Tales of a Masturbating Idiot
How To Pee--1
by Mykola Dementiuk
Back in the time when I still uncertain as to the purpose of the physical differences between males and females, a woman drew me into a ladies' restroom as she cooed and made me lower my pants and fondle my genitals until I grew stiffly erect for that early age.
She must have received immense pleasure from my stiff little penis, probably no bigger or fatter than my pinky or index finger at that point, because I recall her panting, sighing and kissing my face.
Don't be afraid, she whispered, as struggled to raise her skirt, tug down her girdle and squat on the edge of the stall toilet seat.
I'm still impressed by the vivid memory of my prodding penis instinctively circling and poking her belly and wet pussy hairs as I stepped between her thighs.
Amazing, but I wasn't frightened at all. Still, she had to lean back on the seat and lift her torso to successfully pull me in to enter her from beneath.
Yet since I knew of one purpose to my dick and was probably confused by her contradictory movements of pulling me in yet pushing me out again, I simply leaned down on her torso, my hands on her shoulders, and pressed my face to her bosom and peed.
It was a constrained feeling, as though I was peeing back into myself, but when she bolted up, pushed me off her chest and gaped at the pee dribbling out of her wet cunt, I simply smiled and blushed, blinking my eyes as though I was a shy good boy.
She also turned red and blushed but suddenly pulled me back on her and also began to pee. A blissful feeling, and we both contently peed.
The tired looking woman opened the men's room door, saw me standing before a urinal my dick fully exposed and poised in my hand, then boldly entered the bathroom, letting the door shut behind her.
I had been in the quiet Pix movie theater bathroom and trying to pee, tugging the flaccid skin of my dick back and forth in a weak mimic of masturbation, yet the urine hovered between the pit of my crotch and the tip of my penis. It seemed stuck in the limp wrinkled shaft and refusing to leave either the dick or relax in its bladder.
A few times I even flushed the urinal hoping that the splashing gushing sound of water would entice the urine to flow, but to an avail.
The woman stepped away from the door and shuffled to the vacant toilet cubicles in back of me. Her heel-less slipperlike shoes sliding softly on the muck edged, gray-tiled floor.
I let go of my dick and turned to look at her, my dick limply dangling out of my pants.
This early morning, she wore a tight blue skirt that disappointedly fell below her knees --out of style years ago-- and a frumpy kind of slushy dirty pink sweater that concealed whatever flat breasts she may have once plumped up and shown off.
Her blonde hair draped limply on the sides of her face, and her eyes and lips were still tinged in faint traces of possible week-old makeup.
I frowned, she looked wasted and desolate, probably a burnt-out whore giving blowjobs for a few bucks in the bathrooms and balconies, or some confused housewife having recently discovered her insatiable need for sex and tossed out in the streets for it.
She moved across the bathroom floor and peered into a vacant cubicle; her shoulders shivered, and I heard her gag and spit out in disgust as she quickly jerked away from the cubicle, her finders clasping her clinching lips and nose.
Pigs, she blurted, Fucking pigs!
She quickly moved away to the cubicle farthest away from the repulsive one, skipping two vacant stalls in between. She wiped her eyes and nose, coughed and looked at me.
My limp dick dangled out of my zipper, but I made no move to cover myself and instead, tensed the bottom of my ass and felt my cock give a quick indistinct jerk up and down; I doubt she noticed anything.
She turned to look into the farthest cubicle, warily pushing open the stall door, then glanced up at me.
I wonder if this one properly works? she quietly whispered and moved her eyes from my cock to my face and back down again.
I cleared my throat and stepped away from the urinals and moved towards her, my cock flapping limply from side to side as I approached the cubicle she stood at and peered in.
Looks okay, I shrugged, and saw her look away from my dick and stare at the toilet bowl.
Yeah? she meekly said, biting her lip and studying my face.
I smiled and nodded, stepping into the cubicle. I lowered the black toilet seat then unrolled a wad of toilet paper, wiping the seat clean, though I knew that in those early hours there still had been not many gawkers in the movie house.
I tossed the wad into the bowl, flushed and gestured for to enter and sit down. She glanced at the toilet bowl, once more studied my face and finally entered the cubicle, pushing the door shut behind us, clamping the metal latch securely down.
For the first time since she had entered the bathroom, I felt that familiar but involuntary avid kick at the base of my groin, a tensing of possible release, but it seemed more like a fleeting confused reminder than an actual sexual arousal, and my dick stayed just as weak and limp.
Still, I moved to the narrow space between the bowl and stall partition so my cock would be level with her sucking face when she sat down on the bowl.
I foresaw at least a hand-job, if not a possible blowjob, because where else could this thing be going?
I again held out my arm for her to be seated, and she again shyly glanced at my cock, then up at my face, stooping down and clasping the bottom of her skirt it over her knees.
I felt a slight rising tension in my dick.
She slightly wiggled and tugged the tight skirt further up her thighs, but her outspread legs prevented the skirt from rising as freely as it should, and she pouted.
I have to pee! she hissed, crossing her legs and doubling over, rocking back and forth.
I reached down to her thighs and firmly grasped the bottom of her skirt, my fingers inching up the bare leg flesh under the skirt.
I again felt that sudden snap of arousal as my rising limp dick brushed the crumpled folds of her raised skirt.
I glanced at the molds of her small breasts and grimaced. They smelled; it was an odor of stale sweat, unwashed feet, foul mouth, stagnant perfume, and I noticed how dirty and grimy her sweater and faded white blouse actually were.
Still, I clasped the hem of her tight skirt and easily hiked it up her torso, my hands and wrists vibrating from that pleasing jolt when the skirt strained behind her then jumped reluctantly over her bumpy resistant somewhat rounded ass cheeks.
I took a step back to the partition.
Her legs were bare and spotted with tawny bruise marks on her inner thighs and she wore those sexless and thick old-lady-style cotton panties which draped loosely down her belly, covering her entire groin from the waist to the short panty legs dangling down her thighs. Heavy ground-in under washed menstrual stains flecked out of her crotch in a mimic of a pubic hair-bush.
Thanks, she mumbled, sticking her thumbs into the panty waist and jerking it down the rest of her torso and legs.
I thought she'd leave it wrapped around her knees but she continued sliding the cotton drawers further down her legs then kicking it off her ankle.
Thanks, she again whispered, and grabbed the side of the already wrinkled skirt still higher up around her waist.
I glanced at her hairy crotch, a thick line of dark limp hairs weaving up to her belly and saw tawnier and fading bruises around the sides of her hips.
She groaned, taking another quick breath, and squatted down to the toilet seat, quickly opening and closing her shaking legs.
I stood poised, listening for to the eerie hiss of pee leaving a female body, and watched her tense and vibrate.
She groaned, and farted, a quick plopped burp, and bashfully looked up at me.
Do you have to pee too? she quietly asked, staring at my rising penis.
That was it, I suddenly realized, I had to pee too! That's why I wasn't getting an erection, I had to pee!
I nodded, stepping in between her open legs. It would be an easy aim, there was enough room between her crotch and the rim of the bowl without getting her wet. Or maybe that's what she wanted; wasn't there a hint of piss-smell on her sweater too?
Sit here, she said, and moved slightly further back on the toilet seat, expertly kicking her foot out more of the panty leg. She reached up to my waist and pulled the end of my belt out of the hoops in my pants but struggled with the tightly clenched belt buckle under my bloated belly.
I blushed and sucked in my waist, tugging the over-notched belt strap back, freeing the resistant buckle-pin out of the torn-out and strained belt hole.
I undid the top pants button and sighed as my belly sagged out. She reached behind me and grabbed the top of my pants and underwear and tugged them down my ass and thighs.
Come pee, she said, and separated her legs on the toilet seat and gestured for me crawl in.
I leered and faintly smiled, shaking my pants to my ankles and awkwardly lowered myself but stood back up, shaking my head in confusion.
Like this, honey, she said, grabbing my shirt bottom and raised her legs and pulled towards her.
Certainly, expecting a fucking, I thought, and grabbed onto the toilet paper dispenser on the wall for better balance and again squatted down to the front part of the toilet seat.
She wrapped her legs over my belly and thighs and pulled my flabby bare waist against her.
I dropped onto the seat; my thighs splayed to sides of the bowl; my ankles bound by my pants at the bottom of the bowl.
I felt the taut pressure of the hard seat pounding into underused and overstretched flabby muscles that I feared getting cramped, but I moved slightly up the hard black seat and put my arms around her waist.
She smiled, and I smiled back, and we both glanced down at the tiny gap between our hairy crotches, my pubic hairs tingling stiffly against her matted and flat curled ones, my limp cock and balls dangling into the bowl.
Pee? she asked, biting her lower lip and nervously looking at me.
I nodded and felt her torse strain as I heard that first intrusive prolonged hiss of female pee.
I slightly cringed as I felt my cock and balls sprinkled in pee, but I also strained and finally felt my over-clenched bladder opening and splashing urine into the bowl.
We again looked down at the gap between our legs and I breathed in the fumes of piss rising up to my nostrils; it was easily dispelled by the stench her unwashed body and clothes.
But I no longer cared. I meekly smiled and lowered my head onto her shoulder, my face nestled against her limp dank hair.
She moved her arms up my back and also lowered her head. I felt her lips sucking my neck.
We held each other tightly. And we peed.
****
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