THE VERY BEGINNING (Part 1)

A bit of family history:

I'm 12th generation and the first to be born in a
hospital. The family homestead was built around 1820
in a rural farming area about 85 miles from New York
City. There was a small room (that eventually became
my bedroom) that was called the "birthing room". A
midwife would come in and assist in the delivery. My
father, his mother (my grandmother) and her father
were all born in that room. My grandmother married a
local man right after the turn of the Century. He had
read about the new "horseless carriage" and set off
for the city to investigate it. He so impressed the
people with his vision of what the new fangled vehicle
would mean that they hired him as a salesman. That
meant moving there and leaving the homestead. My
grandfather had managed to save enough money to put a
down payment on a Brownstone row house in Brooklyn. The
only thing was, my grandmother hated the city. When
her mother died and left her the homestead, she moved
back, forcing my grandfather to become a "commuter"
before the word was even coined. This was around 1905.
My father was born in 1906. The fact that my
grandmother chose to live primarily in the homestead
did not mean she didn't visit the city from time to
time. After a while my grandfather started his own business
and she did spend more and more time there. Then, when my
father went away to school, she more or less split her
time between the two places. After my father and
mother married, they built a house about10 miles away
from the homestead. My father had an engineering
degree and went to work for a local architect. This
was about 1934. An interesting sidelight is that my
future father in law helped my father build the house.
He so liked the area that he ended up buying a house just
down the street. I was born in 1937. My mother had
moved to the city to have me. She was adamant that she
didn't want to have a midwife. She wanted to have me in a
hospital, and because she was from the city, knew
which one she wanted to go to. My wife was also born
in 1937. I met her for the first time when she was 2
weeks old and I was 7 months. We lived there until the
outbreak of WW2. My father couldn't pass the physical
for the service (bad eye) but, with his engineering
degree, became a civilian working for the Navy in the
Brooklyn Navy Yard. They closed up the house, moved to
Brooklyn, ending up in a one bedroom apartment about a
mile from my grandparents. My brother was born just
about the same time. Because of gas rationing, my
grandfather was no longer able to commute and my
grandmother moved to the city to join him, temporarily
closing the homestead.
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The main reason I put that in was so you'd understand
the "moves" and locations of what I'm about to tell
you. In summary; the brownstone and apartment in
Brooklyn, NY.; the homestead; our own home near the
homestead: my wife's home, just down the street from
ours.
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This all starts after the 2nd World War had begun and
we were all living in the city. I was 4, almost 5 years old.

I guess I'll start with Joanie T. (I honestly remember
the last names of ALL the girls I'll be writing about.)
Her grandparents lived next door to my grandparents
brownstone. Her father and my father became good
friends as boys so that whenever my parents would
visit my grandparents, we'd usually stop in next door
to say hello. Joanie was a month older than I and I'd
known her a bit from these occasional visits. When the
War started, her father and mother enlisted and Joanie
was sent to live with her grandparents. Once we moved
to the city we'd often go over to my grandparents on
Sundays after church. Now that Joanie was living there
I rather enjoyed going, just to have someone I knew to
play with. Now, At that time period there were "good"
clothes verses school clothes verses play clothes. Being
Sunday, we were most always dressed in our "good"
clothes. My grandparents back yard had a small grassy
area to play in, surrounded by flower beds. Joanie's
grandparents yard had been made into a "Victory
Garden". The idea was to grow your own vegetables to
help alleviate the shortage in the marketplace. In any case,
Joanie couldn't play there so it was always fun for her to
play in our yard. I can't give you specifics (it's
only been 60+ years... :-) ) but what I remember was the
two of us playing with pail and shovels and wearing
nothing but our underpants. I remember once walking up to
Joanie, who was squatting, and seeing a growing puddle
appear from underneath her. I squatted down and can
honestly still visualize the pee coming out of her
underpants. That's all I remember about it. I don't remember
if she went home or if she was punished or not. But it
is one of the most vivid images in my memory for not only
the wetting but also for seeing the difference in our underwear.

The next phase moves on to that fall when I started
school. I loved going to school. I loved having all
these kids to play with. I was exposed to so many
things I'd never seen before that every day was an
adventure. Well, Debbie P. certainly was one of them.
It seemed like she wet her pants almost every single
day. There are two special memories I have of that
year. The first is when Debbie's mother came storming
into the room and accused Mrs. Hubble, the
kindergarten teacher, of not allowing Debbie to go to
the bathroom when she had to go. Not that I'd been
studying the situation, but for every time I'd seen
Debbie wet herself, she'd never said a word. I watched
her pee sitting, standing, squatting and never once
said a word before or after. Right after that, Mrs
Carroll, the Principal, came in and took Mrs Hubble
with her. We were left with a proctor (they had these
women patrolling the halls when school was in
session). A day or so later we were finger painting when
Debbie let go again. Mrs. Hubble didn't notice it
until it was time to put the easels away. Just as she
noticed she also noticed Mrs Carroll walking in the
door. I can still see Mrs. Hubble grabbing one of
those tiny little chairs we used to sit on, and trying to
cover the puddle. I also remember Mrs. Hubble trying to
explain it away. But I don't know the outcome of
it. The saddest part is that Debbie didn't finish the
year with us and I have no idea why.

Before moving ahead I want to add another bit of
history. When I was born, ironically, the woman who
shared the room with my mother was the sister of one
of my mother's best girlhood friends. Naturally, Mary
H., my mother's friend, came to visit her sister and
found my mother there as well. That was the begining
of another friendship for me, Mary Jane N. (or, MJ, as
I'll call her) The only thing is, I didn't really get
to meet her until we moved to the city. In the
meantime, MJ's father had been killed in an accident
and her mother had a nervous breakdown. MJ was being
raised by her Aunt Mary, my mother's friend. When we
moved to the apartment, it turned out to be only about
3 or so city blocks from where they lived. Even though
MJ should have been in my class at school, her Aunt
worked at a private all girls school located only a
few buildings away from where they lived. So, she went
there. But, it didn't take long for my mother and Mary
to re-connect. Mary was also involved with the Red
Cross as a volunteer and got my mother involved as
well. That's how I met MJ. The volunteers would meet
in the basement of this church and roll bandages for
the war effort. There were lots of kids there but MJ
and I hit it off from the beginning, even though she
was a girl. I'd say it was soon after I'd started
kindergarten, which would have made us 5 years old.
She was very much a "tom-boy". At that point in time,
girls mostly wore dresses for all occasions. MJ had
absolutely no modesty. I got an eyeful from the first
day on. but, I'm now getting ahead of myself.

Because it was pretty much expected that we'd visit my
grandparents on Sundays, it didn't take long for
Saturdays to be taken up with MJ and her Aunt. Not
that there weren't other kids to play with, but I'd
end up in her apartment or she at mine on most
Saturdays. We played dolls at her house and trucks and
cars at mine. All the while she never felt uncomfortable
showing her panties. (BTW: they were the
Carter's cotton "Spanky Pants" which became my favorite.)
Even at that age I was interested in looking at them. I
believe it was that Spring when my Mother offered to
take MJ, my brother and me to a nearby Park for a
picnic lunch. The park was in walking distance and, as
my brother was still in a carriage, that afforded her
a vehicle to carry all the necessary things. I don't
remember anything until it was time to go home. There
were no public toilets anywhere near where we were. I
had to go very badly and I remember my mother telling
me to "be a big boy and hold it until we get home".
I used to challenge MJ to race me all the time. On our
way back I challenged her to race me to this tunnel
that went under the roadway that wove through the
park. I remember beating her to it but, more
importantly, I remember stopping at the wall and
feeling pee running down my legs and I couldn't stop it.
MJ was only a few steps behind and I had no chance to
hide it from her. I knew my mother would be mad and I
immediately started crying. My mother and brother were
still quite a distance away at that point. Then, (and
this is something you will probably think I made up)
without saying a word, MJ spread her legs and wet her
pants as well. Seeing the puddle forming on the path
beneath her was enough to make me stop crying. When my
mother got closer, we moved on ahead, through the
tunnel. We managed to stay far enough ahead of her
that she didn't notice my pants were wet. MJ didn't
show because she had on a dress. Somehow we managed to
get home without her knowing. I'm sure she figured it
out when she did the laundry but nothing was ever
said. However, it was the begining of a bond between
MJ and I that I was too young then to have understood.
But more about that later.

I ended up being an unsuspecting participant in the
next memorable wetting. It was on the first day of
school for 1st grade. The school was very old. The
desks were made so that 3 students would share it.
There was one fold-down bench seat for three of us
to sit on. It was curved so that your butt was in a
hollow and then curved upwards towards your knees. The
teacher that had been assigned to us hadn't shown up
and Mrs. Carroll, the Principal was acting as our
teacher. Most of us had been there for kindergarten
and were familiar (read that "scared of") with her.
She was going over all the things we weren't to do in
school. I was sitting next to a new girl named Martha
B. She was the biggest kid in our class. She raised
her hand while Mrs. Carroll was speaking. I can still
hear her barking back at Martha "Wait until I
finish!". A few minutes later I felt something
tickling my butt. I put my hand down to scratch it
only to find I'd put my hand in a small puddle. She had
to go to the bathroom and when denied permission, she
just went in her pants. I jumped up to get away from
the ever growing puddle. As soon as I did, of course I
was in trouble... big time. Mrs. Carroll was yelling at
me to get back in my seat as she headed my way. Just
about that time the pee had made it's way to the edge
of the bench and was now dripping onto the floor.
Seeing that, she immediately thought I was the guilty
party and ordered me to the office. My pants were wet...
but not with my pee. I tried to protest but only got
more abuse. The person in the office didn't want to hear
my story either and just called my mother to bring dry
clothes. When she did she believed me when she saw
that my underpants were dry in front where my penis
was. I have no idea what played out after that. I have
no memory of discussing it with Martha or anyone else.
But it's an experience burned into my memory (or
should I say butt).

The next one also took place while I was in 1st grade.
It was at Johanna M's 6th birthday party. I was one of
just two boys invited. We played all the traditional
games like pin the tail on the donkey and the like. I
don't remember the name of this one game but I sure
remember the game itself. All the kids were lined up
on both sides of the room with some sitting on chairs
and some standing. Each "player" was blindfolded and
then spun around a few times. Then, they were pointed
in the direction of some prizes at the other end of
the room. Of course being blindfolded and made a
little dizzy by the spinning created some funny
experiences. Also, the fact that we were all around 6
years old and silly to begin with helped with the
atmosphere. Johanna, being the hostess, was last to go.
I remember her yelling not to spin her too much, which
only made whoever was doing the spinning, turn her
more. She was literally tilting as she started out. I
was sitting on an ottoman (like a footstool only
larger) down near where the prizes were located.
Johanna made a couple of steps and then tumbled to the
floor. She started laughing and everybody else did
too. That made her laugh even more. She tried to get
up and, from where I was sitting, gave me a beautiful
view of her white panties. After she tumbled over again she
lay there laughing. Her mother was there watching and
all of a sudden she jumped into the room and grabbed
Johanna, pulling her to her feet and more of less
dragging her away. Everybody went very quiet, not
knowing what had happened. For some reason, I looked
at the place where she had been lying on the floor.
There was a very definite discoloration on the rug. She
had just wet herself. Now, the other thing I remember
about this party is that it's the only one I ever
attended in which the birthday girl/boy wasn't present
for the cake and ice cream. She'd been sent to her
room and wasn't allowed back. I'll never forget it.

It was around this time that my other grandmother
became very sick. My parents took her in but that meant
there really wasn't room for me in the apartment. It was
decided that I would go live with my father's parents
(the one's with the brownstone). It was an easy
transition as I spent every Sunday there anyway. My
parents weren't that far away and I'd still be
attending the same school.

Joanie T. is back for the next incident. I don't have
a clue as to exactly when it took place but it was
after I'd moved in full time with my grandparents. We
would walk to school and back, together. Then, very
often we'd play on the front steps of the brownstones.
I loved that because it meant I'd get to peek at her
underpants. We were playing there this one day and
Joanie was a few steps above me. I have no idea what
we were playing but, for some reason, I turned and
looked up at her. She was sitting forward on the step,
legs apart, and just as in the back yard, was looking
between them. I saw the first drops of pee exit
her underpants and I just sat there transfixed. She never
looked up. When I saw the pee start to come down the
steps towards me, I moved. That movement broke her
trance and she quickly looked up and closed her legs.
I'd like to be able to say I can remember what she or
I said...but I can't. But I sure remember those first
drops of pee appearing.

Time for a little more background. As the war
progressed, my grandmother (the one I was living with)
became more and more homesick for the family
homestead. My grandfather had hoarded his gas
rationing coupons and collected enough to allow them
to go back and re-open the house for the summer. They
also thought it better for my brother and I to be
together, having lived apart for almost a year and a
half. As soon as school was out, we were on our way.

The move meant making new friends. The people next
door had a daughter a year younger than me and a son
the same age as my brother. Her name was Joan. Joan
was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Plus, she
was very gullible. By now I'd become an excellent
"panty peeker", having honed my skills through three
years of school. I'd even developed enough of a "line"
that I'd occasionally convince a girl to give me a
"free show" by lifting her skirt to show me her
pants. Joan was an easy one to convince. The problem
with Joan was that she was honest to a fault. Anyone
that asked her a question would get the truth, even if
it meant she'd get punished. My grandfather had made a
see-saw with multiple fulcrums so that two people with
uneven weight could still ride it. I'd change the
fulcrum and then get Joan up in the air and threaten
not to let her down until she showed me her underpants.
It got to be almost a joke. I knew and she knew she
was going to show them to me but we did it anyway. One
day, I had her up in the air and she pleaded to get
down because she had to go to the bathroom. I think
this is the first time I became excited at the
prospect of such a thing happening. I don't remember
what I promised her (candy, soda, whatever) but I told
her if she'd wet her pants I'd buy her something. I
can still see the pee rolling down the see-saw towards
me. I just sat there not believing she'd done it. I
didn't get up in time and got a little wet myself.
When I let her down we went and played in a converted
dog house (my grandfather had two black labs up until
they shut the house up for the war) that my grandfather
had cleaned up and made into a playhouse for me and my
brother. I'd be willing to bet that by the time she went
home she was close to being dry. The problem was
that when asked what she did that day she promptly
told her mother that she'd wet her pants for candy or
whatever it was that I'd promised. You KNOW it was a
while before she was allowed to play with me again. :-)
One "aside" to this was that their clothesline was right
next to the fence that separated the two yards. On
washday I'd end up playing nearby to get to see not only
Joan's underpants but also those of her mother.

Moving ahead to the next summer, the restrictions
about playing with me had been removed. We picked up
where we'd been. There was one change though. I had a
new friend, Terry R. His parents ran the local USO.
(There was an Army base nearby) Terry was a year older
than me and a LOT more worldly. I don't remember how
many places he'd been, but it was a lot. My
grandmother had been troubled by Arthritis and that
particular summer it was especially bad. My
grandfather hired a man, Walter, to live in and do the
cooking, cleaning and yard work. I remember him liking
to bake and always having fresh cookies available.
When I'd have Joan and Terry over to play, he'd make
up lemonade and bring us cookies or some kind of cake
for an afternoon treat.

A little more background: The property ran from Main
St. to the river. It was probably 800+ feet deep by 90
or so feet wide. When my grandfather got the Labs, he
had the entire property fenced in with chain link so
as to give them the full run of the yard. The house
was located right off the street and the carriage
house (garage) was located 200 or so feet below the
house. The entire area from the carriage house to the
river was a combination of flower and vegetable
gardens separated by grass paths culminating in a
grassy area right by the river. When my grandfather
converted the dog house to a playhouse, he had it
moved down by the river.

On this one day, we were all playing in and around the
playhouse. Joan started to leave but before she'd
gotten too far, saw Walter bringing the "goodies". She
turned around and waited for them to arrive. If that had
been today I would have certainly recognized Joan's
movements as a "pee dance". At that time I probably
took them as excited anticipation of just what goodies
we were going to get. We used wooden soda crates as
tables and chairs for the playhouse and, as Walter
approached, pulled them out and set them up for our .
afternoon "tea party". After Walter left, and we had devoured
most of the goodies, it was Terry who recognized Joan's
problem. He immediately started taunting her. When she
started to cry I told him to shut up. I have no idea where
the idea came from but I went over to her and started to
"sell" her on just going ahead and wetting her pants. I
remember pointing out how far she'd have to go to get home
and that she'd probably wet them anyway and get in trouble
for it. I suggested that she go ahead and wet them and stay
and play and let them dry. That way her mother would never
know IF SHE DIDN"T TELL HER. I really emphasized that.
Well, she stopped crying and more or less accepted the
suggestion. We all got up and went behind the
playhouse. Joan squatted down and was about to pee
when Terry told her to pull her dress up so it didn't
get wet. It wouldn't have if she hadn't but he was
smart enough to realize he/we weren't really going to
see anything if she didn't. Obligingly, Joan hiked her
dress up around her waist and proceeded to pee into
the grass. Terry and I remained standing
(unfortunately) and I was directly behind her. I
distinctly remember seeing the wetness creep slowly up
the back of her pants. When she was done we both reminded
her that this was to be OUR secret and NOT to tell her mother.
We resumed our play and to the best of my knowledge,
nothing ever came of it.

What it did do to me was to get me constantly
fantasizing on how to get her to do it again.
Unfortunately, it never did. However, I still got to peek
at her underpants when we rode the see saw.

The war was almost over by that time and my
grandfather was in the process of selling his business
in the city. My other grandmother was now dying. My
parents were overly concerned about her death and how
my brother and I would take it. They asked my father's
parents to keep us until she died. It was decided to
enroll us in the local school instead of retuning to
the city. That was to distance us from the specter of
death. All it did was to confuse us. In any case, my
grandfather now had more time for all of us. We would
occasionally make the 10 mile trip to check up on my
parents house, usually on Sundays after church. I
remember one very warm fall day and, having done the
walk around the house and determining everything was in
order, going to visit a neighbor. Also visiting was my
future mother-in-law and her children. Being a Sunday,
we were all dressed in our "good" clothes. The people
lived right on the water and, since water is a magnet to
children, we were down at the water's edge in no time.
I don't know who's idea it was but before long we were
all running in and out of the water in just our underwear.
I can still picture my future wife's pigtails bouncing
up and down on her bare back as we ran up and down the
beach. I could hardly contain my glee to be able to have an
unrestricted view of her white cotton underpants. It is a
day we both remember, but for different reasons. Even
though we'd grown up together, we hadn't really seen each
other or played since the beginning of the war and our move
to the city. I remember wanting more than anything to
return "home". It wasn't to be for a while.

To be continued...
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TO BE CONTINUED.......