy as I am, that’s can stop me taking a break. I don’t want all my colleagues knowing what I’m doing. So I pose that question: would you take a job where you have to tell everyone (not just in ear shot, literally everyone on site via a radio) when you are going to the toilet and what you are doing when you get there?
  4. Wow thanks all for the kind words. @ragtime We’ll see how Daisy feels when I can pluck up the courage to ask. @dwp, @Tellnoone, @xixi I wasn’t expecting to have so many people say they can relate. I’ve felt very alone in some of the mixed emotions I’ve felt around this fetish. It’s encouraging to know I was wrong.
  5. No harm in missing the translation. It’s nice to see local languages pop up!
  6. Nice to see a local language being used on here, thank you. I’ve had a couple of wet dreams like this. One was very like yours - I was a teenager peeing in the pool at my childhood home, only a friend was there with me and she was joining in.
  7. I wrote this after a wetting experience last November, having lived with my partner (let’s call her Daisy) for the best part of a year and a half. At the time, Daisy didn’t know about my fetish. When our country had been in lockdown for about eight months, I had been forced to be dry for as long. You can understand my burning desire to do something. —— Wrapped in my thick sweater and jacket I’m oblivious to the bitter chill. I’ve been walking into the forest for some 30 minutes, turning off the tracks we have rambled so many times together. I’ve been following the meandering path of a spring, treading its soft wet trail and allowing it to lead me far away from fellow human beings. Now I’m in nature’s embrace. Held in the privacy of thick trees, leafless branches the only witness to my indecent intention. I’m so grateful to have met you. I love you dearly, and feel ashamed to keep this secret. But I don’t know how to tell you. I fear your judgment. Fear it’ll change things for you to know about my watery fetish. But I cannot change. My mind drifts into luscious wet fantasies often. My legs long to feel the heat of mischievously released pee. I’ve been caged living with you. Your boundless love, supportive embrace, and romantic everything should be enough. But my hidden desires grow by the day. I darn’t act on them in our apartment. It feels like betrayal. So here I walk, in the dirty surrounds of nature to enact the dirty deed I crave. My backpack heavy with wetter’s paraphernalia. Clean jeans and a towel are the essentials. Wet wipes the luxury. My heart heavy with guilt for a sin I’m yet to commit. I’m far from prying eyes now. The infrequent bird movement above me, the only break from my isolation. I take off my face mask, breathing deep cleansing lungfuls of frosty air, and feeling the sting on my cheeks. For the first time in months, I stand fully clothed and allow my bladder to relax. Deep under jeans and thermal pants, cotton panties are suddenly warm and wet. It’s the briefest of leaks. Feeling the forbidden gush, my body tenses immediately. My heart skips before I force another squirt to warm my undies. Excited by the incipient wetting, my knees weaken the same way they did when we kissed for the first time. I’ve stopped at a birch tree. It’s old, with soft wood ferns growing at its base. About a metre from the ground a thick branch splits from the trunk, forming an inviting seat in the base of a y-shape. I take my boots off, lay my backpack on higher ground, and climb to straddle the split. As my bottom lowers onto the wood, the full weight of my body presses down on damp panties. They grow cold already, but feel devilishly good all the same. The tick branch beckons me to lay forward. I do, curling my arms around the trunk and resting my head on its hard but bosom like curve. Hair matted with moss and bark, bare feet dangling in wintry air. I force another squirt into my wet panties, feeling eager butterflies dance within, but equally wishing trepidation could subside enough for me to pee more naturally. Then again, what’s more natural than taking a leak amongst the birds and trees? I let the old wood take full support of me, and feel a blissfulness purify my whole being. It’s as if the tree has an aura of wholistic greatness and wisdom, and now my very sole is wet with it. I’ve mocked tree-huggers in the past, but if this is the peace they experience I can understand everything. I close my eyes and listen to the gentle wind stroke the thousands of branches around me. A heavenly relaxation is taking over. As my mind drifts away, my body slumps into the branch. Pulled by Mother Nature, my bottom presses into the trunk behind me. The pressure of the wood like a caring hand cupping my cheeks. The branch under me seeming to grow between my thighs and somehow fill a void deep in my heart. For a moment, I am back at home in my teenage years. My parents are out. I am astride the rocking horse I used to wet on, experiencing the unexplained pleasure as I lay forward on that horse to feel the pommel of the saddle rub my wet clothes. Suspended in an equilibrium of fantasy and pleasure, my bladder begins a slow release. Short, unprompted leaks seep out. The thermal pants are soon saturated by repeated spurts, soon a glistening dark patch spreads from the crotch of my jeans. I’m barely aware I’m peeing. All I feel is the tranquility of everything being just as it should be. My nipples hurt in my bra. I can see you pinching them. You’re under me. Wet in my puddle. You urge me on. Tell me to keep the torrent pouring down my thighs. I oblige with delight. Heat is running over the bark and down my legs. Both bear feet dangle in mid air, steaming yellow liquid enveloping my heals and dribbling from relaxed toes. I hear the soft forest floor accepting my watery gift. Deep within, a cascade of emotion and gratification descend over me. I’m ashamed to keep my fetish secret. I’m embarrassed at my wet body. But in my optimistic fantasy your eyes brim with acceptance and love. I am drenched. My hands and knees grip the branch, pee splashing. Then fantasy wavers and reality hits. Tears roll from my eyes, I am drowned in the emotion of my first wetting for months. Pleasure. Dishonesty. I am a dirty liar with a dirty habit. I cry for several minutes, sobbing into the tree with irrational hurt. I’m cold and shivering. I picture your disappointed confusion, and climb down, ashamed. My legs are drenched. A sharp broken twig stabs my foot. It hurts. What would you think? It’s not pleasant undressing in the icy air. I’m half naked in the wood. Even the wet wipes are freezing cold. I get the job done as briskly as I can, bag the sinful clothes, and pick the dirt from my hair. Somehow I still need the toilet, so I squat to empty a final trickle as if it’ll relieve my sorrow. It does not. I go home. I’ll tell you soon. I’m sorry. —— Thank you for reading. Re-visiting it is a strange experience for me, knowing how much we’ve both changed. Wish Daisy’s consent, I’d like to share more of my old write ups like this one. Would you like that?
  8. This is strikingly similar to a dream I’ve had. It’s odd to wake both aroused and alarmed.
  9. Thanks for your kind words. This is what I’m hoping!
  10. Hey, This isn’t the first time I’ve wet the bed in my sleep, but it was equally unnerving as the first. I was staying in a hotel for work. It’s less common now than before COVID. Back then, my partner didn’t know about my fetish so was opportunistic with nights away. I was always extremely cautious about leaving the rooms pristine. I would conduct games on bed pads / in diapers, and took sufficient wipes and disinfectant to thoroughly cleanup after. It’s only when I confessed my fetish that my partner admitted finding some ‘wetting kit’ in my packing once. Bless her, she kept quiet all this time to avoid embarrassment. I was mortified but admittedly very endeared by her discretion. I’m grateful such secrecy is no longer needed. Besides the dishonesty, when I’m away for work it’s because I have long physical days on location, so passion in the hotel room was always finite. I digress. About 10 days ago I checked in with my colleagues late after an extremely tiring day. I emptied my bladder in the shower, bedded down, then called my partner to say our goodnights. Perhaps goodnites would have been more appropriate. (Fabulous pun, you’re welcome!) I didn’t feel turned on. I had a dehydration headache. I hadn’t drunk alcohol. My bladder was most definitely empty. I was very, very tired. In the night the unthinkable woke me. I was lying on wet sheets. Unlike previous times this has happened, I hadn’t been dreaming about pee or anything erotic. In fact, I hadn’t dreamt at all. I also didn’t wake while peeing, feeling the unmistakable trickle and instantly clenching up. None of that. I woke with no indication of incontinence at all, other than wet sheets. Besides where I was laying, they were cold. The mishap evidently occurred a while before I stirred. Definitely not time of the month. My second sleepy thought was that, because I was near a window, this was condensation or rain or something that had made it somehow into the bed. But I took long breaths under the covers and the aroma was unmistakable. I traced the damp patch with my fingers and confirmed it was centred around my bottom. Indeed, my panties were soaked through too. Perhaps this was done by a previous occupant and my weight on the sheets had simply pushed the liquid to the surface? I know, sounds silly. I was half asleep when I thought this and it was enough of an explanation for me to drift back to sleep. The light of morning confirmed that I had wet the bed. I felt awful. It was unclear just how much disobedient pee had made its escape from my sleeping body, but it was clearly substantial. Not only by the smell in the room, but by the distinct large yellow stain I had inadvertently created. After so many times I had peed in hotel beds and left the room evidence free, I had failed spectacularly. I felt awful. Before checkout, I stripped the bed to find the hotel had a protector on the mattress. Thank goodness. The mattress itself was dry. Unfortunately the duvet cover was not waterproof. I bundled it all so it could be handled by dry patches alone, and left the mess in the shower along with a very apologetic note. My panties were sacrificed in a sanitary bag in the bin. If I carried cash, I would have left a tip. I can only hope housekeeping were not offended by my accident. To be brutally honest, I was also very worried about an additional service charge being seen by my boss. I can’t imagine the embarrassment there. I planned an unimaginative cover story about a spilled drink and hoped the conversation would never occur. It hasn’t yet, so looks like that’s the end of it. The whole experience has left me extremely nervous. Subconscious bed wetting has been a long running fear for me. My sister had problems with it into her teens and I totally empathise with the pain it caused. Luckily I’ve had very few actual accidents but all the time I was with my partner before she knew my fetish, I was terrified of something occurring. Both awake during playtimes and asleep. Now, thankfully I feel an event like this at home would be generally acceptable. My fear is this could happen again while on business, or worse staying with my partner’s family sleeping in her bed. The only rational explanation I can think of was that I was extremely tired and sleeping in a different bed. Could that cause a slip up? If so I fear diapers may have to be used for trips away from home. The real worry was that all the things I can think would prevent it were already done. As I said, I peed before bed. I was unhealthily dehydrated after a long day, and I had no alcohol in my system. Scary.
  11. Hi there. Sounds like you and I share a similar dream. I’ve been trying for a long time to assemble a sizeable narrative. My full time job is in storytelling of sorts, and I understand a lot of the theory of literal writing. But I’ve been battling the commitment side of things on and off for several years. Still, I’m making slow progress on a fetish piece as well as a sfw project. We all can do it. You can do it. Just takes dedication and time. Good luck to you, don’t rush it. Personally I like option one by the way.
  12. Wow thank you. Feel proud to be mentioned alongside such great writers!
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