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I have posted on the bw forum about what I got up to on Saturday, but seeing as the wetting-myself-in-a-pub situation was the only one that got noticed, I figured I should post here too. Basically I went down to London for a night of public wetting as my gf is away.
There have been a few things I have always wanted to 'do'. Wetting the bed in a hostel in front of people was one, and I have also always wanted to spend a day in a pub really connecting with someone, such as a member of staff, and then 'having an accident' in front of them which they'll put down to me being hammered. I have also wanted to re-do what I did for real when I was about 17, which is pass out and piss myself on a night bus, only to be woken up by the driver when they parked the bus in the depot at the end of the night. I have also always wanted to piss myself in a gay club - not really sure why, I am 100% hetro, but I think perhaps it's the sub in me. Away from my fetish I am actually quite an old-fashioned romantic and generally see my role as a man is to look after my girl, so getting them to look down on me for wetting myself builds up contrasting emotions, where as 'having an accident' in front of a man makes me feel it is ok to act the part of helpless little drunk. On a final note, the recent spate of wetting accidents induced by the legal-high salvia has made me want to try it, not that I expected it would result in a wetting.
So yesterday I headed to London with only a vague plan of what to do, but hoping to fulfil some of the above. This is what happened.
To begin with I visited a shop in Docklands that sells all kinds of smoking paraphernalia, and brought myself some salvia x10. I have to say I tried it today and it's fucking weird shit. I didn't wet myself whilst tripping, nor did I see any dragons at the end of my bed as seems to be the usual internet story, but it is a weird feeling. Makes youtube videos 100% better because you feel like you are actually in the scene and these people are actually talking with you, which makes me the wetting youtubes great, but apart from that salvia is just weird stuff.
Anyway, from there I went to get a hostel room. I had picked out St Christophers Village because it seemed to be the biggest party hostel. Then I hit snag #1 for the evening - it's the day of the pride march in London and the hostel is full. The lady thinks most hostels will be full. Bugger.
I realise I am going to have to spend some time walking the streets to find a bed for the night so I crack on with the first beer of the evening. I eventually get the last available bed at Clink78 near Kings Cross. It's a top bunk, which I didn't want, because when I am tanked up and wet the bed I can pee quite a flood, and whilst I don't mind wetting a plastic hostel mattress, I draw the line at peeing on the poor person on the bed beneath me. But at least it's a room for the night. I pop some dandilion root pills and crack on with more beer. I also found a nice hiding spot in a local park for an old pair on dry trousers, as I want to be dry when I walk back into the hostel and, although I didn't have a set plan for the evening, I was sure it would involve a public wetting somewhere. I then grabbed some food, did some bladder stretching (i.e. getting FUCKING desperate and holding and holding and holding - eventually nipped into a pub to have the longest pee ever).
Then I was all set for the first one of the night - the pub wetting.
The destination I chose for a few reasons. There are 6 million people in London but I know enough of them to want to avoid the west end (sod's law I'd be walking round in pissed pants and meet someone I know) and I wanted somewhere I'd be able to talk to people, so that meant avoiding the bigger pubs or chain pubs. I settled on a pub close to Kings Cross station that is both small and exceptionly seedy! There are a handful of not particularly good looking strippers and a handful of generally old, male, drunk customers. Perfect.
By the time I got to this place I was pretty drunk. Cue some more beer and I am hammered. Then along comes Cindy, one of the handful of 'dancers' at the bar who come along with a pot for each punter to donate a pound into before they dance. I found out that Cindy is 31, from Sweden, and she is showing some genuine concern for my extreme drunkenesss because a) she wants my money and b) she can see that I am really hammered, so she thinks she'll be able to get money out of me more easily. I think she was also perhaps genuinely wanted to make sure I was ok because I looked a drunken wreck, but who knows. She certainly took a few quid off me, but I didn't care much.
I slurred away to her about absolute rubbish for a couple of hours, hence I know her name, age etc. I was pretty fucked genuinely, although I pretended to be really fucked. It must have looked good because the barman refused to serve me alcohol after a while because of my state, which is quite an achievement in a seedy bar that would probably still serve Charlie Sheen at the end of an all-nighter. Cindy, who's accent was lovely, showed me lots of concern and promised to look after me and tell me when it was coming to time to get my (pretend) train home etc. Every now and then she would get up to dance and, as I was drunkenly struggling with counting my money, she was taking her massive tip from me (all she was really after), then she would come back after her dance to chat some more. There were at most times perhaps 10 people in the bar so it was pretty cosy.
Late in the evening I realised it was time for the big moment. I didn't pee a lot initially, just enough to wet my crotch and ass a bit. I was wearing grey jeans, sat on a bar stool in a badly lit part of the bar, so it was really not clear what I'd done. I let out a little more bit by bit for maybe 15 mins as Cindy spoke to a couple of other punters, a couple more of the girls came to check if I was ok, and Cindy came back to 'look after me' some more. No one had noticed as yet. Cindy asked me my age, and I said 23 (which I can pass for) so she was being something of a mother hen to the young drunk man. She had been telling me what to do for a while, 'guiding me through the evening' so to speak. Just things like "why don't you just drink a little water", "I think just drink some red bull ok?" and "so are you going to give me a nice tip yes?" etc. I played up to the role of young and nice, but very drunk.
Then came the best part. The wet patch on my lap was a reasonable size by now, probably more than a dinner plate on the top of my jeans as I sat, and a fair way down the backs of my thighs. Cindy was stood next to me while we talked, oblivious to it, and then I caught the moment that she noticed. She did well to contain herself I have to say, she could have burst into a fit of giggles and outed me to the whole pub, but she didn't. I find the idea of her thoughts in that moment quite sexy. What does a woman think when she sees that this poor young man, so drunk, has wet himself in public?
Well to be fair she did her best to keep my dignity intact. She walked round behind me and, without even mentioning the pee stain, just said "I think perhaps it's time you get your train now ok darling?". Quite sweet actually because she was making a mint from me, but having seen that I'd wet myself I guess she also thought it was really time I called it a night. I mumbled an ok and attempted to stand up, which another guy in the bar had to help me do. At this point a few people must have noticed my state. I pretended I was totally unaware of it.
At this point Cindy left me in the hands of the other punter, who led me outside towards the station where I had told them I needed to get my train home. As I left, I glanced behind to see that Cindy and the barman laughing at what I am sure was my expense. I find it a bit of a thrill to think that the girls probably spent the rest of the evening laughing about the poor drunk lad who wet himself.
Outside, I sat with the friendly punter who helped me up for a few minutes - including half way through complaining "I think I spilled my drink in my lap, which he didn't choose to correct me on, but I he must have been thinking "No mate, you pissed yourself!". After convincing him that I was ok to get home alone (or else he'd just had enough), he headed back to the pub and I staggered to the park to where I had hidden my dry trousers. No one else said anything to me, and probably half the people on the street didn't even notice! As the wet patch wasn't massive I sat in the park for a bit, to try to get the grey jeans to dry through my body heat. It was pitch black, so I was undisturbed for a while. I headed to an off-license (in the dry clothing!) for some more beer and carried on enjoying the warm night air in the park.
Although I'd had a thrill at the pub, I wasn't ready to call it a night yet, so I headed for a bus which I had pre planned - the #17 to Archway. I liked this bus because I it wasn't a night bus, so I was sure it would be heading to the depot when it was finished with at about 1am. Back in my grey jeans, which had dried enough by now to look fine, I caught the bus, sat at the back upstairs and feigning sleep, wet myself again as the bus wound it's way through to it's final detination.
Unlike the first, genuine, time I did this all those years ago when the driver of the bus had come upstairs to kick me off and seen my wet trousers, this time the driver drove his bus back to the depot and must have just gone straight home for the night! But I was seen, and kicked off, by some cleaning staff a few mins later. Unlike the smirks I left behind at the pub, I don't think this cleaning guy even raised an eyebrow. I had fully soaked myself, so he MUST have seen, my jeans were black and glistening down the inside of my legs. But he said nothing about it, just asked me to leave the bus and got on with sweeping the floor.
On my (very) long walk from Archway back to Kings X I did get stopped by a lovely couple who were very concered for my well being. I just mumbled that I'd had a little too much to drink and carried on the stagger. Again, no laughs, but they must have clocked the obvious and large wetness.
By the time I got back to Kings X it was about 3am. (Tip for anyone walking from Archway to Kings X, it's actually a bloody long way!). Back to the park, and into my dry faded blue jeans for the final act - the hostel.
Now I don't want to big it up.... the hostel was a bit of a let down. I had hoped to bond with my roommates before going for the night out and, hoping for a party hostel, I was hoping the lights would be on for everyone to see my shame as if I had pissed myself at a house party. Sadly, with the last minute find of a bed for the night, it didn't work out like that. The room was darkness when I got in, everyone else was either out or asleep. I made sure I was empty before sleeping, because I was genuinely concered about peeing a flood and soaking the poor guy underneath.
In the event, I woke up this morning and I was wet, but not a huge amount. I don't think anyone had even seen it. A few things conspired against me - the bunks were high and side by side, with a screen in between. That meant you could basically only see each persons feet. And with the height, and with me not knowing anyone else in the room, I don't think anyone had even looked up. Perhaps in a different hostel it would have been better.
I eventually got up this morning, changed and checked out.
So overall, a very enjoyable trip to the pub last night, followed by a 'successful' bus trip and hostel stay, albeit without the reactions that I got at the pub and that I find so erotic. I hope the girls at the pub keep talking about and laughing for a few more nights at the drunk lad who wet himself.
Aloo
There have been a few things I have always wanted to 'do'. Wetting the bed in a hostel in front of people was one, and I have also always wanted to spend a day in a pub really connecting with someone, such as a member of staff, and then 'having an accident' in front of them which they'll put down to me being hammered. I have also wanted to re-do what I did for real when I was about 17, which is pass out and piss myself on a night bus, only to be woken up by the driver when they parked the bus in the depot at the end of the night. I have also always wanted to piss myself in a gay club - not really sure why, I am 100% hetro, but I think perhaps it's the sub in me. Away from my fetish I am actually quite an old-fashioned romantic and generally see my role as a man is to look after my girl, so getting them to look down on me for wetting myself builds up contrasting emotions, where as 'having an accident' in front of a man makes me feel it is ok to act the part of helpless little drunk. On a final note, the recent spate of wetting accidents induced by the legal-high salvia has made me want to try it, not that I expected it would result in a wetting.
So yesterday I headed to London with only a vague plan of what to do, but hoping to fulfil some of the above. This is what happened.
To begin with I visited a shop in Docklands that sells all kinds of smoking paraphernalia, and brought myself some salvia x10. I have to say I tried it today and it's fucking weird shit. I didn't wet myself whilst tripping, nor did I see any dragons at the end of my bed as seems to be the usual internet story, but it is a weird feeling. Makes youtube videos 100% better because you feel like you are actually in the scene and these people are actually talking with you, which makes me the wetting youtubes great, but apart from that salvia is just weird stuff.
Anyway, from there I went to get a hostel room. I had picked out St Christophers Village because it seemed to be the biggest party hostel. Then I hit snag #1 for the evening - it's the day of the pride march in London and the hostel is full. The lady thinks most hostels will be full. Bugger.
I realise I am going to have to spend some time walking the streets to find a bed for the night so I crack on with the first beer of the evening. I eventually get the last available bed at Clink78 near Kings Cross. It's a top bunk, which I didn't want, because when I am tanked up and wet the bed I can pee quite a flood, and whilst I don't mind wetting a plastic hostel mattress, I draw the line at peeing on the poor person on the bed beneath me. But at least it's a room for the night. I pop some dandilion root pills and crack on with more beer. I also found a nice hiding spot in a local park for an old pair on dry trousers, as I want to be dry when I walk back into the hostel and, although I didn't have a set plan for the evening, I was sure it would involve a public wetting somewhere. I then grabbed some food, did some bladder stretching (i.e. getting FUCKING desperate and holding and holding and holding - eventually nipped into a pub to have the longest pee ever).
Then I was all set for the first one of the night - the pub wetting.
The destination I chose for a few reasons. There are 6 million people in London but I know enough of them to want to avoid the west end (sod's law I'd be walking round in pissed pants and meet someone I know) and I wanted somewhere I'd be able to talk to people, so that meant avoiding the bigger pubs or chain pubs. I settled on a pub close to Kings Cross station that is both small and exceptionly seedy! There are a handful of not particularly good looking strippers and a handful of generally old, male, drunk customers. Perfect.
By the time I got to this place I was pretty drunk. Cue some more beer and I am hammered. Then along comes Cindy, one of the handful of 'dancers' at the bar who come along with a pot for each punter to donate a pound into before they dance. I found out that Cindy is 31, from Sweden, and she is showing some genuine concern for my extreme drunkenesss because a) she wants my money and b) she can see that I am really hammered, so she thinks she'll be able to get money out of me more easily. I think she was also perhaps genuinely wanted to make sure I was ok because I looked a drunken wreck, but who knows. She certainly took a few quid off me, but I didn't care much.
I slurred away to her about absolute rubbish for a couple of hours, hence I know her name, age etc. I was pretty fucked genuinely, although I pretended to be really fucked. It must have looked good because the barman refused to serve me alcohol after a while because of my state, which is quite an achievement in a seedy bar that would probably still serve Charlie Sheen at the end of an all-nighter. Cindy, who's accent was lovely, showed me lots of concern and promised to look after me and tell me when it was coming to time to get my (pretend) train home etc. Every now and then she would get up to dance and, as I was drunkenly struggling with counting my money, she was taking her massive tip from me (all she was really after), then she would come back after her dance to chat some more. There were at most times perhaps 10 people in the bar so it was pretty cosy.
Late in the evening I realised it was time for the big moment. I didn't pee a lot initially, just enough to wet my crotch and ass a bit. I was wearing grey jeans, sat on a bar stool in a badly lit part of the bar, so it was really not clear what I'd done. I let out a little more bit by bit for maybe 15 mins as Cindy spoke to a couple of other punters, a couple more of the girls came to check if I was ok, and Cindy came back to 'look after me' some more. No one had noticed as yet. Cindy asked me my age, and I said 23 (which I can pass for) so she was being something of a mother hen to the young drunk man. She had been telling me what to do for a while, 'guiding me through the evening' so to speak. Just things like "why don't you just drink a little water", "I think just drink some red bull ok?" and "so are you going to give me a nice tip yes?" etc. I played up to the role of young and nice, but very drunk.
Then came the best part. The wet patch on my lap was a reasonable size by now, probably more than a dinner plate on the top of my jeans as I sat, and a fair way down the backs of my thighs. Cindy was stood next to me while we talked, oblivious to it, and then I caught the moment that she noticed. She did well to contain herself I have to say, she could have burst into a fit of giggles and outed me to the whole pub, but she didn't. I find the idea of her thoughts in that moment quite sexy. What does a woman think when she sees that this poor young man, so drunk, has wet himself in public?
Well to be fair she did her best to keep my dignity intact. She walked round behind me and, without even mentioning the pee stain, just said "I think perhaps it's time you get your train now ok darling?". Quite sweet actually because she was making a mint from me, but having seen that I'd wet myself I guess she also thought it was really time I called it a night. I mumbled an ok and attempted to stand up, which another guy in the bar had to help me do. At this point a few people must have noticed my state. I pretended I was totally unaware of it.
At this point Cindy left me in the hands of the other punter, who led me outside towards the station where I had told them I needed to get my train home. As I left, I glanced behind to see that Cindy and the barman laughing at what I am sure was my expense. I find it a bit of a thrill to think that the girls probably spent the rest of the evening laughing about the poor drunk lad who wet himself.
Outside, I sat with the friendly punter who helped me up for a few minutes - including half way through complaining "I think I spilled my drink in my lap, which he didn't choose to correct me on, but I he must have been thinking "No mate, you pissed yourself!". After convincing him that I was ok to get home alone (or else he'd just had enough), he headed back to the pub and I staggered to the park to where I had hidden my dry trousers. No one else said anything to me, and probably half the people on the street didn't even notice! As the wet patch wasn't massive I sat in the park for a bit, to try to get the grey jeans to dry through my body heat. It was pitch black, so I was undisturbed for a while. I headed to an off-license (in the dry clothing!) for some more beer and carried on enjoying the warm night air in the park.
Although I'd had a thrill at the pub, I wasn't ready to call it a night yet, so I headed for a bus which I had pre planned - the #17 to Archway. I liked this bus because I it wasn't a night bus, so I was sure it would be heading to the depot when it was finished with at about 1am. Back in my grey jeans, which had dried enough by now to look fine, I caught the bus, sat at the back upstairs and feigning sleep, wet myself again as the bus wound it's way through to it's final detination.
Unlike the first, genuine, time I did this all those years ago when the driver of the bus had come upstairs to kick me off and seen my wet trousers, this time the driver drove his bus back to the depot and must have just gone straight home for the night! But I was seen, and kicked off, by some cleaning staff a few mins later. Unlike the smirks I left behind at the pub, I don't think this cleaning guy even raised an eyebrow. I had fully soaked myself, so he MUST have seen, my jeans were black and glistening down the inside of my legs. But he said nothing about it, just asked me to leave the bus and got on with sweeping the floor.
On my (very) long walk from Archway back to Kings X I did get stopped by a lovely couple who were very concered for my well being. I just mumbled that I'd had a little too much to drink and carried on the stagger. Again, no laughs, but they must have clocked the obvious and large wetness.
By the time I got back to Kings X it was about 3am. (Tip for anyone walking from Archway to Kings X, it's actually a bloody long way!). Back to the park, and into my dry faded blue jeans for the final act - the hostel.
Now I don't want to big it up.... the hostel was a bit of a let down. I had hoped to bond with my roommates before going for the night out and, hoping for a party hostel, I was hoping the lights would be on for everyone to see my shame as if I had pissed myself at a house party. Sadly, with the last minute find of a bed for the night, it didn't work out like that. The room was darkness when I got in, everyone else was either out or asleep. I made sure I was empty before sleeping, because I was genuinely concered about peeing a flood and soaking the poor guy underneath.
In the event, I woke up this morning and I was wet, but not a huge amount. I don't think anyone had even seen it. A few things conspired against me - the bunks were high and side by side, with a screen in between. That meant you could basically only see each persons feet. And with the height, and with me not knowing anyone else in the room, I don't think anyone had even looked up. Perhaps in a different hostel it would have been better.
I eventually got up this morning, changed and checked out.
So overall, a very enjoyable trip to the pub last night, followed by a 'successful' bus trip and hostel stay, albeit without the reactions that I got at the pub and that I find so erotic. I hope the girls at the pub keep talking about and laughing for a few more nights at the drunk lad who wet himself.
Aloo
, but a brave one and I have got up to stuff that was nearly as crazy before.
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