Summary: Danny develops a friendship with his new neighbor that leads 
him to try things that he never would have dreamed of doing in the past 
- with some strange results.

Danny's New Neighbor
By [email protected]

The first day of school for my sophomore year was starting off really 
boring, and I'd stayed up late the night before so by mid-morning I was 
having trouble keeping awake. The homeroom teacher was droning on, and 
on, and on but when I heard her mention "Bankrupt Road" I perked up – 
that's the road that I live on. I guess that she was introducing some 
new kid to the class and it turns out that he doesn't live too far from 
me – funny that I hadn't known that a new family had moved in.

I couldn't really see him as the teacher was talking because he was on 
the other side of the room, but at noon in the cafeteria I went up to 
him and introduced myself: "Hi, I'm Danny. What's your name?" "Frank 
Tito", he responded, "Well, actually its Efrain Tito but I like 'Frank' 
better." Well that kinda sounded like an Italian name and he looked the 
part – about the same build as me, maybe 150 pounds or so and about 5' 
8" tall. But there the resemblance ended. I've got a light complexion, 
blond hair and blue eyes. Frank has long thick black curly hair, brown 
eyes, and an olive complexion. Yep, Italian all right.

Turns out the reason I didn't know him was that his family wasn't going 
to move for a couple of days yet and they were staying with relatives 
on the other side of town. Maybe I should tell you about my town – even 
though there isn't all that much of it. It's a little community out in 
the country that has seen better days – a lot of them. There's not much 
downtown except a video store, two churches and a gas 
station/convenience store. Most of the houses are pretty old and 
rundown. There used to be a lot of dairy farms nearby but most of them 
have quit farming or just raise vegetables and stuff like that.

There are about 550 kids in my high school and most of then are bused 
in from the surrounding countryside. My school doesn't have one of the 
better academic reputations and probably only about half of the kids 
that start their freshman year ever graduate. I swear, one of the 
seniors even drives a tractor to school – a fucking tractor. Can you 
believe that?

So my folks live in an old farmhouse about ten miles out of town on a 
road called "Bankrupt Road." Don't ask me how it got the name but it's 
pretty accurate. I've got one older sister and one younger sister and 
both my parents work – my Mom in the school cafeteria and my Dad in a 
muffler ship in a nearby town. If you like living out in the country 
it's not a bad life, but I can't wait till next year when I can get my 
driver's license and have a little more freedom. Right now I have to 
beg my older sister to run me into town or to a friend's house and 
she's usually pretty pissy about doing that.

So I was hoping that if Frank lived fairly near me, that he'd turn out 
to be a reasonable kid, like not a dork or a super jock, that I might 
be able to hand around with. After we talked a little, I realized that 
he only lived down the road about a half mile from me. There are 10 
other kids in his family, all about a year apart, and he's sort of 
somewhere in the middle. I guess his folks don't have much money as his 
mother cleans houses and his father works at a lumber yard. They were 
having trouble making ends meet when they lived in the city so when 
they got a chance to rent this old rundown farm for a really low rent, 
and some of their relatives lived nearby, they jumped at the chance.

By the second week of school, Frank's family had gotten moved into 
their house, "farmhouse" really, and Frank and his brothers and sisters 
had started riding the bus to school with me. Boy did that make a 
difference – from like eight kids on that bus route to fifteen, 
overnight. Because of some asshole school board rule, the bus doesn't 
pick us up at our houses, but only makes a stop every mile or so. Turns 
out the stop that both Frank and I use is about halfway between our 
houses so we each have to walk a half mile in the morning and 
afternoon. At least there's a rundown shack at the stop so if it's 
rainy or cold we have some shelter.

After a couple of weeks Frank and I got to be pretty good friends. 
Turns out that he likes the same music and sports teams that I do – 
plus he was just fun to hang out with. A couple of times after school 
we'd walk to his house when we got off the bus. But even though he 
lives in an old farm house with about a gazillion bedrooms, with his 
large family there's not a lot of privacy. Plus there's only one 
bathroom for thirteen people which is a real pain. So usually when we 
want to hang out together, Frank will walk to my house.

Now our place is in better shape that his is, but it's still an old 
farm even though my folks don't do any farming except for a vegetable 
patch out behind the house. I think it must have been a pretty big 
operation as there are four large building several hundred feet back of 
the house. There's a one story barn where the dairy cattle were kept, a 
three story barn where the hay and horses were, a long low building for 
the poultry, and another building that was general storage. My folks 
keep after us kids to stay out of the buildings, but they're pretty 
neat to explore so Frank and I often hang out in one of them.

After school today, we were walking back to my house when Frank said: 
"Wait a sec. I gotta take a leak." And he just stopped right on the 
side of the road, pulled down his fly, and peed on the road. Like, I've 
had to do that before but I usually go into the bushes or behind a 
tree, but Frank just did it right there on the road. So anyway, when we 
got to my place my younger sister had some friends over to Frank and I 
went out to the big barn. It's actually a pretty cool place. When you 
walk in, you're in a big room that's pretty much empty now except for 
some old equipment, lumber and trash. You can go down a set of stairs 
into the horse stable below, but the land slopes down so the stable is 
actually at ground level at the back of the barn. But even so it's 
pretty dark and damp. Plus there are a lot of barn swallows that build 
nests out of mud and straw attached to the ceiling rafters. And they're 
always flying around, plus you have to be careful where you walk as 
there's a pile of droppings under each nest, and they're not careful 
where they take a dump when they're flying around.

But the coolest part of the barn is the old hay loft on the third 
floor. This is a huge room that's still about half filled with bales of 
hay and loose straw. You've go to be kind of careful as there are 
several holes in the floor and chutes that lead down to the stables so 
the farmer could send hay down to the horses, but as long as you're 
careful it isn't a problem. So we got up to the hayloft and just sat 
down in a pile of straw and leaned back and relaxed and talked a 
little. I think I said something to Frank like: "Uh, do you always take 
a leak in the middle of the road like that?" And he laughed and said: 
"Sure, what's wrong with that. What's wrong with taking a piss when you 
gotta go? In fact, I gotta take another one." And with that he stood 
up, pulled down his fly and shot a stream of yellow liquid out onto the 
straw. Except that he was aiming almost directly at my feet and I had 
to jerk them back to keep from getting them wet. "Oops, sorry about 
that", he said. But other than Frank not being too careful about where 
he takes a leak, he's not a bad guy and we were soon close friends.

I swear, Frank must have the smallest bladder in town. Like, in school 
he always has to ask to go to the Boy's room, and when we're walking 
somewhere after school or hanging around in the barn behind my house 
he's always unzipping his fly and taking a piss. I finally had to ask 
him to be a little careful as he'd just take a piss wherever he was at 
the time, and after a couple of weeks, our favorite area in the hayloft 
of the barn was beginning to smell strongly of urine. But one time was 
so funny – we were walking along the road and we saw some car coming 
toward us. We recognized it as belonging to one of the old spinster 
Sunday school teachers at the church. So Frank drops his pants and 
takes a whiz, aiming it as the car as she drives past us. The lady gets 
this look of horror on her face as she sees Frank standing there 
holding his dick and this yellow stream arcing toward her car. It 
looked like she was going to run off the road! Oh Jesus, we laughed so 
hard that Frank fo!
rgot what he was doing and pissed his pants.

Frank and I wanted to do a sleepover. His house was too much of a zoo 
so we got my folks to agree that frank could sleep over at my place. 
But my little sister was such a pain that around midnight we asked my 
folks if we could move out to the barn. "OK, but no matches or fires", 
my Dad cautioned. The hayloft in the barn was a really spooky place, 
lit only by a couple of small light bulbs way up under the roof – dim 
and full of shadows – a great place for a sleepover. As we were 
stripping to our underwear before getting into our sleeping bags, I 
noticed how dirty and yellow stained Frank's jockey briefs were. 
"Doesn't that feel weird wearing dirty underwear", I asked him, "Don't 
they smell?" "Nah, here see for yourself", he said, and pulled them off 
and threw them at me. I tried to duck but caught them full in my face. 
"You fucking fag", I cried," What the fuck are you doing?" "You asked 
the question, asshole", he shouted back. We just stood there for a 
minute and then I tossed the underwear back to Frank and we got into 
our sleeping bags.

Several hours later around 3 o'clock or so when we were tired of 
talking and Frank had gone to sleep, I lay in my sleeping bag and 
thought about his underwear. When I was younger I'd had a problem 
wetting the bed and I could remember the strong ammonia smell that 
would arise from my bedding if it wasn't washed every couple of days. 
But Frank's underwear hadn't smelled like that. I couldn't describe it, 
maybe like a kind of "salty" smell – but not an unpleasant odor.

So when we awoke that morning, as we were lying in our sleeping bags 
and discussing whether it was worth braving the morning chill to get 
some breakfast, during a pause in the conversation I asked him if he'd 
mind trading underwear. I wasn't sure how he'd react to the request but 
he treated it like an everyday thing and agreed. So we both shucked off 
our underwear and tossed it to the other, and lay in our sleeping bags 
as we struggled into the other's underwear. As I lay in my sleeping 
bag, wearing Frank's filthy underwear, and smelling its odor coming up 
from the sleeping bag, I got this huge erection. I couldn't explain why 
but it felt so good. I even began to wonder what it would feel like to 
pee into it a little and so I released a few drops of piss, and then a 
few more, as I felt this warm wetness spread through my crotch. I guess 
Frank had the same idea as I noticed when he got out of his sleeping 
bag to pull on his jeans, that my underwear that he was now wearing 
was!
 dripping a yellow liquid onto the straw.

After that, we traded underwear several times a week. The underwear 
that I got from Frank was usually so gross that when I wasn't wearing 
it, that I'd have to hide it beneath a floorboard in my closet so that 
my Mom wouldn't see it. But there was just something about putting on 
each other's piss soaked underwear that turned both of us on and we'd 
soon be walking around with big bulges in the crotches of our jeans.

That winter at school, I noticed that Frank's jeans would almost always 
have a wet spot in the crotch. Well, not like it was soaking wet or 
anything, but they were constantly damp. I think the teachers noticed 
and one of them asked Frank if he had a problem but Frank just mumbled 
something about how his hand had slipped when he was in the Boy's room 
that morning. Frank confided in me that he's been peeing in his pants 
more these days – it's like a game – he sees how much he can release 
without making a wet stain so big that people will start to notice. 
That seemed like kind of a turn on to me and I started doing it too – 
but not as much as Frank was. So sometimes, like when I'd be in a 
boring English class, I'd release a couple of drops into my underwear, 
and when that didn't show, I'd release a couple of drops more, and then 
a couple of drops more. Eventually I'd have a small damp spot on the 
front of my jeans and I'd know that it was time to stop.

I can't really explain why I got turned on by peeing in my pants. But I 
think that it had something to do with the fact that I was the only one 
who knew what I was doing – like, I was doing this really gross thing 
but no one else knew it. And then the warm and wet sensation in my 
crotch felt good. And I guess the other thing was the smell. Like when 
I got home and could put on the dirty underwear that I kept hidden in 
my closet, the smell was a real turn on. I'd usually get this big boner 
and I'd rub my cock through my jeans and shoot my wad into my already 
dirty underwear. Even though I couldn't do it in front of anyone, when 
I was alone or with Frank I could empty my bladder into my jeans, 
getting them sopping wet, and then I could inhale the warm urine smell 
floating up from my body – that's really kewl.

One time that spring when Frank and I were getting ready for a 
sleepover in the barn, he said: "Danny, Let's try something new." 
"New?" I said, "Like what?" Just come over here and I'll show you", he 
answered. So I walked over and stood in front of him and he unzipped 
his fly and then reached down and unzipped my fly. I was, like, what 
the fuck's going on, but I let him keep going. Frank reached into his 
jeans and pulled out his dick and he told me to do the same. After I 
had done that, he moved closer to me, picked up his dick and stuck it 
in my jeans and then gently placed my dick in his jeans. So we're 
standing there, chest to chest, with our dicks in each others jeans and 
all of a sudden I feel this rush of warm liquid into my crotch. Jesus, 
I thought, he's pissing into my pants. But the rush of warm liquid over 
my balls was too much for me and I started emptying my bladder. For 
several seconds we stood there, with our warm urine squirting into each 
other's pants. We finished and as Frank stepped back, we both looked 
down at our sopping wet jeans, and smelled the warm scent of fresh 
urine arising from them. "So, uh, what do we do now", I asked. "Get in 
our sleeping bags and go to sleep", Frank answered. And so we did. Or 
at least I got into my sleeping bag but it took me a long time to get 
to sleep because I kept thinking about how good it felt to have Frank 
pissing on me and I got this hard on and had to jerk off.

That spring, Frank and I invented this war game that we play in the 
barn. We'll like, get up on a Saturday morning and drink lots of 
liquid. Then in the late morning we'll go to the barn, split up and go 
and hide. After we've been hidden for a few minutes we'll quietly sneak 
out of our hiding spot and search for the other person, the "enemy", 
all the while trying to keep the enemy from finding us. Once we've 
found the enemy we'll shoot them. Well, not shoot them literally, but 
we'll use our dicks as a gun to fire a stream of piss on them. It'll 
usually take about an hour or so before our bladders are empty, and 
then we'll have to chug down the soda we've brought along to recharge 
our weapon. Usually by the end of the afternoon, we're exhausted and 
our clothes are sopping wet, but we've had a great day.

Anyway, this afternoon I caught Frank a good one. I could hear him 
moving around down on the lower level in the horse stalls – I was up in 
the hayloft. So I quietly moved over to one of the chutes that drops 
from the hayloft to the horse stalls and retrieved the coffee can that 
I'd stashed there earlier. I'd been empting my bladder into the coffee 
can, once a day for the past week, so it was full by now of really 
rotten and rancid piss – must have been about a quart. I picked up a 
couple of pebbles and dropped them down the chute. Frank must have 
heard the rattle, as I had hoped he would, for he came over to the 
chute, looked up, and I dumped the whole can of piss on him. My aim was 
perfect as it hit him squarely in the face, saturating his hair and 
filling his open mouth. The stench coming up from the stables was 
really gross. "You asshole! Wait till next fucking week!" Frank shouted 
up to me as we both dissolved into a fit of laughter.

So the next weekend, Frank insisted that we extend the war game to two 
days – we could tell our parents that we were camping out. And he said 
that in addition to our guns, we could also use grenades. "What's a 
grenade?" I asked him. "A grenade's a turd, you dipshit." He replied. 
So now in addition to pissing on each other, we get to throw shit? This 
was beginning to sound really gross but Frank kept after me, and after 
me, and after me so I finally agreed that we could add grenades to our 
weaponry the following weekend. As we had planned, we told our parents 
we were going to camp out on Saturday night and we stocked the barn 
with food and snacks – gotta keep the weaponry recharged! Ha!

It was going to be tough to wash our clothes so that Saturday just 
before the war game began; we both stripped off all our clothes. 
Nothing much happened in the morning except for when Frank snuck up 
behind me and pissed all over me. But in the afternoon we both lobbed a 
couple of grenades at each other and by supper time we were both 
smeared with shit. After supper we decided to quit for the day and just 
lay in the straw and talked boy talk. When it cooled down a little in 
the evening, we covered up with straw and slept in each others arms to 
keep warm.

The next morning, I know Frank was awake because I could feel him 
moving around just a little. All of a sudden he smashed me in the face 
with a handful of shit as he yelled: "Games on!" By Sunday afternoon, 
we were both totally soaked with piss, and covered with straw and shit 
– stunk to high heaven. At one point I had creamed Frank squarely in 
the face with a grenade and as he licked his lips, he commented: "Not 
bad at all."

But all good things must come to an end and we had to clean up. We went 
over to the old dairy barn and went into the milk room. I guess the 
barn was build before they had refrigeration for there was a concrete 
pool over in one corner of the milk room. It was about three feet deep 
and four feet square. It was fed with water from a stream and the 
farmer used to store the milk in large metal cans in the water till it 
could be taken to market. The cool spring water kept it from spoiling. 
So Frank and I grabbed our soap bars and jumped into the pool. After 
the shock of the cold water passed, it wasn't too bad except that the 
concrete was covered with moss and really slippery so you had to be 
pretty careful. Anyway, Frank and I soaped up as best we could and 
washed off, and then we turned to each other and helped clean off those 
hard to reach places. Finally, Frank and I just lay in the water, 
snuggled into each others arms and kissed a couple of times. But that 
got us turned on again and we ended up by jerking each other off. What 
a great weekend.

My Mom invited Frank over for dinner the following Sunday. We were out 
in the back yard waiting to be called inside when I noticed that Frank 
was bending over just a little, and he had this look of concentration 
on his face. As he straightened up he looked at me and asked: "Guess 
what I just did?" "Oh, I don't know", I responded, "Grew another 
asshole?" "Naw, I just shit my pants," he said. I just stared at him in 
amazement. We were about to go into my house for Sunday dinner and he 
had crapped his pants on purpose. Just then my Mom called us in. Frank 
just smiled and walked in the house. Partway through dinner, I could 
smell something, and it wasn't the roast beef! I could tell Mom and Dad 
did too as they were, like, wrinkling their noses and looking around a 
little. But then Frank piped up: "Sure smells pretty bad today. I think 
the old farmer down the road must have been spreading manure on his 
fields today." I guess my parents bought it as they didn't say anything 
more.

After dinner, when Frank and I were back outside, I asked him why he 
did it. "I just wanted to see what it would feel like", he answered. 
"Well, so what does it feel like", I asked him. "Oh, it's a lot better 
than pissing yourself. It feels warm and sticky. And it squishes around 
and gets your balls and dick all slimy. And it feels good when you walk 
along and feel everything squishing and rubbing in your crotch." Sure 
enough he did have this hard on as I could see a big bulge in his 
jeans. "And it felt so good that I got this hard on during dessert and 
shot my wad without even having to jerk myself off", he finished up. 
"Oh yeah, well I'll have to try it sometime", I mumbled. But I guess I 
didn't look very enthusiastic and Frank laughed at me and punched me in 
the arm. Ouch.

I'm not even sure that Frank knows what he's doing sometimes. Like we 
went to a movie last Wednesday and partway through the movie, I thought 
that I smelled something and then I heard some liquid dripping. I 
looked over at frank and there was this yellow liquid dripping from his 
seat onto the floor. He'd just pissed himself and it looked like he 
wasn't even aware of it!

I've noticed that I've got to be more careful too. There have been a 
couple of times when I felt this slight wetness in my crotch and 
realized that a few drops of pee had leaked out into my underwear 
without me being aware of it. As long as I'm careful to go to the 
bathroom (or take a leak outside) every couple of hours and don't drink 
a lot of liquids I'm OK. But gosh, I don't want to get as bad as Frank 
is and have no control…….

So anyway, Frank and I had a good summer.

By the time school started that fall, I had noticed that Frank didn't 
seem to be taking as much pride in his appearance as he used to. His 
hair was messy and uncombed. And his clothing was often dirty and he 
didn't smell that good (even to my shit-loving nose) as though he 
wasn't bathing that often.

I have also had a couple of "accidents" recently. The best part was 
that they didn't happen in public or happened when only Frank was 
around. But it's really embarrassing to be doing something and all of a 
sudden you realize that you've lost control and peed your pants. I 
figured that sooner or later it would happen to me in public and I 
really didn't want that to happen. So I managed to get a couple of 
packs of paper diapers without my folks knowing – I hid them out in the 
barn. So whenever I got out in public now I wear a diaper. I figured, 
what the hell, it's a small price to pay to avoid the embarrassment. 
The funny thing was that the first couple of time I put them on they 
felt really weird but I got to like the feeling. There's something neat 
about the way they feel all sort of warm and soft. And the other thing 
is that when I pee in them, the pee doesn't run down my legs but stays 
in the diaper and I can feel its wetness all over my bottom. Neat.

I tried to talk Frank into wearing them but he turned me down. Now I 
still like Frank but it's getting kind of embarrassing to be seen with 
him in public because of the way he looks and smells.

Frank hasn't been doing too well in school lately. Its like he's 
forgotten a lot of what he used to know and the teachers aren't cutting 
him any slack – they're on his case all the time. It all came to a head 
in late September when he was up at the white board working out a Trig 
problem the teacher had assigned him. His clothes were about as dirty 
as usual. I guess he didn't have any decent jeans as he had on an old 
pair of tan chinos that were all stained yellow in the bottom and 
crotch. Anyway, part way through the problem he pissed himself. I don't 
think he even knew it as he just kept on working on the white board. 
But his pants were soaked, and there was this pool of yellow liquid 
forming around his feet, and you could smell the warm piss in the 
classroom. The teacher went ballistic and screamed at him to get out of 
the room, and called him a degenerate animal. Frank turned to the 
teacher, his face a bright red and I could tell that he had lost 
control too. I heard this loud, wet farting noise from Frank and 
realized that he had crapped his pants. But this time Frank knew what 
he had done for he reached down into his pants with his right hand, and 
brought out a handful of muck which he flung at the teacher, splashing 
it across his face and shirt. Frank then ran from the classroom.

Well, that was the last straw for the school and Frank was expelled the 
next day.

It wasn't too long after that that his Mother threw him out of the 
house. I guess that Frank had begun soiling his bed at night and his 
clothes during the day and that was just about the last straw. What put 
the icing on the cake was when she caught Frank telling one of his 
younger brothers how good it felt to pee in your pants and how the kid 
should try it.

So with nowhere to go, Frank just snuck into the barn behind our house 
and hid out in one of the horse stalls. I found him there the next day 
and agreed that I'd sneak food out to him for a couple of days till he 
figured out what he was going to do.

Well, it's been a month now and Frank is still hiding out in the barn. 
He pretty much just stays in the horse stall now. He's changed a lot in 
the last month or so – it's almost like he's grown younger instead of 
older. He has no control of his body functions anymore and just lives 
in the filth in the horse stall like an animal. It's almost like he's 
more of a pet that I have to take care of than my former friend. I'm 
kind of scared about whether whatever happened to Frank will happen to 
me – I've found that during the last few weeks I've lost control of my 
bowels completely and am now filling my diapers with both poop and pee. 
Oh well, we'll see what happens.