No way I would be able to sleep while so many enemy soldiers camped a few feet away. I thought of my friends back with General Howe in Boston, and I felt lonely.
When I heard the footsteps of a Colonial approaching the bushes, I tensed and held my breath, but there was nothing to worry about. The man was only going to leak his lizard.
He stopped about three feet to my left. I listened to him curse as he fooled with his pants.
The man was just beyond my field of vision. If I couldn’t see him, I assuredly heard him. The soldier’s piss noisily bounced off branches, splashed on leaves at lower levels, then dripped to the ground. I looked left and saw drops of urine reflect light from the campfire; it was almost pretty, though the droplets sounded like cannonballs.
He finished his business and returned to the fire, but for several minutes his piss dribbled from leaf to leaf. During this interval, it first occurred to me: His fellow soldiers would soon follow him, and I was lying on my back in the spot they had designated as their latrine.
Soon enough a second continental soldier came to relieve himself. He stood closer to me than the first man. He pissed more forcefully, and his urine stream passed nearly a foot into the brush before splattering against the thickest stem. Pee dribbled down the bark and sprinkled onto the ground.
The campfire cast just enough light for me to see the patch of damp dirt — only 10 inches from me. If this soldier had stepped a foot to his right, I would have been soaked in his urine.
For the first time on this mission, I was scared. There were another ten or so guys who would have to leak their lizards. If they had enough beer, they would return multiple times.
Yet I was trapped. If I moved, I would expose myself — literally since I was lying naked on my back. As a British spy, out of uniform, I could expect no mercy. I kept quiet and prayed for the best.
Shortly two more Colonial soldiers walked my way. They spoke in whispers and laughed. I involuntarily tensed my muscles and held my breath. The men stopped right where I was lying. One guy stood on either side of my head. I heard scraping sounds as both men’s pants dropped to their ankles.
The campfire cast enough light in my direction so that I could see the dim silhouette of their legs, and I saw something I had never before seen: another man’s willie, from the bottom.
Actually 2 willies and, to be frank, mostly their balls. Weird, I thought, how their willies look so small from down here.
The campfire briefly highlighted the first drop of urine. Seconds passed before a few more sizable blobs flew.
One of the guys asked his friend, “You pee-shy too?”
“Yeah. And my bladder is really hurting.”
“I know.”
The two of them waited in companionable silence; I dreaded the onslaught to come.
Urine flowed. Two streams, one on either side of me, blasted into the bushes. None of the piss landed directly on me, but most of it seemed to drip down my way. Misted pee already coated my face.
One of the men said, “Cross swords?”
The other guy giggled. Their piss streams met and parted then competed. The campfire made pretty work of reflected liquid light. A rivulet of piss flowed from a branch onto my right thigh. I wanted to brush it off but dared not move.
The warm night air began evaporating the urine on my body. I still smelled the strong aroma though, surprisingly, I wasn’t bothered. It should be disgusting, but the experience had actually been… interesting.
For hours the Colonial soldiers approached the bushes, individually or in pairs, once in a large, singing group. They all rained on me, and I lay in their piss.
Strangely I enjoyed looking up at their junk. Some men had bouncing balls while others had tight, hard-to-see nutsacks. From below, their willies all looked the same; we men were not as distinct as we wished.
A few times I drifted off then awakened as men approached to pee. One time I awoke with my hard-on in my hand. Eventually, the Colonials went to sleep. I was tired but could not rest; my willie was too excited.
I thought about the 10 or so men who had pissed on me, and I grew harder. I remembered the wetness and the heat. My mind’s eye recalled golden drops reflecting the campfire as the liquid met my flesh.
I wanked myself off. A few quick, quiet strokes.
I lay there on the damp soil. An occasional drop of urine slid off the bushes. Piss smell wafted everywhere. I was content.
I couldn’t fall asleep because my bladder was full. Through the hours while American soldiers leaked their lizards on me, I was too scared to relieve myself.
My willie had grown soft. It lay on my belly. I released and peed on myself. Though I couldn’t see my piss flow out onto my flesh, I enjoyed the naughty sensation.
Then I fell soundly asleep.
3
Paul
Paul was a 28-year-old software developer in New York City. He was openly gay, but his sex life was pretty vanilla until he took a summer vacation in Provincetown.
I left work late on Friday afternoon and was stuck in heavy traffic all the way out of the city. Somewhere in Connecticut, I stopped for a bite of fast food. I was tired, so I bought some coffee to wake me up.
My bladder first felt full while I was stuck in the rotary west of the canal. Once we crossed the bridge onto the Cape, traffic eased up a bit. I was pretty desperate to take a leak and happy to spot the rest area sign.
There weren’t half a dozen cars in the parking lot, and I quickly saw why: the bathrooms were closed after dark. But I’m a guy, and a locked restroom wasn’t going to stop me.
The highway cut through a forest of low pines, so it was only a few steps from the parking lot into the woods. The sodium lighting illuminated a path away from the other cars. I reached an old tree where I could no longer see the parking area.
I was focused on unzipping my pants, so I never noticed the stranger who suddenly yelled, “Wait!”
Behind the tree, barely visible in the dim light, was an attractive man about my age. He was stark naked and had a raging boner. His right hand caressed his dick.
My heart pounded as I wondered whether I could outrun him.
He said, “Would you please piss on me?”
I said, “Huh?” but I thought: No one will believe this vacation story when I get home. To my complete astonishment, my little head was filling with blood.
This man got down on his knees in front of me. My eyes had gotten used to the hazy light, so I inspected his body. He was compact, muscular, and pretty much my type. He took a beggar’s posture and said, “Please, pee on me. If you do, I’ll suck you off.”
The situation was so weird. I had to take a leak anyway, and this handsome stranger offered to throw in a free hummer if I aimed my piss in his direction. I grinned.
Yet I was also frightened, alone with this naked man in the woods. What if he was violent?
Most disturbing of all: I had an erection. My dick wanted to piss on this man. Hell, just thinking about it had me hot.
To be honest — and most of the time I try to avoid such introspection — maybe I was interested in water sports. I found restrooms a bit too enjoyable — yet frustrating because I could only peek with my peripheral vision.
The naked man kneeling before me pleaded, “Please, I want to swallow your piss.”
I was too scared to speak or move, while my bladder signaled I should hurry up.
He wasn’t afraid to act. His hand reached for my fly and tugged. The sound of the zipper teeth opening wide excited me.
This stranger was not subtle. He undid the button on my pants then yanked my denim shorts down to my ankles. My underwear followed.
My erection popped out at a 45° angle. Blood throbbed through my veins.
At the same time, I felt an irresistible urge to pee. I kept squeezing those muscles which prevent me from urinating involuntarily, and I was losing that battle.
The naked man said, “Let me get rid of your boner so you can piss on m
e.”
Before I could reply, he took my cock into his mouth and went to town. This man gurgled with joy as he sucked me.
My insides turned to slush. Something warm and wet sought to erupt, but it didn’t feel exactly like an orgasm. Almost…
“I’m peeing,” I announced with surprise, as my bladder released a quick spurt of fluid.
The naked man responded by engulfing my prick and drinking it all.
My prick reacted by stiffening. My pee couldn’t flow freely, and I felt a backup.
“Hmm,” hummed the man. Between licking my hardening cock and swallowing my piss, he was overwhelmed.
I focused on the fiery sensations in my groin. I needed to urinate while simultaneously wanting to cum. My dick compromised by releasing a steady stream which felt nearly orgasmic. I hadn’t known I could pee through an erection, and that excited me.
Another car parked in the lot and its headlight shone on my cock. I’m fairly small, but I shave my body (balls and all), so my thingie looked fierce standing upright against this man’s lips.
My intermittent piss stream flashed in front of the headlights. Golden prisms dripped into my supplicant’s mouth. Waterfalls of urine overflowed his open lips.
That leak took forever. By fits and starts, I pissed my bladder empty. It felt good, though it was an itch that had not been scratched to my satisfaction.
The man enthusiastically licked my cock head and vacuumed pee into his mouth. His hands worked his prick. No light reached so near to the ground, but the expression on his face was golden.
He hummed ever deeper then gasped, “Oh yes!”
The guy arched his back and stared wildly at my piss stream. His butt and hands moved at double time. He released a shriek that must have sounded like an animal to anyone in the parking lot.
While the naked man climaxed, my piss stream waned. Pee dribbled down my smooth, quivering erection.
The man grinned at me and said, “Thank you.”
He moved one hand to cup my nutsack, and the other guided my prick toward his lips. “I want to thank you in a special way.”
I placed my hand on his forehead and pressed it away from me. “No. There’s a better way to thank me. I saw how much you enjoyed yourself, so I’d like to try it. Will you piss on me?”
He released my nutsack and stood. For the first time, I appreciated his naked body in its full glory. His hands gestured for me toward the ground.
I knelt before him and begged for my second golden shower experience.
4
Pedro
Pedro had the scuttiest job in the Caribbean: cleaning below decks on a pirate ship. Everyone else aboard looked down on him, yet he found his own joy.
I thought I was the luckiest man in the world.
After the King’s troops came through our village and raped our women, I avenged their honor. I followed the barbarians for days, killed 14 soldiers in their sleep, but the remaining 3 warriors very nearly caught me. Only the fortuitous arrival and departure of a ship allowed me to escape them.
How fortunate that I survived.
The ship’s captain recruited me when I was on the verge of capture, so I asked no questions. He had his own reasons for hurrying out of Port Royal; I had mine. Only after we were at sea did I learn that they were pirates who looted Spanish treasure fleets sailing to Europe. Everyone on board was escaping from something.
I was too scrawny to be of any use hoisting sails or boarding vessels. The captain assigned me to clean up after the crew. No words would be adequate to describe the mess 48 buccaneers can make in their quarters so I won’t try. I will only say that there was neither soap nor extra fresh water aboard ocean-going vessels of the late 17th century.
My cleaning vastly improved the conditions aboard ship. Since nobody else wanted to do my work, the crew didn’t bother me. I learned about the ship’s isolated areas, too small to use for anything practical, yet perfect for hiding from others. We were more than a month into our voyage before I found my favorite space.
On each deck, at the rear of the ship, was a small storage area for spare sails. I found I could hang there without interruption. If I opened the shutter, I had a peaceful view of the ocean behind us. Except at certain times…
Ships were no place for chamberpots. A rogue wave could knock over the containers and send all manner of excrement slopping over the deck. When sailors had to relieve themselves, they went to the stern and hung it overboard.
At their moment of relief, if I were in the lower deck storage area and the shutter was opened, I would sometimes see a yellow waterfall — the golden piss of pirates taking a leak. It was funny, then interesting, and eventually became an obsession. I spent every free moment in that rear compartment hoping some sailor needed to pee.
I knew where those waterfalls originated — the pirates’ pingas. The pirates were a motley bunch, but with dozens of young crew members, many were attractive. Whenever I saw a piss waterfall, I imagined the most masculine sailor above me, his dick hanging out, leaking pee below.
The storage compartment was tiny, but I felt safe there. Sometimes I removed my clothes, waited for the golden showers, then masturbated myself. My imagination provided details of pirate pinga, and I climaxed swiftly.
I’m not the brightest guy in the world — that’s how I ended up cleaning a pirate ship — so many weeks passed before I realized how to enhance my experience. If I listened carefully, I could hear men walk onto the stern deck above me. It wasn’t easy to piss on a moving ship, even if a guy wasn’t pee-shy. In those few seconds between removing one’s pinga from his pants and starting to urinate…
I leaned out the porthole and looked up. Two pirates stood against the railing, cocks in hand, waiting for their urine stream to start. Their members weren’t always visible — fingers to aim interfered with my view — but their nutsacks were spectacular.
Some testicles were tight and wrinkled; most men’s balls hung loose and swung as the ship pitched. I had several seconds in which to enjoy their package from the bottom before they started to piss.
I stroked my pinga. Sometimes, when I had been beating my meat for a while before the pirates came on deck, I climaxed in that brief moment of watching. Those orgasms were the best.
One evening a half dozen sailors went to the deck to take a leak. We had captured an English ship loaded with rum; our buccaneers partied and drank their loot. I didn’t have to guess why the men came up to the stern deck.
The pirates chatted softly as they lowered their pants and hung their pingas over the railing. Maybe they were less inhibited because of the alcohol, or perhaps the sun caught their privates at just the right angle. Whatever the reason, their cocks were distinctly visible.
I was too far below to make out detail, but I had never before had such a prolonged view of a man’s manhood. I was fascinated and stroked myself. Before long I was erect and beating myself off furiously.
So impressive was the spectacle that I lost track of time. I stared at those pingas and balls. My loins were ready to cum.
I never noticed the waterfall until it was too late. A few warm drops fell on my shoulder, but I was mesmerized by the 6 pirate cocks above. Mist covered my hair, and I was caught up with jerking off.
And then the deluge. A single stream of urine, another, they merged, then more. It rained piss. Urine poured over my body.
I felt wetter than if I had fallen into the Caribbean. A torrent of golden pee drenched me.
My pinga was hot and my insides melted. The liquid gold could not quench my urge; I burned with the heat of a tropical sun. I said, “I’m cumming,” but none of the men on the stern deck heard me.
While the waterfall of piss set my flesh on fire, I reached orgasm. Jism flew out of my dick and mixed with the torrent of pirate pee. I kept stroking long after I ejaculated the last of my semen.
The pirates above were still pissing, but I was drained. Streams of urine reflected the setting sun. It was such a beauti
ful sight, and I relaxed.
I was so lucky to have escaped onto this pirate ship.
5
Kean
Kean was an 18-year-old freshman at State, where he received an athletic scholarship for his swimming abilities. In high school, he and his girlfriend enjoyed sex, though Kean hadn’t missed her since leaving home. He knew that once the frat parties started, he would have an endless supply of women.
There was never any question where I would attend college or which fraternity I would pledge. My grandfather, dad, and older brother all joined up at State; I would follow in their footsteps. You couldn’t find a more gung-ho pledge.
That’s why at first I wasn’t worried about our initiation ceremonies. I knew there would be way too much drinking — and probably all hell to pay for it in the morning. After the first few beers, I wasn’t much concerned when we initiates were herded to the basement, removed our clothes, then put on togas. Togas are kind of Greek, like fraternities, so it made sense.
We drank another round followed by a chaser. At that point, the aluminum horse trough seemed a reasonable enough place to sit. Halfway through my next beer, I noticed the other eight pledges were gathered around the trough, but I couldn’t remember when they had put on blindfolds.
One of the seniors said, “For the rest of the initiation ceremony, there are two rules. First, everyone has to stay exactly where you are now. Second, you are all required to maintain silence unless spoken to. Speak without our permission — a single word — and you are out of the fraternity. Got it?”
I was too drunk to move, speak, or form a question. The other guys appeared no better off. Hell, I didn’t know how they could still stand. Someone handed me another cup of beer, and I chugged it.
First-Time Golden Showers Page 2
