Yes I do. Having sex 1x per day is not enough. I "shoot" (no pun intended) for 2 or 3x a day. My old Owl cock gets sore. Want a real good hard on each time. Viagra enhances the pleasure. I "goosed" the wife after she had her post work piss pour in the toilet. We did it on the bathroom floor. Still horney though.

(If you see double of this post it's because it got posted when the site went down and I usually have to delete the extra two or three times. Sorry in advance 😅) I brought up my fetish to my ex years ago and it turned out bad for me. He shamed me so bad I don't have the courage to tell my husband cause of the trauma. I feel like it's not his thing and he'd accept me without the shame, but the wound still hurts too much to open again so I just keep it to myself.  I'd definitely never bring any kink/fetish/aspect of my sex life up with my family and the majority of my friends. I'm just not that kind of person to talk about my sex life casually with my friends and family like that lol.  However, I did have a friend at my old job that we often talked about what we'd do if we had a threesome. That was the same friend I had peed in front of a few times, and I had jokingly thrown out what she would do if her boyfriend had a pee fetish. I cant remember her response which probably means it wasn't remarkable. 

An interesting topic. If I mention pee to friends it’s done in a lighthearted indirect way. I wouldn’t just say I have a pee kink. 

This is a great thread and I definitely have a story to share. *** Several years ago, when I was still in high school, I went on a field trip to the see the old growth forest around Cypress Bowl at the base of the North Shore Mountains beyond Vancouver. My school science class was doing a unit on forestry management and had used the opportunity to get out of the classroom for a bit and enjoy the warm late spring weather. I didn’t mind the unit and certainly had nothing against being outdoors, but the Cypress Bowl tour guide whom we were all supposed to follow around along a trail running through the forest was both excruciatingly dry and spoke with an utterly impenetrable Eastern European accent. I was immediately bored. Restless, after about fifteen minutes into the tour, I found an opportunity to slip unnoticed off the trail that we had been following and out of view of my classmates. For a few minutes I wandered aimlessly through the massive evergreen trees surrounding me. Then, bored again, I opted to rest for a bit on a fallen tree trunk and see if I could find a cell signal. The trail is just twenty or thirty meters behind me and I knew I would have no difficulty catching up with my class. Anyways, I was sitting on the tree trunk, perhaps concealed a bit by a bit of foliage and my mostly subdued clothing but certainly not intentionally hiding myself, when my class’s teacher, Ms. Bailey, appeared in the forest maybe ten or twenty paces away from me. She was moving quickly and I remember thinking that she was obviously in a hurry to get away from the trail that she and I had both left. For a moment I thought that maybe she had gone searching for me, but then she didn’t make any apparent efforts to look around at her surroundings, and she rushed by where I was sitting without making so much as a glance in my direction. Up until that point in my life I had never really bothered to have much of an opinion on Ms. Bailey. She had been at my school for only maybe two years and my limited impressions of her were that she seemed relatively capable and generally fair but that she was otherwise entirely personalityless. She was also young, in her late twenties probably, and obviously very fit, although I was more focused on girls my own age and had not taken any real notice of these attributes. Her first name, as I would later take time to remember, was Lauren. Anyways, Ms. Bailey stumbled onwards through the forest for a few dozen more paces past me before she eventually stopped at a gnarled Douglas Fir tree that appeared as if it has been there for at least a thousand years. There, she quickly moved behind the tree so that she was out of view of the student group still up on the trail. She was, however, entirely within my view. I knew pretty much immediately I shouldn’t be watching whatever was about to happen. Still, I found myself entirely unable to look anywhere other than at Ms. Bailey as she attempted to hide herself behind the Douglas Fir tree. I also didn’t particularly want to be caught after having gone off the trail and so I opted to remain where I was and stay out of Ms. Bailey’s view. After a few seconds, without bothering to so much as glance around for potential onlookers, Ms. Bailey proceeded to lower the athletic shorts she was wearing down to her knees. I so clearly remember seeing that, beneath her shorts, Ms. Bailey was wearing a pair of extraordinarily revealing g-string panties. The panties were navy blue and, except for a narrow strip of elastic that was wedged about as far up between her ass cheeks as I thought might be possible, left pretty much all of Ms. Bailey’s rear exposed. I think that I was left momentarily stupefied as a result of learning that a teacher might choose to wear something so risqué. Ms. Bailey didn’t wait for me to come to my senses. Instead, she hurriedly lowered her panties so that they were together with her shorts and went down into a high squat posture with one hand braced against the trunk of the Douglas Fir tree for support. Ms. Bailey’s ass remained on full display and I remember admiring its magnificent size and pleasant curves as she squatted. I think I might just have been able to make out Ms. Bailey’s asshole, although that may also have been my imagination. I think that I probably did. Ms. Bailey began to urinate a few seconds later. Her piss came out in a messy stream that splattered across the mossy forest floor or else all over the trunk of the Douglas Fir that she was using for support. Even at a distance, the sounds of Ms. Bailey pissing were clearly audible to me and I immediately got the impression that she must have really needed to go. Ms. Bailey continued pissing steadily for what I’m sure must have been at least one whole minute. I was utterly transfixed. I do remember that at one point Ms. Bailey stopped pissing for a few seconds, let out a fart, and then resumed pissing. I also remember how, on several occasions, Ms. Bailey would get down into a slightly lower squat and let out a particularly violent jet of piss. I found myself wondering about how just long the high school teacher must have been holding back her bladder. Eventually Ms. Bailey did finish pissing. She let out a final few squirts of piss that ricocheted off the trunk of the Douglas Fir before quickly wiping her cunt with a piece of tissue paper and pulling up her panties. I remember marveling at how the schoolteacher then took several seconds to adjust her g-string. In particular, I remember how at one point Ms. Bailey stuck her fingers right up into her ass crack and tugged at her g-string’s rear elastic so that it was properly situated between her ass cheeks. It occurred to me that same elastic Ms. Bailey was tugging at had undoubtedly just spent several hours pressed right up against her anus. Still, at no point did I notice Ms. Bailey produce any hand sanitizer or soap. Having fixed her panties, Ms. Bailey went on to pull her shorts back into position and trudge back to the trail. I kept out of sight and Ms. Bailey once again passed by my position without so much as glancing in my direction. I remember being shocked by both my luck and apparent capacity for stealth. Once Ms. Bailey had disappeared back to the trail, I found myself unable to contain my curiosity. I shifted out of my position by the fallen tree trunk and carefully made my way over to Ms. Bailey’s Douglas Fir tree. There was piss absolutely everywhere. Much of the tree’s base was covered in urine and there was an enormous puddle of foaming piss formed all around the tree’s roots. A bit off to the side, the visibly piss-soaked tissue that Ms. Bailey had used to wipe herself was laying amid a patch of moss. I remember having a bit of difficulty believing exactly what I was seeing. It seemed entirely impossible to me that jut one woman could have made such a mess. Still, I also knew that my eyes weren’t lying to me. I think I stood there for a minute and while trying to come to terms with what exactly I had just seen. Eventually, after doing my best to commit by experience to memory, I returned back to the trail and to the rest of my high school group. It was a genuinely unforgettable moment and that’s why I am still able to recollect it so clearly now. I also have to admit that I was never really able to look at Ms. Bailey quite the same way again.

My wife and I have tried a “wee sting” and “tapeela sunrise”  they were delicious