We decided to try out an idea where he lay naked on his
back on the bathroom floor and I squatted over of him.
In theory, I would end up peeing on his chest and then we
would work up to me peeing directly into his mouth and on
his face, but only later, once we got the basics down.
Simple, right? I knelt over him and realized in a sudden moment
of sheer panic that there was no way in hell it was going to be
that easy. I got up and turned off the lights. Maybe that would help.
I resumed the position and was no closer to letting go
of that prized liquid than I had been before.
I got up and ran some water in the sink. Back into position.
Still no luck. I told him to close his eyes and keep his hands
away from my body. Being touched at the same time made it even harder.
Looking back on the scene now, I wonder how bizarre it
would have looked from outside the bathroom window.
A girl, naked, squatting over a grown man’s chest while
he lays on the bathroom floor with the lights off, his
eyes closed, hands at his sides while the faucet happily
produces ounce after ounce of liquid as if it’s just that easy.
My Boyfriend Had
a Peeing Fetish
I’ve never been much good at peeing when there’s someone else around. Something about letting go of my tightly clenched bladder muscles when there’s a human being near me just doesn’t sit well with me.
Even if it’s a person I know, if I feel like they’re standing right outside of the bathroom door or in earshot, I can’t do it. I sneak away to pee when no one is around, and sometimes run water in the sink to cover up the sound. I don’t know where I developed such a bizarre fear of doing something so normal, but I did and that’s just the way it goes.
Once, I was at a bar with friends for a good long while and tried three separate times to pee over the course of the evening. The bathroom had a weird layout with a door just off of the main room marked “Women”, and just inside of that door there was a sink, a few square feet of standing space, and then a stall.
Usually when a bathroom has this setup, the outer door locks and a line forms outside of the room, while other full-bladdered women wait their turn. But that door didn’t lock, and every single time I tried that night, I would enter the bathroom, close the door of the stall, and assume the position.
Right before I found that moment of release, some other woman would open up the outer door and stand two feet from me on the outside of the stall.
Though I tried to ignore the presence of that new, unwelcome stranger, the golden moment of opportunity had passed and I’d pull up my panties, grit my teeth and head back to my table.
That night, I bought a tin of mints at a gas station two blocks from the bar on my way home, just to use their bathroom. My bladder hurt so much and every step I took was like setting fire to my insides.
It was either a 20 minute walk during which I would inevitably piss myself, squatting in an alley somewhere and hoping no one saw, or buying a tin of mints and nearly crying with relief when that golden stream of liquid finally started flowing out of me. Safe and sound in a gas station bathroom.
As with so many things in life, as some sort of a lovely karmic joke perhaps, I ended up dating a guy with a urine fetish. We had just started dating and were getting into some non-standard sexual activities by that point, and I wanted to know exactly what made him tick.
We were walking back to his car after dinner and I was suggesting things that he might like in a playful, “I’m going to guess your favorite sexual proclivity while I hold my leftovers and you unlock the car door,” kind of way.
I suggested urine in jest and looked up at his face as he answered. His face told me everything I needed to know, even without the silence and bashful demeanor he suddenly slipped into. Golden showers. Okay. I can do that… right?
I’ve never been one to judge people for their sexual preferences, and I was flattered that he trusted me enough to tell me something that taboo. I was at the peak of my sexual awakening and figured I might as well try anything once (the exceptions being scat, children and blood play. Those are hard limits!).
One day, when we were fooling around at his house, I realized I suddenly had to pee and that this might be the perfect time to enact that little fantasy for him and see how it felt.
I asked him how we should go about it, all the while maintaining a coy, sexy attitude while I figured out exactly how this was supposed to work. Does he lie in a bathtub? Do I pee on the bed? Does he kneel underneath me? My sex-ed class didn’t exactly teach me the specifics of golden shower enactments.
I never did manage to simply squat over his face and pee, but we broke up a few months later. Had we stayed together, maybe I would have eventually figured it out.
I came up with a fun compromise where I’d blindfold him or simply demand that he close his eyes, and I’d sneak out of the room, grab a martini glass from the cupboard, fill it up with my urine, and then bring it back to him.
I’d tease, taunt and arouse him by flicking it onto his body, wiping it on his face, or pouring little sips into his happy, euphoric mouth.
Golden showers, water sports, whatever you want to call them – they can be a lot harder than you’d think. Maybe there are some people out there who are naturally gifted at peeing on their partners.
But for some of us, that natural little thing that we do every day can be a hell of a lot harder when it’s on top of the guy who bought your dinner.
