From: (sandie) Date: Sun, 28 May 1995 01:11:16 UTC Subject: 2nd try new story: warmth 1 WARMTH Two years ago my Dad left my Mom and we haven't heard from him since. Now my mom, Alice, my eleven year old sister, Arlene, and myself live in the same house. My name is Billy and I'm 13. During the last two years I have come to realize how much strain my father's presence had on our family. He was such an overbearing, violent wind bag that always had to get his own way. As for myself I never got along with my father. I never quite measured up to his standards. A point of contention was the fact that I wet the bed. He couldn't accept this and Mom always came to my defense pointing out to him that this was just a stage I was going through. I think the fights that always ensued dove a wedge between my father and my Mother that contributed to their eventual breakup. Anyway I made a big effort to overcome my bedwetting problem and I was wetting only occasionally when my father finally left. With him gone I had more freedom to be me and less expectations to be someone I wasn't. I remember going to bed one night. I was lying on my freshly made up bed which still included my plastic mattress cover. It was very quiet and I remember being overcome with an urge to wet the bed. It was difficult though. It would mean regressing. It would mean doing something that was selfish and inconsiderate as my Mom would have extra work to do. Still much had changed. I still occasionally had accidents. What would it hurt? I lay there for some time until the temptation overcame the rational responsible side of my consciousness. I lay very still and just relaxed totally. I was lying on my stomach as I finally let myself go. The wet warmth pooled on the plastic cover and washed over my stomach, crotch and thighs. I don't know exactly why but it felt good and it felt erotic. My penis tingled and a warm feeling enveloped me. I went to sleep feeling like a little baby. Next morning Mom came in and asked what happened. I bowed my head and looked sheepish. She came over and sat beside me on the bed and pulled my head to her breast and started stroking my head, running her fingers through my longish hair. "Its OK baby. Its Ok. Mommy's here and she understands. Its Ok." Overcome with this out pouring of compassion and the comforting ministrations of my mother I started to cry which she seemed to welcome. It seemed like some unspoken understanding had been reached. It was Ok for me to be Mommy's little baby again. I think in some ways Mom was happy that I wasn't turning out to be a macho asshole like my father. She liked the fact that I was in a sense dependent on her. .....to be continued