tagHumor & SatireTo Pee or Not to Pee

To Pee or Not to Pee


To Pee or Not to Pee

Or When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go.

So far all my stories have been pure fiction, so I thought it was time to branch out and try my hand (no pun intended) at non-fiction. The following four short stories are completely true. Only the names have been changed to protect the peeer. Your comments, thoughts and your own stories are very welcome.

Last year I was chatting on-line with a friend when the subject of her small bladder came up. She was telling me that she was planning a car trip to East Texas with her kids and that it was necessary to carefully plan each rest stop in advance. I told her that I understood as I had a wife, kids, grandkids, pets, etc. and that we also frequently made long road trips. That got me thinking of funny "peeing" stories that I then shared with her and I'm now sharing with you.

For the record, I do not have a "peeing" fetish and those of you that do may find these stories less than satisfying. But for some reason, the Great Creator did combine the urinary function for both males and females within our genitals. I have no idea if this was some sort of cruel joke in which He cracks a smile every time we drop trowe in order to relieve ourselves, or if there is some greater purpose we mortal humans are just now starting to explore. In either event, society does dictate a certain degree of modesty in the act, as our genitals are temporarily exposed. Further, it does give all of us a chance to "get in touch with ourselves" at least six or more times a day, which is not a bad thing.

The following four shorts stories and additional little anecdotes are from the collection of e-mails I sent my on-line friend over a period of several months.

Story #1 -- Back on the Farm

My first two years of grade school were in a small farming town south of Dallas, Texas in the mid-1950s. I was a city boy and I have never lived on a farm, but in this small town, many of my classmates did.

Kristy was a cute little blue-eyed, blonde-haired farm girl who sat next to me in class and we became friends. As a city dweller, I walked or rode my bike to school most days as only the kids outside of town had school bus service. Kristy's mom picked her up after school every day and sometimes she'd offer me a ride home. It was only five blocks to my house, but I was a fast learner and riding in the back seat of her mom's Chevrolet sure beat the hell out of walking.

Occasionally I was invited out to the farm for what you'd now call a "play date." Her mom would drive in and pick me up for a day on the farm. Her whole family got a kick out my naiveté in regard to farm life and barn yard animals. And I'm sure I had that "deer in the headlights" look on my face more than once.

One of those experiences came on a bright Saturday morning when Kristy and I were playing in her barn. I had never been in a barn before and I loved climbing up into the hay loft and jumping off into the huge plies of hay on the barn floor. The smell of the freshly cut hay filled my nose and even 50 years later, the smell of hay instantly takes me back to that day.

We had been playing for about an hour, when all of a sudden, Kristy stands and facing me, pulls her shorts down, squats and pees. I was speechless; it was clearly one of those "deer in the headlights" moments. I had two brothers and of course I'd seen them pee many times. And I knew there was an anatomical difference between boys and girls, but I'd never actually seen it!

Now in all honesty, I'm sure she didn't do it to impress me. In fact, I'm sure she didn't think a thing about it. She simply had to pee and there was no reason to run to the house or to even excuse herself for a minute. She had three older brothers who I'm sure she had seen pee outside many times and besides, the cows do it, the horses do it, so what's the big deal?

The entire event probably took less than 30 seconds and her pants were back up as if nothing had happened. But, it was still nothing less than a watershed event for me; obviously as I still vividly remember it half a century later.

I looked Kristy up on the Internet a few years ago and we did start exchanging e-mails for a while. She didn't remember me or any of the events from that day in the barn. But she did half-way believe me, as I just simply knew too many details of her farm and the two years of grade school we spent together. I eventually got around to telling her that I'd seen her naked, but I never did tell her about the peeing thing. It just never came up in conversation... And we only corresponded for a month or so, but it is and will always be a sweet memory for me. The innocence of youth is a wonderful thing.

* * * * * * *

I can't think of any more memorable peeing stories from my youth (remember, this isn't a fetish of mine), but I do have one very funny "lesson learned" experience. Being raised in Texas, even a city boy knows you never pee on an electric fence. But somehow that nugget of common sense doesn't always carry over to other seemingly harmless inanimate objects.

One Saturday morning when I was in Jr. High (Middle School these days), several of us guys were to meet over at my friend Ernie's house. When we got there, Ernie was in the midst of mowing his family's yard. He was rather pissed off (so to speak) and explained that he couldn't play until he finished cutting the grass. At that moment the urge came over him to take out his frustrations out on the lawn mower, which was still running at the time. He turned his back to us, pulled out his pecker and began peeing on the lawn mower.

Well, you don't have to be raised in Texas to know what happened when his stream hit the spark plug. The jolt knocked him both figuratively and literately flat on his ass. It was about the funniest thing my friends and I had every seen. We all laughed so hard we cried. So just keep in mind, the next time you're "pissed off" just make sure that whatever you piss on, can't piss back.

* * * * * * *

Story #2 -- It happened on a Mountain Top

Many years later I had an assistant name Jamie. She was still a college student when I hired her and in many ways she was an innocent young thing. But on the other hand, she was a twenty year old coed with a very active social life.

This was her first real professional job and at first we were both a little cautious about exploring topics of a personal nature. But over time, we got familiar enough with each other to share a dirty joke or a risqué story from time to time.

Eventually she told me stories about when she and her girl friends were out for a night of drinking, they would all try to hold off that first pee for as long as possible; for once you "broke the seal" as she called it, you'd then have go every 30 minutes for the rest of the night. I'd always called that phenomena "priming the pump" and I was glad to hear it was just as true with women as it was with men. But, I do like the expression "breaking the seal" much better and I've used it ever since.

She also told me that when she or her friends really had to pee and a public restroom was not available, they would duck behind a dumpster in the nearest alley and "Pop a Squat." I loved that expression. I'm not sure why, but it's just so cute and descriptive. I can just see five or six drunken college coeds all standing in an alley, beside a dumpster, shielding their drunken friend while she "popped a squat."

Jamie also told me a story about the time she was at some Frat party and after hours of drinking, she really needed to pee. For some reason, she didn't want to use a bathroom in the house and decided to use a Port'O Can out in the yard. It was very dark and admittedly she may have had a drink or two too many, but once inside the Port'O Can, she pulled down her pants and because she didn't want to sit on the toilet seat, she "squatted" over the hole. Keep in mind; this was a girl that knew how to pop a squat.

Unfortunately, in the dark, she failed to realize the toilet seat cover was down. And Instead of her pee going through the open hole, as she expected; it splashed all over her butt, her legs and her pants that were down around her ankles. I wasn't there and I didn't see or hear any of this first hand, but it was a funny story and why she told me about it, I'll never know.

I was several months later we were on business trip together in Utah. During the day, it was business as usual; but after five, we were just a couple of tourists. The first night I took her to Temple Square in downtown Salt Lake City. I guess the Mormon thing just didn't do it for her as she was not very impressed by the stateliness of the place nor its historical significance. So the next night, I decided to make it up to her.

After work we headed up to Park City. This was several years before the Winter Olympics were held there, but the city had already been selected and preparations were underway. We stopped for dinner at a local brew pub and both ordered a beer. She was not quite 21 at the time and it took some pretty fast talking from both of us to get her served; but we eventually were and we both had a couple of very nice beers with dinner.

Those that know me, know that I've never been one to "back track" some road I've just traveled. So instead of taking the freeway back to Salt Lake City, I opted for a more scenic route up the eastern face of the Wasatch Mountains to the crest, and then down Big Cottonwood Canyon Road to the city below, and eventually our hotel. Our route took us over five or six miles of bumpy gravel road as we wound our way up the side of the mountain to the Brighton Pass. As we reached the summit, the sun was setting out over Nevada 140 miles in front of us and the lights of the city below us were just beginning to come on. It was truly a beautiful sight and a spectacularly glorious evening. As I stopped the car to take in the truly inspiring view, Jamie announced, "I really need to pee!"

Since neither of us had the foresight to have used the facilities while in Park City, I agreed that I could also stand to stretch my legs. So I parked the car and told her to head south down the crest trail and I'd head up the trail the opposite direction. We agreed to meet back at the car in five minutes; which I assumed would be plenty of time for the necessary business at hand and provide the appropriate degree of modesty for both of us.

Five minutes later I was back at the car waiting for her when here she comes up the trail with a somewhat shaken look on her face. I jokingly asked her, "Did everything come out alright?" Well, apparently not. She explained that just as she had pulled down her pants and squatted, holding on to a tree for support, a group of hikers came walking up the trail. She was in mid-stream and there wasn't much she could do, except give these guys a much better view of the moon then they hadn't been expecting that night.

She seemed a little embarrassed by the incident, and she didn't want to go into any further details. But I'm sure the moment she got home, she couldn't wait to tell her girl friends how she got caught peeing in the woods with her boss.

* * * * * * *

Admittedly there does seem to be a difference between boys and girls in their attitude about peeing in the woods. This was never more evident than when I was a Scoutmaster. My wife would never go camping with the troop as she always claimed being out in the woods brought out a "Lord of the Flies" syndrome in otherwise civilized young men. And after my first summer camp experience I'm afraid I had to agree. It was hard enough just to get the boys to leave the camp to relieve themselves. And if it was raining, the younger boys would just simply pee out the flap of their tent rather than get wet running to the latrine.

But the most notable experience for me was during my first year as Scoutmaster. The boys would have peeing "sword fights" at the edge of camp. One afternoon a couple of younger boys got into a "dual" with a couple of older boys and apparently lost pretty badly. In retaliation, the two younger scouts fill a canteen cup with urine and climbed a tree to wait for their adversaries. As the two older boys returned from the evening flag ceremony, in full uniform, the younger boys dumped the contents of the canteen cup on the older boys. What happened next apparently surprised the younger boys, but of course didn't surprise me; the older boys climbed the tree and beat the crap out of the two younger boys. And to add insult to injury, I disciplined the younger boys, but not the older ones (rank does have its privilege). Again, the moral of the story is, when you're "pissed off" just make sure that whomever you piss on, can't piss back... Or beat the crap out of you.

* * * * * * *

Story #3 -- No Place to Go

Brenda was my second assistant and worked for me for many years. Like Jamie, she was a couple of decades my junior, but over the years we became very close friends and good drinking buddies. Within a month or two of coming to work for me, we took our first business trip together. These trips were primarily training trips for her so she could learn about the business, but it was also nice to have a travel companion and we always tried to get in an hour or two of sight-seeing while on the road.

We had three stops to make on this particular trip. First was a stop in Maryland, then one in northern Virginia the same day. The next morning, we had one final appointment in southern Virginia before making a mad dash back to the Baltimore airport for our flight home. It had been a very busy trip without much free time, but we were hoping to get back to Washington DC with enough time for a leisurely lunch and hopefully a little sightseeing before racing to the airport.

Brenda doesn't drink coffee, but I do, and she did have a couple of Red Bulls before our morning appointment. The meeting went very well and we were both very excited about our apparent success with a potential new client. So excited, we both forgot to stop by the "facilities" before jumping in the car and heading north on the freeway.

Somewhere about 50 miles north of Richmond, a huge overhead signed flashed, "Accident Ahead, All Lanes Blocked." That was very helpful information, except that it was unfortunately too late for us as we had already past the last exit before all traffic came to a complete and utter stop. All north-bound lanes of Interstate 95 had totally been shut down and there was nothing but a three lane parking lot ahead for as far as the eye could see.

After a few minutes Brenda announced that she really had to pee. I agreed that the same urge had occurred to me, but it didn't look like we were going anywhere soon. After another few minutes I noticed that she was beginning to squirm in her seat. Now the car was a rental, but even at that, her peeing in the seat probably wasn't a very good idea. So I offered a solution. Since we obviously weren't going anywhere, I suggested that she run into the woods on the right and I would run into the woods on the left. Virginia does not have service roads on their freeways and the woods were very dense on both sides of the freeway.

She said, "No, they'll know what we're doing." Well duh, I thought, but I was still thinking about the prospect of returning a smelly wet rent-a-car if we didn't think of something fast. As luck would have it, the left lane did begin to slowly move as drivers started using the "Official Vehicles Only" cross-over between the north and south bound lanes of I-95. We did make it to a McDonald's and a public restroom in the nick of time.

So my story would have ended here, except that we lost so much time on the highway, we had to skip Washington DC all together and headed directly for the airport. Once safely beyond airport security, we did have enough time for a few beers in the airport bar and once on the plane, Brenda started drinking up my free drink coupons that Southwest Airlines gives out to their frequent fliers. In those days, Southwest still had the facing seats so that when the plane was full, you had six passengers all sitting together like old friends. And since the seats were still pretty close together, if you had a traveling companion, you would normally seat facing each other so at least you were playing "footsies" with someone you knew.

By mid-flight, Brenda was well into her beers and feeling no pain. As she told story after story to the four helpless travelers sitting with us, she got louder and louder. And with the punch line to each story she would reach over and slap my thigh and kick the bottom of my seat at the same time. As I knew she would, she eventually got around to the story of us being stuck on the freeway. After finishing the story and downing the last of her latest beer, this guy next to her asked, "Sooooo... the two of you are on vacation?"

"Nooooo," she loudly announces as she slaps by my thigh hard enough to leave a mark. "Heeee's my boss!"

That wasn't our last business trip together, but it was the last time I brought free drink coupons.

* * * * * * *

Donna is one of Brenda's best friends and a drinking buddy of ours. I absolutely love partaking in happy hour with these two girls, as they are both quite a hoot and after a tough day at the office, they really can put a smile on my face. In fact Donna is so funny that sometimes the two of us just get off in our own little world and Brenda becomes the third wheel. This is exactly what happened one night at the Shoal Creek Saloon. Brenda had gotten up to "break the seal" just as Donna and I were starting on our third pitcher.

With Brenda in the ladies room, the logically topic of discussion seemed to be, "Why do woman have to wipe after they pee?" I told Donna that I had seen a porno movie once where there was a scene of a woman peeing. And for the uninformed male, like me, it was another watershed moment, so to speak. The scene was filmed very up close and in super slow motion. From that moment on, I forever understood why females have a need to wipe, or at least blot, after peeing. In fact, I now wonder why they don't shower after every trip to the ladies room. It does give a whole new meaning to the expression, "powder our noses."

Well, by now I was laughing so hard, I was crying. Sometimes I really crack myself up -- especially when I've been drinking. But not to be outdone, Donna launches into a story of when she was a teenager and babysat for a little boy in the neighborhood. She was probably 13 or so and the kid was probably 3 or 4. He told her he had to go potty and so she took him to the bathroom. As he stood at the toilet peeing like a fire hose (the good old days), she calmly pulled off a foot or so of toilet paper and wrapped it around her fingers. When the kid was finished, she tried to hand him the neat roll of paper. The kid simply shook himself and looked up at her like she was frigging nuts. Which she was!

By this time, Donna and I were rolling on the floor with laughter; apparently we crack each other up. When Brenda got back to the table, we were both in hysterics. She just rolled her eyes and left us to go play pool with any poor sap she could lure into a game. This brings me to the subject of "drip drying" and my next story.

* * * * * * *

Story #4 -- Not a Political Comment

Several years later, I met Ariel at one of my favorite bars in Washington DC. I had been working all week and I had to work again on Sunday; but Saturday, I had the day off. I'd spent most of the day sight-seeing and ended up, as planned, at the Capitol Brewing Co. I had never been there on a Saturday night before and I was very surprised to find the place almost totally deserted. The bar is an oval-shaped island with probably a 100 bar stools. Most nights, if you weren't there by 4:30 or so, it was standing room only. But, on this particular Saturday evening, there were only three or four patrons in the whole place. Since it's in the heart of downtown DC, I guess the usual crowds are all political types and lobbyists who head home for the weekends.

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