Won’t someone pee on me? Please?

Never having written a pee story before, there was a lot of research I needed to do.

After doing some googling, I learned that more than babies come out of my crotch. Pee comes out too! And some other things we won’t talk about. We’re mostly about the pee.

When I started writing my latest fetish novella, Yellow Summer, I wasn’t sure I could bring it off. By the time I finished, I was bringing it off quite frequently.

Just something I threw on, DH. My urinal dress. Oh! I just remembered, it’s date night! So what do YOU want to do?

People, it’s as simple as this: pee is sexy. And no, Idon’tknowwhy it’s so sexy. There’s just something about it. Could it be the complete, abject submission of the woman getting peed upon? Could it be her acquiescence to the male need to pee on her? Somehow she remains herself, even though the act resonates with power over her.

Who said being peed upon is an insult? Was it some psychology grad student? Because it certainly wasn’t Shakespeare. Shakespeare remains mute on the subject of gender domination and urination. I wonder, am I being too California-sensitive about this? I don’t know. I’m not Californian. Is that why I’m confused about urine?

Obviously I had a lot of questions. I needed to do more research into whether I felt dominated or not. I went to DH who was watching TV. He looked like he didn’t want to get up and pee on anything, which is rare for him. I engaged him on an intellectual level.

“Heeeyyyyy,” I said.

He was having none of it. “I’m all tapped out, Linds, leave me alone. Game’s on.”

“No, really. Heeeyyyyy.”

“Linds, can’t you go have an affair or something? There must be someone else you can pester.”

The fool! He thought I was talking about nookie, not bladder release.

Read on for how I terrorized him…

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Me giving my first blowjobs. Point of view: terrified male teen. (Pictured: Not me.)

So I used the classic blowjob social-engineering approach that was first demonstrated to me (on me?) in High School. It’s a tactic of steady escalation, where the first innocuous agreement is applied to every subsequent request: Sure I’ll rest my hand on your crotch, I was kind of curious anyway. Wait, your zipper’s undone. No underwear, huh? Up and down like this? Kiss it? Cap it with my mouth? Add moisture? No biting?

The boys I tortured as they tried to lead me along. I was like an indecisive, brain-damaged prostitute, needing explicit step-by-step instructions to get to the next level.

Since it worked on me, why not on my DH?  By this point the game was over. I approached him as he was watching Game of Thrones. It was the scene where the Dragon princess was getting plowed on screen by a Maori warrior.

Me: Honey, if I give you a beer, will you pee?

DH: Sure!

Me: Great, so you’ll pee on me?

DH: Um, what?

Me: Yeah in my mouth.

DH: Get off your knees, Lindsey. Let’s talk this out.

Me: Just a little squirt for now.

DH: Now I need a shower.

Though my own research hit a wall, I know there is urine still out there. Urine that is destined for me. I will hunt it down like I did that Tapas restaurant outside Atlanta.

Meanwhile, the internet is full of promising leads.

It burns! It burns! I know I’m laughing, but seriously. Stop! It burns! Stop!!

Son, you’ve got star power. Let me buy you a pitcher of beer.

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