Sometimes I like to take long, luxurious piss breaks.
I mean really, really long.
I mean, its the kind of thing where if you're at work, you get money docked from your paycheck.
The kind of long where if you're at a school bathroom, you're teachers wonder if you've committed suicide and send somebody to look for you.
Its almost like a sport to me. A sport to see how much liquid you can consume, and how long you can piss continuously. In fact, it's almost o the point where its a form of eroticism. A sexual longing— to piss your bladder out until it's dryer than a desert fox on crack cocaine.
I play this game for fun. I'll go with my friends to the Seven Eleven down at the street corner.
"Two extra large cokes, please. And a pack of cigs, while you're at it." I always pay.
In a few minutes, we're smoking out by Oak Avenue. Two cups of coke. Empty. One of them well on its way to my ravenous bladder. I smile, knowing what's going to come soon.
THROBBING THROBBING. It's going through, now. The coke is slowly being processed by the digestive enzymes in my stomach, and it feels to so hot. So heat. I'm In heat, now. It's only a matter of time.
Get in the car. Old Nissan—ugly as fuck, don't really care. It's not mine anyways. It's John's.
John drank the other coke. John doesn't know, doesn't know the feeling.
Oh, but I wish he did.
Sam in the back seat squalling like a fucking storm. Shut the Fuck up, you Stupid Faggot, I'm trying to enjoy the Fucking Scenery. You didn't drink the coke. You weren't thirsty. You can't enjoy the feeling of it coursing through your endocrine system. Moving its tentacles like it knows you. Knows me. Yes, it knows me. It knows my secrets, it knows my brother's name, it knows the girl I fucked last night. It knows she has a mole on her right breast, and I don't fucking care.
Its taking me over, and it's giving me pleasure, and I can't even feel myself doing the unthinkable. Yes, doing the unthinkable. A blind hand gropes the zipper and another rolls down the window. It's coming out now. Not the piss, not yet. The penis. Oh man, I love that little thing. Source of such wanton pleasures as sex. I don't even know what I'm doing here. On the roof of this moving car, with my little penis pulled halfway out. Hmm, forgot I was circumcized. Should make it easier to...And then it happens.
Standing on the roof of this ugly ass Nissan, dick out. I rub the frenulum against the antenna ball. Why? Why am I doing this? Instincts tell me to perform this strange and mechanical ritual! I must! Who am I to refute Instinctuality? I've gotta keep this piss down, Gotta torture myself.
More Pleasure, Better pleasure. All for me. Gotta keep this piss down. I'll grunt it out.
John's calling me down. Sam's calling me down. I don't fucking care. This is a public highway and I can do whatever the fuck I want on a public highway. Fuck Rush Hour. Goddamn You, Rush hour. Goddamn you truck Drivers, transfixed on my sexual organ. Goddamn you, gawkers. How hard is it to give yourself a little Piss-Denial-Pleasure around here? Don't you fucking stare at me, you stupid bitch. You're car's ugly. Quit honkin' at me, I ain't gonna get down, Sam! Just take me to the nearest Urinal, I'll be fine.
Legs getting wobbly, now. Hard to keep the piss down—Gotta keep the piss down. It's a ritual, guys, It's a fucking ritual. Who am I to deny tradition? I've gotta do, this. Gotta make the pilgrimage. Gotta see the sights, gotta get to where I'm going. Oh, Fuck. Stupid ass Toyota rearending us. Fuck You, Toyota! Fuck Japan for manufacturing your goddamn components, and fuck America for manufacturing your driver. Goddammit, FUCK police reports, I don't care! Just get us out of these ungrateful gawkers. I swear, Sam, If out get out of the car...
A small dribble of piss begins to form along my inner thigh.
...I will take over the driver's seat...
I've really gotta hurry, now.
...And RUN YOU THE FUCK OVER!
Shit, hit the gas. Didn't mean to, yes I did. Fuck Sam, he's dead, now.
John, Johnny boy, You okay? Sorry, I hit your head, but Sam was in the way, and he was interfering with the ritual. Fuck, you can't hear me, you're unconscious. Gotta get to the Urinal, Gotta get there fast. Rapido, as they say. Fuck the police, and fuck women with babies in a stroller. Who are they to argue with tradition? No one. They're no one. And they deserve to be treated as such.
Blood all over the windsheild, fuck that. Windshield wipers on, and the problem's solved. What's that up ahead? It's a fucking exit ramp. Thank god. No, thank penis. No, thank self-restraint.
Pleasure, un-bearable. So good, yet so solitary. My legs are wet, and they're warm, and they're yellow. And it feels so good, too.
What's this shit up ahead? McDonalds. Good enough. It'll suit my purposes. OHHH, the purpose. OHHH the raging purrrrrrrrpose. The purpose of life, and the purpose of death, but most of all, the purpose of pleasure.
I'm feeling it. It really is impossible for me to hold on. Gotta leave John in the car. Ugly fucking Nissan. Beat up, and bloody, with the driver's seat covered in hot, insatiable, moist piss.
Hot insatiable, moist, and oh so yellow. Crimson with the blood of babies, and yellow with the piss of bladder-processed coca-cola. Courtesy of Seven Eleven.
Fling open the fucking door, break its fucking hinges. Blue jeans—now green. White shirt—now yellow.
BATHROOM IN USE , Fuck that. Nothing gonna stop me now.
Kick the fucking lock, bust the goddamn door open. Ain't got no gun, but neither does the little five year old standing at the fucking urinal. Get the fuck out of the way, kid. You don't know what you're dealing with here. Holy, shit kid, I'm not kidding. I don't care about your mummy telling you not to talk to strangers, kid this is your last fucking warning.
Ohh Ohhh Ohhhhh OHHHHHH, FUCK, NOTHIN' GONNA STOP ME NOW.
SLAM
Back is forced against the goddamn wall, and it feels so goddamn good. A release of all the tension, and it's like an orgasmic fire hose. Fuck ejaculation, this is where the pleasure is. Fuck semen, piss could take it on with its hand tied behind its fucking back.
I'm feeling pieces of flesh hitting my face, and I don't fucking care anymore. Fuck, there's an eyeball. The stream must've ripped the kid apart. 200 unbroken psi of pressure will do that to a little boy.
Blood. I'm feeling it running down my legs. And it's almost as good as piss. Hell, I don't even care that it's my own blood, squirting from the gaping hole where my entire reproductive system was once situated. The blood running down my legs feels so goddamn good.
Who cares if I can't have children? I don't want anyone else to ever have the same feelings. I want it all to myself. I'll never pass on the hereditary instinct to love...piss.
Who even cares if I can't have fucking sex again.
Goddamn.
That was fucking worth it.