My last genuine wetting occurred about 3 months before I turned 13.
Back then, the Sunday paper was home delivered on Saturday evening. I was a paperboy, and had a pretty good route.
It started a couple of blocks from home, and followed a major road for about a mile with houses the entire length on one side and finishing at a shop. I would then cross the road and walk back serving the houses on the other side.
On that side there were houses at the start and finish, with a race course in the middle part. The last stop of the night, across the road from where I had started was the pub. I would get to the pub about 8:30, when most of the patrons were getting well lubricated.
For good reason, mum didn't like me going into a pub full of drunk people by myself at 8:30 on a Saturday night aged only 12. I would do my round, pulling a little cart with my papers in it, and she would meet me outside the pub and walk home with me.
So on this night, I'm walking past the race course towards the last few homes, and my waiting mother, and being a cold night, combined with the drink I bought at the shop meant I really wanted a pee. I must have been holding myself a bit because mum noticed and asked me.
I confirmed my need, and she told me to ask the bartender for permission to use the bathroom after I sold my papers. I sold a few papers, and as usual got good tips from the patrons, along with the usual friendly stirring. I WAS going to ask for the bathroom, but at the last moment dropped my last papers. Supplements, magazines and lift outs dropped everywhere. This of course led to a drunken round of applause and more good natured teasing. Nothing mean, but very embarrassing.
I quickly retrieved my papers and made a bee line for the door. "Are you going to the toilet?" Mum asked.
"I can wait till we get home" was my reply.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Let's just get out of here."
We started of home, with my already large need to pee increasing even more as I stepped into the cold air once more. Again I found myself squeezing the crotch of my brown corduroy jeans.
I hadn't wet my pants for nearly a year, and while I honestly thought that wet accidents were a thing of the past, I was getting worried. I mean I was going to be a teenager soon, and teenagers don't wet themselves. I had started enjoying deliberate wetting in private at this age, but in no way did I want an accident in front of my mother!
As we crossed the last side street, I was paying more attention to my bladder than my paper cart. I stepped up the gutter, one hand pulling at my pants, the other pulling the cart. All of a sudden the wheel on my cart dropped into a drain grate and got stuck.
It didn't dislodge easy, so I had to turn around, put both hands on the handle and pull hard. It came loose suddenly, and I stumbled backwards with surprise.
The shock, combined with the fact I wasn't holding myself anymore was enough. I wet my corduroy pants! Not a full on no holes barred accident, but a sudden giant squirt followed by a 2-3 second loss of control. I turned away from mum and quickly latched onto my crotch again, feeling soaking wet fabric there. Mum hadn't noticed, and I didn't tell her. As we passed under a street light, I took a surreptitious look down to see the damage.
I had the classic wet spot. Perfectly round, the size of a small plate, but nothing running down my legs. The brown corduroy showed it off perfectly.....
I spent the rest of the 2 minute walk home with my hand trying to hide the evidence. Mum saw me holding and said "Don't worry sweetie, nearly there. You can do a wee in the yard in a minute."
We got to our house and I bolted for the backyard while mum went inside. I quickly unzipped, pulled my drenched undies aside and relieved my aching bladder. I then quickly hurried inside and went to my room. I checked out the mirror, and saw a very young looking boy staring back at me with very wet pants. Although I was embarrassed, there was something about the image that stirred emotions in me that I didn't quite understand.
I took my clothes off and stashed my pants under the bed. I put my pyjamas on and came back out. Mum told me I needed a shower, so off to the bathroom I went.
When I got out I heard mum calling me from the laundry. When I got there, she's holding my jeans in one hand and my undies in the other.
"Why didn't you go to the toilet at the pub?"
"I was embarrassed" I said.
"Embarrassed to use the toilet but not to wet yourself like a baby. Honestly Barry, I thought we were over this. You're way to old to be doing a wee in your pants like this. I understand it was an accident, but you're a big boy now and shouldn't wet yourself if you can ask for the toilet."
This was quite a big telling off from mum. She also told dad, which she never did (as far as I know) and I copped an embarrassing lecture from him as well.
When I went to bed that night, I was feeling down and quite little. I went through my drawers and dug out some old training pants and plastic panties left over from my bed wetting days. I wore those under my pyjamas that night, and they made me feel secure and comfortable.
I continued wetting on purpose and in private after that, but that was my last actual wetting accident, aged 12.
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