

		                    THE OUTHOUSE by BillyG


				I spent several years of my adolescence in a cultural
		   and economic backwater called Sullivan County in northern
		   Pennsylvania. With no substantive economic basis for
		   survival, it limped along with the rest of Appalachia,
		   beautiful and impoverished.  Elephants went there to die.

				If we define "normal" as "usual," then it was
		   certainly normal for many of the farms to have no
		   electricity and quite often, no running water.  That, in
		   turn, translates quite rapidly into no bathrooms.  The
		   so-called "backhouse" or "outhouse" was common in that part
		   of the woods.  It was as if the westward migration had
		   eddied around that part of the country, leaving it as an
		   island firmly entrenched in the technology and values of
		   the turn of the century.  Those of you who saw the motion
		   picture "Deliverance" might have an idea of our culture.

				While most folks were poor by our current standards,
		   we never knew it and more importantly, we never felt
		   impoverished.  For the most part, we had a good time. You'd
		   smile at our notion of a good time, but for  us, it was
		   hot!  Saturday night.  A dance!  Often at the Grange Hall.
		   Hard cider and soft women.  Man, we used to strut!

				There was a well-to-do farmer not far from us, a big
		   Swede with two good-looking daughters.  Most of the young
		   guys my age were sniffing around them, trying to "make
		   out."  Both the sisters were strikingly attractive. Both
		   big--about five feet ten or so, maybe 150 pounds--Amazonian
		   we might say now.  One was blond and the other a brunette.
		   I was dating the blond and was in lust, but I would not
		   have thrown her sister out of bed.  (She was big enough,
		   however, to have thrown ME out of bed!)

				One night I double dated with some guy.  I can't
		   remember him, but I certainly remember everything else.
		   We'd been drinking beer on the way to the dance at the
		   Grange Hall, arriving there filled with ourselves and
		   needing to take a leak.  We were directed into a field
		   where there was reported to be an outhouse. All four of us
		   went at the same time.  We found a rickety structure with
		   back-to-back privies, one for the men and one for the
		   women.

				It was a warm summer night and the dance music floated
		   down through the grove, faintly heard.  Without negotiating
		   anything (what's to negotiate?) we all stepped inside at
		   the same time. Suddenly it became very quiet.

				Through the wide gaps in the barn-like construction of
		   this privy, the lights from the dance hall cast soft
		   shadows. Through these same gaps I could hear the girl's
		   excited breathing just inches away.  Suddenly we all seemed
		   to realize the same thing at the same time.  To all intents
		   and purposes, we were about to pee in the audible presence
		   of each other...maybe.  But who was to go first?

				Whoever the yahoo I was with mumbled, "Fuck it," and
		   whipped out his dick and let loose.  The sound of his
		   stream hitting the privy pit sounded like a gun shot.  "See
		   you back at the Hall," he said and left.  Then it became
		   quiet again.

				Did they think we were both gone?  Would they wait and
		   see if I left?  There I was, standing there, holding my
		   dick in my hand, wondering what to do next.  At age sixteen
		   I was inexperienced and a slow thinker.  Now, all these
		   years later, I'm experienced and a slow thinker.
		   Fortunately, they perceived no quandary, for I heard them
		   giggle and one whispered, "You first."

				I was so close and it was so acoustically transparent
		   I could hear my date answer, "Oh, all right.  I'm about to
		   bust."  I heard the rustle of her clothes and the
		   whispering sound of her panties being pulled down, then a
		   tinkle, rapidly followed by the unmistakable erotic hissing
		   of a girl peeing.  I got louder and more forceful, hitting
		   the water in the privy with astonishing force.  She must
		   have been straining, for suddenly she broke wind. They both
		   laughed.

				"God, there's no toilet paper," my date complained.

				"Quit bitching," said her sister, "you never wipe out
		   in the barn anyway."

				"This ain't no barn," whined my date.

				Looked a lot like a barn to me.

				"Move your butt, Joanne.  It's my turn," said my
		   date's sister, Pauline.

				I thought I'd gone to heaven.  I loved to hear girls
		   pee and here I was, about to listen in on one of the most
		   attractive girls in the country.  Would she tinkle?  Would
		   she hiss?  I was picturing in my young and horny mind the
		   dark curls of her pussy.

				Pauline said, "Oh, Jesus, I feel like a race horse,"
		   and she let loose.

				"You sound like one too," said Joanne.  "No, actually
		   you sound like a double-cunted cow pissing on a flat rock!
		   No contest. You win!"

				Sometime later I learned they often had peeing
		   contests. Duration. Distance.  Things like that.  Think
		   about it a moment. Can you imagine a horny kid like me,
		   walking around with an ingrown hard on and a fascination
		   for peeing, meeting to lusty girls like this?

				After Pauline's torrent, it was silent again and then
		   suddenly, in a louder voice, she said, "Well, Billy.  We're
		   waiting.  You gonna piss or just hold it?"

				In an uncharacteristic moment of honesty, I replied,
		   "Cripes. How my gonna take a leak with a hard on like
		   this?"

				As it turned out, they both viewed an erection as
		   visible proof of a compliment.

				Joanne laughed and called over, "Oh goodie.  Billy's
		   got a bo-ner.  We're gonna have a good time tonight."

				And that was the start of an intense and wonderfully
		   erotic summer that ended only when Pauline married some
		   dude even bigger than her father.



		   END

