Anonymous
Sun, 28 Oct 01, 9:25 AM
I think that I would like to tell you about my early awareness of watersports, although at the time I was unaware of that name for what I experienced.
When I was about 18 years old, my cousin and her mother (my mother’s sister, Rhonda) came to live with my parents and I. My Aunt and her husband were divorcing and she needed a place to stay till the whole mess was over with.
My cousin’s name was Lori and she was also 18 years old (our birthdays are only one week apart). She had long red hair and braces on her teeth. I was the athletic one, with the more muscular build and the ever-present bandage on my knee, while Lori was just a tiny bit on the chubby side. Even though we had practically been raised together, we didn’t have much in common. I had always felt that Lori was a spoiled brat, though I found out later that this was the same opinion that she had about me. Hmmm…Guess it all depends on your point of view, eh?
Once Lori had moved in, she became even more of a crybaby than she had been before. If she wanted something from her mother—new clothes, permission to do something, whatever—and she did not get it, she would yell and throw a temper fit. She would accuse her mom of being selfish and trying to keep her from having any fun, as well as throwing stuff around the house and slamming doors for dramatic effect. Lori would carry on with this behavior for so long that none of us in the house could stand it, till finally her mother would give in, or at least compromise with her on it.
The very first time that I realized that Lori, should we say, had different toilet habits from the rest of us came late one night when I heard her climb down from the bunkbed in my room. I opened my eyes just in time to see Lori go into the bathroom that connected both to my bedroom and the guest bedroom where Aunt Rhonda was staying. Lori gave the door a shove as she went past it, which did not shut it completely. I was just drifting back to sleep, when I heard the muffled taps of all of the cabinet doors and drawers being quickly opened, then closed. I could tell that she was trying to be quiet about it. I was curious now, as well as irritated, because I wondered what things of mine she might be pawing through. She was always trying to get into my stuff, like she didn’t have enough of her own, the greedy little *****.
After a few minutes all was silent again, which made me even more suspicious about what she was up to. So, I crept out from under my blankets and tiptoed over to the door. Very carefully, I peeked in through the crack of light created by the door not closing all the way, and was absolutely stunned by what I saw.
Sitting on the cream-colored linoleum floor was Lori, with her pajama top unbuttoned. With both hands she caressed her ample breasts. She seemed oblivious to me, as she gazed intently down at her own crotch. Her pale pink nipples, surrounded by their large areolas, looked very prominent and hard as she alternately rubbed, then tweaked them with her fingers. She was panting very fast.
Lori’s legs were parted wide and straight out. She drew in a sharp breath and held it a second. To my absolute shock, the very point where her pink flannel pajama legs met suddenly darkened and a small semicircle of amber liquid appeared on the pale floor. She seemed to be actually pushing her pee out—deliberately!
The tiny yellow puddle began to spread faster and Lori let her pent up breath out with a long, satisfied sigh. Her breathing became deep and fast as she placed her right hand, palm down in the pee. The urine now formed a fan shaped pool between her outstretched legs, which nearly reached her knees. The legs of her pajamas were wicking the liquid upwards and the soggy pink flannel clung to her thighs in wrinkles.
Her left hand was now roughly squeezing her right breast and Lori moaned softly. As she began to raise her gaze from between her legs, I hopped back, not wanting to let my cousin know that I was watching her. I was confused and repelled by Lori’s grossness—and yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the spectacle. I realized with a shock that my own heart was pounding in my chest and I was also breathing hard.
Lori scooched her butt forwards, causing the pool of pee to run across the floor as she laid back in it. She drew her knees up and reached between her wet legs with her right hand. Her other hand continued to manipulate her firm titties, rolling the swollen nipples between thumb and fingers. Through the pissed in pajamas, she began to play with herself, while panting and squirming her hips around.
I felt confused by what I was seeing and even more confused by my strongly conflicting reactions to it. The idea of Lori peeing all over the floor--and herself!—deliberately--was nasty. Yet, at the very same time, this unheard of sight fascinated me. And, even more confusing to me, I felt my own body getting hot and goosebumpy from spying on Lori as she masturbated on the bathroom floor. Lori—Oh my God—LORI—not only another girl, but my detested cousin, of all people—How could I be getting turned on by that?
But I was…I couldn’t stop the swelling of my own privates or the warm wetness that was beginning down there. As Lori’s hand bobbed furiously around and around, shoving the pissed in pink flannel between her pussy lips while she rubbed her clit, my own clit began to thump demandingly, maddeningly. My impulse was to reach down and rub myself, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. That would have been consciously admitting that seeing another girl—Lori! Yuck!—playing with herself turned me on. I was not a friggin lezbo, I told myself. And, besides—how could I be turned on by someone—anyone—who had just pissed themselves—on purpose?
But, my whole lower body ached to be relieved of the pent-up sexual tension. It was torture to want the release that bad and not let myself have it.
At that moment, Lori’s fevered panting caught in her throat as her hips bucked upwards. She held her breath for several seconds; her eyes squeezed closed as her left hand slapped down with a splash into the piss on the floor. With this, she steadied herself as the orgasm shook her. Continuing to rub her clit the entire time, her butt remained balanced in midair as her loins twitched spasmodically. The soaked flannel pajama bottoms clung to her rounded belly, thighs and ass. The soggy wrinkles of the pink fabric molded themselves to her fleshy curves. Her pajama top, gaping open, dangled soddenly behind her. I was transfixed by the erotic beauty of her generous, solid, pointy-tipped breasts bouncing back and forth, as well as flopping upwards to her shoulders. Those incredibly enticing nipples were almost wine colored, they were so engorged.
My own nipples were rock hard and so sensitive that I could barely stand to have them brush against my tee shirt. I suddenly became keenly aware of the full sensation in my own bladder, which seemed to cause the unwelcome throbbing of my crotch to “echo” upward through my abdomen. In just the same fashion that an annoying itch causes one to scratch without thinking, the delicate torment of my overly sensitive nipples led me to reach up and rub my breasts through my tee shirt.
Before I realized what I was doing to myself, I began pulling lightly on my hard nipples as my fingers slid over them beneath their thin layer of green cotton. The sensation of relief that this action brought was so pleasant that it took me a few moments to recognize that I was simply increasing my own unwanted arousal. I consciously forced my hands to my sides and backed away from the bathroom door. Spinning on my heel, I darted back to my bed and burrowed back into my blankets. I even covered my head, like I was hiding from the boogeyman, or something.
I was both disgusted and shocked by my own reaction to what I’d seen. I tried with all my will to force my body to return to it’s normal state, but the throbbing in my clit and the swelling of my nipples continued with such intensity that they practically ached. Each time that I moved my legs, I could feel the slippery wetness that had oozed out of me as it lubricated the rubbing of my pussy lips against each other.
I just laid there, curled into a tight ball, rejecting with my entire mind the concept of my physical body betraying me in such a way. It was incomprehensible to me. Finally I fell asleep.
I awoke with a start, alerted by the warning signals from my bladder that I had better go to the toilet immediately. Throwing off my covers, I jumped out of bed and ran across my room, yanking at the bathroom door as I went.
To my horror, the doorknob was not contained in my sweating palm as I tried to pull it back. The door remained closed. I grabbed the knob again and jiggled it frantically, whereupon I heard my Aunt Rhonda’s voice float through the wooden barrier: “I’m taking a bath…Use Jody’s bathroom…”
My heart fell. I was already hopping from foot to foot as I clenched my vulva in a grip of iron. “Oh, man!” I thought as I turned and galloped out of my bedroom door and down the hall to my parents’ bedroom door.
Damn! This door was locked, too. “Mom! Dad! Open the door! I gotta go to the bathroom! Hurry!” My feet beat a staccato rhythm on the carpet. I could feel the hot stinging between my legs that I knew signaled the final seconds before my urine began to come out. I heard footsteps behind the door and the clicking of the lock.
Nearly knocking my mother over, I shoved the door backwards and charged across the room. “I can’t wait, Mom!” I called over my shoulder as I propelled the bathroom door closed behind me with one hand while yanking on my pajama bottoms with the other. At that moment, my control vanished and hot pee jetted into my flannel pants before I could pull them down. I had to waste a precious split second pulling the toilet seat up and I could already feel my pajamas glued to my thighs down to the knees. Without trying to undress further, I plopped down on the seat and pissed my pants into toilet.
The relief was delicious, as the discomfort drained away with the urine. I sat there with my legs pressed together and my hands gripping the edges of the seat, breathing hard. I couldn’t help but notice the hot, tickly sensation as the liquid shot out of me forcefully and spread through the cloth before falling into the bowl beneath me. It felt good and a little bit naughty. As the once-huge accumulation in my bladder decreased, a sudden impulse made me spread my legs enough to insert my hand. I just didn’t want to miss the opportunity of experiencing my own hot piss gushing over my hand as I pissed my pants—after all, I couldn’t help it, right? So why not enjoy it for a few seconds, I figured. There was just something so “taboo” about it that was perversely pleasurable. The few other times in my life that I had accidentally wet myself, I had also found the experience to produce unique physical sensations that were pleasant, as was as the knowledge that I was doing something forbidden and mischievous by secretly enjoying it. The hot liquid rushed over my wiggling fingers till finally it dribbled to a stop. Without thinking, I reached up and pressed my fingers against the urine-soaked flannel, exploring the contours of my privates. The delicate touch sent a shiver through me.
Without wanting it to, my mind flashed back to the image of Lori pissing in her pajamas, making a puddle on the bathroom floor, then playing with herself. Immediately, I felt my nipples harden and I had the urge to rub my clit. Angrily, I tried to push those feelings out of my mind. A flood of goosebumps washed over me, as I had to wonder why I was sitting on a toilet, peeing my pants, peeing all over my hand, touching myself and enjoying it…What Lori had done was so disgusting, I told myself as I quickly pulled my hand out from between my legs. This wasn’t anything like that. She pissed herself on purpose—that’s weird, I reasoned. I just ACCIDENTALLY wet my pants—it really had been a true accident, too—and I couldn’t help it if it felt good doing it. That was an accident, too, you know?
Well, this post has gone on long enough for now. So, I’ll finish this up by saying that I hope you all enjoyed this account from my past. If you want me to, I’ll post more on the subject of how I became interested in peeing as a sexual activity, as this was only the first step in a much longer process.
When I was about 18 years old, my cousin and her mother (my mother’s sister, Rhonda) came to live with my parents and I. My Aunt and her husband were divorcing and she needed a place to stay till the whole mess was over with.
My cousin’s name was Lori and she was also 18 years old (our birthdays are only one week apart). She had long red hair and braces on her teeth. I was the athletic one, with the more muscular build and the ever-present bandage on my knee, while Lori was just a tiny bit on the chubby side. Even though we had practically been raised together, we didn’t have much in common. I had always felt that Lori was a spoiled brat, though I found out later that this was the same opinion that she had about me. Hmmm…Guess it all depends on your point of view, eh?
Once Lori had moved in, she became even more of a crybaby than she had been before. If she wanted something from her mother—new clothes, permission to do something, whatever—and she did not get it, she would yell and throw a temper fit. She would accuse her mom of being selfish and trying to keep her from having any fun, as well as throwing stuff around the house and slamming doors for dramatic effect. Lori would carry on with this behavior for so long that none of us in the house could stand it, till finally her mother would give in, or at least compromise with her on it.
The very first time that I realized that Lori, should we say, had different toilet habits from the rest of us came late one night when I heard her climb down from the bunkbed in my room. I opened my eyes just in time to see Lori go into the bathroom that connected both to my bedroom and the guest bedroom where Aunt Rhonda was staying. Lori gave the door a shove as she went past it, which did not shut it completely. I was just drifting back to sleep, when I heard the muffled taps of all of the cabinet doors and drawers being quickly opened, then closed. I could tell that she was trying to be quiet about it. I was curious now, as well as irritated, because I wondered what things of mine she might be pawing through. She was always trying to get into my stuff, like she didn’t have enough of her own, the greedy little *****.
After a few minutes all was silent again, which made me even more suspicious about what she was up to. So, I crept out from under my blankets and tiptoed over to the door. Very carefully, I peeked in through the crack of light created by the door not closing all the way, and was absolutely stunned by what I saw.
Sitting on the cream-colored linoleum floor was Lori, with her pajama top unbuttoned. With both hands she caressed her ample breasts. She seemed oblivious to me, as she gazed intently down at her own crotch. Her pale pink nipples, surrounded by their large areolas, looked very prominent and hard as she alternately rubbed, then tweaked them with her fingers. She was panting very fast.
Lori’s legs were parted wide and straight out. She drew in a sharp breath and held it a second. To my absolute shock, the very point where her pink flannel pajama legs met suddenly darkened and a small semicircle of amber liquid appeared on the pale floor. She seemed to be actually pushing her pee out—deliberately!
The tiny yellow puddle began to spread faster and Lori let her pent up breath out with a long, satisfied sigh. Her breathing became deep and fast as she placed her right hand, palm down in the pee. The urine now formed a fan shaped pool between her outstretched legs, which nearly reached her knees. The legs of her pajamas were wicking the liquid upwards and the soggy pink flannel clung to her thighs in wrinkles.
Her left hand was now roughly squeezing her right breast and Lori moaned softly. As she began to raise her gaze from between her legs, I hopped back, not wanting to let my cousin know that I was watching her. I was confused and repelled by Lori’s grossness—and yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the spectacle. I realized with a shock that my own heart was pounding in my chest and I was also breathing hard.
Lori scooched her butt forwards, causing the pool of pee to run across the floor as she laid back in it. She drew her knees up and reached between her wet legs with her right hand. Her other hand continued to manipulate her firm titties, rolling the swollen nipples between thumb and fingers. Through the pissed in pajamas, she began to play with herself, while panting and squirming her hips around.
I felt confused by what I was seeing and even more confused by my strongly conflicting reactions to it. The idea of Lori peeing all over the floor--and herself!—deliberately--was nasty. Yet, at the very same time, this unheard of sight fascinated me. And, even more confusing to me, I felt my own body getting hot and goosebumpy from spying on Lori as she masturbated on the bathroom floor. Lori—Oh my God—LORI—not only another girl, but my detested cousin, of all people—How could I be getting turned on by that?
But I was…I couldn’t stop the swelling of my own privates or the warm wetness that was beginning down there. As Lori’s hand bobbed furiously around and around, shoving the pissed in pink flannel between her pussy lips while she rubbed her clit, my own clit began to thump demandingly, maddeningly. My impulse was to reach down and rub myself, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. That would have been consciously admitting that seeing another girl—Lori! Yuck!—playing with herself turned me on. I was not a friggin lezbo, I told myself. And, besides—how could I be turned on by someone—anyone—who had just pissed themselves—on purpose?
But, my whole lower body ached to be relieved of the pent-up sexual tension. It was torture to want the release that bad and not let myself have it.
At that moment, Lori’s fevered panting caught in her throat as her hips bucked upwards. She held her breath for several seconds; her eyes squeezed closed as her left hand slapped down with a splash into the piss on the floor. With this, she steadied herself as the orgasm shook her. Continuing to rub her clit the entire time, her butt remained balanced in midair as her loins twitched spasmodically. The soaked flannel pajama bottoms clung to her rounded belly, thighs and ass. The soggy wrinkles of the pink fabric molded themselves to her fleshy curves. Her pajama top, gaping open, dangled soddenly behind her. I was transfixed by the erotic beauty of her generous, solid, pointy-tipped breasts bouncing back and forth, as well as flopping upwards to her shoulders. Those incredibly enticing nipples were almost wine colored, they were so engorged.
My own nipples were rock hard and so sensitive that I could barely stand to have them brush against my tee shirt. I suddenly became keenly aware of the full sensation in my own bladder, which seemed to cause the unwelcome throbbing of my crotch to “echo” upward through my abdomen. In just the same fashion that an annoying itch causes one to scratch without thinking, the delicate torment of my overly sensitive nipples led me to reach up and rub my breasts through my tee shirt.
Before I realized what I was doing to myself, I began pulling lightly on my hard nipples as my fingers slid over them beneath their thin layer of green cotton. The sensation of relief that this action brought was so pleasant that it took me a few moments to recognize that I was simply increasing my own unwanted arousal. I consciously forced my hands to my sides and backed away from the bathroom door. Spinning on my heel, I darted back to my bed and burrowed back into my blankets. I even covered my head, like I was hiding from the boogeyman, or something.
I was both disgusted and shocked by my own reaction to what I’d seen. I tried with all my will to force my body to return to it’s normal state, but the throbbing in my clit and the swelling of my nipples continued with such intensity that they practically ached. Each time that I moved my legs, I could feel the slippery wetness that had oozed out of me as it lubricated the rubbing of my pussy lips against each other.
I just laid there, curled into a tight ball, rejecting with my entire mind the concept of my physical body betraying me in such a way. It was incomprehensible to me. Finally I fell asleep.
I awoke with a start, alerted by the warning signals from my bladder that I had better go to the toilet immediately. Throwing off my covers, I jumped out of bed and ran across my room, yanking at the bathroom door as I went.
To my horror, the doorknob was not contained in my sweating palm as I tried to pull it back. The door remained closed. I grabbed the knob again and jiggled it frantically, whereupon I heard my Aunt Rhonda’s voice float through the wooden barrier: “I’m taking a bath…Use Jody’s bathroom…”
My heart fell. I was already hopping from foot to foot as I clenched my vulva in a grip of iron. “Oh, man!” I thought as I turned and galloped out of my bedroom door and down the hall to my parents’ bedroom door.
Damn! This door was locked, too. “Mom! Dad! Open the door! I gotta go to the bathroom! Hurry!” My feet beat a staccato rhythm on the carpet. I could feel the hot stinging between my legs that I knew signaled the final seconds before my urine began to come out. I heard footsteps behind the door and the clicking of the lock.
Nearly knocking my mother over, I shoved the door backwards and charged across the room. “I can’t wait, Mom!” I called over my shoulder as I propelled the bathroom door closed behind me with one hand while yanking on my pajama bottoms with the other. At that moment, my control vanished and hot pee jetted into my flannel pants before I could pull them down. I had to waste a precious split second pulling the toilet seat up and I could already feel my pajamas glued to my thighs down to the knees. Without trying to undress further, I plopped down on the seat and pissed my pants into toilet.
The relief was delicious, as the discomfort drained away with the urine. I sat there with my legs pressed together and my hands gripping the edges of the seat, breathing hard. I couldn’t help but notice the hot, tickly sensation as the liquid shot out of me forcefully and spread through the cloth before falling into the bowl beneath me. It felt good and a little bit naughty. As the once-huge accumulation in my bladder decreased, a sudden impulse made me spread my legs enough to insert my hand. I just didn’t want to miss the opportunity of experiencing my own hot piss gushing over my hand as I pissed my pants—after all, I couldn’t help it, right? So why not enjoy it for a few seconds, I figured. There was just something so “taboo” about it that was perversely pleasurable. The few other times in my life that I had accidentally wet myself, I had also found the experience to produce unique physical sensations that were pleasant, as was as the knowledge that I was doing something forbidden and mischievous by secretly enjoying it. The hot liquid rushed over my wiggling fingers till finally it dribbled to a stop. Without thinking, I reached up and pressed my fingers against the urine-soaked flannel, exploring the contours of my privates. The delicate touch sent a shiver through me.
Without wanting it to, my mind flashed back to the image of Lori pissing in her pajamas, making a puddle on the bathroom floor, then playing with herself. Immediately, I felt my nipples harden and I had the urge to rub my clit. Angrily, I tried to push those feelings out of my mind. A flood of goosebumps washed over me, as I had to wonder why I was sitting on a toilet, peeing my pants, peeing all over my hand, touching myself and enjoying it…What Lori had done was so disgusting, I told myself as I quickly pulled my hand out from between my legs. This wasn’t anything like that. She pissed herself on purpose—that’s weird, I reasoned. I just ACCIDENTALLY wet my pants—it really had been a true accident, too—and I couldn’t help it if it felt good doing it. That was an accident, too, you know?
Well, this post has gone on long enough for now. So, I’ll finish this up by saying that I hope you all enjoyed this account from my past. If you want me to, I’ll post more on the subject of how I became interested in peeing as a sexual activity, as this was only the first step in a much longer process.