greedyneedygirl

To all of my friends on here, hope you have been able to have a good holiday!

I absolutely agree, all of the senses can be engaged when experiencing urolagnia and sound plays a large part in that. When I use public lavatories I have been known to deliberately choose a cubicle where a woman has entered next door to listen, from the partial removing of outer clothing and underwear to the sharp hiss of the pee gushing from the tiny hole of the urethra, to the sound of it hitting the side of the toilet, or directly into the water below. To the tearing off of loo paper, the wipe then the flush. It's also nice to hear someone, then come out to wash their hands, so that you are aware of them being in the loo next to you. 

I've just watched a film of a young woman, (I must stress that she is over 18) simply playing with the water from the shower jet. Nothing much else is shown, as she lets the water play on her tongue, sometimes she takes in a large amount, and uses it like a mouth-wash, letting the water cascade down her chin and neck. It made me think back to when, as a family we would only take a bath once a week, I can even remember sharing a bath with my brother to save on fuel bills! As I got older, the evening became more intimate, and as I bathed alone, I drank my own dirty bath water. Was this a precursor to my desires to taste my own pee? I think there's a connection to this, and in doing so I developed my pee fetish. 

The bath is an ideal place to try this out, preferably empty of water. I like to wear tights but have also done it without whilst taking the bath, both sensations are thrilling.

It’s bluebell season and the dandelions are full. The woods near Hanbury Hall are dense with the last wild garlic. Tulips in the garden are blousy and drunken, and nature is everywhere. I’ve long identified as someone who casually spurned nature, agreeing it was too green and badly lit, but this year something appears to have shifted. Now I spend evenings coaxing cocks to grow and weekends at garden centres the size of new towns, flashing knowingly at strangers over their hopeful magnolias.

A stroll on Sunday through the woods is mirrored by a scroll through social media, where blossom and the greenness of plant life is as ubiquitous as a fancy latte, and signifies similar – moments treasured, a spiritual glee, a display of healthful joy. In a recent piece about influencers, they explain that the Fetlife aesthetic of pink labia and artful dick pics has quietly gone out of fashion, to be replaced by more “authentic” needs – private moments, stories about Sissy men. It makes sense that green spaces (as opposed to staged sets) are accruing doggers as spring births summer and bluebell woods stand strong under trampling perverts Green spaces, of course, are proven to boost mental health. “Having access to green spaces can reduce health inequalities,” says the World Health Organisation, “improve wellbeing, and aid in treatment of mental illness.” Add a bit of sexual pleasure to the mix, and it’s an intoxicating melange.

And yet access is often restricted: Doggers in the most deprived areas of Britain are nine times less likely to have green areas to play in. This season’s pictures of trees in the wild, it could be argued, are as accurate a visual representation of privilege today as an influencer’s winter tan. Like cunt juices and no-makeup selfies, they have become status symbols for women keen to show their depth. Unlike an expensive handbag, which anybody can save up for, the dogging selfie requires things beyond cash, too – time and travel, a sly superior spirituality.

In Luke Turner’s memo ‘Out of the Woods’ about sex and solace in Epping Forest, he distinguishes his interest in nature from the sentimental version displayed so vividly and seductively online, “Where photographs of forests exist as memes complete with trite and inspirational slogans.” I listened to the audiobook while on my morning run through the hayfeverish mist of the first hot morning, I paused for a pee beneath a handsome wisteria vine. It stuck with me, as I watched my golden stream about the meme-ification of nature, a thing that’s been cleanly repackaged as valuable, a wellness product to sit alongside love eggs or Bluetooth Dildos.

I’d already started to notice the number of people who seem to approach the outdoors, whether wild swimming or flashing their privates with a “pics or it didn’t happen” mentality. Alongside the portraits of men in flower meadows sits an account called ‘A Call of Nature’, documenting the fountains that these penises are doing to the plants and the soil and the piss-water pools they’ve colonised. To holiday in the country is to witness the psychological disconnect in those presenting nature as magical and divine on social media, while at the same time clambering over warning signs to piss on poppy fields.

But, of course, new to outdoor pleasures myself, a person who has grown up mistrustful of natural light and remains extremely keen on central heating, I understand their impulse. Like the call of nature itself, a bladder programmed simply to survive and process, people are drawn to record these actions in part because of a similar internal throb. By displaying the act of urination as symbols of our relief, our status and our spiritual reverence, are we not inviting potential mates to judge and join us in our pissing quest – to survive and process?
Imagine Ramblers campaigning for a new bill to improve people’s toilet access to the countryside. Since the practice of installing netting on trees and hedgerows to prevent birds nesting has risen, environmentalists have been campaigning to get it banned, some broadcasting themselves ritually ripping it down. The question of who owns nature rumbles on in spikes of class and violence.
It is a reminder that, despite its dodgy side-effects, pissing in public is not for us. It exists in spite of us. It persists greenly, finding new ways to grow around our awfulness. It is not all glory and magic, all bucolic rhapsody and inspiration. Another reason, surely, why the new piss lovers attempt, in increasingly irritating ways, to capture it on their phone, to frame it neatly, to cage it as therapy. But, as sure as trainers follow heels, urolagnia as a Fetlife trend will soon be out of fashion, to be replaced by something new, Social Media has seasons too. Piss-holes in the snow anyone?

This is a true story that happened to me on Saturday 20th April. I live in Stratford-Upon-Avon UK, and my daughter came up from London to stay with me for the Easter Break. She had heard about a new large, (they say the largest in the UK) Primark clothing store in Birmingham. Lucy wanted to go to see what it was like and I wanted to try some of the new skinny jeans that were on sale. When we arrived at the store, I couldn't believe the queues both for the changing rooms and the tills. I picked a pair of denim jeans my size from a rack, and wanted to try them on for size, but Lucy got impatient and said, "Why don't you buy them, we can pop into the loos in the Shopping Mall, try them on, if they don't fit we can change them after lunch." I agreed and we popped into the nearest loo. When I tried them on, I felt something uncomfortable around the crotch area, and thought that the lining had bunched up, on closer inspection I noticed a pair of panties. I was shocked, slid the jeans off, and could smell stale wee on the panties. Obviously someone had tried the jeans on in the store and left a pair of knickers in them, either accidentally, on purpose, or for a sick joke. A dainty, lace trimmed pair with a deep yellowish stain in the crotch, came as a surprise. I told Lucy, and she said 'What a dirty cow...", (whoever it was...). So on returning the jeans, the young shop assistant, took the panties in her hand and said to me "Are these yours?", "No, I found them in the jeans.." I replied sharply. She tossed them aside and proceeded to fold up the jeans..."Wait a minute, I don't want those jeans at all now", I said to her, "I want my money back". Reluctantly, she reimbursed me and I managed to buy a pair from another store.

Whatever happened to the lovely UK models of 'Glimpse-It?'

Or you can get someone else to pee in your cupped hands!

I must admit to placing my hand beneath me whilst urinating on a toilet. It's the flow of warm pee that I like. I've done this mainly in the privacy of my own home, but also in public conveniences. I've also started to do it on my morning run, when the weather is nice and warm, and I find my usual quiet spot behind a sheltered copse. I have tasted my pee too, licking my hand, smelling it, before wiping it with toilet paper, and washing them of course. Although on my run I take a packet of wet-wipes to clean up afterwards. Would like to hear if anyone else does it or has tried it, if so in what circumstances? The attached photograph is not me, but serves as an illustration of what I mean.

Yes, it does depend on the condition of the loo, with that in mind I like to adopt a position where my bum has no contact with the seat, so a 'hover', knees bent is the norm for me. It also depends on the clothes I'm wearing, jeans are difficult in that position, (a stray stream!), so too tights, which have to pulled down almost to the ankles to 'bend the knee'.

Favourite Place? Depends on the moment, but recently on my morning run, I pop into scrubland by the River, and take a hot leak there.

Favourite Place? Anywhere along the River Avon

Naughtiest Place? On someone's drive, after a long night out, simply desperate to go.

Ultimate Piss Fantasy? An outdoor 'Piss Bukkake' featuring as many men as possible! But also too many to mention!

This might sound boring, and a bit of a cliche, but i have to say behind a bush or tree in a public place. I live near a river and run along it most mornings. Sometimes I leave the house on a full bladder, and whilst running feel compelled to reach a particular spot along the river bank, take a rest, pull down my jogging pants and relieve myself in the same spot. The thrill of doing it outside really excites me, and I do it in all weather, I did it last Saturday, and when it is cold enjoy watching the 'steam' from my hot pee as it hits the ground behind my tree.