Tinkle with MelaniebyHornyman69WithU©
When I was an 18-year-old senior in high school, I finally made a date with the infamous Melanie, a great-looking brunette with big tits and very full, blow-job lips.
I say "finally" because lots of other guys had fucked her. Ask her out on a date, and you get laid. Simple as that. One of those girls who'd always been pretty, she very early on sprouted boobs that seemed to grow bigger every year, and so got the attention of all heterosexual males. She was a really nice girl, but, because she loved to fuck, had no reservations about sex. Girls regarded her as a slut, and guys as a good date! I'd known her since the 8th grade, so there'd been eons of time for sex, but, for some reason, I'd never gotten my chance. I think it was because I'd taken the time to actually get to know her while the other guys just banged her. Well, by gosh, I wanted a piece of Melanie, so I asked her out.
We made a date for New Year's Eve. She lived on a farm way the hell out east (now a subdivision), and I picked her up real late, having gotten lost in the boonies on the way. She looked marvelous in that long black plunging v-neck velvet halter dress, hair up, and bright red lipstick on those of-course-I'd-love-to-suck-your-cock lips. Smiling wide, big tits jiggling, nipples perked up in the cold air. Damn, I was gonna have sex with Melanie at long last!
We had planned to have dinner at a fancy place where I'd made reservations back in the city, but, given the late hour, we shucked those plans. Instead, we immediately popped the cork on the first of several bottles of champagne that I brought and wasted no time in firing up a bowl at the end of her long, gravel drive.
We're having a grand time, she snuggled up right by me on the bench seat, smoking herb, drinking bubbly right from the bottle, driving and singing along to the tunes, the Chuck Berry line, "With No Particular Place To Go," being especially apt. She was caressing my rod through my pants, I had my hand right on her easily accessible, perfect right boob, and we'd French kiss at every light. She was a great kisser. It was a great date!
Well, it's late, and nothing was open, so, at her prompting, I pull in behind a Wendy's. I figured she was ready for major sexual action, but was a bit surprised at the location. Though the Wendy's was closed and there was very little traffic, it was on the corner of a major intersection with nothing to hide the car behind.
I stop the car, put her in park, and cut the headlights just as Melanie hops out the passenger door, announcing, "I gotta 'tinkle.'"
"Tinkle," I like that expression; it's an onomatopoetic word--sounds like what it is. And men do not tinkle, even effeminate men; no, only girls do that.
She had been messing with the passenger side view mirror earlier to apply more lipstick or something and unknowingly broken it free of the glue Dad had put on it to keep it in place. So when she got out and shut the door, the mirror dropped forward on its ball mounting like the head of a man dozing off.
In the reflection of the now "misdirected" mirror, I could see Melanie squatting by the right rear wheel. She wound up the long dress from the bottom and bunched it up into a ball that she tucked into the small of her back, and I could clearly see her pussy. "Warning: Objects in mirror appear closer than they actually are." Indeed they did!
Within moments, out spews a strong stream of tinkle accompanied by an oh-that-feels-so-good expression on her face. This was both making me horny as well as making me need to pee!
I figured she wanted to pee in privacy (though I was voyeuring her in the mirror) until she called out, "Can you bring me one of those napkins?"
With the car still running, I hopped out my side and came around to her with a handful of the paper napkins. She was just dribbling the last few drops of tinkle onto the pavement between her high heels, and I could clearly see her glistening twat as well as the deep cleavage in her squatting position.
"This is my mom's dress and I don't want to mess it up. You see, I'm not wearing panties, never do. Well, don't just stand there; give me a napkin!"
I decided to be bold, bent down, and wiped her dew with one of the thin napkins, accidentally on purpose letting a finger poke through between her labia and up to her clit to diddle it.
"Mmmmm, that feels good. Who taught you to wipe a gal so nice?"
"I read a lot, but Melanie, I gotta pee myself so bad or there's going to be an accident."
"Oh, fine, I mean, good, very good," she stuttered.
I walked over behind the dumpster and whipped it out. Oh, God, that felt good.
Next thing I know, Melanie's standing right by me watching and commenting, "Ya know, peeing is one of life's simple pleasures. Mind if I hold it?"
And with that, she carefully took my streaming hose in her right hand and sprayed it around in circles on the dumpster until my bladder was empty. Despite the 20-degree temperature, I began to grow in her hand, so she pulled it like a leash and led me back to the warm, idling car, where we proceeded to strip naked, then sucked, licked, and fucked for the next hour or so. Melanie was an extremely good lover, but what made her particularly special was that she was just so completely comfortable with sex, without one iota of anxiety, in no rush, cumming with ease over and over.
For example, I remember her saying, "I really love sucking your balls and dick. They feel so good in my mouth, so hard and nice and warm. You can cum in it if you like. I really like the taste of sperm. Or, you can shoot into my pussy. You don't have to worry; I'm on the pill. I'll do anything you want—really, anything. I love everything about sex."
After doing it in every possible position a man and women can assume in the front seat of a Buick, we were in a 69 when I finally blasted a huge load into her willing mouth while I lick-sucked her clit, she continuing to suck every drop out of me as she drenched my face with her own rousing orgasm. Having swilled bubbly all the while, we had to piss again, so we got out and helped each other with our "business" again. This time I went first, and she put her finger in the stream.
"I kinda like the way that feels, the pressure and how it's so warm and all. I like to feel my own, but yours is different, better."
Then she slipped her foot from the high heel, extended her leg, and pointed my stream onto her toes, wiggling them and laughing with glee until I was empty.
Melanie gave her moist finger a suck, giggling, "Recycled champagne's pretty good!"
Then she squats to relieve herself, demonstrating her ability at varying the amount, distance, and spray pattern of her urine. Not exactly American Idol talent, but skill nonetheless. I went to wipe her with the last napkin, and lingered to finger. She snatched the napkin away, then grasped my hand with hers and maneuvered it so that I had all 4 fingers in her pussy and my thumb on her clit when, smiling wide, she let loose another strong stream of urine right into the palm of my hand!
"That's it. Keep thumbing my clitty with your fingers wiggling inside me while I tinkle. Perfect. That feels soooooo goooooood. Ooooooh, I'm cumming," Melanie informed, staring into my eyes, quivering and flushing red as I bent forward to plant a sloppy wet kiss on her open lips.
And cum big time she did, right there in the bleak parking lot of Wendy's, squatting with her back against a giant blue dumpster while "tinkling recycled champagne" all over my right hand as I kept the other busy on her rigid right nipple and continued to French kiss her. And good thing she came so fast, too, as we were both naked as jaybirds, freezing.
We got back in the still-running, warm car, and I threw all caution to the wind by fishing Dad's prized chamois from the glove box to wipe my hand and Melanie's pussy. She absolutely loved that chamois, and we used it in our sex play for the next 2 hours rubbing it on every square inch of our naked bodies, but mainly her tits and twat, and my cock.
I came two more times; once in her luscious wet pussy and once in the chamois as she jacked me off with it, and she came innumerable times, but none so intensely as when she peed on my hand as I fingered her. She had breasts made for titty-fucking, but those were the days before I knew about such a sex act, and it is my only regret.
I was so worried about the dirty chamois that I stopped and washed and dried it with the hand dryer in the bathroom of a Texaco station on the way home, folding it perfectly and replacing it in the glove compartment. Good thing, too, because, the next day, New Year's, he changed the car's oil and made a note of the mileage in the book he kept in the glove box.
"Where the hell did you go last night? You drove 179 miles," he questioned.
"On a date with Melanie, Dad. She lives way out in the country, you know."
Within a week of our one and only date, we each met people we fell in love with and dated for a long time. She ended up marrying her fellow, a super-conservative guy we all considered a mismatch, but one never really knows about a person's bedroom behavior.
Wherever they are today, I have a strong feeling they're enjoying showers--golden showers.