It's funny how nicknames and sayings come into being, its almost like they have a life of their own. I am and will be forever know as "That lovely British girl, who pees on herself".
I have a few peeing stories, which I was so sweetly reminded of today by someone who knows every nook and cranny of my closet. Why would I share this information publicly? Well, it completely ties into my self depreciating sense of humor. I have always said…. "If it's funny it's fair game" and that my lovelies applies to me first and to you second.
So to share my humiliation, here goes nothing.
I once dated a girl named Little Lynne, we were together on and off for about a year. Both in our late teens we were still young British renegades with no real direction in life.
I have a million stories about this girl, she was trouble. Capital T trouble! I seem to go for that sort whenever the opportunity arises. (I think Slam would have been the troubled sort too).
Among other things, Lynne was obsessed with the idea of golden showers. She would constantly beg me to pee on her. I must have been destined to become an American citizen because I just couldn't get my head around the eroticism in the act of peeing on ones lover. My thoughts would always, without fail, go to the practicalities of such tomfoolery. The bed… the sheets…pee smell… the hygiene…you get the idea.
There's not much I would say no to if the gal I was sleeping with was really into it… but I have to say that on a scale of ONE to DID HELL FREEZE OVER? That really was a… did hell freeze over? Hmmmm…..No!
We were in the throws of sexual experimentation. We were young and thought we invented half of the stuff we came up with, which is quite amusing to think back on now.
At Lynne's request we had a threesome with our roommate, Debbie (not to be confused with Dumb Debbie – Thank You!). Yes…even in England dykes move in together on the 2nd date. We couldn't afford a u-haul which at the time really was fine… since all of our (combined) worldly possessions fit nicely into three Asda shopping bags. The move was smooth sailing as we boarded the number 58 bus and headed to our new home in Chorlton-cum-Hardy (you couldn't make this shit up if you tried). Three packed plastic grocery bags, she carried two of them and I begrudgingly carried the third. Oh – the good times…. Anyway, back to this threesome thingy…
Lynne apparently really dug Debbie therefore seizing the opportunity to cash in on the fact that Deb and her girlfriend Cheryl were in a humongous fight … I didn't care much either way, I mean the girl was nice enough…but not nice enough for me to wipe away her tears and then offer to fuck her.
I do hope Lynne became a Multi-Bagillionaire – because she was one hell of a sales person… I mean think of this…. "Come on honey, forget the Kleenex and the ice-cream, me and my girlfriend will have sex with you, that'll really give you something to cry about"… sadly, I'd wager, she isn't making six figures selling honest goods to a customer base…she's probably selling crack to junior high school kids in the bowels of Manchester…I have such great taste in women!!
Meanwhile back at the relationship ranch… the sales pitch was more along the lines of "You won't do the golden shower thing for me so at the very least you could do this… I mean, you like Debbie… you guys get along". Yeah … when we borrowed each others clothes!!
I considered it and since I had turned down repeated requests to convert our bedroom into a urinal (which I know really was quite selfish of me)… I agreed. The event didn't pan out exactly as Lynne had envisioned. The encounter turned primarily into a two-some with an audience of one. It seemed our "roomie" dug me a little more than she dug Lynne. I believe Lynne's statement to me the next day was "Let's not do that again", I'm guessing she didn't appreciate being the third wheel. That's the problem with threesomes… one person always gets left out.
Cheryl and Debbie made up and shortly thereafter Lynne and I moved to Hanbury Street in Miles Platting. The golden showers request remained in play. Because the threesome hadn't worked out "exactly" in her favor, Lynne used it as a negotiation tool… I finally buckled…
"Fine! Fine… Bloody Fine! But… there is no way I'm peeing on you in my bed"
A bizarre conversation to be having, at best.
"I'll do it in the bathtub"
She was over-fucking-joyed! I directed her to lay down in the tub and I would pee on her. Oh my God… why am I even writing this? The memory is excruciatingly humiliating and yet the image – which thankfully you don't have access to…. is hysterical!!
So there she is, this little "5 foot' nothing" Napoleon, lying in an empty tub… with me, the naked 5'9 Amazon, crouching over her trying to pee. I couldn't pee. I couldn't do it to save my life; I had gone completely pee shy. I ran the water in the sink… that wasn't working so I leant over and put my fingers in the stream of water to see if that would help… nothing… nada! I had her making those pee pee noises; you know what I'm talking about, the ones mothers make when their children have the same problem with a dammed up aqueduct. How sexy does this montage sound? Trust me, it felt about as sexy as it sounds…
I managed one tiny un-sexy dribble and I had had enough…. This show was over. The golden shower was attempted, failed and put to bed – forever!
She didn't ask me again – yet another thing that didn't live up to the fantasy in her head…. (Please refer to Lesbian Sex… it's called a "fantasy" for a reason).
Surely amidst my humiliation I have to get SOME props for even trying??? No? Sigh…. OH WELL! I must move on to my second peeing episode.
Less than five years later I was a resident in the States and no American girl I knew was asking me to even pee in front of her – so I figured I was safe, for now…
It was Easter of 1992, Big Bell had just gotten a fire engine red Kawasaki Vulcan, sport motorcycle. It was all cranked up – chrome, sport seats … Unfortunately, I have an aversion to motorcycles; I lost my cousin to bike accident in 1991 – needless to say – not my family's favorite mode of transportation. The loss was still so new and raw it was a huge deal for me to be around these steel ponies, let alone have someone I loved riding around on one.
The plan was to spend Easter Sunday with BB and family where I would meet BB's Mom for the first time. Momma B was making the family a ham dinner with all the fixings and maybe a little egg painting activity thrown in for fun. BB begged me to ride bitch over to Momma B's house… Bell was so excited and so proud of the new power toy that I didn't have it in me to rain all over the macho parade as it gathered speed.
There are only two people on the planet, as I live and breathe , that I trust enough to get on the back of one of those two wheel monsters. I just rode with Dykes on Bikes for Pride 2008 and what a bloody fiasco that was … let me tell you! Well, maybe another time…
Subsequently, Easter of 1992, I let go of my fear and saddled up for the short ride across town.
BB was in heaven!!
It was my summer of mini skirts and cowboy boots… quite the look!!
I had been shopping especially for the occasion and had discovered an amazing invention called a skort. I am a hater of shorts but sometimes skirts truly are just impractical, especially if you are engaged in any kind of physical activity that requires you to bend over. The SKORT is an amazing tool in a girl's wardrobe….. It looks like a skirt but in actual fact is really shorts with a skirt façade!! Genius!!!
Definitely not a motorcycle outfit – but apropos for Easter Dinner!
Macho Bell is driving the Vulcan mean machine wearing jeans, motorcycle boots and a black leather jacket, I am riding bitch in a blue skort, tank top and cowboy boots. We got the response Bell was looking for as we whipped through the outskirts of Boston. I was happy to oblige Bell's ever increasing testosterone filled ego….
We arrived at our destination in one piece. I loved Momma B on sight… we just bonded there and then for no particular reason and yet every one I can think of. The Ham was fabulous… The family was less than creative in their attempts at egg painting and I am putting myself at the front of the line for the least amount of skill and artistic talent…
Momma B did what mothers all over the world do…. She broke out the family photo albums to show off her babies! From dirty faced toddlers to prom pictures… we went through them all and there are some doozies in there let me tell you… I'm pretty sure BB would kill me if I described the prom outfit!!! LOL!!!
Well fed and well entertained I excused myself to go to the ladies room.
Women's clothing occasionally requires a physics degree to figure out exactly how certain pieces "work". I have many things in my closet that to the naked eye – you would be wondering… "What the Hell do you do with THAT?" – Forgive me, but… well, I was new to the "skort" world and I didn't fully understand it myself. In order to pee in a skirt you pull it up, now shorts… you pull them down…. So what, pray tell do you do with a skort which is neither a skirt nor a short?
It took me a minute but I finally figured it out… you pull it down like shorts…. though I didn't happen to account for all the excess flowy 'skirt" material. Yep…This genius somehow landed all the excess fabric into the toilet bowl and pee'ed all over it. As I stood up to flush I realized that the back of me was completely soaked.
So now what do you do? You're in someone's Mothers bathroom (who you've just met) and you are soaked through, covered in your own pee! I was horrified! I took the damn thing off and washed it in the sink… but now I was left with a sodden skort and nothing to put on…. I did the best job I could to wring it out and donned the now "not so great looking" wet rag.
The person that I am today… I would just own the situation and have a good laugh at myself – the younger version of me cared way too much about what others thought. I fought it but I eventually had to extract myself from the bathroom when even I, could no longer justify the time I had spent locked away agonizing over my wardrobe malfunction.
Fortunately BB was sitting on the couch by the door. I walked up behind the couch and tried out my sweetest quietest indoor voice, I half whispered…
"Bee, Come have a cigarette with me?"
"In a minute, come look at these pictures, Mom wanted you to see this.."
BB was engrossed in the family pictorial history. I upped my volume a little…
"BB, come have a cigarette, we'll look at those in a minute"
Bell can get really stubborn and single minded every once in a while… and picked that moment to make a stand for the family history.
"Come on Nik, Mom just got these out"
"I know, but I really want to go outside"
"We were just outside ten minutes ago, it won't kill you, I really want you to see these"
BB was not picking up what I was laying down. I put my hands on BB's shoulders and dug my nails into the flesh… I half hissed through clenched teeth and (what I was praying looked like) a very sweet smile to the rest of the family…
"NOW, BB…NOW!… come outside and have a cigarette with ME, NOW"
I spoke very slowly and articulated every word… stressing my point with a glare and raised eyebrows.
BB finally got the hint..
"OK! OK! We'll go have a cigarette, what's all the fuss about?"
I used Bells body as shield to get from behind the couch and out the door…. Bell took one look at me…
"What the HELL happened to you? What did you do?"
I regaled my bathroom woes, BB was in hysterics before I could even finish… sensitivity and discretion does not run in Bell's family.
The front door flew open – Oh the horror… Momma B…
"What is all the ruckus about? What's so funny?"
"It's Nik…"
BB spits out, pointing in my direction….
"She peed all over herself!"
In that moment… I became….
"That Lovely British Girl…. The one who pees on herself"
16 years later…. Momma B still refers to me in that manner … "And how is Nik, That lovely British girl that pees on herself?"
Like I said…. These things have a life of their own
Group Sex Etiquette is as follows:
A Threesome / Ménage is just a convenient term to use for having sex with multiple people. If you really want to engage in such skirmishes I find, even numbers work out much better for everyone involved.
Common Sense Rule 5.
When faced with a fashion choice…. Wash and Wear is ALWAYS the way to go
Christmas Shopping Tip
If in doubt….. Buy the girl a sweater
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