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AliasnameTO

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AliasnameTO last won the day on January 23 2017

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About AliasnameTO

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  1. Makes me think of the stories on here that explore the "government regulation" theme hehe. Authors, go!!
  2. Slightly to the contrary? Women are the ones who go in groups lol. Some guys are totally open about what they're doing but I'm still pretty shy about it. Letting others know you have to go strikes me more as an admission of weakness, like you are confessing that you don't have absolute control. *As ridiculous and unrealistic as that is lol, call it the effects of toxic masculinity on my thinking. But yeah not impolite or unbecoming at all for any gender to excuse oneself. Responding specifically to the original post, I think there's a difference also between "toilet humor" and simply acknowledging that you need to handle your business.
  3. I want to get better at wetting myself, so I just stood in the shower to pee my boxer-briefs. It was a little start-and-stop but I ended up letting it all out. Even held myself some to make a good spread. Stripped down to rinse afterwards, but put the pissy underwear back on so I could be wet for the rest of the day. Love how they feel and smell! 🥰

    EDIT: Just kidding about having let it all out apparently, just did some dishes a few minutes later and let out more. Just going as much as I could without a care was amazing. Made a small cute puddle on the floor and didn't even mind cleaning it up.

  4. 5. Morning Never could Reese recall dreading going to school this much. It was rare for him to use the bathroom there anyway, but having the option denied to him nearly made him desperate on its own before he left the house. Before he stepped in the shower the next morning with his bladder heavy from nighttime, the realization struck him that he would probably not be able to pee in there. Unless… …Unless he took the ability to leak on purpose to its logical extreme. He was still wearing pajama pants and his boxers from the day before underneath. But apparently he was allowed to wet himself freely under the rules of his hypnosis. Better than offending Tori by waking her up early, and risking her saying no which meant he’d have an accident anyway. Shirtless but fully clothed from the waist down, he stepped into the shower. When he started to let go… nothing happened. He stared down at his toes poking out from the hems of his pajama pants and pursed his lips. His bladder flexed in his abdomen, but everything he saw stayed stubbornly dry. It had not occurred to him that while it was possible to leak on command when he really had to go, it might still be difficult to fully wet himself on purpose after a lifetime of being toilet-trained. If this took too long he risked missing the bus. The alternative being that he would have to give up and go to school still full. It was not like he had never wet himself there before, even recently. In comparison though, his other wettings were true accidents. Seeing it as a certainty gave him more of a sense of a prisoner waiting on death row, knowing his final moment was planned. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, imagining the pee gushing out of him like it had yesterday. His bladder stirred a little, letting its contents advance until a tiny trickle ran out. At this rate it was going to take forever. A knock on the bathroom door made him jump. He stepped out of the shower to avoid suspicion before giving a tentative “Yeah?” “It’s me,” Tori said, her thick vocal fry suggesting she had just woken up, “Wanted to check on you and see if you had to go.” He chuckled at his astounding good luck, but was still unable to bring himself to say yes. So close and yet so far. Blessedly, she understood the silence. “Go ahead,” she muttered. “Thanks.” He had never felt so childish as when needing his younger sister to intuit when he had to pee and give him permission. Still, he tore down his waistband and released into the toilet, the stream bubbling loudly enough to be heard through the door. Tori said over the noise, “This is still the weirdest thing I’ve ever done, but you’re welcome. I’m going back to bed now.” As his stream died down, his heart continued bursting with affection for her. She still had no idea what was going on and in no way was compelled to do that, but took it upon herself to look after him. Now freshly relieved and showering on schedule, the only thing on his mind was how he would ever show his gratitude. Hopefully his sister’s good deed would get him through the day, however. He would have to be careful about his liquid intake lest that morning pee had just delayed the inevitable. He sat by himself on the bus until his best friend Kyle got on. “What’s up, brah?” Kyle said. He may have talked like a skateboard punk, and dressed like one, and occasionally acted out, but he had always stuck by Reese’s side. Reese recalled one time shortly before his wet locker room chat with Mr. Ben that the two of them were riding the bus together then too. Kyle recounted, entirely unprompted, a story about playing in a tee-ball game. “I had been holding it for like, however many innings,” he had begun, “Until one of the parents saw how I was dancing around in the outfield. They told me to come out and go to the bathroom, and I almost got there before I was like ‘Uh-ohhh…psshhhh!’” Reese just laughed, in a commiserating rather than teasing way. He could not summon up the courage to recount any of his own stories. He only revealed, “Yeah I’ve never played baseball but that’s happened to me a few times for other reasons.” Kyle had told him that embarrassing, intricately-detailed story out of the blue. He was probably vaguely aware of Reese’s pee troubles, but Reese had never given specifics or been unlucky enough to have them get to his friend through gossip. Now that they were seniors, Kyle definitely deserved to know. It hurt Reese’s heart to grasp that he still did not have the guts to share such a vulnerability about himself, even to his best friend who had gone through a similar experience. There was even a good chance Reese would wet around him before this curse was lifted, and telling him of previous accidents ahead of time would dull the shock of it. But in the moment, even as guilt weighed on him, he was willing to take his chances by saying nothing.
  5. I finally put up a real profile pic! Someone be proud of me 😛

    1. soakingboy

      I am proud of you! Well done!

       

      Too scared to do the same though - with a face like mine, probably better to keep it hidden 🙂 

    2. AliasnameTO

      It's less about if you're hot or ugly than letting people who already love you also love how you look. If you want to, give it a try. I'll upvote it. 😄

  6. Thanks I've really been able to take this idea and run with it. Here's chapter 4 already. 4. Regret and a Glimmer of Hope The hypnosis was working. At the same time he had been lucid and freely consented to everything that happened, he also felt now that his mind had been hijacked. The intensity of his anxiety over others knowing about his pee activity had been multiplied a thousandfold. He even hesitated to straddle his bike before looking over his shoulder, suspecting that a passing car might glimpse the barely-visible wet spot between his legs. And for the rest of the pee still inside him, it remained to be seen how that would be dealt with. Arriving at home, he parked his bike and went straight to his room. He’d have to spend a little time to process what had happened. Thankfully he found Psychic Corner’s email address on their website. He was about to ask whether he was supposed to feel this way, but recalled what she said before he went under. “It will be stressful.” Yeah it was. The slight bit of pee he still carried worried him when he recalled her next words: “It will be messy.” How so? He didn’t have to ask anyone or even let them know right now; he could just go. Yet, when he tried to get up, he simply could not will himself to do so. A mental block stronger than any he had ever felt before kept him pinned to his seat. Swiveling around, he wondered if he could get up to sit on his bed. He rose with no effort. Changing his mind about sitting, he made for the door to use the bathroom. Vague panic caused his heart to catch in his throat. He was rooted in place. It appeared he could do any action, anything at all, except that which would let him get relief. Only one question remained: How long? That was what he emailed to Cassandra. In the interim before she replied, he actually made for the kitchen to get a drink. At first he resisted, knowing that he had no way of letting out what came in, but he could not abstain from liquids forever. The point of the hypnosis was… apparently to torture him. Time to jump into the deep end. He poured himself a full glass of ice water, already sipping it on the way back to his room. Eventually, she responded. Hi again Reese, I’m sorry I forgot to mention how long the effects will last. You said you were graduating high school next month? It will be lifted at the grad party. I know the hypnotist performing there (we’re a small community!) and he said he would give the signal needed to snap you out of it. No need to know what it is. I promise it will work. Or, if for any reason you feel you can’t continue, you can always come by and have me reverse it myself. There would be no shame in doing so, but I would urge you to see the treatment through. It will help you, I promise! Until next time, Miss Cassandra Shit. The frigging grad party?! That was almost a full month away! And it meant he would have to go through the rest of school without even the hope of making it to the bathroom. He’d have to go straight back to Psychic Corner and have her reverse it. There was no way. But then again, like he told her. This had been a problem for him his whole life. If he could endure a month of extra torment to be free of it from then on, it would be worth it. For now, he was committed. For the next few hours, however, apprehension about his bladder rose. The urgency had crossed the point where he would normally go, but he could not bring himself to do so. The hypnosis was stopping him. An idea finally came to him, however. He’d make the intention to clip his fingernails before choosing to pee. He’d be within feet of the toilet and maybe could defeat his mental block that way. Even if it meant getting some on the floor, it would be less mess than a full wetting. His mind set on clipping his nails, he strode into the bathroom as he always had. Once he abandoned the clipper idea, he froze up again. He literally could not will his hand to undo his zipper. The idea of going in the toilet, or even in the sink, was anathema to him on a deep level. After all, he did not have someone’s awareness or approval to do so. That last point struck him like a thunderbolt. The key was getting someone to know! His sister Tori was in eighth grade and so got home later than he did, but she should be there by now. It would be an extremely weird proposal but he did not feel like peeing himself in his room. She was his only chance. She sat at the kitchen counter, working on homework and sipping a juice pouch. The way she squeezed it made his bladder squeeze in turn. He turned one knee toward the other as subtly as he could. “Hey Tor?” he said, getting her attention. “What’s up?” “I’m really sorry but I have something super weird to ask.” She stared at him, blinking. “What is it?” The words were clear as day in his mind: Could you… take me to the bathroom? It sounded horrible even imagined. But the task of actually saying it was so, so much greater. Impossible, actually. He just stared at her, lips parted for words that refused to budge. “Well?” she said, raising her eyebrows. It was about two more seconds before she gave up. “I’m busy, this is me asking you nicely to go away.” “Okay,” Reese sighed, “Sorry.” He retreated to his room without looking back. This curse was nothing if not airtight. He resigned himself to crossing his legs in his computer chair. Something would have to give eventually. Not too long afterward, comparisons to being at school started to sneak in. He was in such trouble with his bladder that he had started doing his on-purpose leaks. Of course he was able to do that just fine. Every drop of pee coming out was hitting his skin or his clothes before anything else. Perhaps if he was careful, he could let out his entire bladder this way, saving the floor. But laundry would certainly pile up and his parents would get suspicious. And if someone walked in… They would see him wet. Why was that idea not as scary now as when he was riding home? He supposed that a small wet spot meant he still had to go. A big one meant he was done. Evidently it was just the active need to pee that the hypnosis affected. Others were allowed to see him wet as long as he was at least mostly done. Great. After his having trickled steadily for about ten minutes, the urge didn’t seem to have let up. His underwear and jeans were heavy with pee, but the slow release meant it was all but unnoticeable to others unless actually touched. He would be able to try Tori again. She was in her room watching Youtube on her tablet. Reese knocked on the doorframe. “Yeah?” she said, pausing her video. He just stared at her again. She scowled. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s creeping me out. Last warning before I tell mom.” “I’m sorry!” Reese managed, somewhat keeping his composure when another bladder wave rocked him, “I’m trying but I literally can’t say what I want you to do!” She must have seen the sincerity in his eyes because her expression softened. “Why not?” “I’m sorry if this is super weird but I’ll be able to tell you all about it after school ends for the year. You’re just gonna have to trust me until then and hopefully figure out how to help.” She twisted her mouth in confusion. “Messed-up dare from someone in your grade, got it,” she said. In the meantime, Reese’s posture faltered and he must have pee-danced for a few steps. “Do you have to go to the bathroom or something?” Euphoria flooded Reese’s brain. He nodded furiously. “Yes,” he repeated, more for himself than for her. Under normal circumstances, admitting that would be a big step for him. Tori put her fingers to her temples. This was apparently just getting more and more bizarre. “So why don’t you just go?” “...I can’t,” Reese managed, “I need help.” Her jaw dropped. That must have been a step too far. He hoped his pleading expression got the point across well enough that he needed her. “You want me to… help you go to the bathroom?” He closed his eyes, grimacing at the agony of what he was asking, and to whom. But it was well and truly his only chance to avoid wetting himself multiple times a day for the better part of a whole month. He nodded to her again. She sucked air through her teeth, but could tell something real was up. “Alright,” she said, “But you owe me for like the rest of your life for this.” She took him by the hand and led him back to the bathroom. “Lemme tell you right now though, I am NOT gonna go in with you too,” she warned. “No, that shouldn’t be necessary,” he said, letting out another spurt as he closed the door. He was trying to be as quick as possible, not only because his pee was already coming out, but because there was no telling how long the mental block would be left open. He finally got his pants undone, spraying pee all over until he got himself under control, and then blessedly let loose. His stream ran strong for almost a minute. He wondered if she had waited by the door in the meantime, listening to the performance. It was apparently the latter; she was there when he got out. “Okay now?” she said, deadpan. “Yes,” he said, failing to suppress a smile, “Thank you so much. You have no idea.” She stared at him, her eyes wide for emphasis. “I really, really don’t. But you’re welcome. You know where to find me I guess.” He mouthed “thank you” to her again. He had never really hated her in the way some siblings do, but was never too close with her either. Now, she was his only lifeline to a shred of normalcy in managing his bladder. If she continued to help him, what he wouldn’t do for her once all of this was over.
  7. 3. Tantalus Reese had made an appointment to return the next day. Though he had repeated the ritual of emptying his bladder before making the bike ride, the nerves had him twinging between the legs yet again on the way there. “Welcome back,” Cassandra said, “Just follow me and we can get started.” She led him into the back of the building, where two armchairs faced each other. She gestured for him to sit. “Okay,” she said, “So first of all, what do you know about hypnosis?” He had researched it further the night before just to know what he was getting himself into. “It involves getting relaxed state so it’s easier to accept things you say?” Cassandra nodded. “That’s a good enough way to put it. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t going in totally blind. So what I’m gonna do is dim the lights, and we can put some soothing sounds on the speaker if it helps. Then we can get right down to business.” “Yeah, that sounds nice.” She dimmed the room to a soft twilight, and played ocean sounds on the wireless speaker mounted on the wall. Rather than being soothing, it just exacerbated his need to pee. He could not recall if he saw a bathroom in the hallway, but naturally it was too late to ask now. “Oh, and before we get all the way into it,” Cassandra interrupted herself, “Just a reminder that the goal of this treatment is to produce a period of time where you cannot deliberately let anyone know if you have to go to the bathroom, at all. It will likely be stressful. It will likely be messy. You’ll be counting down the days until you can tell someone you have to go. Are you still sure you want to go through with this?” That sounded… ominous. But at this point, he really felt like he had no choice already. He had nothing to lose. He inhaled, then shakily answered, “Yes.” “Do you want to visit the restroom now before we begin? Last chance.” His cheeks turned hot as he flexed his thighs. He did. It was just a little twinge, but enough that he probably could go if he tried. She seemed to have been trying to coax him into another yes, but he had embarrassed himself to her enough. “How long is this going to take?” Hopefully that would satisfy her. “A few minutes at most. The process itself is no sweat. You’ll do great.” “I’m good,” he said. Besides, a small part of him wanted to test the results afterward. If he were able to get over himself enough to tell her he had to go then, at least it would let him check off this option as bunk so he could quit wasting his time. “Alright,” Cassandra said, “Let us begin. Lean back, get as comfortable as you can, and close your eyes.” Reese did so. Hopefully the small amount of pee in him would not interfere with the hypnosis. Cassandra spoke in a clear, soothing tone. “Focus only on the sound of my voice. You are perfectly safe. There will be no surprises, no challenges, and I’ll be right here the whole time telling you everything you have to do.” Reese had to admit, it was a very comforting experience so far. She led him through some deep breathing, simple visualization exercises, and got him to sink further and further into his relaxation. It felt very nice. He was not asleep; he still heard the speaker playing ocean sounds, still remained aware that he was in the back of Psychic Corner, and still felt the chair under him. Still felt the pee inside him. If the hypnosis was to work, he would have to commit to relaxing all his muscles in turn. Especially in his semi-trance, the prospect of dribbling in his pants a little hardly even registered. His accidents were embarrassing too, but he had them frequently enough that the sting of the shame had dulled. It was just something that happened to him; who could have said whether any one was truly an accident or a little bit on purpose. Maybe it would be a small enough release that no one could even notice. The next time he did a long exhale, he slackened his bladder muscles too. His pee tentatively crept to the opening. He exhaled and released again, leading the pee to spill out in a slow stream. It lasted maybe three seconds before dwindling on its own. There was definitely more in there, but there was no danger of it coming out now. He had warmed his left thigh and succeeded in eliminating his pee urge. Cassandra hadn’t even really done anything yet but he felt the treatment was working. She told him once the initial hypnotizing process was complete. Whether she had noticed his dribble or not no longer mattered. He felt so good, and following her instructions made him happy. He wished this would never end. “Tell me again, Reese,” she said, in the same measured voice, “what brought you to come to me.” He still had his eyes closed, but dutifully answered. “I was shy to tell anyone if I had to go pee.” “Well, we’re going to use that shyness. That part of your brain that tells you it’s embarrassing to need to pee? You’re going to believe it. You’re going to believe it with all of your being. It is the only truth. Other kids are allowed to ask to go to the bathroom because that’s the way they’ve always done it. You, however, have to regain your confidence by proving you can hold your pee as long as necessary. Other people will be certain you never go to the bathroom. Your pride will dictate you will keep it a secret indefinitely. If someone asks you if you have to go, you will say no. You must keep up the illusion. The exception would be if someone tells you to go and takes you to the bathroom themselves, or you go in your pants.” What Cassandra explained was the only thing in the world he wanted at that time. When prompted, he repeated, “I will keep it a secret. I’ll only go if someone else tells me to and takes me themselves, or go in my pants.” “Very good,” she reassured, “You will also tell no one the nature of your treatment. It would be just as embarrassing to you for anyone to learn you went through this.” “I won’t tell anyone about my treatment,” Reese repeated. “Alright,” Cassandra confirmed, “Now I’m going to take you backwards through the relaxation process, to slowly and gently bring you back to normal wakefulness. You will not consciously remember what happened while you were under hypnosis, but you will wake up feeling refreshed and hopeful about your treatment.” Coming back out of the trance, Reese could not suppress a permanent grin. He was on his way to sanity! His last memory was of her counting down from ten, but it must have gone well. He’d be able to ask to go to the bathroom like anyone else. He did vaguely remember letting some pee out on purpose, and the spot was now chilly on his inner thigh. Cassandra already knew the extent of his issues, so he could not embarrass himself any further by asking her to use her bathroom before he left. In the same moment, the thought of asking for the bathroom filled him with dread. She can never know. He also became protective of the wet spot, keeping his side to her to prevent her from seeing. Wait a second, he thought to himself, I told her everything! Why am I regressing like thi– no. She can never know. No one can ever know.
  8. 2. The Visit He had tried straightforward effort already. Diapers were out of the question. Conventional therapy was too expensive, and even if he were okay with involving his parents in how deep-seated his struggle was, he would not let them pay so much money for it. Solving his bathroom shyness would mean getting creative. Word had gotten out that the official post-graduation party would involve a hypnotist. The stage-performer kind might make people crawl around and act like a dog, or react to things that weren’t there, that sort of funny stuff. But Reese had come across the more serious kind that might actually be able to help him. Crap. The licensed ones were as expensive to visit as regular therapists, if not more. However, he eventually found someone promising: Miss Cassandra at Psychic Corner. Among palmistry and tarot readings, she offered hypnosis and would likely be within his budget. Not only that, but she was within easy bike range. It was worth a try. The first afternoon he was certain he would not be missed was the time. He took his normal desperate pee after getting off the bus, then immediately mounted his bicycle. Maybe Miss Cassandra would even be expecting him. The door to Psychic Corner stirred a chime as he opened it. The interior was draped with heavy fabrics and spiritual motifs. Crystals and charms for sale filled space in display cases. “Hello,” a woman’s voice floated from the back, preceding her into the lobby. For the decor of the space, she was dressed very mundanely in jeans and a flowy blouse. Not out of the ordinary for any other middle-aged lady. The only indication of a mystical slant were her dangly hamsa earrings glinting beneath loose brown curls. “Can I help you with anything?” Reese swallowed, feeling a little ridiculous even being here. “Are you Miss Cassandra?” She nodded. “I saw online you do hypnosis. Can it change how I… think about certain issues?” Cassandra smiled. “Of course, my dear. It’s about tapping into your subconscious. May I ask what it is that’s bothering you?” She held up a hand. “I promise you have no need to be embarrassed. Whatever you tell me is one-hundred-percent confidential, and in hypnosis or right now, there’s nothing you can say that will put me off wanting to help.” She either sensed that he was nervous, or literally saw it on his face. The only way out of dealing with it forever was talking about it now. “I’m shy to let anyone know when I have to go to the bathroom. To the point where I’ve peed my pants because of it. Now if I ever do actually ask to go, I feel like I’d get laughed at anyway since I’m the pee kid.” Contrary to the shock that Reese expected, Cassandra merely nodded as he bared his deepest secret. She bade him to sit across a round table from her before continuing. “Believe it or not, bathroom shyness is more common than you might think. Everyone feels like they’re alone in their fears because nobody tells anyone.” She hadn’t even needed to hypnotize him to blow his mind. But even if it were that simple, the feelings remained. “Can you… fix it?” She clasped her hands in front of her. “The normal way of treating anxiety triggers with hypnosis is the direct approach: we will put you in a relaxed state and suggest that you are comfortable in the presence of the fear trigger. You are reassured that it won’t hurt you. In this case, that the teacher will let you go and no one will laugh or dwell on it. Once reality shows this is true, the anxiety is replaced with confidence and reinforced every time you face that trigger afterward.” “Sounds pretty good,” he said. “Does it ever still not work though?” “That’s what I was getting to. Some clients are so dead-set in their beliefs that even hypnotic suggestions don’t get all the way through.” “I think that might be me,” Reese interjected, biting his lip, “It’s been like this as long as I can remember. My gym teacher three years ago told me to just ask to go sooner, but like, if I ask to go too soon, everyone will laugh at me for trying to go to the bathroom because of my accidents. Then I just hold it until I have to go worse and get more scared of people finding out I do have to go really bad, and end up peeing a lot in my pants before I can get to the bathroom.” He could not believe he just said all of that to anyone, let alone a near-total stranger. Cassandra simply listened, adjusting her glasses once he had finished. “Well. Normally I’d offer direct suggestion first, as that’s a lot quicker and involves less stress for you. But for plan B, there’s an alternative course of therapy called the Tantalus technique.” That sounded so much scarier! Reese was in far over his head already. He was almost ready to leave before hearing another word until she mentioned it would be free. “Since it’s still very new, I offer it at no cost to anyone willing to go through with it and share their experiences with me. It’s nothing dangerous, but possibly highly stressful.” Reese screwed up his brow. “Isn’t it supposed to reduce stress?” “In the end, yes. But how Tantalus works is reverse psychology. The direct approach doesn’t work for those whose brains are still telling them the trigger is scary. Tantalus, on the other hand, suggests that you can’t even think about facing the trigger. It puts you so deep in the consequences of your negative thought patterns that the trigger seems less scary in comparison. By the end of the treatment, your old fear looks like the solution that it really is." Fighting fire with hotter fire. Reese sighed. It would have to work. “Sounds good,” he said, “I’ll do it. When can we start?”
  9. The incorrigible writer of incomplete stories strikes again! I have a good feeling about this one though. Gotten from a prompt on Tumblr. Enjoy "The Hypnosis Cure." The Hypnosis Cure 1. The Profile Reese’s internet browsing yielded a fateful quote. It was in a forum thread about pearls of wisdom. Plenty of them were good, but one in particular struck him: You’re under no obligation to act the same way today as you did yesterday. The slim, quiet high school senior faced his approaching graduation and the start of college. He had kept his head down so far, maybe too much. After this coming summer, everyone would essentially get a social reset. The opportunity to change things about himself was better now maybe than at any other time. One obvious weakness that still vexed him was his bathroom habits– how he coped at school or whenever he would have to excuse himself from a group. The rational thing would be to simply ask permission or let someone know he needed a break. On the list of all causes of anxiety, admitting that one has bodily functions should be approximately at the bottom. For most. For him, it was a stumbling block that had been with him all throughout school, now thirteen years in the making. Early on, he somehow got in his head that he should only ask to use the bathroom if it was a dire emergency with no chance of his holding it more than a few minutes longer. He would sit at his desk and endure the mounting pressure in his bladder as if the fact that he could not hold his pee indefinitely must never be revealed. This tendency reinforced itself as time went on. On occasion he was driven to relent, raising his hand while trying to keep the sounds he made to a minimum. He wouldn’t even dare grab his crotch lest others catch on to how close he was to wetting. His teachers noticed how rarely he asked and all but never made him wait. Even when nothing bad happened after he asked, he had still let on to everyone that he was failing to control his pee. Surely at least some others must have pondered the fullness between his legs each time he made the stiff speed-walk out of class. Not every occasion stopped at a close call either. He got in the habit of checking if anyone could see him when entering the bathroom, so he could open his pants ahead of time. That was because of the few instances he was stuck fumbling with his button and zipper, inches from the urinal but peeing full-blast into his briefs until he got free. By luck he always got away with those, being the only one to know that half the pee came back with him in his squelchy wet underwear. He was sure someone would find out. Someone at school would smell him, or question a wet spot on his pants. At the very least his parents should have noticed the yellow stains when doing laundry. For better or for worse, no one had yet said anything. On a few other occasions, he did not even make it that far. It was not unheard of for Reese’s steps to falter several times along the path to the boy’s room. He would have to stop to cross his legs and clamp both hands between them, as his pee threatened to come out even without the invitation of the toilet. By now his underwear would usually be very damp anyway. The odd accidental leaks had mostly stopped. In their place were purposeful short spurts he had started doing more and more of, further delaying the need to raise his hand. He had peed enough in his pants to know his limits– how much he could let out over time without anything showing. Pissy underwear never bothered him on its own. It was just the clearest reminder of his difference, and measured how little time he had left before the rest came roaring out behind it. Such pauses in the hallway, even combined with letting out as much as he could in class, did not always work. If it were especially bad, the pee would force its way out anyway, as a trickle at first and then a full stream as his hold crumbled. He was reduced to standing breathless while a loud, hot flow sprayed his jeans at whatever angle he had pointed himself in his struggle. At least such accidents happened out of view of his whole class. He did get caught after one such disastrous wetting though, when trying to sneak to the locker room for his gym shorts. Of all people it had to be by Mr. Benedetto, the jacked P.E. teacher. Reese had begged the earth to open a sinkhole under him when Mr. Ben got the full effect of his sopping pants. But, as luck would have it, he had actually been extremely understanding. He unlocked the door for Reese to slip in and change, even giving him a plastic bag for the jeans. In return, Reese had to tell him what happened. Reese got into his dry shorts and sat on a bench in the locker room. He clasped his hands over the dry cotton, not pressing too hard to keep the wetness still in his briefs contained. Mr. Ben straddled the bench to face him. “So,” the teacher said, stroking his goatee, “You knew you had to go, but waited until it was almost too late to even ask?” “Yeah,” Reese replied. It was an accurate summary, but sounded so much dumber when laid out like that. It wasn’t that simple. “I just didn’t want to disturb everyone and thought I could hold it.” “Welp, apparently not,” Mr. Ben said. “You’re allowed to ask before you’re five seconds from peeing yourself, ya know. Nobody’s gonna tell you no or laugh at you or anything. Piss happens.” Reese chuckled at his slightly crude candor. He must have sensed the deeper issue as he continued. “And I know it’s hard for kids to talk to someone about bullies, but if you’re having problems, you come right to me. I know who’s who and am not above benching someone or giving laps to whoever is picking on people. They won’t know it was you that said something.” “Thanks,” Reese said. He felt better in the moment, but the pessimistic part of him said that nothing would really change. “You’re welcome.” Mr. Ben then stood up and dramatically looked at his watch. “Time’s up anyway. Get outta here; we’re both busy men.” Reese allowed himself to be ushered out of the locker room, his bagged pissy jeans in hand. There was no way he could go back to class like this. He had no choice but to go to the clinic to have them call his mom. While not being openly hostile, his mom was less understanding. “You need to pay more attention to when you have to go and not wait” was about the gist of her lecture in the car, along with being irritated at having to leave work to take him home for such a ridiculous reason. At this point he was certain she had seen the frequency of his underwear stains and put the pieces together. He would have to try harder. No. He would have to try something different.
  10. I'd be interested in entering and possibly judging. It would have to be fairly short though, no way I could commit to another epic omo saga when I have like three or four technically still ongoing lol.
  11. Not too bad One question though: why just call him "Sam's dad"? He's a huge presence on the show and is the original main character from The Karate Kid. It would be less jarring to use his character's actual name, Daniel, in there too.
  12. I've had this kink for a long time, and never thought I'd enjoy smelling like pee. That changed at some point because now I totally do.

  13. It's absolutely insane how either side of the political divide is convinced that their truth is plain as day. But it should not be controversial to say everyone should be anti-fascist. And anyone on the right who thinks the left are the real fascists, well, call some actors authoritarian if you must, but fascism is right wing by definition. And in the event that anyone wants to be cute by calling leftists fascists, I like to direct them to Eco's 14 tenets of fascism. No one yet has had the balls to contend on those points that the modern American right is less fascist than the left. And on the original question, no I don't believe by-and-large there is a terrorist threat from a group called Antifa. Someone who uses violence or the threat of violence to enact political change is a terrorist, and they should be prosecuted regardless of their affiliation. Equal justice under law. Whew, I thought I'd get my fill of political snipes on Reddit. But now people on here know I like wet pants and sympathize with progressives.
  14. Lately I've pondered more on the connection between omo and emeto kinks. I could never see myself truly being into vomiting, but it occurred to me that there are the same elements of an "oh no" type of buildup phase, the lack of control, and the associated weakness/vulnerability with both of those things. We should be extremely thankful though that peeing is nowhere near as conspicuous or nasty as vomiting, and enjoyable rather than extremely unpleasant. Added anecdote, there are references in the Pixar movie "Luca" to the character Giulia suffering nausea and vomiting after having to eat a huge bowl of pasta and then engage in a strenuous bicycle race. Thankfully they don't show anything graphic, but she gets made fun of by the insufferable douchebag main villain, and we see the fear in her eyes when it starts happening again. It was so sweet <33 leave it to Pixar to turn the threat of puking into an avenue for adoring one of the good guys.
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