Name: Buster
Ages: 5, 6, 7, 8, 13, 14, 15, 16
Current Age: 29
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.