Dale’s Story

Dale’s Story

Dale woke up in his studio apartment deflated that it was only a dream. He surreptitiously looked across at his computer, hopeful that there might be something on the screen but alas, though he’d sleep-typed like a deranged secretary, it was all just a jumble of letters and numbers, none of which indicated the best-selling novel he’d hoped for. What’s more, that nice comforting warm ‘sunsation’ was beginning to get clammy and wet around his groin as he realised that all was not well beneath the crumpled blanket.

He groaned. He’d gone almost a week without any night time wetting and had hoped that his problem was over. Alas, as the damp coolness became more obvious, he could only turn over, try to ignore it and return to sleep where everything was wonderful. He dozed fitfully. His moist underpants, clinging to his privates, producing an irritating itch that he just couldn’t ignore no matter how many times he drifted back to sleep. Unfortunately, those brief slips into oblivion were rudely interrupted by his need to scratch. A banging on his door brought him to full consciousness and, as he wandered to answer the constant knocking, the itch seemed all consuming.