This is really the story of how I started and continued bedwetting during puberty and into my teens (and beyond for that matter). I was eleven years old when my family moved into a new house and my stepfather decided that two of his daughters and his son from his first marriage were moving in with us. The upper floor of the house had only enough room for my mom, stepdad, my two sisters and my two stepsisters. It was decided that my stepbrother who was two years older than me and I would share the small room in the basement of the house in which there was only room enough for one regular size double bed.
My stepbro was not happy at all about the move and neither was I because I was used to having my own room. The bigger shock came when before going to bed the first night at the new place I discovered that under the bedsheets was a plastic mattress cover and an additional sheet. I was no idiot and I knew that equipment well from the days when up to about two years previous when I had been a regular bedwetter. Stepbro protested too. Before coming to bed that night I heard him plead to his father "but I can't dad, he'll find out and everybody at school will know." His father scolded him severely saying "you're thirteen and shouldn't be pissing the bed anyway. Maybe your new brother will teach you a thing or two and you'll learn to stay dry." Little did stepdad realize that eventually I'd learn a thing or two from my new big bro.
My stepbro warned me the first night "don't say nothing to nobody about this or I'll get back at you." Predicably, the next morning and for every morning after over the next year or more we went through the same morning ritual. Stepbro peed the bed and both of us woke up more or less soaked. We got out of our pajamas and stripped the bedding and placed it in a plastic basket in the laundry room, which luckily was next to our own room. And then we trudged up two flights of stairs to get to the bathroom for a shower.
At least when my stepdad was not around, which was usually the case on weekdays when he left for work at about 6:00 a.m., we got to use his and mom's bathroom. Otherwise we had to wait for all the sisters to finish. I protested this situation quietly and in private to my mom for several months, asking her how my stepbro would learn to go to the bathroom at night if it was two floors away? "You used to wet too dear, remember, and we didn't make a big fuss about it." But as I proceeded through puberty and toward my teens, what had seemed to me a terrible burden became an opportunity.
One morning a few months after my 12th birthday I woke up at about 5:00 a.m. and had to pee real bad. I realized the sheets and my pajamas were already soaked and it was quite cold in the room, although the waterproof comforter on the bed (really a waterproof sleeping bag designed for outdoor camping which was opened up to make it a comforter) made it seem fairly comfortable compared to the cold air of the basement. I waited for a little while and soon realized I would wet myself if I didn't get up. So I started to pee in my pajamas, first a few tentative streams of hot urine soaked into my already wet pajamas and then a steady stream, warming up at least temporarily the cold cotton flannel of the pajamas and sheets. The feeling and the result fascinated me in the kind of erotic way 12 year old boys are affected by feelings and urges they don't really understand.
A few mornings later, I peed in the bed again, and then a couple days after that, and eventaully frequently. I thought my big stepbro didn't know, but I was wrong. It didn't take long for him to figure out that the volume of wetting was not his responsibility entirely. I had started wetting when the bed was still dry, and even had started to wet without being fully conscious of it, and one morning my then 15 year old stepbro woke up and said sarcastically "that's funny, I still have to go pee real bad and my side is pretty dry compared to yours, so it looks like you peed the bed!" I started to sob and said "don't tell, don't tell."
Then he said "remember the deal - you don't tell and now I won't." He had been afraid that I would tell at school and tell my friends and his but I always kept quiet. He went on "your mom and my dad think I'm the bedwetter but I've known you wet too for at least a year. They don't say anthing anymore unless my dad gets mad at me and calls me a baby peepants. I just say, I can't help it, which is what the doctor and counselor said too. So its not hurting anybody and the deal sticks. You don't tell my friends or anybody else and I won't tell on you."
Over time, stepbro's wetting decreased and mine increased. But as far as I know he said nothing and even after he came home from college he shared the room and bed with me and we got so soaked we laughed about it. "Can't get away with this at college," he said the first time he came home. "What about accidents," I said. "Accidents(?)," he asked, "I don't think I've had an accident since I was about 15, maybe 16." I stumbled "so you mean . . ." to which he replied, "yup, same as you, a lazy teenage bedwetting brat - who was going to get up in the middle of the night in this cold hole and climb two floor for a leak?" "I know," I said as we went through the regular routine of stipping off our soaked jockeys and T- shirts (which had replaced pajamas) and the bedding for the laundry.
"What do you do when I'm gone?," stepbro asked. "I told them I started wetting and didn't even realize it because of you and so it became fairly regular." "Perfect," he said, "now they think its you, so there's justice at last" and the two of us laughed uncontrollably until my mother opened the door at the top of the stairs and said to stepbro, "don't laugh at your brother, its not his fault." We wrestled each other onto the mattress, me half-protesting "see its not my fault" while he teased "little brother pees the bed." We have remained friends since, although I don't see him a lot or know if he still gets soaked at night. I've never asked since he got married.