My earliest memory of peeing my pants for fun was at five years old.
I was in kindergarten and still too young to have complete control over wetting. On Fridays at the end of the day the teacher had us place our chairs on the desks upside-down. During the shuffle to get the chairs up I had a sudden urge to pee. I didn’t think at the time that it was that bad, but suddenly I was leaking and gushing in my new blue jeans.
I stood there still and silent as the round spot on the front of my jeans grew and ran down my legs. After the initial shock, I looked around to see who noticed my sudden wetness. To my surprise nobody said anything. The other students went about the business of getting ready to go home. The teacher stood by the door ready to escort us to the bus stop. And, I just stood there with soaked pants and a puddle at my feet.
I walked to the bus stop, and nobody noticed. I stood in line for the bus and nobody noticed. I rode the bus all the way home sitting on pissy wet pants, and nobody noticed.
When I got home I took my pants and soaked underwear off, placed them in the hamper, and nobody said a thing.
I realized that day that I could enjoy the pleasure of relief any time I wanted, and no one cared. It was a feeeling of freedom.
Thus began a lifetime of peeing pleasure.