My main “driver” for being a member here is my fetishistic attachment to  a single, but highly conspicuous wet accident I had in our school hall with upwards of 90 others in my ‘year’ there to witness it unfold. I was wearing corduroy school shorts at the time. I had to go home in my wet clothes and of course the cord shorts were very heavy with the wetness, leave alone my underpants, wet singlet and shirt tail and partially damp long school socks. Upon arrival at home, I was sent to the bathroom to get changed out of everything wet. Bearing mind that this was in the late 1950’s it was still not unusual in UK for all washing to be done by hand usually on a particular day of the week. Anyway, as this little wash load was unexpected and an unwelcome one-off as far as my mother was concerned, the items were rinsed and handwashed in warm water in the bathroom hand-basin. Whilst this was being done, I was questioned by my very cross mother about all the details of the episode – where, why, how..had I sked to go out to the toilet? why had I not gone at playtime etc.. I clearly temember her, during the hand-washing process, squeezing the soapy water out of them and lifting them up to smell the, presumable to feel happy that they no longer smelled of the wee that had saturated them. As she did this a 2nd or 3rd time she said “oh, you are a nuisance doing this!!” as if in reaction to the fact that it was taking a lot of manual effort to remove tthe traces of the wee  from the cord material. eventually, they were deemed clean enought because threy were finally wrung out and put to dry on the ouside washing line. (and what a give-away was that to neighbourss etc? just  my school shorts , underterpants, etc on the line and nothing else!!!!) . Anyway, next day I remember I had to wear something different because the corduroy shorts had not ‘aired’ enough according to my mother. But when it came to wearing them again for school, I felt very ‘funny’ about them. Hard to explain, but (a) because these were the shorts that, last time I wore them,  I had “wet” myself (b) going to school in them, it would be the first time I had worn them ‘dry’ since the accident – would other remember them with wet soaked bottom and crotch? (c) I THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE FOREVER BE TAINTED/IMPREGNATED with my wee. Of course the same underpants came round for wearing again, but somehow, I did not feel anything similar towards those – may be because I understood that they were ‘soiled’ in their everyday function and were often ‘boil washed’ and hence very clean after laundry. The shorts on the othe hand were not even washed weekly in normal course of things and were not designed to be drenched by taking a full scale wee in them, as I had done that afternoon. I do not remember feeling that they smelled even faintly of wee, but some years ago a friend at the time who was tolerant of my fetish said that be thought that once coduroy was soaked in wee/piss, it was the devil’s own job to eliminate all traces of odour. Elsewhere on the site, twoshades said It’s a nice feeling when I wear them and only I know about that subtle evidence of my dirty little habit. This is a bit akin to how I felt wearing those cord shorts to school until I grew out of them. For me I “knew” that these were the shorts that I had been “dirty in” when I wet on the floor during the singing lesson. (I was actually told off by the teacher in front of every one for “being dirty!”). I actually remember when they got too small, my mother gave then to me with some other too-small clothes to take to our school bring-and-buy/jumble sale held at end of term. I wondered whose mother bought them, oblivious of what I had done in them and their BIG significance to me. Of course no way would they fit me now, but how I wish I still had them!!!!! 🙂

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  1. I had a few partial wettings in junior school. Although they were sometimes pretty big wet spots I did not puddle on the floor and my mishaps were ignored in school except by a few other kids who took the Micky out of me. At the junior stage I was unaware of yellow stains or even being smelly. We had a uniform of dark blur cord shorts, grey shirt and for the most part we wore baggy white cotton trunks. Mum never complained about my stained and smelly undies. I suppose they must have been though.

    Senior school was more of a problem. Our uniform was the same until we changed to long corduroy trousers at 13. I quickly learned to dribble. In the mid 50’s we all wore our underpants for at least three days and it was not long before I noticed yellow and well skidded underpants. There were accidents because many teachers refused to let us go to the toilet during lessons. Every day one or two boys would get two or three swipes of the cane or gym slipper in front of the class.

    In my case parental reaction did not exist. Mum never ever mentioned the thick skid marks on the tail of my shirt or in my undies. She never complained about me smelling of wee through dribbling.

    One evening I did wet myself coming home from school and it was an accident. Mum’s comment was, “darling, you have wet your pants”. That was that.

    My next wetting was deliberate when I had got through college and into my own place. I have never stopped since.

  2. Cannot imagine either tale is imagined. They sound like education of the type I knew. I suppose it is because it was like that , that I am sitting in wet pants right now and loving it. I share you enjoyment of corduroy as it was what I first began regularly wetting. Mostly mine were lined and I remember the linings getting increasingly stained as time went by.

  3. I never intentionally wet myself or pooped in my pants in school or in any situation where I was likely to be found out. But the one time I was “caught out,” at least the one time I’m aware of, was when my mother found a VERY soiled, wet, stinky pair of jockey shorts in one of my dresser drawers. I was 19, and had been pooping and peeing in my pants and usually masturbating for six or maybe seven years, but somehow I managed to hide the evidence of what I thought must mental illness. I can’t imagine just how I managed that — we didn’t have a washing machine (my mother went to a laundromat once a week). It would have been very difficult to clean up after some of the messes I made, and there was almost no place to hide soiled clothing. I do know that I didn’t give in to my fetishes all that often, perhaps only a very few times a year because of the great difficulty of hiding my activities. Anyway…

    I was on a date in the evening when my mother found my filthy underwear. I suspect she smelled it and then went searching. The next day I found it clean and folded on my bed. My mom never said a word about it. Perhaps she thought I’d been ill. I was mortified, and soon talked to an army recruiter, quit college, and was off to boot camp. I hoped that being in the military would help me get rid of my “habit” — I didn’t know that the word fetish described the things I did in my pants. And four four year, because of the close living circumstances in the military, I was squeaky clean (except for late one night — just one —when my skivvies got just a little bit brown). But soon after discharge and getting my own apartment I was back to my old pleasures. As far as I know, my parents never did learn about my fetishes.

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