Becoming April

Chapter 11

Oh my God.

What was that? Had I just— Reaching beneath my sleep shorts I touched wetness. A lot of it, a lot more than what I'd felt between my legs the previous night. Had I climaxed and peed? Was I incontinent now?

Sitting up and feeling below me to find a wet spot on the bed, I groaned. Turning on the bedside lamp, I got up and pulled the blanket and top sheet away to stare in dismay at the dark spot. It . . . wasn't that big? It didn't look like I'd unloaded the contents of my bladder in my sleep.

So glad I gave May her nanny cam back. I shuddered just to think I might have given another nighttime performance. Quickly stripping the bed showed that the waterproof and bugproof mattress cover (May had had a story to tell about bedbug infestations and preemptive countermeasures) didn't hold the damp. When I sniffed the sheet it didn't smell like urine, not really. It was still just one more thing and I felt like crying.

Damn hormones. I'd figure it out in the morning.

Taking a quick shower, I changed into a fresh nightshirt and sleep shorts, got fresh sheets from the linen closet in the hall, and remade the bed. Crawling back in, I climbed right back out and went back to the bathroom and sat on the toilette until I was sure my bladder was absolutely empty. Then I went back to bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour before I finally fell back to sleep.

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I tried on the high-waisted jeans shorts May had bought me, found that they too dug up into that big unoccupied expanse that was my crotch to make me one-hundred percent aware of my new vulva, and put on the summer dress instead. Like the top I'd worn yesterday it was shoulderless with stringy straps, but it sat even looser over my breasts, held up by an elastic neckline, again with a built-in bra, blousing over my chest and gathering again at its elastic waist before flaring out below. Its hem rose higher than yesterday's skirt had, just brushing my fingertips, but I'd showed a lot more leg before in my old workout shorts and I could keep practicing my closed knees.

Breakfast was a repeat of yesterday without the jump-scare or Carl's awkward exit (we fist-bumped this time). I felt more right with him after last night; I'd won the first game quickly when he'd fallen into a Dutch Defense, and since it had ended so fast we'd set up another one and played into the evening while May watched with Steph. The beer and trash-talk had been missing, but something in my chest had clicked back into place.

I put my dishes in the dishwasher after he left and, sucking it up, told May about last night.

"Oh, hun." She hugged me but she was laughing a little. Pulling away she kept her hands on my arms. "First of all, look at you having your first wet dream already."

"I soaked the bed!"

"Yes, well squirting from a wet dream is a little unusual but that sounds like what you did."

"I squirted? What does that even mean?"

"Oh my. Come over here." She sat us back down at the breakfast counter and took my hands. "I'm going to get real explicit now, you ready?"

Cringing inside I nodded.

"Okay, to take it from the top, girls have wet dreams just like boys do. Usually not as often, maybe two or three times a year, but a lot more for some women. It's kind of hard to know, because lots of times they just don't wake us up. It's not like with guys—when they ejaculate in their sleep it always leaves a mess that gets noticed, you know?"

I nodded, remembering waking up with sticky underwear in those teen years and occasionally later, but . . . "Like the one I made?"

"No. If you woke in a large wet spot I doubt it was just female lubrication. That's why I think you squirted. That's something different, not all women do it, most of the time it comes from intense g-spot stimulation or a . . . knack, for lack of a better word. It comes from your urethra, but it's clear fluid though there might be a little urine in it. You did not pee the bed. I've really never heard of it happening from a wet dream, but it's a normal sexual response."