Chapter 1

It all started one cold, wet Saturday evening when there was nothing worth watching on the television and there wasn't enough money in the kitty to go to the pub. Totally out of boredom I turned on the PC and started to surf the net. Nothing exciting there either so I decided to pick up my e-mail. The usual mixture of spam, 'hello - is anyone there' type notes on some previously quiet communities and some supposedly funny messages from people who call me a friend... and then, quite unexpectedly, a well written, literate article on a message passed on through a OneList group that I belong to. At the end of the message, there's a link to the writer's personal site and an invitation to take a look. Well, the message was of better than usual quality and the subject matter of interest to me so I pressed the link...

Internet Explorer cut back in again and I found myself not at the Web Site that I was expecting but in something called MSN Communities and the site was asking if I had a Passport or not. Passport? What the hell was that? Pressed the 'no' button. Oh, damn, one of those annoying forms to be filled in. Name... e-mail address... yeah, yeah... ticked that I accept Microsoft's liability clause... yes, I'm over eighteen... oh, good, after all this prating about, the Community Manager is going to consider my request to join his group...

Well, the Community Manager must have been as bored as I was because, within half an hour, I'd been accepted as a member of his group - pissing_underwear_and_jocks...

Over the next few weeks there was a steady trickle of postings from the community. Most of it the usual rather immature rubbish but the occasional gem and the odd interesting graphic of urine leaking out of a man's underwear while his cock was outlined like something in a wet t-shirt competition. But the Community Manager, or Bill as I've now found out that he's called, seemed to be a good bloke. We exchanged private e-mail addresses and started to fire messages back and forth, quickly establishing that neither of us was gay before going on to detail our first grown up pant wetting experiences to each other - his was caused by nerves while at school as he stood outside the Headmaster's office having failed a Latin examination; my own was due to necessity as I came home along a motorway on my Honda CX500 with a desperate urge and not service area to be seen. In the end I just let it go and found, to my surprise, that I enjoyed the sensation of warm dampness trickling down my legs and into the cleft of my arse. After that it had become a sort of regular thing, peeing my pants, in mean. Mostly outdoors at first, doing it walking in the park which was then followed by a guilty dash home. Later, getting more adventurous, I was releasing the flood gates in the local shopping precinct, sitting on one of the benches. I eventually reached the ultimate - pissing a load while simultaneously drinking in the pub on a Saturday night and leaving a pool of dampness soaking into a chair, awaiting the next unsuspecting customer to take a seat.

I quickly realised by the '.co.uk' ending on Bill's address that he too lived in the Britain and, after a little prodding and some general building up of trust on both our parts, we confided where we lived to each other... and got the shock of our lives when we discovered that only five miles and a short trip between two towns separated us! Another flurry of e-mails shot back and forth and we agreed to meet up the next weekend. Bill's wife was going off to stay with her sister on the Saturday morning and wouldn't be returning until late on the Sunday night which would mean that we'd have his house to ourselves for almost thirty-six hours. When the weekend finally arrived, I threw a couple of spare sets of clothes into the panniers and, firing up the bike (now a Triumph Bonneville) set off on the short trip round to Bill's.

Bill turned out to be a little older, balder and tubbier than I was expecting, but he welcomed me at the door of his detached two storey house in the suburbs warmly enough and, once we were inside, he immediately offered me a coffee. Considering what the pair of us were anticipating getting up to, I agreed... and was promptly handed the largest mug of a steaming brew that I'd ever seen. Bill poured a second mug for himself and, once we'd disposed of that, he showed me up to the guest room before leaving me to sort myself out. After the clothes were placed hurridly into the drawers and closet, I returned to the ground floor and we set off for the pub, arriving just as it opened. Not wanting to get too drunk, we settled on pints of shandy and began quaffing. One round - fine. The second round - faint warning tingles from the bladder. Third round - definite urging being registered. Fourth pint - beginning to squirm about a little in an effort to relieve the pressure. Bill looked at me and shot a glance towards the door. "Not here," he said, "This is my local, after all, and they know me. Outside."

Smiling in anticipation, I stood and followed Bill out into the street. The bright afternoon sunlight and the cloudless blue sky took us both by surprise but the moment passed quickly and we set off down the tree-lined main road back towards his house. Suddenly Bill paused and his hand lightly grasped my wrist. He never said a word, just parted his feet a little and closed his eyes. A blissful expression crossed his face and a very faint hissing came from his groin. Fascinated, I glanced down - I'd never actually witnessed this moment before - pants pissing had always been a solitary experience for me previously. And, actually, there was very little to see - most folk seem to expect a damp patch to almost instantly appear round the zip area but this isn't the case; generally speaking, most of the urine trickles down the inner thighs, sticking to the legs and only staining the inner parts of the trouser legs and the absolute base of the crotch. Not even very much trickles out into space - certainly not the flood that occurs when one is only wearing underpants and most of the pee instantly flows through the thin cotton material and cascades vertically down to the ground. But all that didn't matter for, caught up in the moment, I released my muscles too and allowed my piss to be forced out. God, it felt so good! The relief from the pressure linked to the kick of doing it public was terrific... but to have company too - ah, bliss! Once the pair of us had finished, we pressed on hastily leaving two small puddles behind. Already the damp patches on our jeans were turning cold and the pleasure was fading. Only one person of the many we encountered on that walk gave us a strange look as we passed - a little old lady taking her equally decrepit dog to the park. Slightly tipsy from the beer, we giggled at the look on her face and hurried on our way.

Back in the house we quickly stripped off, tossing our soaked jeans, pants and socks into the kitchen by the washing machine. The clothes from my top half I piled onto my bed before, at Bill's suggestion, I headed into the bathroom to soak in the tub while he used the downstairs shower cubicle. I let the warm water relax me as I idled there... but all too soon I could hear Bill moving round the kitchen so, reluctantly, I levered myself out and started to towel off. Over the bath was one of those five string extendable washing line things and, hanging from it was a selection of Bill's wife's underwear. One of the pairs of knickers kind of attracted me - well, I've always got a kick out of wearing women's panties and these were some of those smooth, shiny satin ones with a semi-transparent lacy panel at the front. Little blue bows were sewn round the waistband and two small 'pearls' dangled from the lace front. I couldn't resist - I took them off the line and slipped them on. A little rearranging of my cock and balls and they felt very comfortable. I admired myself in the mirror noticing, as I did so, that John Thomas was beginning to come to attention... and I smiled. I just looked so damned good... at which point the door suddenly opened and Bill popped his head round the corner. "You ready for some lunch..." he said, his voice trailing away as he spotted what I was wearing.

"Oh," I lamely replied. "I... erm... hope you don't mind..." I shrugged my shoulders and felt my face reddening.

Give Bill his due, he recovered quickly. "No, not at all. Whatever makes you comfortable. Just don't pee in them, okay?"

I smiled. "Sure, mate... no problem." The say was still sunny and fine and, since Bill's house was quite isolated and fully centrally heated, I followed him down for lunch without putting anything else on. Bill himself was wearing an old dressing gown and slippers. We carried the sandwiches and some cans of beer through to the lounge and plopped ourselves down onto the sofa. Bill put the TV on and Match of The Day flickered onto life on the screen. We'd already missed the first half of the game, but what the hell! We soon picked up the plot, as it were and hit the second set of cans...

By three o'clock, the television was flickering away to itself with the sound turned off, Bill was asleep and I was nodding, one hand tucked into the pants and gently easing my foreskin back and forth. Looking back on it now, I have to say that I didn't hear the front door open and the first clue I got that my world was about to end was when a female voice suddenly cried out, "Darling! I'm home!" Before I could react, the owner of the voice walked into the room and promptly did a double take. She was tall and muscular with long, flowing black hair that reached down to her bum; shapely legs emerged from a practical knee-length pleated skirt which was complemented by a expensive silk white blouse and a cashmere cardigan to match the colour of the skirt; she must have been in her early thirties, a little younger than her husband. By now I'd managed to stand and, holding both arms outstretched in front of me, palms towards her, I hesitantly took a few steps forward. "Erm... it's alright," I started, "I'm a friend of your husbands..." My voice trailed away as I saw her eyes were focussed upon my groin.