Bedwetter -- Full Text
I'm peeing the bed. No, I stopped. I was peeing the bed. I peed the bed. My eyes are closed. My penis stings. I was dreaming. Maybe I'm still dreaming. Maybe I didn't pee the bed.
I was dreaming about peeing. I was in the shower. It was safe, warm and comfortable. I had to pee. I peed in the shower. But there wasn't a shower. That was a dream. There is a bed. I peed the bed. I need to stop peeing in the shower. Peeing in the shower is gross. Peeing in the shower is not peeing in the bed. I wish I had peed in the shower. There was more to the dream, but I can't remember.
The bathroom was strange.
I can feel my girlfriend. Her arms are around me. I'm in her bed. I peed her bed. I open my eyes. I'm naked. I'm on my side. I am "little spoon". I am safe, warm and comfortable. She is still asleep. I reach under the covers. I feel under my penis. It is wet. I did. I peed the bed. I'm twenty-five years old. I imagine a pool, waist deep in the middle of her bed, both of us drowsy and drowning. I'm certain her sheets are soaked.
She'll wake any moment. She'll scream at me. She'll freak out. She'll break up with me. I look beneath the covers. There is a one inch spot. It's nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Really. She'll never know. Unless it smells. I touch the spot. I smell my fingers. I don't smell anything. My nose is stuffy. I'm not sure I can smell. I was drinking. It must smell. I peed the bed. I should wake her. I don’t wake her.
I sit up. She moves and makes a small noise. I cover the spot with my hip. My hip is wet. She mumbles: "You should be asleep. This is your day off." She is concerned. She loves me. She loves a bed wetter. I'll have to buy plastic sheets.
I get out of her bed. "I have to use the bathroom," I tell her. My bladder hurts.
She makes another noise. It is a protest. She rolls to my side of the bed. She reaches for me. She reaches near the spot. She could touch the spot. If she touches the spot, I'll lie. It could be anything. Sometimes I sweat. Penises sweat. Penes. It could be sweat. It’s not sweat. There’s only one spot. We had sex. It could be her wetness. That was hours ago. It would have dried. I have to tell her. She rolls away to her side. She does not touch the spot. I do not tell her.
I go to the bathroom. I pee. It is glorious. I fight a moan. A quake passes over me. It’s like an orgasm. It’s not an orgasm. It’s a heated weighty mass at the tip of my penis that shocks my spine just above the crack of my ass and spreads tingling throughout my body. I shiver.
I remember the dream. I remember why the bathroom was strange. It was not my bathroom. It was our bathroom. It was our apartment. Hers and mine. The bathroom door was open. I was not alone. Someone moved out in the hall. It was her. I hardly thought of it. Of course it was her. The shower was safe, warm and comfortable. I could pee in it. I could pee in our shower.
I'm by the bed. I lift the covers. The wet spot is gone. There was a wet spot. I am certain there was a wet spot. There is no longer a wet spot. I am no longer certain there was a wet spot. I get into bed. I do not feel wet. It could have dried. It could have been in another spot. I don’t know. I could be wrong.
She is facing me. Her mouth is open. There is a glimmering trickle of drool in the corner of her mouth seeping a spot of spit into her pillow case. I lean in close to see. I can feel her breath. It does not smell. My nose is stuffy. I’m not sure I can smell. I touch the drool spot. She opens one eye. She sees my fingers. She sees her drool. She looks at me. She’ll yell at me. She’ll tell me I’m too weird. She’ll kick me out of her apartment. She’ll ask for her keys back. She’ll set my stuff on fire.
Her eye closes. She sighs. She shrugs.
I am still. "Go to sleep." Her voice is soft. "This is your day off." I am quiet. She rolls away from me. "Will you spoon me?"
"Yes." My cheek is in her drool. She wriggles against me. I am safe, warm and comfortable. She needs to know. I should tell her. I will tell her. I tell her. "I want to pee in our shower."
I was dreaming about peeing. I was in the shower. It was safe, warm and comfortable. I had to pee. I peed in the shower. But there wasn't a shower. That was a dream. There is a bed. I peed the bed. I need to stop peeing in the shower. Peeing in the shower is gross. Peeing in the shower is not peeing in the bed. I wish I had peed in the shower. There was more to the dream, but I can't remember.
The bathroom was strange.
I can feel my girlfriend. Her arms are around me. I'm in her bed. I peed her bed. I open my eyes. I'm naked. I'm on my side. I am "little spoon". I am safe, warm and comfortable. She is still asleep. I reach under the covers. I feel under my penis. It is wet. I did. I peed the bed. I'm twenty-five years old. I imagine a pool, waist deep in the middle of her bed, both of us drowsy and drowning. I'm certain her sheets are soaked.
She'll wake any moment. She'll scream at me. She'll freak out. She'll break up with me. I look beneath the covers. There is a one inch spot. It's nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Really. She'll never know. Unless it smells. I touch the spot. I smell my fingers. I don't smell anything. My nose is stuffy. I'm not sure I can smell. I was drinking. It must smell. I peed the bed. I should wake her. I don’t wake her.
I sit up. She moves and makes a small noise. I cover the spot with my hip. My hip is wet. She mumbles: "You should be asleep. This is your day off." She is concerned. She loves me. She loves a bed wetter. I'll have to buy plastic sheets.
I get out of her bed. "I have to use the bathroom," I tell her. My bladder hurts.
She makes another noise. It is a protest. She rolls to my side of the bed. She reaches for me. She reaches near the spot. She could touch the spot. If she touches the spot, I'll lie. It could be anything. Sometimes I sweat. Penises sweat. Penes. It could be sweat. It’s not sweat. There’s only one spot. We had sex. It could be her wetness. That was hours ago. It would have dried. I have to tell her. She rolls away to her side. She does not touch the spot. I do not tell her.
I go to the bathroom. I pee. It is glorious. I fight a moan. A quake passes over me. It’s like an orgasm. It’s not an orgasm. It’s a heated weighty mass at the tip of my penis that shocks my spine just above the crack of my ass and spreads tingling throughout my body. I shiver.
I remember the dream. I remember why the bathroom was strange. It was not my bathroom. It was our bathroom. It was our apartment. Hers and mine. The bathroom door was open. I was not alone. Someone moved out in the hall. It was her. I hardly thought of it. Of course it was her. The shower was safe, warm and comfortable. I could pee in it. I could pee in our shower.
I'm by the bed. I lift the covers. The wet spot is gone. There was a wet spot. I am certain there was a wet spot. There is no longer a wet spot. I am no longer certain there was a wet spot. I get into bed. I do not feel wet. It could have dried. It could have been in another spot. I don’t know. I could be wrong.
She is facing me. Her mouth is open. There is a glimmering trickle of drool in the corner of her mouth seeping a spot of spit into her pillow case. I lean in close to see. I can feel her breath. It does not smell. My nose is stuffy. I’m not sure I can smell. I touch the drool spot. She opens one eye. She sees my fingers. She sees her drool. She looks at me. She’ll yell at me. She’ll tell me I’m too weird. She’ll kick me out of her apartment. She’ll ask for her keys back. She’ll set my stuff on fire.
Her eye closes. She sighs. She shrugs.
I am still. "Go to sleep." Her voice is soft. "This is your day off." I am quiet. She rolls away from me. "Will you spoon me?"
"Yes." My cheek is in her drool. She wriggles against me. I am safe, warm and comfortable. She needs to know. I should tell her. I will tell her. I tell her. "I want to pee in our shower."
