Name: Zech email: [email protected] Ages: 5 Zech's Story: I've been told my parents started trying to potty train me after my 3rd birthday. That fall when I was 3« we went on vacation. My mom didn't want to put me back in daytime diapers during the trip (Damn!) so every hour we would stop along the side of the road and play target practice. I remember my dad would get me out of the car and we would find some unsuspecting grasshopper (they were thick along the roadside in the fall down south). He would then pull down my pants, if I had them on, and my two pair of training underpants, and I would try to pee the grasshopper off the plant it was on. It was a lot of fun then, but now I sort of wish they had just put me back in diapers during the day. At night I was still in diapers, and I do remember wetting the training pants a few times during the day on the trip. I was still wearing diapers to bed when I turned 4. I remember the summer after I turned 4 the neighborhood kids would all go play in my friend Mark's huge sandbox down the block. No matter how bad I had to pee I never wanted to leave there. I would hold it as long as I could before I finally headed for home holding my wiener (as all the boys called them). This regularly ended in me wetting my pants on the way home. I'd walk in the kitchen door. "Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom!" I'd yell, holding my wiener now more for effect than necessity. She'd look at me from where she was ironing, or doing whatever, and say, "It looks like you have already gone to the bathroom in your pants. Now either go back outside and play, or take your wet clothes off and go to bed." I thought I was too big to take an afternoon nap, so usually went out to play in my back yard by myself even though my pants were wet. One time though, when I came in particularly soaked, I think she got really mad. Instead of her usual line she said, "You wet your pants just like your baby brother! Should I put you in diapers just like him? Do you want to wear diapers again and pee in them instead of your pants?" My first thought was "I'm too big for diapers." But then mom's second sentence hit home. I could wear them and stay at the sand box a long time. I'm not sure now, but I really think I was about to say "yes" when mom said, "Your friends will see how big your pants are and they will know you are still wearing diapers. You really don't want that, now do you?" That killed any thought of wearing diapers during the day. Sheepishly I said, "No." "Good," she said. "But next time you wet I'm going to put you in diapers!" I turned around and went out to play by myself in the back yard. I wish I had been brave enough to wet my pants again, because I'm sure she would have put me back into diapers. But the thought of my friends seeing me, a big 4-year-old, wearing diapers was enough to scare me dry. I was out of nighttime diapers by the time I was 5. But I know there was a plastic sheet on my bed all the way through 8th grade. What is funny is that I don't really remember wetting the bed, but I can't think of any other reason why mom would keep that on my bed if I didn't wet. And for some reason I'm still too scared or embarrassed to ask her how long I kept having 'accidents' at night. When we were kids, my brothers and me would not want to get up and miss any part of a TV show or movie. And to get up when we were playing some board game would mean coming back to find we had lost (we cheated a lot). So, just like at the sand box we would try to hold it as long as we could before we went to pee. At some point I found out if I just let a little pee out I could then hold it longer. After a while I would have to let a little more out, and then a little more. But that way I could make it through most games (like Monopoly) or movies without really wetting my pants or anyone noticing, but my underpants would be pretty damp. One night after a long movie I was hiding my damp underwear under the bed to dry and I saw two other pair under the other beds. It turned out that all three of us had discovered the same thing and were secretly dribbling in our underwear to keep from having to leave the movie to go to the boy's room. Mom never found out, but from then on we knew what each other was doing under the table while playing Monopoly. I do remember having one accident at school when I was in 6th grade. I had joined the chess club that met after school in my math teacher's classroom. Late in the year I had gotten good enough to play Mr. Loscher in a game (he usually played only the older kids who were practicing for competition). Since I had math the last period we started before class was over. Usually I would go pee after class, right before I walked home or before chess club, but this time I couldn't because I was already playing him. As we played I had to go more and more. It was just like at the sand box when I was little; I held it as long as I could. The longer I held it the worse my chess game got. And since my teacher was now playing four of us on separate boards it took a while for him to get back to my board and make a move. Finally I couldn't hold it any more and I used the trick I used at the movie theater or when playing Monopoly. I peed just a little, just enough to relieve the pressure. I could then hold it a little more. After a couple more moves I peed a little more. I could keep this up for quite a while, but the problem was my underwear and jeans could only hold so much pee. It felt like forever, but I probably kept it up for almost half an hour. He finally had me in check, I knew I had lost the game but I had to wait until he came back to checkmate me. Then he got stuck at another board for almost five minutes, explaining some strategy. I let some more pee out, but this time I had to grab my dick to get it to stop. Too late, I could tell I had soaked through. Mr. Loscher finally came back, made his move, and said, "checkmate. That was a good game Zee (my nick name), but for some reason you began to loose it about halfway through. Do you want me to show you where?" "Ah, can I go to the bathroom first?" I said, getting up and running for the door. As I peed in the boy's room I felt my wet butt and I knew I was sunk. After I peed I looked at my butt in the mirror and even though I was wearing pretty dark blue jeans you could tell my butt was wet, and so was my crotch. I couldn't just go home, I had to go back to Mr. Loscher's room to get my books and chess set, and he would want to tell me what I did wrong in the game (he always did that). I decided to tell them I slipped in water in the boy's room. I ran some water onto the floor and then headed back to Mr. Loscher's room. Every body was waiting for me when I got back, "You look a little wet there, Zee," said one kid. "Oh, yeah, I slipped in some water on the floor in the boys room." "Hey, Zee, then how come your chair has a puddle on it, too?" asked one of the 8th graders. I could feel my face get red. "Don't worry about it Zee," said Mr. Loscher. "Just let me show you where your game went wrong." I sat back down on the wet chair, but I couldn't concentrate with all the other kids giggling, and went home early. The worst thing was that my nickname changed from Zee to PeeZee for the rest of grade school and even high school. Anywhere I had to write my name someone else would put PZ. My books, my gym uniform, and sometimes even assignments that we corrected in class would end up with PZ on them. I finally gave up and actually adopted PZ. By the time I was a senior in high school a lot of kids thought those were my initials (like for Peter Zechariah, or something). My freshman year at college I roomed with a friend, Bob, from high school. One night we were all getting really drunk in our room; I had never been so drunk as that night. We started talking about nicknames. Bob knew my name was Zech and so asked why my nickname was PZ. I was so drunk I didn't even think about it, I just told them about wetting my pants in 6th grade. They thought it was hilarious. Later though when I had to go pee they wouldn't let me and finally tied my hands behind me, and around a bedpost. "Hey, PZ, you get to stay there and show us how you wet your pants in grade school," they said. "But don't worry, we will help you drink more beer." And they gave me a glass with a straw in it. And I was dumb enough and drunk enough to keep drinking. I think I wet my pants three times that night and my nickname was sealed. That's my story. PZ