Wet Shorts

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About Wet Shorts

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    Dribbling

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Sexual Orientation
    Gay

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  1. Wet Shorts

    My Evening

    A very wet and enjoyable night in
  2. Wet Shorts

    Kink or Pragmatism?

    Haha! I've got this problem too. Depending on your age (middle-aged-or-over) then it may be an enlarged prostate which can be treated in various ways ranging from pullups to surgery. Takes about 10 seconds for your doctor to check (plus time to prepare for a probing finger).
  3. Wet Shorts

    How do you pee/wet Unoticed?

    All the answers here are spot-on, but another 2 cents worth... - Quick-dry swimming shorts are great; combine with WetDave's advice for just-about-wearable immediately. - Combine with a dark colour on a nice hot day, wait five minutes and nobody will notice (accidental discovery followed by research ;)). - Synthetic materials repel water and dry much faster - Baggy sweatpants can hide a multitude of sins (beware of absorption though) - I've discretely put a hook inside the boiler cupboard where I can hang rinsed clothing till it dries Bonus: Never, ever, ever try to hide dirty clothing. It doesn't end well. Repeatedly discovered in "my youth".
  4. Wet Shorts

    female Quiet Day At Home

    What a lovely day, sounds cosy.
  5. Wet Shorts

    female Grey shorts..

    Thanks for the videos, I'm waiting for the download atm. Pale shorts like grey, tan or light blue work really well for me, favourites being "soft touch" quick-dry swimshorts which feel great when wet, show the stain well but dry fast ready for another wetting or just being worn dirty under some sweat pants.
  6. Wet Shorts

    female Close enough accident

    Sounds fun :). What did you do after wetting yourself? Did you change and cleanup, or just carry on gaming?
  7. Wet Shorts

    female A wet day out on holiday

    Hi, This story is a basically true account of a day out I had on a recent holiday with some minor creative licence and changed identifying information. It took place a few weeks ago on a Greek holiday island, where my wife and I were holidaying for a week in a secluded apartment. For background, she knows about my fetish but finds it repellent and so we've got an uncomfortable arrangement where I get to wet myself as long as she doesn't have to know anything or encounter evidence. For that reason, I like to wet loose 'soft-touch' polyester swimming shorts because dry very fast and feel wonderfully silky-clinging when wet; they're also natural clothing for a holiday island, which fit my plans very well. Those plans for the day were simple and agreed early on: my wife wasn't feeling very well and wanted to sleep, but she didn't want me to hang around just for her. So, I was going to drive to another resort we'd stayed at before and have a drink at a bar we used to use, then go to a nearby beach and come back to the apartment for supper. There's very little traffic on the island, so drunk-driving isn't a big deal. Another part of my plan (that my wife wasn't aware of) was to go outside into a little private area to smoke a joint, finish off our leftover beer, and wet myself discretely before using an outside pool shower and coming to bed. Things initially went pretty much to plan at first as I drove the ten miles or so to the other resort, but that didn't last long. I'd had quite a bit of coffee earlier though, and found that I already needed a pee by the time I arrived. By the time I'd found a parking space I was needing to hold myself a bit, so I rushed into the nearest bar and used their toilet before ordering a beer. It wasn't the bar that I wanted to go to though, so after paying I moved on to my intended destination for two more beers. Of course, after having had three beers I was ready to pee again, but I'd gotten a bit turned-on from the unintended desperation and decided to push myself as much as I dared in public. As I was planning on going to the beach, I could deal with any leaks that happened beforehand with a quick dip in the sea. Setting off, it didn't take more than five minutes of bouncing up-and-down in my seat before I was desperately holding myself as I drove. After a few more minutes of jolting down the road, a spurt of pee escaped only to be held back by my forefinger and thumb clenching my penis closed as hard as I could. I'd anticipated this, and so I was driving along a completely empty unpaved road going only to a new development site, deserted on a Sunday. With the pee slowly seeping through my fingers, I stopped the car and jumped out then removed my hand to let the rest of the trapped spurt flow into my shorts. Temporarily back in control, I pulled my short legs back and pissed by the side of the road. When I'd finished, I assessed the situation, viz: my shorts were much wetter than I'd expected with a saturated 5" wide inverted "U" reaching from half way up the front and down to the bottom hem from where a pee-trail had trickled for a couple of inches down both thighs. This wasn't very obvious to anyone else though, as the shorts were quite heavily patterned and the telltale outline didn't show unless you were looking for it. I dried my legs off with a towel, then put it on the seat before going back to the resort and then on outwards to the beach. Shortly outside the resort was a hitchhiker walking determinedly in my direction, so I stopped and gave him a lift while enjoying the idea that I was sitting in quite wet pants without him knowing a thing. As we drove, I was slowly filling up again and by the time I dropped him off I was back to the squirming stage. It was in the center of a large town, so I couldn't pee by the side of the road, and instead I 'took the edge off' a couple of times by letting a handful of pee straight into my shorts and the towel. With the wet patch on my shorts slowly expanding, I drove down to the beach and parked up. A dribble came out as I got out the car, but without other incident I made it to the toilets before proceding to a mojito bar and perching at the counter. This is where things started to go wrong, as the bartender seemed to be pouring extremely large measures and I rapidly became much drunker than I intended, to the extent that I can barely remember leaving. The bar was close to the toilets though, and I don't think I had any problems getting to them. The drive home was short and didn't cause any problems, though my shorts were still quite wet. My wife was in the bedroom but stirring, so I grabbed a beer and sat at a table outside so that my legs and (admittedly not obviously) damp shorts were hidden. It was starting to get dark, and I was later informed that I was insistent on walking along the coast. Probably wisely, my wife made me hand over my valuables before I left, though I was able to palm a bit of money. The direction I took was towards a cluster of bars some 1.5 miles away from the apartment across some scrubland. Within a few hundred yards of leaving the apartment, the need to pee returned. I made no attempt to stop it, but stood still and wet myself completely before carrying on. Given my level of intoxication it was a long stagger to the bars, and by the time I go there I wasn't bothering to stop walking each time I wee'd myself. After eventually reaching the bars I collapsed into an outside chair and ordered/drank yet more beer. Getting back up would have been difficult, and I and made no attempt to do anything other than wet myself when I had to go. Finally, I decided to go back to the apartment but realised that my shoes were soaking, I had blisters as a result, and I could barely stand up let alone walk. It occurred to me to get a taxi, and the bar one ordered one for me. This got me to the apartment without incident, where I found my wife worriedly waiting for me. This was a major problem as my accidents were now very obvious: my T-shirt was wet around the bottom, my legs were dusty apart from the rivers that had flowed down them into my squelching-wet shoes, and even my quick-dry shorts were hanging wetly with the fabric slapping noisily as I walked. Ignoring my wife, I carried straight on to the outside table where I sat down and lit up a joint. As expected, she came and joined me but quickly left when she realised the level of my incoherence. I smoked the joint, wetting myself as I did so (determined from the wet sand under the seat the next day) before staggering up to the apartment and into the bedroom. Once in the bedroom, I dropped my pee-soaked clothes on the tiled floor and put on a fresh pair of shorts before climbing into the (twin) bed and passing out - my wife says she tried to push back onto my side and I wouldn't wake up, even though I was falling into a gap between the two bedframes. I woke with a shock about at about 2:30am, with a niggling need to pee but also freezing cold. The explanation for this, to my absolute horror but only momentary surprise, was that the bed was soaking wet. Feeling under the sheet I found a mattress protector, which was obviously not waterproof when I checked underneath. Instead, a 2" thick foam mattress topper had absorsed a completely-piss-soaked patch stretching completely across the bed. It was dark and my wife was asleep, so the true nature of the damage wasn't immediately apparent, but it was clear that I'd soaked the bed, probably more than once given the sponge and the fact that I could feel dampness on the bottom of the mattress. In the circumstances, it was tempting to warm myself up by wetting the bed again, but I was (and am) ashamed of the damage and didn't want to cause more. In the toilet, with the light on, I saw that the front of my shorts were complete soaked from top-to-bottom all the way between the outer seams on each leg. I grabbed a beach towel, brought it into the bedroom, and put it under the sheet before getting back into bed. After that, I don't think I had any more wettings as I woke up to pee a few times. In the morning, I came round in my pee-soaked bed with a pretty nasty hangover. I scurried to the toilet, took some aspirin, and then retreated back to bed. My wife was having a lie-in, so it was a fair while before I got the chance to properly examine the situation. The towel seemed to have been fairly effective in drying out the foam topper, but the mattress was still soaking with a roughly 2-foot-wide and 3-foot-high stain. I quickly stripped the sheets and turned the mattress over (finding a 1-foot-diameter wet patch on the bottom), then remade the bed with the wet topper, protector & sheet before getting back into it. This was just-in-time as my wife came back for a snooze not more than ten seconds after I'd gotten the sheet tucked-in. After a few hours of discomfort and pee-itchiness, I realised that along with the sheet I now seemed to be dry. A feel around revealed that the topper was still very wet at the bottom though, and that the mattress seemed to have also absorbed some of the topper's liquid which was slowly flowing through it. On a more positive note, both my plain brown 'clean' shorts and the mid-blue bedsheets had dried out without any sign of a stain that I could find, presumably because I'd had so much liquid that the urine was very dilute. The shorts I'd been wearing yesterday were a different matter though: they were shaded from white at the top to deep blue at the bottom, but in fact the top part was pale yellow fading to deep yellow around the legs with numerous tide marks and stains criss-crossing them, still a bit wet, and strongly stinking of pee. As for my shoes, they were a write-off (deliberately chosen in case that happened). I pushed the wet clothing under the bed, then climbed back in with my hangover, periodically checking the state of things throughout the day. Somewhat to my surprise, and greatly to my relief, the bed slowly dried-out in the baking heat until by the time we left (48 hours later) there was no obvious sign of the wetting by touch, sight or smell. Had I been on my own I'd probably have confessed to the damage and paid; however, I really didn't want my wife to find out because of her disgust at the fetish and even worse dislike of drunken wet beds. As it was, I just hid the damage to the best of my ability and hoped to get away with it - as this was now over a month ago I'm reasonably hopeful that I've been succesful!
  8. Wet Shorts

    An Evening With Friends

    Lovely story, thanks! Very nicely written and described - it'd be awesome to hear if you're able to repeat the experience. I love reading about the desperation, which you rounded off beautifully with your description of the final wetting.
  9. Wet Shorts

    Lukas on the train without WC

    Or did he wet himself on the seat? Maybe he was ashamed to move next to the corridor and tried to wait?
  10. Wet Shorts

    Lukas on the train without WC

    Well said.
  11. Wet Shorts

    Sitting at my desk

    Very much enjoying myself because I'm having a rare "golden opportunity" this week which might get written up & posted. My reasons tend to be based in the present rather than age play (for example, I can't interrupt something, or on Wednesday because I couldn't cross a very busy street to use a pissoir as I was worried I might have a public accident if I couldn't stop & jiggle - unfortunately, the next one was further than I thought and I did do a small spurt in my pants before I got there). I think this is probably because my first omorashi experience wasn't forced on me but was a result of a series of bad decisions ending in a prolonged wetting and spectacular eventual loss of control at age 13.
  12. Wet Shorts

    Sitting at my desk

    Oh yes, I really do try not to wet them - it's just that there's always a "reason" why I can't just use the toilet ;). So it's completely deliberate, but I'll squirm and hold myself for hours (like I'm doing atm).
  13. Wet Shorts

    Screenshots from a wetting I'd done after a hold

    Thanks joeybear, these are great! I definitely appreciate you posting them :)
  14. Wet Shorts

    Sitting at my desk

    My shorts are khaki-brown and made of quick-dry soft fabric, and it's my chair that smells a bit. If you look closer, you'll see that the "sandstone" fabric is covered in a patchwork of stains ranging from a couple of inches to eighteen inches in diameter. My shorts are still dry, and I'll try not to wet them, but I often wait too long when I get engrossed.
  15. Wet Shorts

    Childhood pants wetting memories

    I had a few childhood accidents, mostly of little interest. The first time I remember was when I was playing outside on the driveway at age 3, and suddenly my pants were wet. I went back into the house and shouted that I'd wet myself, and my mummy told me to take them off and leave them on the floor. My next accident was my first day at primary school. I didn't know where the toilet was and was afraid to ask, so I just held myself until I couldn't and then soaked myself in my chair. The puddle was spotted soon enough, and I was helped by a teacher's assistant who got me changed and then asked why I wet myself. I told her, and so that problem was sorted although I distinctly remember wetting myself in the playground during the two months I was at that school (family moved) because we were playing tag and I didn't dare to leave the wall. There were a few other accidents that I don't remember in detail - I think one during assembly and another during story time. Wettings seemed to be quite common - I vividly remember our teacher lining us up to ask "Who's got hot, wet, sticky pants?" and then looking for the wet shorts, and whilst it wasn't uncommon for it to be me I was by no means unusual though I don't remember any details. My next remembered wetting wasn't an accident; I was 6, and one of my friends had spectacularly pee'd himself at my house whilst we played with the pee shooting in an arc through his undies. The next day, I wondered what it felt like and whether his pants even got wet with the wee going straight through so I recreated it. The wee didn't shoot through my undies, they just got completely soaked along with the bathroom floor which I mopped up before hiding in my room for several hours. My shorts got wet from contact with my saturated jockey shorts before drying out enough that I could get away with it. It must have been obvious when my mother did the laundry because the yellow stain was easy to see and quite smelly, but she didn't say anything.