Perverts 'R' Us

Piss Dream

By Jo Blo ( ws, voy )

I daresay I can tell you more about how women piss than anyone else in the world. Let me share this beautiful experience with you in every salty detail.

I live near a beach in a college town. On any warm weekend it is generously visited by a full complement of drop-dead gorgeous coeds. There was one standard, run of the mill, typically funky Port-O-Pot. One day there was a second one. And that is my secret. Anyone can buy a port-a-pot. I did. With a little effort I turned it into the portable toilet of every woman's dreams (and many men's too, I expect).

This super pot now has dual exhaust in the form of two whisper-quiet fans that evacuate the typical strong odor of human waste. Its roof is translucent plastic, letting in lots of soft, diffuse natural light. The roll of pink toilet paper is the inviting, puffy, quilted variety (more about this item in a moment). The seat is new, but I have smeared it with a suspicious looking stain. Why? Because I want the damsels who use my portable to perch a couple of inches above the seat when they let fly.

In the bowels of this very nice pot is something that no other portable toilet has: a trap door that allows me to get inside and stretch out below the floor. I can spend the day comfortably suspended in a special hammock, my face hidden behind a one-way tinted pane of unbreakable plastic, ready for whatever show the unsuspecting students put on in what they feel is a perfectly private sanctuary.

Here is how I put my device to work. I simply deliver it to the site and unload it near the existing toilet. Nothing suspicious about that; a toilet is a welcome sight to most females. Mine is marked "WOMEN" and I put a similar sign marked "MEN" on the existing, crude portable. Before dawn on a Saturday morning, I slip under and into the best place ever invented for watching an unending parade of actual bathing beauties relieve themselves with total naturalness. I can tell you with authority that when a woman knows she is being watched while peeing, she behaves differently than when she is unaware. I am now a virtual prisoner of my own making; I cannot safely leave until well into the night. How would you like to have women relieve themselves over your face for a long summer day? I thought so.

I will always remember my first time. At exactly 8:00 AM (I wear a SCUBA watch) I hear the slamming of a car door, and soon the patter of bare feet on sand, then the opening and slamming of my pot's door. I can see the back of a very shapely, longhaired, strawberry blond in shorts and a printed halter-top locking the door. She turns around and I see that she is as pretty as anyone could hope to be. She puts down a small cloth bag and looks directly down the hole! My heart didn't know whether to race or stop dead as I held my breath. Could she sense me directly below her, trapped by my own device? No, she was too much in a hurry to drop her shorts and relieve her bladder after getting out of a car and running through the cool morning air.

In as little time as it takes to read this line she was squatting over the hole, her pink labia stuck together with her tacky vaginal juices. I watched her tiny anus flex and relax twice as she unconsciously worked to relax and let her piss begin. The first drops pushed their way out, parting her lips completely before she let fly with a gush of almost clear pent-up urine. She must have been holding to the point of discomfort; I could hear her make a little sigh of pleasure.

By this time I was over my initial nervousness to be gently squeezing my cock at the sight of such natural beauty. She stayed there for a few seconds and I watched a few droplets of her pee slowly roll down her pudenda. Maybe she was just letting herself air out, or maybe she was savoring the mild pleasure of her release. Her vagina gaped a little more as she leaned over to reach the toilet paper. I wish I could have seen her face when she touched it. I had moistened the roll so that, while it looked perfectly normal, was useless for wiping. She broke off a couple of tiny pieces and muttered, "Oh, no." Then to my surprise she reached down with her small hand and rubbed her palm over her wet crotch. She brought her hand up to her face but I could not see why.

Did she smell her own pee? Did she lick a small taste? I had to completely let go of my penis to keep from cumming. After all, this was only the first show. "Strawberry" dismounted the throne and stripped completely. From my low angle of view I could see the tips of her nipples. They were as pink as her asshole and immediately stood at attention when exposed to the chill morning air. She put on her bathing suit and cover-up, threw another quick look down the hole, and let herself out. If she were here for the day, I would probably see her again.

My creation was working. "Strawberry's" pee had run off into a holding tank and the viewing window was clear for another landing. I didn't have to wait long for the second act. The door opened a few minutes later and in stepped a very skinny, very pale redhead. She too had a small beach bag with her, but was already in her wisp of a bikini. She locked the door (we must be modest, mustn't we?) and stood looking at me. Well not exactly at me, but down the shit hole. She was not smiling, but was still a sight to behold.

She just stood there for a few moments, which made me nervous. Did she just come in to demurely apply her much-needed sunscreen? No. She spotted the toilet paper and attempted to tear some off. She had as much luck as "Strawberry": none. Then she opened her bag and took out some Kleenex and attempted to clean the toilet seat. After a quick but energetic scrub she again stood up and spent a moment thinking. This time she rocked back and forth from foot to foot and squeezed her knees together.

She had to go badly, but had been adequately warned about dirty public toilets. How hard it is to think clearly when one is about to piss one's pants (even if they are swimsuit bottoms). As we all know, when you got to go... She stripped off her bottoms with one motion and literally jumped up on the seat. It happened so quickly that I flinched. I'm not 100% sure, but I think she had started to piss before she was completely centered over the hole. She didn't like a dirty seat but had just made it less desirable for the next user.

This thoughtful lass already knew about the sabotaged toilet paper, but had her trusty pack of tissues for times like this, no doubt. She wiped thoroughly, using a total of four tissues. This seemed excessive to me since the Thinker would plunge into the ocean in the next few minutes and get salty and wet again.

I intend to relate here the highlights of watching hundreds of women in this problem-solving situation. But first here are a few general observations.

How many college-age females do you think have shaved their pussy areas? I mean a total removal of all hair including any ringing her shit hole. Lots have depilitoried their "bikini area." You would be surprised how many have a heart or flower shape shaved around their pubes. But I was surprised by how many had taken the trouble to return their private parts to pre-adolescent baldness.

Without having carried a clip board into my perverse submarine and done an actual tally, I can tell you with good authority that at least one out of five coeds at this popular hang-out were concealing no pubic hair whatsoever under their panties. While I enjoy seeing the dangling droplets of piss shimmer on the soft pubic down during the usual post-piss pause, my dick goes specially rigid at the sight of a hairless snatch mounting the pot a few inches over my hidden face. Which would you prefer, so see an amber stream cascade from a lightly furred mound, or watch it arch away from a smooth skin portal?

I got my first non-waste memento later that first morning. More about that later.