An experience from my Indian youth.

I probably shouldn’t confess so much about myself, it might make it easy to identify myself. But I feel I have managed to do a decent job of keeping my name secret over the years. I am half Native American. When I was young, I had good role models close to me who were good and didn’t raise hell, I had an interest in my culture and language. A couple of my aunts taught me how to make my own clothing based on old items in a museum somewhere. It took a couple weeks, but I hand sewed my own leather leggings and breachcloth. They don’t appear as many would think, It is actually a long narrow skin that hangs down in front, over a belt, under you and up over your butt, belt and back down in the back. Sort of looks like an apron in a way, and is sort of close fitting. I certainly is more than a flap in front and back with your ding-a-ling hanging freely like many imagine. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a8/AoM_breechcloth.png The leggings go up about 3/4 the upper leg. Had moccasins that matched the legging seams too. It was worn at gatherings and community events, but I also wore it just to wear it because I liked wearing it. Because I grew up near our homeland it was comfortable and well very suited to teh terrain where I lived. There were miles of remote forest and mountains adjoining where I grew up and I would walk a few hours back sometimes with them on. Just felt good and right and I was proud to wear them. About the same time I made my outfit, I was also getting into wetting and would often hide 4 or 5 pairs of jeans back in the woods and would have them all wet whenever I felt like it. At the time, I really believed that a large number of people did that, so I didn’t really care, but I still didn’t show off so I made sure I was about 15 minutes away before I cut loose. I set up my ‘headquarters’ in an abandoned shack and stocked it with my favorite jeans and shorts. That was how I exercised my sexual energy. I though it must be sort of how sex is. Putting yourself in a woman and peeing. Really! I never had a bird-bees talk and I was too shy to every bring it up. I did figure it out some time later without grossing out a girl and embarrassing myself. I was completely decked out in my Native clothing on some day after I was out on summer break. It was not really hot because I remember I was wearing a longer cotton shirt. I was further back than I usually wore that. I felt that I had to pee. I was a ways from my headquarters and didn’t know if I wanted to hold on that long. I thought about peeing in the breechclout, but I felt that it would be bad wrong so I didn’t. You see, we are an ancestor-oriented society and it is sort of like you are on a stage and any one of your deceased family is watching at any point in time. I didn’t want to be seen peeing in them, even if I could keep it a secret from all mortals. I was very uneasy. From the mainstream belief of growing up in the 80’s, I knew that peeing on something deliberately was a disrespect. So I held it in. I decided that maybe I would head back and put on some jeans. I was already imagining myself wearing button-fly levis with maroon briefs I had. I would imagine that the buttons were two tight and I couldn’t get them undone or that all the toilets were taken and only urinals were left and I would stand in front of them hoping I could hold on until a toilet became free (I was a stall kid – didn’t like urinals at all) The excitement of peeing in those pants was getting me particularly excited. I wasn’t erect, I seldom do when I am desperate, but my heart was at double-beat. In my excitement, I stopped to drink water from a bottle I had left for drinking a few days earlier. After a very short while, I had to suddenly pee really bad so I realized that I would have to ‘waste’ my pee so I stopped to figure things out. I realized I had never peed while actually wearing a breechcloth. I usually would just pull the front flap through my belt and let it fall behind me and would pee using both hands. As I was getting older, I though that I was a little old for that so I decided that I would try to stretch my penis out the side. I barely cleared the hemmed seam by my leg and I remember I was afraid that I would pee on the leg and make a mark/stain on it. I thought that instead of wasting it, I would hold it in after all, it seemed to ease off in pressure. I walked a little while further. I was thinking more about peeing in it, but just didn’t have the balls to do it. And then, all of a sudden, I felt that weird sensation you get when you are peeing, but I didn’t tell myself to pee. It just was happening. I nothing had come out and I grabbed myself and then I decided to press my wrist onto my crotch and had my other wrist over the first, pressing with both hands trying to stop the flow. And it did, but something else happened. So there I was. I had the first orgasm in my whole life. I didn’t even have an erection, which was something I thought you had to have in order for that to happen, so I was very confused. I actually remember being scared and suddenly feeling very sick from fear. I thought I had hurt myself somehow. I squished my penis so tight that practically nothing at all came out, but I sure did have one happen. It took me a few minutes to fully realize what had happened. I had no interest in peeing myself at all anymore. I undid my breechcloth, and peed the way I was brought up to do. Today, I am now the older one. I am the positive role model and pass on our ways to the youth in the community when I visit back. I show them they don’t have to be embarrassed of our traditional clothing and that northern plains powwow regalia was not how we dressed long ago. Because of this responsibility, I must be very careful with my identity since I don’t want our youth to be crushed and embarrassed because of me. I never do a public wetting for everyone to see because of this — I feel they are depending on me. And for some, they sure don’t have many to look up to. But any day I put on a breechcloth for a event, I remember that day. I’ll never forget it..

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