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Hey everyone 🙂 I don't remember if I got this idea from Tumblr or from here, but it takes place in a reality unlike ours in one critical way: most people never pee or poo. A minority who retain toilet needs are seen as suffering from a disability of sorts, and live with the challenges a world with far fewer toilets and no universal understanding of bodily urges would present. I hope you enjoy it. 😄 And I apologize for any formatting weirdness; it's been giving me difficulties transferring from Google Docs.

 

Jace Harper totally had friends. He didn't see them outside of school but sat with them every day at lunch. As long as he kept succeeding at being cool, he wouldn't get grouped in and made fun of with the other weird kids. 

 

But what was infinitely uncool started happening to him in the middle of tenth grade science. It had announced itself earlier that morning, with a slight feeling of bloat on the bus ride to school. By third period, it had only gotten much worse. A strange pressure had built up in his lower belly that made him want to flex his private parts. He had no idea why, but doing that seemed to help.

 

It did not help forever though. His muscles were getting tired and the pain and pressure had increased. It could have been his imagination, but he felt like drinking continuously from his water bottle as he was doing had somehow made the feeling worse. He eased up on it for the moment. 

 

Ms. Davies yammered on, but the tan, black-haired sophomore did not have it in him to listen. He bunched the fabric of his shirt in his armpits to absorb the sweat accumulating there. Something was undeniably wrong, but what? If he asked to go to the nurse, what would he say? A stomachache wasn't a good enough reason to leave class, nor could he say he simply didn’t feel well. He would just have to hang on and hope this mystery illness passed.

 

Unfortunately, the full, squeezing feeling continued to swell, and spread downward to make a stabbing pang at the base of his penis. He slipped a flip-flop off and sat on his bare heel, which bought him a little relief. Still, panic had him clutching the rail on his desk, and blinking back the tears filling his eyes. Was something broken inside him and he was wasting his last few minutes of life hearing about the stages of mitosis? Or was this another feature of puberty he never learned? He had racked up enough experience with self-pleasure to notice the feeling was somewhat similar to being highly aroused, but it hurt more, and could probably not be relieved by getting off.

 

What did seem to help some more was pushing hard with his hand between his legs instead, or pinching his member like the neck of a balloon. It didn’t stop the pressure, but helped take the burden off his burning muscles down there. Perhaps it had been too long since he touched himself last and his load was going to come out whether he came or not. Dear God he hoped not.

 

His friend Thomas looked his way, smirking. “Dude, why are you grabbing your dick?”

 

The way Thomas drew attention to his situation probably just made things worse, but regardless, he came off as less than sincere. Jace was staring down the barrel of making a mortifying mess of himself in front of everyone, and was less than in a hurry to have his lunch-table acquaintance join in on the spectacle. “I’m not.” Once again, what was he supposed to say? Still, he tried to be sneakier about it.

 

Thomas had looked away by now, but Jace suddenly shuddered, like he was struck with a chill. His crotch was warm where he had been squeezing himself through his pants, and he could have sworn a bit damp as well. It could have been simply sweat from his hand from the effort of clamping it so hard, but during the shiver, it felt distinctly like something squirted out of him. As covertly as he could, he slipped a hand in his khaki shorts, touched the damp spot, and withdrew it again to look. Whew. At least it wasn’t blood, but it wasn’t the other fluid he expected either. The liquid had a unique smell to it. Not bad, but certainly different.

 

The intensity of the pressing feeling between his legs shot up-- badly. All the ways he was coping: flexing his lower parts, sitting on his heel, crushing his shaft with a deathgrip, none of it helped enough to stave off the push now. It hurt so much, and now instead of trying to resist the feeling, his instinct was to relax. He breathed out, and let whatever was going to happen, happen.

 

The same liquid that had made the damp spot in his underwear now started pouring out of his penis. So, so much of it. It instantly soaked his boxers with a warm wave, and made a trilling splashing noise as it kept spraying out. He sat there braced and quaking, his heart thudding as he kept getting wetter. 

 

Ms. Davies had paused her lesson now that kids had started murmuring and staring at Jace, the source of the strange sound. By then  the liquid had filled his shorts and started blazing warm trails down the backs of his legs, slicking his sandals before spilling off those too onto the speckled white tile.

 

Save for Thomas, who was murmuring, “What the fu…”, the whole class was speechless. Someone broke the silence with, “Did he hide a water balloon in his pants?"  Laughter bounced around the room. Finally someone else took him seriously. "Is he okay?” The teacher repeated the question to Jace.

 

On one hand, just about everything below the waist on him was drenched, itchy and clinging to him, and smelling. But on the other, the pressure was gone, and he appeared no worse for wear. “I dunno,” he said, “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Ms. Davies reassured, writing him a pass, “You need someone to walk you to the clinic?”

 

He glanced toward Thomas, then reconsidered. “I think I’ll be fine.” Despite being covered in wetness now, Jace felt better than he had all day. He tried to stand up gently, but still slung drops of the stuff everywhere and left a trail of wet footprints behind him.

 

The nurse was the only one so far that day who seemed to have a grip on the situation. “Oh, honey,” she said, “Come on in. Just don’t sit on anything if you can help it.”

 

Jace did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room. He went to put his hands in his pockets, but recoiled when he felt how wet they were. “Do you know what happened to me?” he asked.
 

The nurse nodded. “Oh yeah. It was a WE. That stands for ‘waste emission.’ Yours was type-1, which is where a liquid called ‘urine’ builds up and has to come out. As luck would have it, that happens through the groin. Pretty embarrassing, but you’re not gonna die, and you probably feel better now, right?”

 

“Yeah,” he admitted, looking away, “Just... it’s never happened before.”

 

“Well, right now all you’ve gotta do is get cleaned up and get some dry clothes. It could be a one-and-done thing, could be once in a while, or I hate to say it but sometimes people have to deal with it several times a day.” She opened a cabinet and pulled out a P.E. uniform for him. “Okay, you just get changed in the bathroom, sit tight, and I’ll call somebody to come pick you up. We’re not gonna make you carry your wet stuff around for the rest of the day.”

 

“Thanks,” he said. It seemed a little excessive that he should get the rest of the day off, but having something gush out of his dick in the middle of class was pretty unsettling and embarrassing. At least it wasn’t dangerous, or in front of anyone he had a crush on. 

 

The nurse notified his parents of what happened, so there was no keeping the reasoning a secret. At least when his mom came to get him, he got away with saying he didn’t want to talk about it. After a stop at the store, he would get to relax for the rest of the night-- crisis handled. 

 

At least, it was handled until the achey feeling in his belly came back in the middle of shopping. The nurse said it might happen again, but so soon? His sandals weren’t even fully dry from when he had urine running out his shorts before. Was he going to have another WE incident in the store?

 

He swallowed and tried to look normal, but started to lag behind as his steps had gotten smaller. When his mom turned around, there was no hiding his discomfort. “You alright?” she asked, “Is it happening again?”

 

No,” he snapped, crossing his arms, “I’m just ready to be out of here already.” That second part was not quite a lie, at least. He did not want to become some weirdo or sympathy case. He just needed somewhere to let the liquid out discreetly, and home was better than here.

 

The pressure spiked more sharply now than the first time though. What took the better part of several hours to reach a critical point this morning was now taking just a few minutes. On top of that, having to walk around made controlling himself a lot harder than when he got to sit and focus. He settled for rubbing the hem of his grey shirt, crossing one knee over the other, bouncing his heels, and when he thought no one was looking, squeezing his crotch. That’s what felt better than trying any other methods, but it was the most obvious. He saved it for when the pushing got really bad.

 

As he suspected, it was not long before even those tactics started to fail. His stomach hurt, the muscles behind his penis trembled, and all he wanted to do was relax like before and feel it shoot out. In hindsight, it had felt amazing. Even the anticipation that came with being full and squirmy like this brought a little excitement with it. As much as to stop the WE from happening, he started squeezing his dick to hide the fact that it was getting stiff.

 

The severity of the urge brought him back to reality though. It was insanely gross, and more messed-up still to get pleasure from a strange medical condition. And even if he enjoyed the release, he and his mom would probably be kicked out of the store if he made a puddle again. For that reason he had to hold on.

 

Or maybe… A devious thought materialized to him: if it were possible to let out just a little at a time, like last time when it made a tiny spot on his underwear. He was going commando in his P.E. shorts, so almost any amount would run right out, but few would notice, let alone be able to trace little drops back to him if he leaked here and there while walking around. It would just have to be his dirty secret.

 

The difficulty of letting out just a little took him by surprise. Every time he started to let up, it felt like it would be a huge spray. But eventually, he got the touch right, and managed a controlled squirt. One burst landed warmly on his shin, with a few other drops turning into shiny splats on the floor. He didn’t even feel any in his pants until the wet part brushed against his upper thigh.

 

Now a new problem presented itself: he started getting erect again. Having no underwear and only the thin navy shorts to cover him, he would have to adjust himself to avoid pitching a horrible, WE-spotted tent in public. He tucked the head up into his waistband, hoping his shirt would not come up and expose him. It would have to do.

 

Another fun side-effect came from his new arrangement: when he let some liquid out, it spilled over the tip of his penis and trickled down past his balls. When he continued to leak, he got it to keep dripping from there onto his inner thighs. If anyone from school found out he was doing this, it would make him social poison. To be seen talking to him would mean instant shunning by association. It turned his stomach to think of what would happen if he were to be found out.

 

But at the same time, he really had no choice. The WE was coming whether he let it out slowly, or tried to stop it and it happened all at once. Might as well keep leaking to have some measure of control over the mess.

 

He walked and dribbled. It seemed his plan was working, as most of it ran down his legs where he could rub his calves together and render it invisible. The rest made dark spots on his shorts, but their color and half coverage from his shirt made it hardly noticeable.

 

Hardly noticeable to strangers, perhaps. At one point, his mother caught sight of him-- wet shorts, shiny legs, and all. She leaned in close and sternly whispered, “You told me you weren’t having another WE. What are we supposed to do now?”

 

“I don’t know,” he protested, coming down from the high of having started to slowly wet himself again, “It just kind of snuck up on me.”

 

She nodded toward the front door. “Go outside. You’re gonna make a mess.”

 

“It’s almost done, do I really have to?” Standing by himself outside, especially in the bright sunlight, would be much more attention-grabbing than getting the partial cover of shopping. He would look like a total disaster. Best to avoid that if he could.

“Yes, you have to!” she urged.  “You’re being ridiculous, you’re soaking wet. I’m not kidding. I’m not mad at you, but I don’t want them to kick us out and I have to pay for this stuff first. I’d rather not make another trip some other time.”

 

“Urgh!” As much as the groan he made was in protest of her decision, it was also a result of his ongoing struggle. His WE was not even close to “almost done.” Even while he argued with her, he squirmed and danced in place. His muscles had already become used to half-relaxation when the pressure ramped up without warning. Just as before, it started rushing out.

 

He bit his lip and tried pinching his dick shut, but it was no use. The way he had his member tucked into his waistband made the stream shoot upwards into his shirt. He managed to point it off to the side in his pants after a moment, for what little difference it made. His grey shirt now had a large, extremely distinct wet spot on the front, and his left pant leg served as the spout for a vigorous warm WE spray that rained down to form an impressive puddle. At this rate his flip-flops might never have been dry again.

 

His mother grabbed his arm. “Come on,” she said quietly, “Let’s just pay for this stuff and go. What am I gonna do with you?”
 

“I just wanna know why this is happening all the sudden,” Jace said.

 

His mom sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, but this worries me. I want to figure it out for your sake.”

 

At least they managed to escape the grocery store without being accosted by management. After a somewhat smelly car ride and aching belly from all the exertion, he somehow stayed dry for the rest of the evening. Perhaps he did have a chance for things to go back to normal.

Edited by AliasnameTO (see edit history)
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The challenge of getting out of bed the next morning came with extra difficulty. He was so luxuriously warm that pulling the covers off felt like a crime. Not only that, but when he turned to shut off his alarm, his sheets and underwear squelched. He sat up, and the smell assailed his nostrils. Everything heaved with the weight of absorbing so much WE.

 

He broke the news to his mom by walking into the kitchen in his wet boxers, sighing. “It happened in my sleep, I’m sorry.”

 

“Come here, baby,” she said, hugging the unclothed top half of him, “We’ve got to get you to the doctor.” She let him stay home from school and confirmed an appointment for that afternoon. At least he would not have to suffer the same fate in class two days in a row.

 

In the meantime, Jace searched “how to deal with WEs” on the computer. The solution was about what he expected: find somewhere private to get his clothes out of the way and let it flow. Sure, he scoffed, Easy. How was he supposed to know when it was ready to come out? He still had little idea of when the preliminary ache in his belly turned into an inevitable WE. The closest he had come to controlling himself was dribbling rather than fully emptying in the store, but finding somewhere that fit those criteria with such little warning was surely no easy task.

 

As the appointment time drew nearer, Jace anticipated it happening again. He let himself feel the ache for a few minutes shortly after lunchtime, and when the feeling started migrating downward, he scampered to the shower, pulled his pants down, and tried to make it come out.
 

Success! Just a few moments’ hesitation had the liquid spring out from his penis in a shimmering arc, splattering loudly about the shower drain and making a temporary golden puddle that escaped down it. Jace felt like an idiot, but could not force a huge grin away from his face. 

 

His mom returned his expression with one of curiosity. “What’s got you all smiles?”

 

“I just had another WE, but I got it all in the shower instead of, you know, everywhere.”

 

“That’s great!” she said, hugging him again, “It’s good you started practicing, because these might not go away. You might just have to get used to doing it in safe places and it’s okay if you need help.”

 

“I know.” The realization lurked in the back of his mind, and reared again when she put it into words. “But let’s see what the doctor says.”
 

“Of course. Let’s go.”

 

Checking in at the doctor’s office went smoothly. The wait, however, began to try Jace’s patience. Or at least the patience of his condition. He sat in his baggy jeans with his legs crossed, feeling the early ache. The crisp air conditioning in the office chilled his bare toes and probably made the need worse. By his own estimation, he had about thirty more minutes before being in trouble of having the WE in his clothes.

 

Another twenty minutes had elapsed before being called, and another ten spent squirming on the crinkly paper of the examination table before the doctor came in.

 

“Jace Harper,” the doctor said, moving to shake his hand, “Nice to meet you. Been having some WE troubles I hear?”
 

“Yes,” Jace grunted, grimacing and switching the hand that gripped his penis to shake the doctor’s. “I’m actually trying not to do it right now.” What he hadn’t told the doctor was that his underwear was already getting wet.

 

The doctor’s eyes grew round. “Oh, okay,” he said, opening the exam room door, “Just right there is a bathroom with a toilet inside. You ever used one of those?”
 

Jace shook his head.

 

The doctor flagged down another staff member in the hallway. “Could I get someone to show him how to use the toilet? Right now, please.”

 

Another bloom of warmth coated Jace’s inner thigh and trickled down to his butt. His pants would start showing wet spots in moments. And of course the nurse that appeared had to be young and pretty. Just his luck. “Come here, quick!” she beckoned him.

 

She pointed to the weird elliptical thing full of water he occasionally saw in public facilities. He had been in public bathrooms all the time to wash his hands or fix his hair, but it never occurred to him to even wonder what this particular feature was for.

 

“If you feel a WE coming on, try to find one of these. Just undo your pants, lift the seat out of the way, and point yourself so the urine goes into the water. Or if you don’t feel confident with your aim, just take your pants down and have a seat. That’s also how people with type-2 WEs-- uh-oh, hurry up! It’s coming out!”

 

The nurse seemed to have gotten a bit carried away with her explanation while he stood there, the whole time his WE stream gaining strength in his jeans. He had his legs crossed in front of the toilet, too busy with his hand clamped over his crotch to think about getting his pants down. He sighed and let it pour down his leg, soaking himself in urine for the fourth time in one and a half days. 

 

It still somehow felt both good and shameful, but for the first time, it also came tinged with defeat. It could have happened more like his recent breakthrough in the shower. Personal experience told him it could be controlled. This time was only because he had less warning, and was not sure if he was supposed to expose himself in front of the nurse.

 

His shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry," he said. To keep apologizing for the effects of his condition had begun to feel pointless.

 

"Oh it's okay," the nurse answered, guiding him back into the exam room after he dabbed his pants with paper towels, "You'll get it next time. My niece has type-1 and 2 WEs so trust me, this is nothing."

 

That got Jace's attention. "Does she still, like, get it everywhere?"

 

She nodded. "Sometimes. She's had it since birth so is pretty good at managing it, but accidents happen. You've just got to get a change of clothes and move on."

 

"I guess," he replied, "Just seems easier said than done." He looked down at the dark splotches on his jeans.

 

The doctor took another look at him, biting his lip in sympathy for his soggy state. "Sorry, bud. I know it can be a hard transition when it shows up so strongly like it has for you. The thing is, there are lots of factors in play when it comes to WEs. Diet, hydration, and believe it or not, exercise is a big one. It tends to push everything downward so you often see athletes dealing with them. Most people's systems are efficient enough to handle waste through passive methods. But in your case, your mom was saying you don't eat or drink more than normal, no alcohol, and don't do lots of intense cardio. But seeing this multiple times a day and at night makes me think it's genetic. It brings us into the neighborhood of 'chronic regular emission of waste'. You’ve probably heard the acronym CREW."

 

Jace and his mom looked at each other. They had heard of it, but this was his first brush with what it really was.

 

"There are tests we can run to confirm but I can tell you right now, that's what it is. Sometimes it's there from birth, sometimes it shows up in adolescence or later in life. Stress is another one. Being a kid or teenager is no joke, and some things like this come out of it."

 

"Is there any treatment?" Jace asked.

 

"There are some treatments to reduce WEs. But in my opinion,” the doctor said, beginning to shake his head, “Not worth it for CREW. They're steroid-type medications that come with severe side effects when used long-term. Much better to stick with watching your fluid intake and consider it a natural function."

 

"But that's it though?" Jace pressed, "I just gotta live with it?"

 

The doctor put his hands on his hips. "I overheard the nurse talking about her niece with double CREW. She’s part of a support group you might find helpful. I’ve got a business card for you." He left the room for a moment and came back with an attractive card sporting an old-fashioned compass rose design. Front and center were the words "WE Journey" with contact information beneath, and a blurb about the group's focus on the back:

 

Sufferers of waste emission often report feeling trapped: by their own bodies and minds, and by outside judgment. But the members of WE Journey are proof that these feelings are not the end. Our experiences take us to shores no less varied and far-flung than those of people with normal waste elimination. Gain the confidence to go forth in life, through hearing our stories and by sharing yours. 

 

Jace kept the card, refraining from giving his real opinion until he and his mom had left the office. "I don't know about this group," he confessed, "Seems like it'll just be people sitting in a circle and talking about their WEs."

 

"Maybe it is," his mom said, starting the car, "But if that were it, then probably not many people would go. I think we should check it out. I can go in with you or stay outside if you want, but let's at least go to one meeting."

 

He rolled his eyes, but relented. "Fine, one meeting."

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