Pissing My Sister's Bed

When I was younger, but still way too old for it to be okay to pee myself, we had a family friend visiting and I had to share a bed with my sister.  She had inherited a queen-sized bed from our grandmother and there was plenty of space for two tiny people to sleep.  My parents sent my sister and I to bed a little early, presumably so that they could talk about "adult things," as they called them.  So my sister and I scuttled up to her room and fell asleep.  

Several hours later I woke up.

Something wasn't right.

My ass was all wet.  I lay motionless for a moment, trying to run through the possible scenarios of what would cause prolific ass sweat at night time.  Was I some sort of horrible werewolf/moon-sweating abomination?  Had I finally reached the cursed year which would mark my transformation into a terrible anally-sweating beast?  I shifted a bit.  I could feel that my legs were also wet...and my back.  I felt warm, but it wasn't because I was sweating; it was like the liquid was warm.

Then it dawned on me:  I had pissed my bed.

Then something else dawned on me:  I was in my sister's bed.

My blood would have run cold if I wasn't insulated by my own urine.  What was I going to do?  Clearly I couldn't admit to peeing in my sister's bed.  How old was I?  Eleven?  Jesus, nine year-olds in Somalia carry guns and shoot people and I'm peeing myself while sleeping next to my little sister.

I pulled myself out of bed.  Anyone who has had the misfortune of bedwetting knows that the most uncomfortable feeling in the world is when you slowly pull yourself out of a pissy bed.  I went to sleep with dignity and I woke up smelling like an old-folks home.

I snuck out of the room and into the bathroom.  I grabbed an armload of toilet paper and drippily tiptoed back into my sister's bedroom.  I mashed the toilet paper awkwardly into the wet patch where I had been laying.  This could literally have not helped my situation less.  Now I just had wet toilet paper on a wet bed.  I started panicking.  "I'm going to have to kill my family.  I'll cancel the mail and newspaper in the morning so the neighbors don't get suspicious, and then I'll- Oh shit, wait.  That guy is here, so I'll have to kill him too.  He's boring enough that people won't notice that he's gone for a couple days.  That's enough time to get a plane ticket, or find a zeppelin, or take a ferry somewhere.  No, it'll be fine.  It'll be fine."

When I started legitimately brainstorming what killing tools we had around the house I decided that this might not be the most prudent avenue of thought.  

Denial came next.

I didn't pee myself.  I was eleven!  Eleven year olds don't piss themselves.  Eleven year olds are almost adults!  Something else must have happened.

Then I vaguely remembered something from my school's half-assed attempt at sex-ed.  There was something called a "wet-dream."  Surely this was what had befallen me.  I woke up "wet" and I didn't remember having a "dream", but that doesn't mean I didn't dream about something;  I forget dreams all the time!

So that was that.  I had an alibi.  Now to just tell my mom so she could change the sheets and I could get back to bed.

I walked confidently, but still dripping, to my parents room.  I went over to my mom's side of the bed.  I tried to wake her up gently, but to this day I have not yet succeeded a single time.  

I tugged at her sleeve.  "Hey mom."

"AGHGHHBHBHH!  INTRUDER!  A TINY MURDERER NEXT TO THE BED!  GRAB THE SHOTGUNS!"  My mom jolted awake, her fear meter jumping from zero to bike-ride-through-Harlem-at-midnight in an instant.

"Mom, shhh.  It's your son."

"Oh, gosh honey.  You scared mommy.  What's wrong?"

"I had a wet dream."

"...what?"

"I woke up all wet.  I must have had one of those wet dreams.  Apparently boys my age do that."

"Okay...well why are you sharing this with me?"

"The sheets are all wet.  I need you to change them."

"The sheets?  How much did you..."  She pulls her feet out of her bed and turns on her lamp.  "What's wrong with your pajamas?  Is your...is your shirt wet, too?"

"Oh, yeah.  There's a lot of whatever came out of me."

She looks down.  "You're dripping on the floor!  Get into the bathroom!"

She ushered me into the bathroom where I took off my pajamas and changed into some different clothes.  "Let's go take a look at the bed."  She said.

I followed her into my sister's room.  My mom slowly walked around to the side opposite my still slumbering sister and inspected the massive wet spot.  "This is...a lot."  She said.

"Must have been a weird dream."  I responded unknowingly.

She sniffed.  "This smells like urine.  I think you peed the bed."

"No, no.  It was a wet dream..."

"This is pee."  My mom walked around to my sister and shook her awake.  "Honey, you need to wake up.  Your brother peed in your bed."

Turns out it was pee.  I should have killed them when I had the chance.