Part 1: Margaret’s B&B

We approached the drive of the house, and we both looked at one another and smiled as we saw the idyllic country house at the end. We were a little late having stopped at the pub to ask directions and then staying on in the pub for two hours, the locals were so friendly.

The house was old, with bits of roof everywhere and cute little dormer windows, and roses either side of the door. It could have been a studio set it was such a stereotype English country cottage.

Our smiles could not have been wider as Darren took our cases from the boot of the car and I knocked on the door.

Straight away a heavy latch lifted and the solid oak door creaked open to reveal a middle aged lady in a pink gingham dress.

“I’m Margaret.” Said the bubbly host as she stepped back to welcome us in. “You must be Darren and Jenna.” She added.

Margaret led us through the farmhouse sized kitchen. “Breakfast will be in here in the morning. What time will you want breakfast?” She asked.

Darren just said. “Umm.”

I said. “About nine, we are on holiday so won’t be getting up too early.”

“That’s fine.” Said Margaret, adding. “There is tea making facilities in your room should you want an earlier cuppa.”

Margaret then led us up a narrow winding staircase. At the top she pointed to a door at the end of a long passage. “That is your bathroom. There is no en suite here unfortunately, the old house will not accommodate the required plumbing unfortunately.”

Margaret then took us up a smaller staircase and along another passage to our room.

Margaret opened the door to a beautiful room. It was huge compared to the narrow passages, with big wardrobes, a slightly uneven floor covered with a variety of ancient rugs, and a huge bed.

“It’s beautiful!” I exclaimed.

Darren could only muster. “Very nice.”

We stepped inside and Margaret spoke again. “I am sorry that you don’t have an en suite bathroom, everyone expects them nowadays, so I quite understand if you need to pee in the night it is a little inconvenient to use the bathroom. If you do need to pee feel free to just do it in the bed. I am quite used to people wetting the bed it really is no problem.”

I was speechless, and Darren was standing with his mouth agape with nothing coming out too.

Before we were composed enough to converse Margaret had ducked out of the door and closed it behind her.

Darren at last spoke. “Well, I was not expecting that, and what with you never going a whole night without getting up to pee...”

“Don’t even think about it!” I said.

It had been a long day, and dusk was starting to fall, so we just unpacked the essentials and fell in to bed.

As I lay in bed taking in the opulence of the surroundings my bladder started to make its presence felt.

Darren noticed me fidgeting. “You’re like a jumping bean, relax, we’re on holiday.”

I explained. “We should not have stayed so long in the pub.”

Darren sagely recalled. “Ahh. The cider. It was good but you probably should not have had three pints of it. I am surprised you managed to get up all the stairs.”

“I am surprised too. I think it is just taking effect, the room is starting to feel a little unsteady. I don’t think I could make it all along that passage on my own.” I said realising that I was actually a little tipsy now.

“You will have to.” Said Darren. “I am all nice and cosy now, and anyway I am naked so I am not getting dressed again.”

“But I can’t go down that passage on my own.” I whined.

“Well, stop whining and pee in the bed like Margaret said. We need to get some sleep, at this rate we will still be awake at breakfast time.” said Darren, rather matter of factly, and now getting a little agitated.

“I can’t.” I whined again.

“Why not?” Said Darren now getting grumpier.

“I just can’t, and I don’t want to.” I said somewhat apologetically.

“If you stay lying there it is going to come out sooner or later. Just don’t do it on the rug, I don’t want to face Margaret in the morning asking why the rug is soaked with pee when she told you to pee in the bed.” Said Darren getting ever more practical.

“I can’t, I don’t want to.” I was almost crying now.

Darren was not sympathetic. “Surely this won’t be the first time you will have wet your bed? When was the last time?”

“I’m not saying.” I was properly crying now.

“Oh Jenna, you can’t say that and not tell me. So when was it last week? last year? You’ve done it before so it’s no big deal, just pee!”

“I’m not telling.” I said adamantly.

Darren was practical again. “It’s not like just peeing in bed is going to make you incontinent or anything, just do it and then we can have some sleep.”

“It is not as simple as that.” I said, again giving too much information.

“As simple as what? Tell me, piss the bed, and go to sleep.” Said grumpy Darren.

“As simple as just stopping wetting the bed.” I said.

“So you used to wet the bed, and now you don’t, so it is not a problem. When did you wet the bed?”

“Last year.” I said sheepishly.

Darren now sounded incredulous. “What, you were still in nappies last year?”

“No.” I corrected him. “I was wetting my bed.”

“But we met last year, and you were not wetting the bed, I would have noticed, I do my own washing don’t forget.” said Darren, a little disbelieving.

“Before we met.” I said. “I did not start using the dating app until I stopped wetting my bed. That is why I have been single so long.”

“Oh.” Said Darren, trying to process the information.

“But you stopped?” Said Darren, still not understanding.

I started to gush. “It was hard to stop, not because I was incontinent, but because I liked it. I loved wetting my bed, I loved it so much that I would forgo having a relationship so I could keep doing it.”

“Oh.” Said Darren again. “So you liked wetting your bed, but you don’t like it now?”

“No!” I shouted exasperatedly. “I loved wetting my bed, and I will still love it. You don’t realise how nice it feels. That initial trickle of pee trickling down my crack, feeling that initial trickle soak under my bottom cooling the sheet. Then as I turn on to my side and release another spurt feeing it trickle over my thigh and run down. Then as I lay on my back and pull up my knees and release my pee full blast on to my ankles and feet. You have no idea of how delicious that feels as the warmth caresses my feet and the strong flow stimulates my clitoris. You don’t feel the sense of disappointment as my flow wanes and I try and squeeze out a last spurt of pee and there is nothing left until morning when I can do it again. Lying there in that delicious warmth and wetness as it soaks away in to the mattress is just so relaxing and I go straight to sleep.”

I had said it. I had admitted to my boyfriend that I had been a bedwetter, and that I had enjoyed being a deliberate bedwetter.

“So, I was why you stopped wetting your bed?” Said Darren now feeling important.

“No. I was nineteen, about to be twenty. Grown women don’t forgo meaningful lifelong relationships just because they want to keep wetting their beds.”

“Oh.” Said Darren again.

I continued. “That, and the springs rusted through my mattress again and I had to get a new one, and I just suddenly had the willpower to not wet my bed with a new mattress.”

“Oh.” Said Darren.

Darren clearly thought for a bit. “So you have given up once, it won’t be hard, you won’t want to pee in our bed when we get back home.”

We both lay in silence for a while, well apart from me lying on my back and still fidgeting a bit.

I was getting really desperate now. I pulled my knees up and pressed my left heel in to my crotch to try and distract me from the discomfort a bit.

I thought about what Darren had said. Perhaps it would be possible now, I had done it and I could do it again.

I relaxed. I felt that first trickle of pee run down my crack and soak under me. It felt delicious. Why had I given up completely? I could have just kept a little trickle every night for myself and no one would notice.

I relaxed more and let my pee out full blast on my ankles. I heard the familiar hiss and felt the warmth caressing my feet, and the warmth pooling under me.