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PISSE-AU-LIT

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At times I might be at the middle of a football match with the street junior team all engrossed and undistracted. Discomfort will come and it will happen. At another time, I might be in the class and discomfort will bring the urge to excuse myself. It happens again.

Each time I experienced this disgracing occurrence, there is always a particular event attached to it.

This time, I was the Chief celebrant at mass on a day that seemed to be a Sunday in picture. The catholic faithful seemed to be enjoying the time in God’s presence and my approach to the homily carried everyone along with the liturgy of the word.

I had thought about being a reverend father at different times, and this time, I was obviously enjoying myself.

Just immediately I ended the homily, we were about moving into the liturgy of the Eucharist. Then, I began to feel uncomfortable. My bladder was full already and this was very spontaneous without a graded or gradual filling. I was the only priest on the altar and couldn’t pause the mass neither could I excuse myself for a while to urinate.

I thought rushing the mass would be a nice idea but there would be about 10 thanksgivings as registered with the catechist.

I decided to rush through the prayers but mistakes kept occurring as I couldn’t hide the obvious discomfort even thou no one could figure what exactly the problem was.

The choir as usual attempted chanting every prayer but I stopped it each time they tried it just to save time and speed things up. I interrupted everything that attempted to slow things down and was almost transferred aggression on my altar servers.

I was still battling with the task of holding my bladder till the mass ends so I could urinate when I released my first round of gaseous rectal expulsion (fart). That was then I knew the evil spirits have called a congress for my sake. The odour caused confusion on the altar though everyone pretended to be focused, disarray was boldly written on their faces as they stared at themselves in suspicion.

I also pretended as if my attention was away from them. Thanks to the incense whose smell eliminated the foul odour.

It was a double trouble for me as it meant that I had to prevent urine and at the same time prevent faecal elimination.

I couldn’t hold it any further; we still had more than an hour before the end of the mass. We were about starting consecration and the bread hadn’t even turned into the body of Christ.

I raised my little hands up like I wanted to say one of the usual prayers and prematurely I declared “the mass is ended, let us go in peace to love and serve the Lord”. The church became so silent and no one still understood. Of course, no priest on the surface of the earth would joke with the mass and end it at that time.

The catechist moved close to me to enquire what exactly the problem was but before he got to where I was, I ran as thou tormented by a foreign spirit through the exit on the alter and approached the parish toilet. The parishioners obviously would suspect a case of mental illness.

I pulled my trousers down and raised the whole of my priestly vestment up holding it with my chin clamped to my sternum. It was the height of discomfort. I couldn’t even disrobe before rushing off to the toilet. I sat on the closet when I felt comfort was close to me and urine rushed out of my penis.

I received intermittent slaps as I struggled to come back to consciousness. It was my mum; she pulled my mackintosh out of the bed since it couldn’t prevent the bed from being wet. She kept slapping me till my eyes were clear. She then carried me to the toilet to urinate but my bladder was empty already. I thought I emptied them into the parish toilet but my bed was a victim of urine flood.

“tobiee, when will you stop bedwetting?” she asked with her voice sounding like thunder. I couldn’t cover my shame this time around. I was caught red handed this time, I would have as usual, changed my clothe, wet my sister’s clothe with water and put her on the wet bed.

My dreams had landed me into the pit of enuresis again. This time it wasn’t football I was playing in the dream neither was I in the classroom. I was a reverend father! Who does that?

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