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