The journey started as I decided to have a walk to the beach for a little fresh air. The setting is Chicago, the destination being the famous Hollywood/Kathy Osterman beach. Nearing the end of March. It was a little early for such a jaunt, and despite the first day of spring being heralded by the news, the temps had dropped in around the mid-30s again… I was dressed in dark grey but very faded jeans, little green boxer briefs underneath, black tennis shoes and athletic socks, black leather jacket… The air was crisp and inviting and the sky was crystal clear as the sun shone merrily over the terrain that mid-afternoon. The walk along the beach, beginning at Foster Ave Beach over to Kathy Osterman or the “gay beach,” as it is so nicknamed, was brisk, as I began to realize my urge to poop. I am often constipated, so the urge felt welcoming that I was able to have another cleansing bm… The desire to relax and let go was a constant distraction as I let out little farts here and there, passing gas next to the occasional stranger walking his or her dog. The caps on the waves were fierce, that early spring, along Chicago’s windy waterfront stretch… Beckoning and welcoming me. I stopped to take a couple of photos and managed to capture a beautiful image of the waves striking rotting wooden projections in a diagonal procession like an abandoned path out to the endless horizon of the enormous lake… Some old, rotting wooden dike. It was cold enough that I also needed to pick up the pace for not wanting to expose my hands too much, and my nose began to run a little bit. Once I finally made it to the gay beach, I stopped a moment to watch a stranger surveying the horizon and cityscape, with a camera held out on two outstretched arms… She faced Foster Ave Beach, where I had just come from. Kathy Osterman beach, despite its fame, was a deserted wasteland of sand outstretched toward a distant concession stand. No one was around. A mere artifact of human life, that reminded of human presence was an old plastic wheelbarrow dislodged, half-buried in the sand up against the the walkway that enclosed this small hidden gem of a beach in Chicago…more interesting than other wastes, of plastic and more plastic disrupting the view and the sense of being immersed in anything related to “nature.” So I took a slow surveying glance, and moved on. And I began to think about human wastes… At the concession stand where there were also restrooms, were big metal barricades, blocking entry to the Men’s. A sign was posted, which read “Closed for the Season.” Oh darn, I thought. I’ll have no choice but to go in my pants. And the desire to let go entered the forefront of my mind again. Would I be able to do it? On the train maybe? How many blocks walk once I exit the train? Maybe no one will notice the smell on the train when the temperature is so low… I thought. To my dismay, I didn’t get a back-end seat to myself to let go at will and and soil the two seats there, that often had the aroma of day-old piss anyway… Where others had stopped to take a rest, slightly out of view, as if for the unknown stranger who just wanted to sit in the little booth at the back end to use as a restroom, and let it all drip onto the seats or whip it out and let go in a corner. The drunks always did it in their pants, and sometimes more than piss…a private pleasure most men are too shamed to admit… So, it was a grueling wait, as my excitement began to mount more and more until my stop finally arrived. Once I made it to the dog park I nervously surveyed the landscape for public passerby’s… Only one dog-Walker… I passed the bench at the opposite end, then thought maybe I could wait and find another bench. But an urge hit and I rethought my plans. Two strangers walking looked up askance at me as I contemplated my decision, and turned around walking towards them. As I sat down, the cold black iron bars cradled my ass, and the only urge that hit at that moment was to piss… That I hadn’t noticed before… A couple more passerby’s walked by, then another dog walker walked over toward the crest of the hill, and I realized this was my opportunity. I began to release in little urges, and the urine instantly warmed my crotch, and created a satisfying liquid sensation, that began to grow and spread really slowly, as my straddling muscles began to relax little by little… Then I began to hear the sound of the trickle and the tapping of the running tap leaking through the bars under my ass and hitting the cement below. Then I stopped. Another passerby… I placed my book bag in front of my crotch. My crotch was hidden by my coat anyway, which sagged a little in the front, presenting a little opportunity for mischief if I ever wanted to… That I hadn’t taken advantage of until just now. Then I removed the bag and examined my crotch. Only the slightest wet spot. I let out a little more, until I began to try to poop, but the constricting muscles were too strong. So I just sat there for a few moments… A hot guy and his dog walked by, and paused at a tree across from me. I glanced at his crotch, then up at his face, and wondered if he could tell what I was up to… He didn’t return my glance. As I checked him out my dick began to get hard and all urges temporarily subsided. I decided to try to go number two once I made it back to my apt safe and sound. My muscles were too tense at that time and I let myself enjoy the horny feeling of the slightly cool dampness around my crotch and back of my ass ride up and tighten as I walked… My horniness mounted as I walked and glanced around at all strangers and approaching vehicles, wondering if they could see any evidence at the back end, my slightly damp ass… Once only a couple blocks from home I had the nerve to walk in front of a stranger, a straight couple, wondering with nervousness and excitement if they could see what I had done. I wondered what their comments would have been… I decided that if they asked me I would tell them- yes, I wet my pants. What do you want to know about it? But no such encounter took place. I hoped my roommate wasn’t around. I didn’t want to explain that to him, haha. Once I made it to the bedroom I began to wet a little more, warming my crotch once again and spreading the wetness even more. And squatted at the foot of my bed and let a little juicy turd just slide out… It was soft, and lubricated the cleft of my ass beneath the fabric, adding extra dimension to the hot wetness. I sat in my leather chair and peed a little more until my bladder was emptied and it was definitely time to release in my pants once more. This time several shots of come into my underwear and jeans as I rubbed myself and humped the bed. Little moans of pleasure erupted from my mouth as I licked my finger and massaged my nipple, while imagining another cute guy with a hot wet mess cuddle up to me, rubbing his soft aromatic wetness against me as he began to suckle my nipples as he humped my thigh… And it was over. Aaaahhh… I laid there in the dampness of my bedspread and began to close my eyes… Reimagining the scenario…slightly tired from all that walking. Closed my eyes. Eventually the urges returned and I peed a little more, refreshing the dampness of my underwear with pants pulled down, straddled face down on the bed, and into the bedspread… And came again and again and again. And I longed for his scent and his touch.