Disclaimer:
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. You must be a minimum of 18 years of age (or 21 years of age in some jurisdictions) to read this story. If you are not of legal age to read such material, or if you consider this type of writing to be morally offensive, then please do not read the story below.
This story contains homoerotic subject matter and episodes of social aggression often called "bullying". The author does not endorse this kind of behavior. Victims of bullying can suffer from long-term emotional and behavioral problems. Bullying can cause loneliness, depression, and anxiety as a bullying victim begins to believe that something is wrong with them. Victims can also have a loss of confidence and be more prone to illness. The author certainly does not advocate that people should be hazed or ridiculed for being different (quite the opposite). While inspired by real world events, remember that this is a work of fiction, and the author insists that you do not attempt to re-reenact or recreate any event or activity described in the text of this or other chapters. The story has been written for entertainment purposes only.
If you do not agree to any of these terms and conditions, or if you live in a location where such content may not be legal for you to read, please read no further, but rather exercise your right to select an alternate form of entertainment elsewhere. It is your own responsibility to adhere to these terms.
Thanks to all who contacted me. PEE WEE have heard from a great many of you so far. It is great to hear from you, and to hear your suggestions. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at: dreamcat_dave@yahoo.com
CHAPTER 17: SPLASH DAY
Pee Wee woke up the next morning, struggling to sit up, to move at all. His arms and legs felt stiff and his sheets were soaked with cold urine. Apparently he had wet the bed during the night and slept right through it. He could remember a couple of times, not all that long ago, when he had awakened midstream, his sheets and pajamas awash with warm urine. But couldn't ever remember wetting the bed this severely since he was a little kid.
He had managed to pull the saturated sheets off the bed, only to see that his mattress was soaked. He sat down and rested his forehead on one palm. His joints were sore now from the tumble he had taken on the driveway.
Leaving his bedroom as quietly as possible he made his way to the upstairs bathroom that he shared with Mark to shower and to get ready for the day ahead. He pulled back the frosted plastic curtain, stepped in, and turned on the water, adjusting it to the right temperature before stepped underneath the rain-like spray. He poured some body soap into his right hand and started soaping up his smooth hairless chest and under his arms. He could feel the hint of stubble under his arms and the regrowth of shaven hair forming a slight trail down from his navel to the darker shadow where his pubes were beginning to grow back around his diminutive penis. Pee Wee soaped up his tummy and then worked his hand down to his stunted woody and his tight little scrotum.
Pee Wee's penis often hardened when he had the shower adjusted to the "massage" setting. Sometimes he leaned back and focused the nozzle's powerful pulsing jet streams at the sensitive tip until he finally spurted. He was careful to always adjust the setting back to its standard setting after he was done, but sometimes he found it set to "massage" when he got in to take a shower, and wondered if Mark had discovered the magic of shower massage as well.
He pulled back his foreskin and soaped up his cock head. His slender prow-shaped erection was somewhat painful this morning, which worried him a little, and he could see a scab forming down the prow of his shaft, where he had slid across the rough concrete driveway on his erection as he fell.
He'd only been in the shower a couple of minutes when he heard the door open. A shadow went past the shower curtain heading straight for the toilet bowl, and then he heard a jet of urine hitting the bowl like a water cannon. It was Mark. He recognized the sound of his flow.
Suddenly the water went cold and Pee Wee let out an involuntary yelp as Mark turned on the hot water in the sink. Mark left the faucet flowing at full blast and left the restroom chuckling to himself. Pee Wee dodged the suddenly chilly shower, and turned the nozzle away from him, then jumped out of the shower wrapped a towel around his waist and turned off the faucet at the sink. Then went back to finish his hot shower.
After he toweled off Pee Wee went back to his room to get dressed, but encountered his mother standing next to his bed staring down at the wet sheets he had left in his open hamper.
"Did you wet the bed last night, Peter?" She asked. It was a rhetorical question. He was certain that she had already smelled the urine soaked sheets and probably already felt his mattress to see if it was wet. Pee Wee said nothing, but slowly walked toward his bed. He knew what was coming next. He mouthed the words discretely as she said them.
"You'll need to carry your mattress outside and lean it against the garage to air out."
Pee Wee grabbed the mattress and hefted it off the box springs, dragging it toward the stairs, then realized that his towel was about to fall off, and went to his closet and pulled on some pants he found on the floor of his wardrobe.
"Peter, you're too old to be wetting the bed." She droned on, "I've been talking with Reverend Seton, and he thinks it might be a good idea for me to take you by the church so he can talk with you."
Pee Wee said nothing. He realized that while he might love her because she was his mother, who had made many sacrifices for her children (as she often reminded them), but he also hated her--hated her selfishness and her controlling ways. Hated the way she never let him finish a sentence.
Pee Wee quietly, and slowly, walked his wet mattress down the stairs, stopping every few steps to catch his breath and regain his grip. One of his knees felt like someone was stabbing him over and over with each step he took. By the time he reached the back door, he heard his brother Mark bounding down the stairs and stop suddenly when he reached the bottom.
"Peter wet the bed last night." Mrs. Llewellyn told Mark. Pee Wee could feel Mark staring into his back. He hefted the mattress back up and finished sliding it through the back door, then carried it over to the garage where he leaned it on its side. He heard the side door open and footsteps approaching.
"Hey Pee Wee, um Peter, are you all right?"
Pee Wee didn't bother to look at his brother, but just turned and shambled back toward the side door. When he reached the kitchen his mother was drinking coffee and working the crossword puzzle. He straightened up, or the best he could manage, and made his way back toward the stairs.
"When you finish getting ready come downstairs and we can have breakfast," his mother said as he passed by her and walked down the short hall leading back to the stairs. Halfway up the stairs Pee Wee heard the side door slam shut as Mark came back inside. He headed on up toward his room knowing that Mark was standing at the bottom of the stairwell looking up at him. He could feel it.
Later his mother called up to him and asked if he wanted a ride to school. Mark had told her that the boys were giving Pee Wee a hard time on the bus without giving her any details. Ten minutes later Pee Wee came down the stairs dressed in baggy shirt and jeans. His short hair was combed in some semblance of disorder. He walked out to where his mother's car was parked in front of the garage entrance and looked down at the pavement to see some sparkling pieces of metal reflecting the morning light. He had been proud of those trophies.
Pee Wee went to the restroom and saw that someone had bolted some panels of wood over the glory hole and painted over them. He stood at the urinal and tried to pee, but it stung when his flow began and he involuntarily shut off the stream. He decided to wait until he really had to go, and left the restroom.
He avoided eye contact with everyone and walked through the day in a daze, rather like a zombie from a George Romero film.
Randy never approached him that morning, neither did any of his friends. In fact nobody bothered him. Pee Wee thought he overheard some whispers but he didn't pay much attention. He spent a lot of the morning thinking about those shattered trophies. They must have meant more to him that he realized.
Pee Wee's bladder was near bursting by the time he finally made his way to the restroom at lunch. He stood at the urinal trying to angle his small erection into the urinal and take a leak at the same time, and finding it somewhat difficult, despite his bladder's insistence that it was time to unload cargo. When he needed to go this badly, his penis often became erect. The problem was that when he was erect, urination became a very difficult thing to achieve.
Generally in the mornings he found it very difficult to piss, given his morning woody. His small erection, when it became this rock hard pointed up at twelve o'clock, but the toilet is down, ideally requiring a firing angle at five or six o'clock. Eventually Pee Wee learned to sit on the toilet and lean forward to accommodate the acute angle of erection to stomach. He had heard men sometimes refer to that as a "piss on" instead of a "hard on" since it was a full bladder, and not a desire to have sex, that was triggering his erection at the moment.
Urinals were not quite so difficult. A firing angle at three or four o'clock would deliver his payload into the urinal, though perhaps with a bit more splatter off the backwash. But still, bending his penis down horizontal to the floor from it's normal vertical state was somewhat uncomfortable, especially as sore as his penis was this morning, but it was necessary if he didn't want to piss up his shirt.
Pee Wee was still standing there, desperately trying to will his wee woody into a softy so that he could release the flood gates, when in the bathroom door came Randy and George. They rushed over before Pee Wee could get his dick back in his pants, and saw the red, the scrapes, and the sore spots he received during his fall then night before.
"How much you been spankin' that thing?" Randy asked.
Pee Wee began to deny he ever 'spanked it', he certainly wasn't going to attempt to explain how he had fallen while running naked laps around the yard, but before he could think of anything to say, and before he could get his erection situated safely behind a zipped-up zipper, George had gotten in behind him and locked one arm behind his back, pulling him backward and away from the urinal. Pee Wee stood there, angled back against George, with his fly still open and his red penis bobbing about.
George repositioned Pee Wee's arms so they were both locked behind him, and couldn't move them. He struggled some, but without success. The two boys looked at his red pecker, bouncing willy-nilly as he tried to break free. When he stopped to catch his breath, George shook him again, and they both laughed.
"Dude, what happened to your dick?" Randy noticed the scab that was forming on the underside of Pee Wee's penis. "Look at the scab on that thing! Why don't you buy some lube or something if you're gonna spank it that often?"
"He beats off every chance he gets" George said. "He's a sex addict!"
"He must have jerked off every time he sucked a guy's cock yesterday!" Randy concluded at last.
In truth Pee Wee's penis was red and somewhat bruised. But it had nothing to do with his stint at the glory hole. Since he had fallen Pee Wee had noticed that his erections were somewhat painful. So was urinating. Which was why Pee Wee had been delaying coming to the restroom even though he had to go, and why his bladder felt like it was ready to burst.
Randy stood in front of him, bent down for a closer look and pushed Pee Wee's dick way down, uncomfortably far down, and then suddenly let it go. It bounced wildly about, and both Randy and George began laughing hysterically.
Pee Wee strained. Randy did it again, but this time when it bounced, a stream of urine shot out like a fire hose catching Randy in the face and splashing into his mouth, catching him in mid-guffaw. Pee Wee's distended bladder must have increased the force of his morning piss stream considerably into a fast, wet, intense, yellow torrent. His urine literally gushed out of his piss hole and shot up into a high arc in the air and rained down all over Randy. As Pee Wee's penis bounced rowdily, his heavy piss stream vaulted about in wild arcs, splashing all around and all over Randy, drenching his shirt and pants, splattering down onto his shoes, and saturating his hair, all before he had time to react.
Randy fell back, but not out of range, and another jet of Pee Wee's urine hit him between the eyes, drenching Randy's face and soaking his hair, then continued to strike around him as Randy crab-walked backwards into a tile wall, trying to get out of range. Randy could taste Pee Wee's piss in his mouth, a slightly stringent warm salty taste.
The reality of what he had just done smashed into Pee Wee's awareness when he saw some of his own urine splash into Randy's face and mouth and trickle down over his chin and neck, pasting his shirt to his chest, and down his abs darkening the crotch of his jeans.
George laughed hysterically at his friend's plight, which made Pee Wee shake and bounce all the more. Pee Wee certainly had no control over where his fountain flew. George could have spared Randy by repositioned Pee Wee at any time, redirecting his stream away from his partner in crime, but that thought never even entered his mind. All he could do was laugh.
Suddenly the restroom door opened and a bunch of younger boys rushed in, unprepared for the situation they were about to encounter. Randy was on his butt on the restroom floor, his legs splayed out, as the last surge of Pee Wee's hot piss stream struck the bulls eye between his legs. Randy looked down in shock, watching Pee Wee's hot geyser of urine shoot up and rain down on his crotch for a distended moment in eternity. The splatter of Pee Wee's stream as it struck splashed all over Randy. He felt the warm piss soak through his jeans into his underwear warming his balls and then trickling down the inside of his leg before the realization of what was happening shocked him back into lateral movement along the wall behind him.
Eager-eyed and awestruck by the strangeness of the situation, the boys in front froze in place, while the ones behind rushed forward, almost knocking the boys in the forward ranks into Pee Wee's firing range.
Randy rolled onto his left side trying to avoid the hot stream as it splattered loudly on the floor just to his right. He could still feel Pee Wee's urine splashing onto his right ankle and side, speckling his shirt with wet dots. But Pee Wee adjusted, pivoting his hips slightly so that his aim was restored, soaking Randy's upper thighs. Randy managed to crab walk sideways beyond the range of Pee Wee's ebbing stream.
"Holy fuck!" one of the boys said, staring at Randy who sat drenched with a comical look on his face, wiping Pee-Wee's urine out of his eyes.
Randy's hair was plastered to his forehead. Randy could tell that Pee Wee had eaten onions the night before from the strong stench of onion in his urine. The taste was bitter and briny, as disgustingly dark and pungent as the smell. He tried to spit it out, but the foul taste of Pee Wee's urine lingered on his tongue.
Then the prolonged intermission in time shattered, and the silence was broken by the hysterical laughter of teenage boys flocking into the restroom. They all burst out laughing at the same moment.
They were loud.
Very loud, holding nothing back.
Belly-buster laughs that only boys who haven't been fully civilized allow themselves to have. Every boy who ever went to high school would know what kind of laugh it was. Something terribly funny, something that was probably very, very embarrassing to someone, something that was against the rules, something that would make a great story to tell, was going on in the boy's restroom. More kids rushed in to see what was happening.
As Pee Wee's torrent of piss slowed, he let out a silent fart. George let go of his arms and backed away saying, "Gross! You farted on me!" Pee Wee's stream softened down to a trickle that dribbled out and down his now half-soft penis and over his balls.
The hot, salty, acrid taste of Pee Wee's urine nauseated Randy, he felt his stomach churn, could feel himself begin to gag, then abruptly threw up. Vomit spewed from his mouth onto his left hand as his stomach muscled locked, forcing the contents of his stomach up his throat. The sickly sweet smell of breakfast revisited rose up from the floor and back of his hand and he let loose another volley of vomit.
Randy tried to stand up, but slipped twice before he gained his footing. He stood there with a sour look on his face in front of the throng of boys who had crowded into the restroom with urine dripping from his cheeks, chin, and hair. He smeared away the vomit from his mouth and chin. He was still in shock, looking down at himself. No one, but no one, had ever done anything like that to him before. Randy felt unclean, tainted, like someone had thrown him into the cesspool. His shirt stuck to his skin, and his pants were drenched. He stood in a huge lake of Pee Wee's piss, reeking of urine, and he wanted to feel clean again! He could still taste his own puke.
Pee Wee stood between Randy and George, aware of the crowd of boys who had gathered round. One of the younger boys, who had noticed the scabs on Pee Wee's small penis leaned down to get a better look. Pee Wee's little rod bounced back up into a full erection.
They all laughed again.
As Randy stood the laughter died down. The disgusted look on his face left no doubt about what he had wanted to say. His face was a mask of desperation, anger. The boys were frightened, and on edge, waiting to see what he would do next. Then a chunk of his breakfast fell off the back of his hand and splatted onto the floor at his feet. The boys reacted by snorting and falling about in laughter. The noise of their hysterics attracted another two boys who had been passing by.
George realized that the situation was getting out of hand.
Randy's discomfiture had grown unbearable. He exhaled in frustration and steadied himself against in the tile wall in an attempt to remain standing. His mind panicked, compensated in his rising frustration. He was fighting against the reality he refused to acknowledge. Randy frowned, fueled by the extreme feelings of humiliation bottled-up inside him. His expression betrayed his mortification, eyebrows arching in a reflection of his internal turmoil. His face went scarlet, angry. Then suddenly Randy screamed, "Don't fuck with me!"
Randy cracked his knuckles and raised his fist. He looked as if he were ready to punch a hole in Pee Wee. For a second Pee Wee thought Randy would rush over and beat the crap out of him. So did the boys standing there watching. But he didn't. Instead he looked down at his clothes and pulled back into himself gritting his teeth in frustration. Randy frantically broke through their ranks and ran out of the restroom and down the hall as fast as he could. The strong smell of urine and vomit followed him as he ran down the hall. And worst of all he could still smell and taste Pee Wee's piss, even through the aftertaste of his own puke.
Finally Pee Wee thought to tuck his waning erection away and zip up. "Everybody out! Now!" Pee Wee yelled, attempting his best imitation of a cop at a crime scene. "Show's over. Get the fuck outta here!"
George looked at him wide eyed. "You're a dead man," he said, looking at Pee Wee, as he backed through the boys gathered there and out the door, "You are so gonna die!" He looked around at the faces of the boys gathered there. George was respected, as well as sometimes feared, so the boys scurried out into the hallway in a hurry.
Like Pee Wee said, 'the show is over,' but there was just enough time left in the lunch period to talk about what they had just seen. Some of them were already asking about what happened to Randy after he ran off. Most of them figured he had left campus. Two of them had a conversation about how getting in a car with piss soaked clothes would make the car smell, and that piss was a smell you could never get out once it set.
Pee Wee watched them leave, then opened his backpack and pulled out the shorts he had brought to wear during athletics. The jeans he was wearing smelled like urine.
He felt a surge of fear when he thought about what George had said with reference to him being a "dead man", and he was certain that Randy would seek revenge, even though Randy had been the cause of his own disgrace.
Pee Wee slipped on his shorts then folded up his urine streaked jeans and put them into the small plastic bag that he slipped back into his backpack.
His jeans really didn't smell like urine, he decided.
They smelled like victory.