Ode to a Urinal
Ode to a Urinal
A little erotica by William Crimson
- There are some men out there who are going to get this. News: One of our sometimes contributers has started her own blog and wrote a wonderful response to this post. You can find it at Fantasy Postcard called Song of a Woman.
It was right there, daintily hidden in a little water closet that looks like a little armoire, but right there.
We’re on vacation. There are no kids. I’m naked. I wake up in the middle of the night; and there’s nothing like a hard-on in the middle of the night. It’s the hard-on of a sixteen year old, no matter the age, and it makes a man’s hips all balls and all cock.
What is it about a urinal in a bedroom?
I roll out of bed. You’re still sleeping. We’re alone in the house; you’re a naked woman; and I’m hard as hell. This is what sixteen year olds dream about.
I swear, whether I’ve lived ten past lives or a thousand, I must have been a women, because middle-aged as I am, the exquisite physical pleasure of being a man still surprises me. I love having a hard on. I love the maleness of a full-blown cock.
What did I do?
I stroke a couple times just because having a cock feels so damned good. Who cares? Who was going to see me? Then I walked, buck naked across the hardwood floor like I owned the world. I didn’t have to hide my hard-on. I wasn’t going to horrify children with the hideous God that made them. I didn’t have to stumble through a hallway or over toys. I opened the water closet doors and there it was – the urinal. I put my hands on my hips, I planted my feet and I pissed. I pissed like a horse; and I looked around the room as I did it. Piss jets up and straight from a hard cock, just like semen. And that was going to be the next thing coming out of my cock and straight into your cunt. You didn’t know that yet. I looked around. That’s the beauty of a urinal. You don’t have to aim. You don’t have to think about some woman wetting her precious fanny on the toilet seat.
Funny that, if you think about it. A woman will give you hell if there’s so much as a drop of piss on their ass. The next minute they’ll be on their knees, ass up, with that same cock rutting them from behind, spurting in them, juicing up their parts, their cunts, matting the hair between their legs, messing their thighs and ass. Next thing they’ll be licking that cock clean, their come and mine, dripping from between their spread knees; and they’ll happily fall asleep in all that perfume.
I don’t get women.
And yeah, I know, they don’t get what’s not to get.
But like I was saying, a man can let go in a urinal just the way God and nature made him. He can let go of his cock and just piss. And just in case you were wondering, girls, pissing with a hard on feels good – but not as good as pissing out semen.
I needed to fix that.
I walked back to the bed, my cock still just as full-blown as before, but with just a little drop of piss sliding back to my balls. A lot of juice builds up even with half a night of sleep. I was backed up. I threw off your covers. You breathed a whiny little ‘No’, but woke right up when I yanked you sideways by your ankles, yanked you on your back so your ass was half off the edge of the bed and your pussy was right where I wanted it.
“What are you doing?” you mumbled.
Like you didn’t fucking know. If there’s any truth to past lives, then maybe, somewhere in your middle-of-the-night dreaming, you forgot you were born with tits and a cunt. I’m here to fill you with come again, again, and again. I lifted and pushed back your ankles. In the next instant your fingers were fluttering toward my abdomen to stop me or slow me down. And then, when I was already half way to your belly button – from the inside – another instinct kicked in – a panting, back lifting, mouth opening instinct. Your fingers were knotting the blanket by your ears, your elbows up. Your were muttering your “Oh fucks!” and your “Oh Gods” until your tight belly was full of cock, the lips of your wide-open pussy kissing the root of my cock.
After that, there was nowhere I’d rather be than filling your pussy. There’s no one I’d rather be than the man swinging his hips, thrusting his cock up and between your thighs, feeling your anus twitch under the swing of his balls, feeling the lips of your pussy ride up and down my length– massaging it, kissing it, gasping and mouthing it until its wet and slippery.
This maleness, this swinging of the hips, this thrusting a cock into the mysteriousness of you, makes a man drunk. Every one of your submissive ‘Fuck’s!’, groans, ‘Uh’s!’, gasps, ‘Oh’s!’ is like another ‘I do!’. And your orgasm? It’s your toes. It’s the sheets twisting between your fingers. Its your head, thrown back, your spine lifted off the bed, legs as wide as you can open them. Go ahead. We’re alone in a big house. There’s nobody but me. Pant. Hold your breath, Scream. Show me you’re ready. I never get tired of it.
I don’t have to hold your ankles. All I have to do is straighten, bend my back, feel the mouth of your cunt sucking at the root of my cock, and let go. God almighty. I let go for the second time tonight. Yeah, I’m looking out the window, at the moonlit evergreens, the ghostly clouds, and the ribbon of stars as my cock pulses inside you. I bellow like a bear. I’ve done two things well, tonight. I’ve pissed in a urinal and I’ve emptied my come in your cunt. I can go back to sleep. My glistening come-slicked cock slides out of you replete, tumid and dripping with pleasure.
I know there are some damn fools think I’m comparing you to a urinal.
There’s just something manly about it. There’s something about having it right across from the bed. There’s something about a vacation in a room like that. It let’s a man be himself. He can get up in the middle of night and be fucking unembarrassed. He can piss with abandon. He can stroke his cock in the middle of the room. He can admire the woman who’s already opened her legs for him a thousand time. Then he can yank her cross-ways on the bed and give her good, round fucking. He can do what God and nature intended for him. He can give her another womb full of come to sleep on. God, but it’s good to be a man.
Something there is about a urinal.