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Growing Up, Part Three
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Growing Up by Zeta Part 3
Some years ago my wife and I attended an encounter group with
three other married couples. This sort of thing was fashionable
at the time, the idea being that you explored your personal
strengths and weaknesses and general lifestyle and were
challenged to change the things that were not working in your
life. Honesty and openness were encouraged. It could be pretty
scary. The leader of this group was an older woman who had a lot
of experience with this sort of thing. The 'workshop' was to
extend for two days and took place one summer weekend.
We travelled to a large and somewhat remote country house,
kindly loaned for the occasion by a friend of one of the
participants. I surveyed my companions-to-be for the next
forty-eight hours with some mixed feelings. Three couples were
in their late twenties or early thirties and one in their
forties. After suitable introductions all round, we filed into a
large recreation room which had been cleared of furniture and
fittings. On the floor of this empty room were scattered a
number of cushions, beanbags and other soft articles suitable
for reclining against.
The leader, who introduced herself as Avis, explained what the
course was about, what she hoped to achieve, then explained the
ground rules, which basically consisted of things like "speak
for yourself only, speak directly to a person rather than about
him or her etc". All pretty standard if you're used to such
groups. It came as a shock to most of us though, because only
one couple had prior experience of it. Oh yes, and another
thing: 'During the twenty-four hours that this session will
last, everyone remains in the room,' Avis explained. 'You may
find that as we get into discussions, the atmosphere may become
tense and emotionally charged. It is natural for people to want
to back off, to cool the stress and a good way to do this is to
wander off, go out for a cigarette, use the bathroom - anything
to get out of this room.'
Avis looked around significantly, 'That's why once we start,
there's no getting up and going out. You face what is happening
at the time and you work through it. That way you cover in
twenty-four hours what would ordinarily take a week. Everyone
agreed on these ground rules?'
We each thought about the implications. That meant we had to
sleep here as well - in the clothes we arrived with. What we'd
look like in the morning didn't appeal. I could see these
thoughts being mentally reviewed rather distastefully. Still, no
one objected. So the session began.
We began by introducing ourselves and giving a brief description
of our background. Ron and Janice set the ball rolling. Ron was
a truck driver, self employed and had a small contracting
business. He was a rather short and heavy-set man with tight
curly sandy coloured hair and a casual, easy-going manner. His
wife Janice was a blond, rather plump with a pleasant open face
and a ready laugh. She was dressed casually in a white blouse
and jeans and introduced herself as a commercial artist.
Greg and Angela were next. Greg was a builder, Angela a travel
agent. Greg was tall with clean-cut regular features, Angela had
long dark hair and an olive complexion. Wilson was a lawyer, an
older man meticulously dressed in neatly pressed shirt and grey
trousers. His wife Jude correctly attired in tailored jacket and
dark skirt. That left my wife and myself. I'm pretty ordinary,
slim and unobtrusive, my wife Gaylene is a teacher.
We were a mixed bunch alright. Not forgetting Avis. Our leader
was a solidly built woman with greying hair tied up in a bun,
poised, very self-assured and with a penetrating gaze. Under her
subtle guidance the casual conversation gradually gave way to a
more revealing commentary on our personal lives. There were
pauses and embarrassed silences, stammered explanations. I felt
the hot flush of shame confiding a personal shortcoming when all
eyes were upon me. You could bluff through an issue if you
wanted, but the others would be quick to point out you weren't
being real. With reality came vulnerability and before long
tears of anguish. No one was immune.
It took the first five hours for polite facades to be dismantled
and to talk to each other with something approaching genuine
honesty. I felt as if I'd done a week's work. We all felt we
were starting to know the real person behind the mask. By the
end of the first twenty-four hours we would feel that we had
known each other for a lifetime. But we had to go through a
little more trauma and some more uphill climbing before we
reached that plateau.
We missed lunch. At three o'clock the door opened and a food
trolley was wheeled in. The refreshments were more than welcome
and everyone dived in voraciously. Conversation became more
relaxed, superficial. 'Well it wasn't so bad,' Janice remarked
cheerfully. I agreed - with certain reservations.
'I'm just dying to go, where's the bathroom, do you know?'
Janice certainly looked uncomfortable. I felt the same way.
I said, 'Er, I think we're meant to stay right here.'
She peered around, 'Well I don't see any toilet here, do you?'
The food trolley was being wheeled away and I overheard the
lawyer in a heated exchange with Avis. 'But that's ridiculous.
You say we remain here but there are no facilities. Where do you
expect us to go?'
The room fell silent and eyes turned towards the leader. She
appeared unfazed by the question. 'That's up to you,' she said
blandly, 'We had an understanding that we would all remain in
this room for the duration of the course.' She looked around and
addressed us all, 'If anyone feels they need to leave the room,
I won't stop you. But don't expect to come back.'
We looked at each other. 'Maybe she expects us to piss our
pants,' Greg suggested, grinning.
'Well I'm pretty close to that and it's no joke,' Janice replied
sourly.
I felt a queer sense of elation. I already sensed what was going
to happen and maybe I was the only one in the room looking
forward to it. I suddenly realised what Avis was up to. She
wanted to challenge what we all took for granted, the right
(expectation) to perform bodily functions in private. Then when
the inevitable happened, to confront us with the shock,
confusion, embarrassement etc. and see where that starting point
led.
We all looked around but nobody left the room and eventually we
settled back on the cushions again. We looked a bit seedy.
Presently conversation resumed. I'll leave out the arguments,
confrontations and discoveries that were going on and
concentrate on what happened when physical discomfort became too
great. I picked Janice would be the first to lose it. By this
time everyone realised the situation they were in and they knew
what was going to happen but no one wanted to be first to break
the spell.
I was right. In the middle of a lengthy response by our lawyer,
Janice gave a low groan, murmured 'Aw, shit!' and pressed a hand
into her crotch. Her face turned bright scarlet. Everyone
studiously looked the other way, no one sure what the correct
response was when someone has wet their pants "in company".
The conversation resumed. Presently Greg reached furtively for a
cushion and held it against his lap. Avis noticed the movement
and focussed attention on him by asking, 'What's happening there
Greg, you seem to be distracted?'
Greg looked acutely ill at ease, tossed the cushion aside with a
weak laugh. 'Ah, nuthin.'
He looked around, a sea of curious, sympathetic faces. Avis
waited. No help for it there. 'Um well I just pissed myself,' he
confided, then more aggressively, 'it's bound to happen eh if
yah can't get out.' He looked around daring anyone to argue.
Avis became interested. 'You seem upset about it, Greg.'
'Not really,' he started brightly, then when it was obvious this
wasn't the truth he added, 'Of course I'm fuckin' upset. I
haven't pissed myself since I was three and I hadn't planned to
start now!'
Avis leaned forward, interested. But she was interested in the
energy, the outburst that the accident had provoked. Greg could
stooge his way through the tricky questions but he couldn't deny
he'd wet his pants. It produced a "real" reaction and Avis homed
in with animation.
Ron was next, and was pretty embarrassed about it all. But if he
hadn't shown his embarrassment, no one would have known - at
least while it was happening. Nothing much showed in the front
of his shorts, but the pool underneath him was soon pretty
obvious. Some people had discreetly moved to the floor and wet
themselves there; others perhaps not wishing to attract
attention to themselves just let go in the beanbag where they
were sitting. No one was quite sure what the proper form was,
and no one, it seemed, was keen to ask Avis about it in case it
focussed the white heat of attention right back on the asker.
My wife had a no nonsense approach to her personal discomfort.
When the urgency grew too great she quietly and without fuss wet
her pants then ignored it. I was holding out, but I was watching
Angela because she was closest to me and something about the way
she was shifting around on the beanbag attracted my attention.
As it turned out, Wilson was next and I really felt sorry for
him. He was obviously hideously embarrassed and pissing his
pants was a mortal blow to his self esteem. His face went a dull
green as though any minute he was going to be sick then he
reached for a cushion which he manipulated nervously, undecided
whether placing it in front of himself would conceal his
disaster or draw attention to it. Of course Avis turned the
spotlight on him at the height of his discomfort. What were his
feelings now? How did he feel about what he had done? Where did
his shame and embarrassement come from? Whose embarrassement was
it?
Half way through the discussion I stopped listening because the
crotch of Angela's jeans had begun to darken and from the heavy
breathing and flushed face she was evidently still wetting
herself. I stared spellbound at the spectacle for a moment, then
felt a stab of answering anguish in my own pelvis. Momentarily
Angela caught my eye and we seemed to share a secret conspiracy.
I had a sudden desire to let her see me doing it too. So I gave
in to the insistent demands without restraint (it wasn't hard to
do) and felt a glorious surge of warmth trickling through my
crotch as I spurted into my jeans. I held Angela's gaze as I
started to wet myself, then it must have begun to show, because
she glanced down then suddenly away. I watched spellbound as she
seemed to tremble slightly and the dark stain grew wider around
her crotch.
I came back to reality with an uncomfortable realisation that
the room was silent. I looked hastily around. Everyone was
looking at me expectantly. I must have looked bewildered. Avis
had asked a question and she now repeated it. '... and would you
tell us what you're feeling please?'
'Who me? Uh well I sure feel a lot more comfortable now.' I gave
her a sickly grin, intended to be reassuring.
Avis regarded me intently, 'You don't look very comfortable.
What else are you feeling?'
It suddenly felt very hot in the room. I looked around again. A
sea of faces with all eyes turned upon me, waiting for my reply.
Expectant eyes, not unfriendly, but eyes which said their owners
could be unsympathetic if they heard weak excuses. Everyone in
the room had been embarrassed by their public shame, then made
exquisitely uncomfortable by trying to explain why they felt
that way. I knew I wasn't embarrassed and in some inexplicable
way, I knew the others sensed this too.
So they were waiting to hear what I had to say.
My ears burned, my face turned red. I wished the floor would
open and I could drop through - anything to escape this. To my
horror it eventually came out. Yes, I mumbled, wetting myself
gave me a thrill - but talking about it sure didn't. Now would
be a good time for an earthquake or a fire alarm. I answered the
questions and said what I had to. I didn't dare confront those
eyes again to see if curiosity was now replaced by derision or
loathing at this kink in their midst.
The conversation and focus eventually turned to other things.
The room was growing dark. Soon the food trolley reappeared and
again we dined. I noticed a few of our group had lightened up
considerably on the drinks from their earlier hearty indulgence.
I drank freely figuring that as the damage was already done I
couldn't get any further roasted for pissing myself again,
although I mentally resolved to do it very discreetly next time.
By nine o'clock everyone was exhausted and we shuffled around
rearranging bean bags to the least uncomfortable configuration
for sleeping. Everyone was supposed to find a partner different
from the one they came with and before going to sleep, share
some meaningful revelations about the day's events. I was too
dispirited to ask anyone in case, as the newly appointed social
pariah, she turned me down. So I curled up on the far side of
the sprawling group and tried to go to sleep.
Moments later a disembodied voice in the semi darkness
whispered, 'We seem to have been left over. Mind if I join you?'
I propped myself up on one elbow. 'Uh, okay.'
It was Angela. I punched a hollow in the beanbag and she settled
herself beside me. I asked, 'How come you got left over?'
Angela replied, 'Accidents will happen.'
I was about to answer but thought better of it. I should add
here that a certain amount of "social relaxation" is permissible
after the trauma of a daytime workshop. Unless you have been on
one of these courses it is hard to describe that peculiar state
of vulnerability and comradeship that the day's events induce.
It is a harrowing experience, and relaxation afterwards, even if
only a brief respite before more of the same the next day, is
sweet. It is not unknown for people who a few hours earlier were
complete strangers, to release pent up feelings with a warm
embrace or even more passionately.
Some of the less reputable encounter groups were little more
than an excuse for a group orgy, but this was not one of those.
Here you worked and sweated and at the end of it you had a
better understanding of yourself, or at the very least, a more
humble one. And if there were to be any tanglings in the dark at
this workshop they were likely to be low-key and subdued affairs
because, thanks to Avis, the setting did not encourage romantic
dalliance when you've got wet pants (unless you're a bit kinky).
I was still feeling a bit sore after my earlier exposure as a
kink and my responses to Angela were cautious. She seemed
amused.
'You sure got a roasting for saying you enjoyed pissing yourself
earlier,' she said without preamble.
'So now I'm a social leper,' I said, feeling sorry for myself.
'Not at all,' she whispered brightly, 'I thought you were very
brave confessing like that.'
'Not that I had much option,' I said pointedly.
'Oh I don't know,' she said airily. 'Some people don't tell what
they really feel.'
'I'll bet no one else had the same feelings I did or it would
have come out, wouldn't it?'
Angela was silent.
A thought occurred to me. 'You're not saying you felt the same
way are you?'
'Oh no, I'm not saying that,' Angela agreed. 'I just said
sometimes people don't say EVERYTHING they are feeling.'
'Ah, I see. There's a difference.' I noticed that Angela was
lying very close to me and I found the warmth of her body both
provocative and strangely disturbing. 'Anyway, what brought this
up right now?'
'I've got an urgent need to go again,' Angela confided, 'so it
must have reminded me. Excuse me. I'll find somewhere that's not
crowded.' She made to get up.
I put a hand on her arm. 'I've a better idea,' I said. 'Why
don't you just stay where you are.'
Angela hesitated then sank back into the hollow of the bean bag.
'Okay,' she said, 'if that's what you want.'
I had wriggled around beneath her so that when she sank down,
she came to rest partially sitting in my lap. I put my arm
around her. As we kissed I felt a warmth spreading through my
pelvis. I knew it was going to happen so it came as no surprise.
But the moment I felt it my excitement peaked and as we clung
together in each other's arms, I climaxed suddenly into my
already wet jeans.
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