Message-ID: <42630asstr$1053925805@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <news@google.com> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: pattycutman@excite.com (Patty Cutman) X-Original-Message-ID: <4e799a1d.0305251101.27331871@posting.google.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: 25 May 2003 19:01:16 GMT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 25 May 2003 12:01:15 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} My Freedom Date: Mon, 26 May 2003 01:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/42630> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates Peeing for me is both erotic and political. It's erotic because I first masturbated when wiping myself after a pee and found that it felt good in a certain spot. Peeing is political because piss, in our society, must remain hidden, it's nasty and smelly, and most people just don't want to see or touch it. Well it just so happens that the political nature of pissing and its erotic aftermath got all mixed up by an experience in my youth. Here for the first time I have set the purgative of my pen to this experience in the hopes of expelling it from the depths of my psyche. I had spend most of my 17th summer at the beech sun bathing, wondering how my body stacked up in the eyes of the indigenous gentry; and, trying as best I could, to attract just a little attention from just any nice guy who might see me preening there on the sand. Alas, our society places this outrageous value on privacy, and all the guys were too timid to break through that social barrier and just say "Hi", but that's another story. One afternoon, I had an exaggerated thirst for that throat burning feeling that only Coca-Cola gives, and had been drinking quite a bit of it. Then I got the grand idea to ride my bike over to the grocery store and buy even more to finally quench my craving. So I slipped my skirt over my bikini and peddled over to supermarket in my thronged feet. Once in the store it dawned on me that I needed to pee, and pee badly. In vain I searched the store for the bathroom. Finally I gave up and started shopping; but it really was getting hard to hold so I asked a clerk, "Where is the girl's room?" To my surprise and horror this pimply faced adolescent boy says in the snottiest tone, "There is no public toilets here!" and then, even though he must have seen my distress, and even though I pleaded "Please sir, I really really got to go bad!", he just responded "We don't have toilets for the public!". So I just continued squirming behind my shopping cark looking for the coke. But then I get to an aisle which was empty, an aisle all to my self, total privacy. So hidden from public scrutiny, I tired to let just a little out, but that was a big mistake. Once the faucet was opened there was no stopping the flow which proceeded to trickle down my legs and pool in an ever growing lake around my thronged feet. Now, not only was I relieving my distress, but I was also experiencing a rush of freedom against the outrageous rules of pimply faced clerks. My Politics of Pee was born! Its slogan: "If you don't let me pee, I'll piss on your floor!" That mantra was cycling in my brain over and over as I stood in my ever spreading puddle. However, that is not the end of the story; for a middle aged gentleman with a goatee and a mustache walked into my aisle to do his shopping. Seeing my predicament, yet being a perfect gentleman, he said nothing. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment and he smiled at me like a daddy would smile at his little girl having an accident. Now up to this point my account has been completely true and factual. But now, to tell the whole story, in all of its dimensions, I must deviate from the tyranny of truth and sketch for you the fantasy this experience instigated, the fantasy which has played again and again so many times since. After his fatherly smile, this perfect gentleman walks into my spreading waters and places his hand up under my skirt. He explores unashamedly for the fountain's source and revels in its stream. And when the flood subsides, he fondles to my depth, and then proceeds to climbs the slippery slope on the mound of Venus and there to have his evil way till I explode. All this with not a word spoken. And when the final sighs of my passion have been exhailed, and I stand there humiliated in my puddle, dripping in my juices .. he just walks away ... casting but a momentary glance back .. his eyes and his arrogant smirk saying to me, "You are not alone in your freedom, I will always be there with you." -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+