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Message-ID: <42630asstr$1053925805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: pattycutman@excite.com (Patty Cutman)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 25 May 2003 19:01:16 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} My Freedom
Date: Mon, 26 May 2003 01:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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.
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