Like Mother, Like Daughter

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting.
‘Hurry up, Lucy! It’s Saturday, don’t forget – if we miss the train, there won’t be another for more than two hours, and I really don’t want to take the car.’
‘Coming!’
Rebecca grinned to herself as her daughter crashed down the stairs. Although in age technically and legally an adult she may be, but Lucy could still be a noisy adolescent when she wanted to.
‘Okay, then. I’m ready.’ Lucy put her arms round her mother’s neck and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Mum– I’ve been looking forward to today for ages and ages.’
Today they were going on a shopping trip to London. It was a belated treat for Lucy’s 18th birthday – belated by several weeks, in fact, due to Rebecca’s work and Lucy’s college commitments. And although it was actually Lucy’s treat, Rebecca had been looking forward to it as much as she knew Lucy was.
‘Me, too.’ Rebecca returned her daughter’s hug. ‘Come on then, let’s go.’
They set off for the train station. Despite the fact that it was Saturday, and knowing that the London traffic would be nothing like it was during the week, Rebecca had decided to leave the car behind today and take the train. She’d never really liked driving in London, and besides, cheap day return tickets at the weekend had certainly cost her less than she’d have spent on petrol and parking.
The train was already waiting at the platform when they arrived at the station. It was only three carriages, but it looked brand new, and seemed a lot cleaner than the last train Rebecca had travelled on. There were few people about, in stark contrast to what it would have been like on a weekday. Rebecca recalled the last time she had travelled to London by train; along with a lot of other people, she’d had to stand all the way. Today, however, apart from a man and woman at the other end, they had the entire carriage to themselves.
The train began to move a minute or two later, rattling over the points as it accelerated away from the station. Lucy jumped up. ‘Back in a minute’, she said, ‘I need the loo.’
She returned a very short time later (hardly time to have used the toilet, Rebecca thought) looking a little annoyed. ‘Can you believe that?’ she asked. ‘There’s only one toilet on the whole train, and it’s out of order!’ She sat down again. Almost immediately, she began to fidget about, crossing and uncrossing her legs, and quite unable to sit still.
After a few minutes she asked, ‘How long will it be before we get to London, Mum?’
‘About an hour and a half, I think,’ Rebecca replied.
Lucy looked ruefully at her mother. ‘I shouldn’t have drunk so much coffee this morning. I forgot to go before we came out, and now I’m absolutely dying for a wee.’ She paused a moment, then added, ‘Do we stop anywhere before London?’
‘I’m not sure, actually, but I don’t think so. But even if it does, there probably wouldn’t be time for you to find a loo – it would rather spoil the day if we missed this train and had to wait for the next one. I’m afraid you’ll have to try and cork it up till we get to London.’
‘Yeah, I s’pose so,’ Lucy said, looking decidedly doubtful. ‘But I really am getting desperate, Mum. I don’t know that I can wait that long. I’m in serious danger of wetting myself!’
Rebecca was about to say something to the effect of such an occurrence being nothing new, but she held her tongue and said nothing. On several occasions, she had found Lucy’s knickers in the washing basket, either smelling of urine, or with noticeable pee stains on them – and on one occasion (quite recently in fact) she’d discovered a pair in the bottom of the wardrobe which were actually still damp. Since Lucy had become completely toilet trained at a very young age, and had never had any bedwetting problems, she didn’t believe that her daughter had a genuine bladder control issue, and had long ago begun to suspect that she might be wetting herself deliberately. She’d never tackled Lucy about it, not only because she didn’t want to embarrass her, but also because in truth, it would have been highly hypocritical, because Rebecca herself loved wetting her knickers, and had done so since Lucy had been a baby.
As the train sped toward the capital, she attempted to make conversation, trying to take Lucy’s mind off her predicament, but her daughter, understandably, perhaps in the circumstances, appeared to be quite distracted. She could not sit still for more than a few seconds at a time, and seemed quite unable to concentrate on what her mother was saying.
Suddenly, Lucy stopped fidgeting, and sat quite still. ‘Oh, no! Oh, Christ, Mum, I’m doing it!’ As she spoke, she lifted her backside from the seat and pulled the hem of her skirt up round her waist before sitting down again. Rebecca watched in amazement as the small wet patch on Lucy’s knickers suddenly grew in size as her bladder’s contents poured through the white cotton fabric on to the seat.
It was at that moment that Rebecca became convinced that, although this appeared to be a genuine accident, some, at least, of Lucy’s other wettings were deliberate. The basis for this conviction was the expression on Lucy’s face. As the urine poured out of her, her eyes were closed, her lips were parted slightly, and she had what seemed to be almost (but somehow not quite) a smile on her pretty face, the whole effect giving an impression of sheer unadulterated, almost orgasmic pleasure. If Rebecca hadn’t known for herself the enjoyment that could be had from wetting one’s knickers, she would probably have assumed that Lucy’s expression was simply due to sheer relief.
When the flow of pee finally ceased, Lucy opened her eyes and looked at her mother apologetically. ‘Sorry, Mum, I just couldn’t hold it in any longer,’ she mumbled. It didn’t escape Rebecca’s notice, however, that Lucy did not appear in the least bit embarrassed. This observation only served to reinforce Rebecca’s suspicions.
‘Never mind,’ Rebecca said. ‘It can’t be helped – happens to us all sometimes. I think the first thing we’d better do when we get to London is buy you some new knickers!’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,’ said Lucy casually. ‘They’ll dry off quickly enough.’
‘Yes, well of course you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ Rebecca tried hard to keep her tone of voice light, not wishing to sound critical, or upset Lucy in any way. Her daughter looked at her in surprise.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s not exactly the first time you’ve wet your knickers now, is it?’
This time, Lucy coloured slightly and looked away. ‘No, I s’pose not,’ she mumbled, so quietly that Rebecca had difficulty catching the words.
Rebecca suddenly decided that she had to know – if she didn’t take the opportunity now, she probably never would. She got up, and crossing the space between the seats, sat down beside her daughter and put an arm around her, hugging her tightly and, she hoped, lovingly.
‘Hey, listen. Like I said, it doesn’t matter – accidents can, and do, happen to anyone. But I want to ask you something – something that I’ve been wondering about for a long time.’ Rebecca paused, thinking carefully about how to put her thoughts into words. Puzzled, Lucy looked up at her mother, obviously wondering what was coming next.
Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘I’m dying to know the truth, so please be honest about it,’ she said. ‘Whatever your answer is, it won’t matter to me either way. I just need to know, that’s all.’ Again she paused, and then asked, ‘I’m sure that what just happened was a genuine accident, but I suspect that that’s not always the case – I think that sometimes you do it on purpose. Tell me, honestly now – you like wetting yourself, don’t you? You get pleasure from it – it gives you a thrill, doesn’t it?’
Lucy’s cheeks turned bright red, and she looked down, avoiding her mother’s eyes. For a few moments, she was silent. ‘How did you know, mum?’ she then asked.
‘Well, as I said, I’ve wondered about it for some time. I’ve noticed the state of your knickers when I’ve washed them on more than a few occasions. I didn’t think you had a real bladder problem, or I think I’d have seen it happen long before this. I know the signs, you see…’ Rebecca paused, and forced herself to sound as casual as she could. ‘I expect anyone who likes wetting their pants would.’
For a few moments Lucy said nothing, and then froze as the meaning behind her mother’s words suddenly dawned upon her. She turned her head, and looked up at her mother. ‘Huh?’ she said, weakly. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said anyone who likes wetting their pants would know the signs. The look on your face as you wet yourself just now was one of sheer pleasure. It was quite obvious that you loved every moment of it.’ Rebecca paused, fighting the desire to laugh at the expression on Lucy’s face, but not entirely succeeding. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I like it, too,’ she continued, grinning broadly. ‘I have done since I was about the age you are now, although not as much as I’d like to sometimes.’ She wagged a finger accusingly at her daughter. ‘And, I might add, young lady’ she added, with mock severity, ‘it’s all – well, perhaps not all, your fault, but partly at least!’
Lucy’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. ‘Moi?’ she said, feigning innocence. ‘What do you mean? How is it my fault?’
Rebecca laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’m only joking. It isn’t really your fault. It’s a long story, but we’ve got all day.’
Rebecca was an orphan. As a baby, she had been abandoned in a deserted hospital waiting room one night when she was only a matter of hours old. At that time, CCTV cameras were not as prolific as is the case nowadays, and nobody had ever been able to discover who Rebecca’s parents were. Indeed, she didn’t even have a name when she was found, or a birth certificate, absolutely nothing that enabled the authorities to trace her mother. Consequently, she had grown up in care, in various homes and several sets of foster parents.
At the age of 17, she had found herself pregnant, the result of a drunken fumbling at a party, which, it has to be said, that she should have never been at. But she’d become somewhat rebellious since becoming a teenager, and it wasn’t by any means the first time she’d got into parties; she was rather adept at passing herself off as much older than she really was. She had been so wasted that she hadn’t the faintest idea who it was she’d had sex with, indeed she barely even remembered it. Neither had she ever been able to find out anything from anyone else that was at the party – they either genuinely didn’t know, or weren’t saying. And she got an even bigger shock when Lucy was born, and it became apparent that the father must have been black; but even this didn’t help in identifying the father.
In those circumstances, most young women may well have terminated the pregnancy, or at least considered it, and indeed she was encouraged to do so, both by Social Services (or Anti–social Services, as Rebecca cynically thought of them) and the family she was fostered by at the time. They had always been extremely kind and loving to Rebecca, but they simply did not want the responsibility of helping a young single mother raise her baby. And Rebecca knew that in truth, their relatively small home just wouldn’t have been suitable, not in the long term, anyway. In spite of all this, she decided from the start that she was going to have, and more importantly, keep her baby, no matter how hard it may prove to be.
It has to be said that in some ways the pregnancy was the making of Rebecca. Almost overnight, she changed from being a rootless, rebellious teenager into a young adult. She was determined that her baby was going to have a far better life than she’d had.
Soon after Lucy was born, she was given a council flat. She wasn’t particularly happy about this or about the fact that she was living on benefits. She felt like a parasite, and that there were probably other people who were far more deserving than she was. In the circumstances however, realistically she knew that she had little choice. So it was that Rebecca, barely eighteen years old, began life as a single mum, and although things had at times been somewhat difficult, she didn’t regret a single moment of it. On a daily basis, every time that she looked at her daughter, from the moment she was born, to the coffee–skinned beauty that, as a young woman of eighteen she had now become, she knew that she would have endured anything life could have thrown at her for the privilege of being Lucy’s mother.
Lucy was, of course, aware of all this, Rebecca having explained it all to her when she thought that she was old enough to understand. But there were certain things that she hadn’t told Lucy, or indeed anyone else– secrets that, until Lucy’s admission earlier, she would probably have taken to the grave. Now, she was happy to share it all with her daughter.
‘When I was pregnant with you, I had a bit of a problem with wetting myself; it’s not uncommon during pregnancy. Sometimes it was only a dribble, other times I would lose control completely. I was told that this was quite normal, and not to worry too much about it and that after you were born, I would be ok again. But actually it got worse. I began to experience problems with stress incontinence. You know what that is?’
‘Yeah – it’s like when you wet yourself when you laugh, cough, sneeze or something, right?’
‘That’s right. I think the fact that you were a big baby put extra pressure “down there”, and weakened my sphincter muscles and pelvic floor. Anyway, I was wetting myself quite a lot, certainly more than I had before you were born. Mostly, it wasn’t much, just small leaks that made my knickers damp, although there were a few times when I completely lost control of a full bladder and totally soaked myself. And I also started wetting the bed; sometimes I just didn’t wake up when I needed a wee and often woke up soaked.
‘Nobody ever saw this happen – at least, not that I’m aware of, anyway. I spent most of my time alone with you, so it didn’t bother me too much really; it was just a bit of a nuisance more than anything else. At the clinic where I took you to get you weighed and checked, I was told about something called Kegel exercises, which are supposed to help you regain full control. I did try them for a while, but due to laziness more than anything else I suppose, I stopped bothering with them. I thought the problem would eventually go away by itself. But then when you were only a few months old, I discovered that wetting yourself could actually be pleasurable.’
Rebecca paused, gathering her thoughts; Lucy said nothing. She was listening intently to her mother, taking in every word.
‘One evening, I was having problems getting you to sleep. You’d been really miserable all day because you were teething. Every time I laid you in your cot and crept out of the door, you’d start screaming again. Eventually, I lifted you up and sat on the settee to try and rock you to sleep. It worked – a few minutes later; you settled down and finally drifted off. But almost straight away, I realised that I needed the loo. I think I had done for a while actually, but I just hadn’t got around to it what with trying to settle you down, and I’d more or less forgotten about it. I didn’t want to put you in your cot in case you woke up again, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to wait much longer – if I didn’t go to the toilet within the next few minutes, I was going to have an accident.’
‘But then I thought – so what? It’s not as though it would be the first time. Suddenly, I just couldn’t be bothered, either getting up and risk waking you, or trying to hold on any longer. I just let go right where I was sitting. But as I was doing it, I was surprised to realise just how damned good it felt. I was actually enjoying it! I couldn’t believe it, and I told myself that it was simply due to relief. But I wasn’t really sure that I believed that.’
‘Well, a few days later, when I needed to pee, I decided to put it to the test. But this time, I didn’t wait till I was bursting. I just sat at the kitchen table and let it go. I enjoyed every moment, just as I had previously. I still found it hard to believe that after several months of having accidents, I was now deliberately wetting myself, and loving every minute of it. It was then that I realised that that was the difference – I was doing it on purpose.’
‘That’s how it all started; the more I did it, the more I liked it, and I’ve loved wetting myself ever since. While you were still a baby, I did it a lot – some days I would just wet myself all day long, never using the loo, and never changing my clothes. But when you got to the age when I had to start toilet training you, I realised I had to stop it – I could hardly expect you to learn to control your bladder, if I wasn’t doing so.’
Lucy grinned. ‘Sorry, mum – seems to me that you wasted your time!’
Rebecca laughed as the train began to slow, rattling over the points as it finally pulled in to London.
‘Yes, I think I probably did. Unfortunately, it’s not the done thing for a responsible woman to wet herself, so I haven’t been able to indulge in it as often as I would wish at times.’
As they sat on a park bench a little later, drinking coffee that they had purchased from a nearby kiosk, Lucy pronounced judgement on her mother’s revelations.
‘Wow! This is, like, so cool!’ she enthused. ‘I can hardly believe it. I always thought I was the only person in the world who liked wetting herself! Now I find out that my own mum does too. It’s absolutely fucking brilliant!’
Rebecca winced slightly at her daughter’s language, but said nothing. After all, practically everyone spoke that way these days, she included sometimes. It was just something of a shock because it was the first time she had ever heard Lucy utter the word. She smiled at her daughter. Finally knowing that what she’d suspected for some years was indeed true also gave her a great deal of pleasure, and she felt quite relieved by the fact that their respective secrets were now out in the open.
‘Yes, I suppose that it is nice to know that we don’t have to hide it from each other any more,’ agreed Rebecca. ‘And we are definitely not the only ones – like you, there was a time when I thought that I was. But I’ve since read about it in magazines, and like everything else these days, you can find it on the Internet as well.’
‘Does that mean I can wet whenever I like now then?’ asked Lucy.
‘As far as I’m concerned, of course you can,’ laughed Rebecca. ‘And you won’t have to hide your wet knickers in the wardrobe anymore!’
Lucy giggled. ‘I should have known that you’re not that daft, shouldn’t I? I can’t think now how I ever thought that you didn’t know I was doing it.’
‘Well, as I’ve said before, it doesn’t matter; it never did, and it never will. And now you know the reason why, so don’t worry about it.’ Rebecca paused for a moment, and then said, ‘so come on then – I’ve told you my story, so let’s hear yours. How did you discover that you liked it?’
‘Do you remember the time I came home from school wet having had an accident on the way home?’ Lucy asked. ‘I was terrified that you’d be angry with me, but you told me it didn’t matter. You said that everybody had accidents sometimes, even grown ups.’
Rebecca nodded; she remembered the incident well. ‘Actually, I was quite jealous,’ she confessed, grinning. ‘I hadn’t wet my knickers for some time.’
Lucy laughed. ‘Well, I can’t remember the exact circumstances now, but a while after that, I was absolutely dying for a wee, with nowhere to go. Remembering what you said, I decided that I would just do it in my knickers. I let it go slowly, until I was empty. When I’d finished, I realised that I’d enjoyed it, and I liked the feel of my knickers being wet. Sometimes when I went to the toilet, I would do it without taking my knickers down.’ She paused for a moment, and then went on, ‘Like you said earlier, the more I did it, the more I liked it, and I became sort of hooked. But what always surprised me more than anything is the way that sometimes you can do it quite openly, and nobody will notice. Anyway, even if they do, I don’t care. I just pretend that it was an accident.’
And almost as if to prove what she was saying, a loud splashing noise announced the fact that Lucy was wetting herself again, apparently not caring whether or not she was observed. Despite the fact that they had been discussing wetting for the past couple of hours, Rebecca was nevertheless amazed; she glanced around with some concern, but no one seemed to have noticed the event.
‘See what I mean?’ Lucy grinned at her mother’s expression. ‘I’ll bet no–one noticed that, and even if they did, I really don’t give a stuff!’ She paused, and looked her mother in the eye. ‘So are you going to have a bit of fun and wet yourself as well, then?’ she asked.
‘Well, much as I might or might not want to,’ Rebecca replied, somewhat nonplussed by the directness of her daughter’s question, ‘unlike you, I’m hardly dressed for it, am I?’
Lucy was wearing an extremely short black miniskirt, so short in fact, that it barely covered her knickers. It suddenly occurred to Rebecca that of course, that made it easy for her to wet without it being particularly noticeable, and that she might actually have worn it with just that in mind– she decided, however, not to pursue the matter.
She herself was wearing a pair of beige coloured slacks – were she to wet them, the resulting stain would be extremely noticeable.
‘I have to admit that I have wet myself in public in the past,’ said Rebecca, ‘and, on a few occasions, deliberately. But I wasn’t wearing anything that would make it as obvious as it would be if I wet these trousers.’
‘Well, that’s easily remedied,’ Lucy said. ‘Let’s go and buy you a skirt, then you can do it too.’
‘We’re not here to buy anything for me – it’s your birthday treat after all,’ protested Rebecca.
‘Oh, mum,’ Lucy said, her tone just a little exasperated, ‘what you’ve told me today is almost the best birthday present I could have ever had! From what you say, I suspect that you haven’t wet yourself for a long time, or at least, not very often. So why not give yourself a treat.’ She paused, and then said, grinning wickedly, ‘In fact I insist you do, to prove what you’ve told me!’
Rebecca, somewhat taken aback by this, momentarily found herself quite unable to formulate a reply.
‘Come on, mum,’ urged Lucy. ‘You know you want to, don’t you?’
Rebecca hesitated for a few more seconds, not knowing what to say or do. Then she suddenly made up her mind, unable to resist her daughter’s temptation.
‘Oh, hell, why not? Maybe I will.’
‘Yes!’ yelled Lucy, punching the air. She jumped up. ‘Come on, then!’
Rebecca grinned, and allowed herself to be almost dragged into the street, where, after a few minutes they found a clothes shop. Going inside, Lucy headed for the racks where the skirts were displayed and soon selected one.
‘Here you are, mum,’ she said, holding up a black pleated skirt. ‘This’ll be perfect.’
‘It’s a bit short.’ Rebecca eyed the garment dubiously. True, it was nowhere near as short as the one Lucy wore, but it was certainly shorter than anything she’d worn herself for longer than she cared to remember. ‘You might still be a teenager, young lady, but I’m not!’
‘Huh!’ snorted Lucy. ‘I’ve seen women a lot older than you wearing miniskirts, and believe me, some of them shouldn’t have been! But that certainly does not apply to you!’ She waved the skirt in the air. ‘This is just so perfect!’ she enthused, ‘You can easily pull it out of the way if you’re sitting down, and it’s certainly no problem if you’re standing up!’
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ teased Rebecca.
‘Trust me – I’ve had plenty of experience!’
‘Mmmm…,’ Rebecca smiled wryly. ‘I had noticed.’
‘Anyway, while you may not be a youngster anymore,’ said Lucy cheekily, ‘you’re not exactly a granny, either. You can easily get away with it – and I’m not just talking about wearing a miniskirt!’
Rebecca laughed, and despite some lingering misgivings, caved in to her daughter’s encouragements. ‘OK, you win, you cheeky little moo!’ She looked at the label. ‘Unfortunately, however, I’m no longer a size 8 – I seem to remember something about having a rather large baby a few years back!’ She found a size 14, and going to the counter, paid for it.
They left the shop and, again urged by Lucy, Rebecca went into a public toilet, and changed out of her trousers into the skirt. She was pleasantly surprised to find that it fitted perfectly, and even though she didn’t have a mirror, she thought that it looked pretty good, too. Satisfied, she folded her trousers and placed them in the bag in which the skirt had been. As she did so, she suddenly realised that she needed to pee, quite badly in fact, as she hadn’t been since leaving home. Without thinking about it, she automatically lowered her knickers and sat on the toilet. But suddenly, she remembered that she had agreed to wet herself, and also what Lucy had said about going to the toilet without taking her knickers down. And of course, now, there was no reason not to indulge herself if she wished. Hastily, she pulled her knickers back up and emptied her bladder into them. Despite the somewhat bizarre circumstances, she enjoyed every moment.
When she had finished, she rejoined Lucy, who was waiting outside. For a few seconds, Rebecca felt decidedly vulnerable – not having worn a miniskirt for many years, she imagined that everybody would be able to see her knickers, and the state of them. She soon realised, however, that she was being somewhat silly – short it may be, but it wasn’t that short. And besides, it felt rather deliciously naughty to be showing a bit of leg for the first time in more years than she cared to admit! And the wet fabric of the crotch of her knickers between her legs heightened the feeling, and gave a pleasant thrill, the like of which she had not experienced for some time.
Lucy looked her mother up and down, and nodded approvingly. ‘See? Didn’t I say you could get away with it? I reckon any bloke would fancy you!’
‘Well, I don’t want any blokes to fancy me, thank you very much! I’m quite happy with things just as they are, so you just watch it, my girl! Eighteen you may be, but you’re still liable to get a thick ear if you keep up your cheek!’
They both laughed, knowing that she was only kidding, but enjoying the banter, and the closeness of what felt to both of them almost like a new relationship, which, in some ways perhaps, it was.
‘OK, then, come on!’ Lucy was like an excited schoolgirl. ‘Do you want to go back and sit in the park, then, or are you gonna do it standing up?’
Rebecca grinned. ‘I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,’ she said, feigning innocence.
‘Oh, come on, mum, you promised!’
‘Well, it was hardly a promise. Anyway, actually, I already did it.’
‘What?’ Lucy gaped at her mother. ‘When?’
‘When I was in the loo– I – umm – sort of forgot to take my knickers down!’
‘Wooooo!’ Lucy grinned in delight. ‘You naughty girl!’ She paused, and her expression changed to one of mock annoyance. ‘Oh, but that’s cheating!’ she said crossly. ‘I’ll let you off this time, but just see that it doesn’t happen again!’
The two women dissolved into fits of laughter, attracting looks from people nearby. Rebecca wondered what they would think if they knew just what it was that was causing the laughter.
They spent the rest of the day in a similar mood – very happy, and by the end of the day, also very wet. Neither of them used a toilet at all for the rest of the day. Lucy obviously had no qualms about letting go whenever she felt the need. Rebecca was for the most part somewhat more circumspect about it, but at one point during the afternoon, she surprised herself, (and pleased Lucy enormously) when she wet herself, without making the slightest attempt to be discreet about it, while they were looking at a shop window display. As the pee cascaded down her legs, she was fully aware that in such a busy street, it couldn’t possibly go unnoticed, and she was right. She observed several people, reflected in the shop window, pointing in her direction and sniggering. By this time, however, Rebecca was past caring what anyone thought. She was thoroughly enjoying being able to wet unrestrainedly for the first time in years.
Lucy too, heard the splash of her mother’s pee hitting the pavement, even above the sounds of the street. She smiled at her mother, turned, and hugged her tightly. ‘Oh, mum, I do love you!’
Rebecca hugged her back. ‘I love you too, darling.’
Later, on the journey home, once again they seemed to have the carriage, if not indeed the whole train, to themselves.
‘Do you mind if I ask you something, mum?’
‘No, of course not, what is it?’
‘Well I don’t want to seem nosy or anything, but I was wondering – do you still wet the bed?’
‘Now and again, yes, I do. But it’s not something that happens regularly; maybe two, three times a month at the very most, and usually a lot less than that. I’ve had as long as maybe two years without a wet bed, but I remember once it happened five times in just one week! I just never know when it’s going to happen.’
‘And just so you know,’ she added, ‘don’t ever be afraid to ask me anything you like. It’s not as though we need to have any secrets from each other any more, is it?’
‘What’s it like? Do you like wetting the bed as much as you enjoy wetting your knickers? I’ve often wondered what it would feel like, but I’ve never dared to do it. That probably would have made you cross I s’pose, wouldn’t it?’
‘Whoa! Slow down a bit! One question at a time, please,’ laughed Rebecca. ‘I do quite enjoy waking up to find that I’ve wet in my sleep, actually. I’ve always had to be a bit careful, though ‘cause I didn’t want you to find out. So I had to be a bit careful about washing the sheets and nightclothes.
‘As for you doing it – I’m not sure how I would have felt, really. Perhaps I wouldn’t have been too pleased about it, though. Wet knickers, a nightie or pyjamas, maybe even sheets, are not really a problem to wash, but it wouldn’t do the mattress a lot of good, and you can’t wash one of those!’ Rebecca thought for a moment, and then said, ‘But if you want to try it, I don’t have a problem with it as long as we get a waterproof cover for your mattress. There’s one on my bed – it’s been a necessary item for the last eighteen years!’
‘Hey! That’d be really cool, mum. Thanks!’ Lucy enthused.
‘OK. It’ll have to wait till Monday now, but I’ll get one when I’m in town.’
‘You know my friend Lindsay?’ Lucy asked. ‘She still wets the bed – quite often, apparently. It’s happened a couple of times when I’ve stayed round her place. It actually got me quite excited, because at first, I thought maybe she liked wetting, too. But she doesn’t do it because she wants to – she really can’t help it. I felt quite sorry for her, really – she got quite embarrassed about it, especially the first time she did it when I was there.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It’s funny, you know,’ she continued, ‘I suppose I feel quite honoured in a way – apparently, I’m the only one of her friends that knows about it.’
‘Poor girl,’ sympathised Rebecca. ‘I suppose that it’s all very well for you and me, because we enjoy it, but if you don’t, it can’t be a lot of fun. I take it she’s been to the doctor’s?’
‘A few times apparently, but they say there’s nothing physically wrong with her. They say it’s just one of those things that happen to some people, and that she will most likely grow out of it.’
‘Well, I hope that’s the case, for her sake. She’s a nice girl.’
‘I know. Well, she’s my best friend, as you know. That’s the main reason why she won’t sleep round anyone else’s. Her mum insists that she wears a nappy when she’s on holiday, or they have to visit relatives, but she says that it would be too embarrassing to have to wear one at any of her friends’ places, and she wouldn’t want to risk sleeping in someone else’s bed without one.’
‘Well, I can certainly understand that,’ Rebecca said. ‘I know we haven’t been able to take all that many holidays together, but I have to admit that, at night I’ve worn a nappy myself when we have. At home, it doesn’t matter if I wet the bed, but I wouldn’t want it to happen in a hotel or somewhere.’
‘Wow!’ Lucy was stunned at her mother’s admission. ‘I never knew that!
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ grinned Rebecca. ‘I always made damned sure you never found out! But now it won’t matter, will it? I have to say that I’m very glad about that.’
‘Can I try it too, sometime – wearing a nappy, I mean?’
‘There’s really no stopping you now, is there?’ laughed Rebecca. ‘But if you want to try it, I don’t mind. I’ll tell you this, though. Personally, I don’t find wearing a nappy particularly pleasant. Convenient it may be, but it can be a bit uncomfortable. As I said, the only reason I do is simply to save my own embarrassment.’
‘Well, I’d like to give it a try anyway,’ Lucy said.
The train pulled into their station, and they walked slowly home, tired, happy and very wet. Their bladders were completely empty by the time they reached home, because they both let go again as they wandered down the dark, deserted streets.
From that day on, having no secrets from each other, they’ve both been able to indulge their passion as freely as they wished, and would both quite happily wet themselves whenever they felt so inclined, without fear of upsetting each other in any way. Lucy does her fair share of washing clothes and bed sheets – and also nappies, since, unlike her mother; she found that she quite enjoys wearing a nappy from time to time.
Rebecca and Lucy had always had a good relationship; despite the fact that there was no father figure in Lucy’s life, Rebecca’s great love for her daughter more than made up for it. But since the day of Lucy’s 18th birthday treat, their relationship had become even more special. It would be difficult indeed to find a happier mother and daughter anywhere.
By: Debbie and Jason