"You pissed on me, you bitch!"

If I never hear that again, my life will be complete. I have a problem - I'm a "squirter." It's not really my fault. I just get so turned on it just happens. It's been like this my entire life.

When I was just still living at home, masturbating in bed at night, I'd squirt. God! My parents thought I was a bed-wetter, for shit sake. In the back of my mind I can still hear my mother, "What's wrong with you. You didn't used to pee the bed. Now look."

That was rather embarrassing. How could I tell them I wasn't peeing, just pounding my pussy in bed alone until I gushed. So, I should tell my mother I was popping my twat? Or just let her think my bladder had lost it? It was a terrible quandary. So, I just shut up and didn't say shit.

My first real sexual experience was while I was a freshman in college. His name was Roger and he had the most beautiful '57 Chevy I'd ever seen. The paint was spotless and shined so deep I could see my face. The thing had 283 cubic inches and Roger promised me he did too. The back seat was fabulously wide and well suited to give up my virginity. At the time, I had one leg thrown over the back of the front seat and the other out the rear window. Roger was, of course, attending to business down there when I felt that lovely feeling starting in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't help it - I just let go. That was the first time I heard it - "You pissed on me, you bitch!" I got to walk home. It was something less than a wonderful adventure.

A few similar experiences later, I'd decided there was something really wrong with me. I screwed up my courage and made a visit to the old family quack, Doctor Stevens. This guy had taken care of me and the rest of the family since I was born. The guy was in his late sixties by this time. I thought I could trust him.

"Ok, Doc. What's wrong with me? Every time I get into a...um...situation, I squirt pee all over the place. It's really embarrassing."

"Really? I never heard of such a thing. When did this start?"

"In my last year of high school" I said, wondering if Doctor Old Bastard had been a mistake.

"Give me a minute," He said, leaving the room. Momentarily, he returned with a large, dusty tome. He began flipping through pages.

I waited until he had finished. Finally, he looked up. "I guess I'll have to examine you. I think it might be a yeast infection or something."

So, dutifully, I dropped my pants, climbed up on the table and put my feet in the stirrups. I watched as Doctor AlmostDead, put on his pop-bottle bottom, glasses and peered at my waiting gash. It wasn't really so bad, I told myself as he slid the vaginal speculum inside me. Then with his head down close to my pussy, I felt it. "Oh God. NO!" I screamed to myself. But it happened anyway. A long stream of fluid flew out of my and hit the doctor square in the face. I was mortified.

"Well," he said wiping the juice off his face. "It doesn't appear you have an infection at all. I think I need to send you to a specialist."

"Oh great," I thought. "Just what I need - someone else to probe my puss and share my secret embarrassment." But I made the appointment anyway and went, knowing it was going to be another fiasco.

The day came fro the appointment. I showered, dressed and caught the bus for downtown. I got off at SW. 3rd and Jefferson then began the walk up to tenth. The building was one of those old '40's baroque buildings. The legend over the entrance read, "Medical Arts Building." I rode the elevator to the fifth floor and entered the office. The sign on the door read, "Dr. H. Wood - Gynecology." What the hell is that? Someone who studies Gynos or something?

I went to the window and told the fat broad behind the counter, I was there for an appointment. The bitch just sneered at me and told me to sit down and wait. I sat. I waited. I listened for the screams of dying women and the sounds of feasting, unearthly beasts. I heard nothing.

Finally, Fatty opened a door and escorted me into the dungeon. She gave me a paper gown and told me to get undressed. As I undressed, all I could think of was, "Fire Hazard!"

I was just settling down on the exam table with the door opened. The doctor came in with a chart on a clipboard. "Hi, I'm Harden Wood,' he said sticking out his hand. I peered at it wonder where it had been and if it had been wash recently. I finally took it and shook.

"Now, tell me about your problem."

I launched into the story, even telling him about my "bed-wetting" and the guys I'd squirted and what they said. I saw him smile.

"I'm afraid, I really can't help you. There isn't anything wrong."

"Are you sure? You haven't even examined me," I said.

"Ok. I'll examine you," he said lifting the bottom of my fabulous, fire hazard garment. I looked at my snatch. He spread my lips with his fingers. Then he licked me.

Holy Shit. It happened again. I just couldn't help it. I sprayed all over him.

"See? Like I said. Perfectly normal," the doctor said wiping his face. "I'll be right back." The doctor left the room and closed the door.

"What happened?" asked Fatty out in the hallway.

"The fucking bitch peed all over me," the doctor growled heading for the bathroom.

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