Pee Boy (part three)

Ah, puberty! It was the twilight of my youth, soon I would no longer be desirable to pedophiles, I was becoming a man. One night, as I was preparing for bed, I heard my mother's voice call to me. I padded down the hall and into the master bedroom. My parents were both in bed, the television off. I stood in the doorway, waiting.

"Come here," Mom said, motioning me over to her side of the bed. I cautiously approached, wondering what was up. "Your father and I have been talking." This was not good. "We were wondering if that other ball ever came in." As if it had been on back order. My face turned red. I assured her that everything was fine and tried to retreat. "Show us."

So, there I am, on the verge of manhood, forced to pull down my underwear in order to prove to my parents that I had balls, plural. I looked away, wishing the TV were on. Both my parents examined the evidence visually. Yes, the undescended testicle had made it's way down to form a pair. Satisfied that my cremaster muscle was in proper working condition, my mother excused me, wishing me sweet dreams. Dad never said a word. I went back to my room and closed the door. I knew that what had just happened was not normal. Other preteen boys were not having their genitals scrutinized by their folks. At least I had passed the test.

This is when I started living a secret life. My Dad had built me a bed with a dresser underneath and a secret crawl space with a little door. I loved having a place to hide. I would keep all kinds of things in there. But my favorite thing to hide was the old Sears catalog. Every year, my brother and I were allowed to go through the catalog and pick out what we wanted Santa to bring us from Sears, up to $100. Mostly, I wanted multi-player games. Domination, Hungry Hungry Hippos, etc. Which is ironic because I had no one to play with. But that didn't deter me from collecting games. If I ever did make a friend, we would never run out of games to play. One year, I flipped the pages of the catalog from the beginning, not going directly to the toy section. That's when I discovered the men's underwear page.

These images did things to me that I could not explain. I would stare at the photos of these men for long periods of time, hiding in the crawlspace with a flashlight. This atmosphere, of course, led to other behaviours I won't bother describing. But let's just say, I had found a reason to live.

I don't know what prompted it, maybe she had found the dog-eared catalog or the old nightgown I had stolen from her, but one day my mother asked me if I agreed with her about homosexuals. "They are disgusting, right? I mean, they stick it up each other's butts!" Shocked, I agreed and quickly ran away, horrified by the unexpectedness of her question. Later, I learned that Mom's best friend had once been married to a man who left her for another man. I babysat this woman's kids, from time to time, and felt an odd kinship with her oldest son, six years younger than me. Nothing ever happened between us, but I was not surprised in the least to learn that he was also gay. My little sister became his hag when they went off to college. Of course, back then, neither of us new a thing about sexuality. Sex was something you did with your cousin in the woodshed, not with strangers.

But I digress, the story is about wetting the bed, which I continued to do. Even after I had gone off to college, the secret followed me. The trick I used to hide the odor from my roommate was to pile about twenty blankets on my bed and air it out when he was not around. I was a theater major and things had gone well for me. Towards the end of the first year, I happened to see Madonna's "Truth or Dare" and my life was instantly changed. It was an "Aha!" moment. You see, it had never occurred to me that I could be openly gay, that I could tell people and they would accept it. Never crossed my mind, until I saw Madonna and her band of merry men! I was obsessed and talked nonstop about what a great movie it was. At this point, I had become good friends with Sean* and he agreed to drive to Tucson and see it with me. Long story short, that night I end up coming out of the closet to him and he ends up with his dick in my ass. This led to all kinds of complications to our friendship, which did not continue much longer, but I will always be grateful to him for listening without prejudice to me saying the words which freed me from two decades of bed-wetting, "I am gay."

And just like that, it was over. I never wet the bed again.
THE END