by Michael Hemmingson
(7/28/99)

He thought he'd never see anything as beautiful as this moment, in the semi-dark bathroom (the light was coming from the TV in the bedroom): Pauline opening her mouth, wide, receiving his stream of urine. Her brown eyes looked up at him, tongue darting back and forth. Her teeth were so white, one or two slightly crooked, but very white and perfect and clean. Her tongue and the inside of her mouth were roseate and glistening. The sight of her in this subserviant position was exciting enough to make his cock hard again (after three orgasms); even more enticing and naughty was the view of his piss going into her mouth, swirling from the back and up, bubbling about her tongue and teeth, dripping out of the side of her mouth (those thick lips!) and down her chin, her neck, her breasts. Then there was the sound of contact, piss hitting her tongue and the far reaches of her throat, and the sound she made as she drank -- gulping, coughing once, rapidly blinking her eyes. As his stream increased, Pauline closed her eyes, drinking fast -- she couldn't get it all, and more flowed out. He moved his cock closer to her mouth. She was having trouble. He started spraying her face and hair with the rest. A large discharge of urine flowed from her lips, getting on his feet.

He thought about their first date two weeks ago, sitting in a dark corner of a Vietnamese restaurant, enjoying the spicy food, drinking white wine. He loved her big eyes. He couldn't get a reading on her -- mutual friends had set them up; she'd just gotten out of a bad, short marriage. He knew he'd sleep with her, at some point; he didn't know she had a kinky side, not until tonight, after their third fuck (he'd sodomized her at her insistence).

"Do you like to do anything kinky?" Pauline had asked him.

"Isn't fucking you in the ass kinky?"

"That's naughty. I mean kinky."

"I like to be spanked," he said.

"Do you?"

"Well, I've never been spanked. I've always wanted to." He had fantasies now and then.

"I like golden showers," she'd said. "Have you ever...?"

"Once, ten years ago."

She sucked the last drops of his urine from him, breathing hard. She pressed her face into his crotch. He touched her soaked hair.

"Thank you," she said. "Can I do the same to you?"

She told James to lay back in the tub. He looked quite sexy, she thought, glancing at the hair on his legs, his stomach, his chest. She moved over him, squatting, her cunt near his face. He opened his mouth. Pauline spread her pussy and took aim. She let loose on him. His eyes were closed, and he flinched when the first spray made contact. She wasn't as interested in making him drink it as she wanted to give him a good shower. Drinking was her thing, had always been her thing, ever since her first great love in college -- she still recalled the anxiety and vacillation when her love suggested it, and she said yes -- the idea of the nastiness of the situation spurring her. (The smell of bathrooms had always turned her on, a secret she'd never told anyone.)

Odd: her ex-husband was never into pee play. He just liked to hit her. A few slaps and punches during sex caused the adrenaline to rise; the rough sex was always satisfying. His desire to hit her increased, though, to the point of loose teeth, blood, and blurry vision. It was worse when he'd bound her in rope: she had no way of getting away from him.

She was away from him now, and now she was here with James, pissing all over James, his own piss resting in her stomach, the residual taste still in her mouth (like all the sweet memories of new, of fresh, love). There was nothing more perfect than this moment, she thought. She felt at peace. He had his cock in his hand, it was hard again; she moved to shower that cock.

They took a regular shower after this, cleaning their bodies with processed water. They tried to fuck, but the tub was too small and slippery, the action too awkward. They went back to bed, got under the covers. Pauline reached for his dick; she took it in her hand. It pulsed with life, spirit.

"I want you to make love to me," she said.

He did just that.

It was very, very nice. Really.

"Remember our third date?" she said, later.

He was staring at the images on the TV. "How could I forget? It was the first time we went to bed."

"I mean when we left the restaurant."

"Best calzone I've ever had."

"There was that nasty car accident," she said.

An older couple had driven their car into a storefront. Apparently, the man had a heart attack while driving, and lost control.

"The paramedics and firemen prying that old man out," Pauline said. She could see it.

"All that blood," James said. He could see it.

"He was dead. You knew he was dead. He knew he was. And his wife, covered in cuts, and glass, screaming. The paramedics couldn't get his heart started."

"And then she started having a heart attack," James said, nodding.

"There's beauty in certain forms of sadness," Pauline said. "It was like that movie, Rodan."

"What?"

"That Japanese monster movie, Rodan. Flying monster, a big bird thing, a friend of Godzilla's?"

"Oh yeah."

"At the end of Rodan -- there's two of them, they're mates -- one gets caught in volcanic lava, burns and dies. The other Rodan falls into the lava with its mate, to die with its mate. That's what that accident was like -- the old woman made herself have a heart attack, so she wouldn't have to live with the grief, so she wouldn't have to be alone."

"You think so?"

"It's what I like to think, it's what I want to think," she said, adding, "I looked at you, then, and I took your hand."

"I remember you taking my hand. You were trembling. I thought you were scared."

"I was turned on. I said to myself, 'That could be me and James, forty years from now.' I wanted to fuck."

"I'm hard."

"I needed to fuck."

"You're bad," he said.

"It's time for you to be spanked."