Little boys can be somewhat curious. I guess curiosity is what began this fascination. I was 5 years old and had been completely potty trained for over three years. I was playing at home and began wondering what it would feel like to tee-tee in my pants. I stood next to my toy box and did it. Soon I could feel wetness on my underwear and my shorts. I looked down and saw a dark patch that had formed on the front of my pants and on the inside of my legs. What do I do now? I walked into the kitchen where my mom was doing her housework. She looked up and was surprised. After a lecture on making it to the potty sooner, she changed my underwear and I went out to play. I liked how it made me feel when I wet my pants. I soon started wetting the bed most every night. When I turned seven, I was still wetting the bed. Mom had begun putting me in thick cotton trainers with plastic pants every night. I'd wake up damp and smell the pee on my pants. Mom had placed a pail in my room where I would drop my wet pants. I would change into my underwear and go about playing. I don't know why, but one night as I lay in bed, I became curious again. I got out of bed and went over next to my toy box. I pushed from my bowels. I heard a crackle and felt a solid mass build up in the seat of my training pants. My teetee stood up. I pushed again, wetting and completely finishing my job. I squatted down and began playing with my building blocks. I called for Mom. She soon came in the door. "Mommy, I doo-dooed in my pants", I said matter-of-factly. She came to me and felt my bottom and pulled back the waistband on my pants. "Now why would you do a thing like that?", she asked. I stood motionless and speechless. She grabbed my hand and quickly led me to the bathroom. She had me lie on the floor and she unsnapped the sides of the training pants. "You've wet and dirtied your britches!" she remarked sternly. My little peepee was still sticking up. I looked down there and saw what I had done. Although I was a little embarrassed, I felt great. Mommy was changing me because I doo doo in my pants. By nine, I had stopped wetting the bed, and was dry and clean. I thought about doing it, but never did. That all changed when I turned thirteen. I was in my room and started thinking about it again. My teetee got hard. I went in the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. I began wetting. A ring formed on the front of my underwear. I took of my underwear and smelled them. Instinctively, I rubbed my teetee, more and more, faster and faster. Oh my gosh! What a feeling! My heart was pounding. I took the underwear and slid them under the bed and lied down and went to sleep. For the next 6 months, I started doing it right after I went to bed, wetting more and more each time before the special feeling. My mom remarked how my room smelled like urine, and that my mattress was ringed with stains. I was wetting the bed every night, again. She took me to a physician and a psychologist. I found it easier to come, and the senses more heightened when I doo doo in my pants. Every reward has a price, though. Cleanup was much tougher. I didn't care. Every night I would go into my room and slide under the covers. Sometimes I would just wet, other times I would doo doo. It came to a climax one night when I was 16. I was finding it enjoyable to mess and wet a little at a time, and rub myself meanwhile. I finished and stood on my knees in the bed. The seat of my pants were sagging. I had done a very big doo doo. The front of my pants were damp. I lay down on my belly and began feeling the back of my pants with my hand and moving up and down, rubbing my penis on the sheets. I heard the door open! Mom was standing there. "It really smells in here, Did you poop your pants?� she asked. I got out of bed. She looked at the sag in my seat and the wet ring on front. She turned and walked out. I slept in my messy pants, I wet them at least three more times that night. The next day Mom told me to get in the car. She drove a few miles and I asked where we were going. "To the doctor", she answered. "I'm not sick, mom", I argued. We arrived at her office, Dr. Zellner...Doctor of Psychiatry. I went through my life�s story. "Do you want to keep doing this?� she asked. "Yes, I said. She bid me farewell and spoke to my mother in private. My stopped at the market and picked up a box of youth diapers. I have been wearing them since.