Betsy Wetsy contained a hollow space into which water was poured, via an opening somewhere on her back, if I recall correctly. When the doll was lying on its back, the water would remain inside. When the doll was set upright, the water would leak out through an orifice between the legs, soaking the diaper. The doll was far from anatomically correct, however. The orifice was a simple round hole set in flat, soft plastic indistinguishable from that which made up the rest of the doll. I was in fact far more interested in the doll's eyes, which opened and closed with an audible "click" and had tough little bristle eyelashes. However, on the particular occasion which I have just recalled, it was the ability of the doll to emit water which was of interest to me.
My mother was busy at some task, and failed to heed my request for a glass of water. With unabated thirst, I suddenly noticed that my sister had left Betsy lying unattended nearby. I picked the doll up and shook it, to see if it was full. It was. Looking around to make sure that nobody was watching, since I was not supposed to be touching my sister's toys, I pulled the diaper down and held Betsy up, so that a stream of satisfying water came dribbling out of the orifice between her legs. It tasted faintly of plastic, but was welcome none the less. I emptied her entire "bladder," even licking off the excess drops. After replacing the doll's diaper, I returned her to her original place, and never told anyone what had happened. My mother forgot all about my request for a glass of water, and my sister seems never to have wondered why her doll was empty, with a dry diaper. Had I been caught in the act, I suppose there would have been scolding about my breach of the rules regarding no touching of my sister's toys, but I doubt that it would have gone any farther. My mother would probably have told it as a "cute story," of course, causing me no end of embarrassment when I got older, but that would have been the worst of it.
It occurs to me that today, were a child to be caught doing such a thing, the prevailing culture of suspicion and paranoid thinking would probably result in that child being hauled off to a psychologist and being traumatized by "concerned adults" looking for evidence of molestation or of the innately perverse behavior patterns of a flawed psyche. Prudish shock and pseudo science would most likely prevail, and, should more incidents of the behavior be unearthed (as the result of a study funded by a foundation grant, most likely), then still more studies would be made, and scholarly articles written, and appearances would be made on Oprah and Doctor Phil, and the popular press would report the new omen of the impending end of civilization, ad nauseam. I myself failed to carry the behavior I displayed that day into adulthood, and seem to have taken no harm from either the incident itself, or its long suppression in my memory. I guess I was lucky to have been born in a less psychologically enlightened, and less priggishly obsessive, age. And, now that I think of it, it was kind of a cute story, wasn't it.