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BeneathMyWillow

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About BeneathMyWillow

  • Rank
    Active Member
  • Birthday October 10

Personal Information

  • Gender
    Cis man (and asexual)
  • Occupation
    Scientist
  • About Me
    I write fiction, especially pee stuff. I also have twitter @beneathmywillow !

    Some links to my stories on this site:
    The Holiday series, staring Sarah and her friends: https://peefans.com/topic/8297-the-holiday-pt-1-on-the-beach
    At University series, returning to Sarah and co: https://peefans.com/topic/13120-at-university-pt-1-moving-in
    The Kaymala series, about a fictional country: https://peefans.com/topic/8758-welcome-to-kaymala
    The Skiing story (may become a series?), about a group of university students on a ski trip: https://peefans.com/topic/14644-a-night-in-a-ski-hostel

Pee Profile

  • Favourite Thing About Pee
    Nonchalent peeing
  • Hottest Pee Experience
    Discreet pee on the beach, within 2m of a couple of strangers

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  1. Hi folks, here with another Kaymala story. This isn't really a series you need to read from the start, but if you want to, you can find the first episode here, or the first introductions of Layla in part 7 and Freya in part 8. This story contains nonchalent peeing and peeing in naughty places, as well as sex and nudity. ################# The tram pulled up to its platform, and its passengers unloaded into the misty morning air. Across the road was the Kusti shopping mall, the largest in the country. Its glass front made a promise of the light and warmth inside. Most of the passengers hurried inside. Layla held back, watching with interest a couple of men who had disembarked just before her. She supposed they had been crossing their legs inside the tram, not wanting the inconvenience of peeing in the crowded space. Now, as soon as they were in the open air, they turned, unzipped, and relieved themselves against the side of the tram. Apart from Layla, the disembarking crowd barely glanced at them, even as they walked through the wisps of steam rising from each man’s piss-stream. With a pneumatic hiss, the tram doors closed and it pulled away. One of the men was still pissing -- he took a sharp step backwards as the vehicle began moving, not quite avoiding being splashed. His friend chuckled. Layla made her way into the shopping mall, catching up with her friends just inside the doors. Almost as soon as she was inside she started sweating, and realised why nobody else was dressed for the winter weather. Kaymalan people liked to keep their buildings hot, and inside the mall it was as hot as summer. “You can leave your coat here,” said her friend Simon, guiding Layla over to a cloakroom by the doors. She gladly handed her coat to the person behind the counter, paying a couple of kroner. Now that she was inside, Layla looked around the mall. The whole building was circular. A gallery encircled each level, and looking out over the railing, Layla saw one floor below them and at least three floors above. Escalators carried shoppers between floors. And despite the weather outside, everybody here was dressed for summer. Layla saw crop tops, shorts, miniskirts, and -- since it was Kaymala -- a few people of all genders casually walking around topless, and one or two who were completely naked. After months of winter in London, where everybody was bundled up in thick coats, it was a liberating feeling to see so many people dressed (or indeed undressed) so freely. Layla’s friends too were dressed for the heat. Olivia wore a green dress that just barely covered the key areas. She had worn leggings for the journey, but slipped them into her bag as they entered the mall. Freya wore jeans and a hoodie, but now that they were inside she let the hoodie hang open, showing her boobs to the world. Simon wore shorts and a t-shirt. Layla was starting to feel over-dressed. “Wait for me a second, would you?” asked Simon. He stepped up to the waist-high glass barrier that overlooked the floor below, undoing his flies as he did so. Looking around, Layla saw he was far from the only person to make use of the conveniently-placed half-wall. She could see at least a dozen people peeing against it. She was intrigued to watch the people on the far side of the gallery, who were facing towards her, their piss running down the glass between them. And it was not just guys, but several women had also lifted skirts or dropped trousers to standing-pee against the glass, while many more were squatting beside it. Layla noticed now that there was a drain running around the edge of the gallery, collecting Simon’s piss and that of everyone else relieving themselves against the barrier. It seemed to be the way Kaymalan public spaces worked -- not many bathrooms, but lots of drains in the places people were most likely to pee. A loud moan from somewhere above cut through the hubbub. Layla looked up, and saw, up on the top floor of the mall, a woman bent over against the railing, while a man entered her from behind. She moaned again as he thrust against her. Simon, who was just fastening his flies, looked up and chuckled. “Every time I come here there’s a couple screwing up there,” he said. “People just can’t resist it.” The four of them rode the escalator up to the next floor. Layla stood behind her friend Olivia, and watched with interest as the girl lifted her skirt above her waist, showing her tanned behind, and pissed straight down. Her piss splattered on the steel steps of the escalator, before trickling away through the gaps between the steps and into the mechanism of the escalator. With practised timing, Olivia finished up just as they reached the top of the escalator. At the next floor they split up. Olivia and Simon had some errands to run for the hostel, while Freya said she would take Layla around some of the clothes shops. Layla was trying not to stare at Freya’s cleavage, which was visible through her open hoodie -- and the hoodie swayed as she walked, occasionally slipping so that one tit was completely on display. Freya didn’t seem to mind when this happened, pulling the hoodie back into place with a casual shrug. She led Layla to a store that she said was one of her favourite chains, and a smiling clerk welcomed them inside. Layla was surprised to see two women in the very first aisle of clothes, right by the window. One was stripping off her clothes, while her friend leant against the nearby shelves and chatted to her. Once she was down to just her underwear, the girl took a dress from a rack nearby and slipped it on, admiring the look in a nearby mirror. Looking around the store, Layla could see other people in similar states of undress trying on the clothes on display. Mirrors, tables and benches seemed to have been placed around the store for such a purpose. “Do people not use changing rooms here?” she wondered. “What’s that?” said Freya, who had walked on ahead. Layla hurried to catch up with her. Walking further into the store, she also noticed several patches of walls left deliberately empty. The walls there were tiled, and had drains underneath. Layla had an idea what these were for, an idea that was proved right as she watched a man who was getting trying on clothes nearby. He had stripped off both his trousers and his underwear in order to try on a pair of swimming trunks, but before he could put them on his phone rang. As he chatted with the phone held to his ear, he took a couple of steps over towards one of those tiled patches of wall and pissed, hands free, spraying both the wall and the floor beside it. A shopping attendant who walked past paid him no mind, except for eyeing his bare backside. Looking further along Layla saw two girls squatting by another of these patches of wall, happily chattering away with their jeans around their ankles, while two trickles of piss ran along the sloping floor to the drain. Freya noticed what Layla was looking at and laughed. “You know, I worked in a clothes store when I was a teenager,” she said. “I grew up in a small town place, quite different to here. The manager was a stingy guy, he didn’t want to pay to put all this drainage in place. So he just put up signs all over the store, you know, ‘We are unable to provide drainage and politely ask customers to step outside the store to relieve themselves.’” “What happened?” asked Layla. “Oh, everyone ignored the signs. Some people just pissed on the floor like usual and maybe didn’t notice there were no drains. Other people pissed in all the hidden corners of the store, behind clothes racks, you know, sometimes even on the clothes. What else were they gonna do, step out into the cold winter air and pull their pants down? After a couple of months the manager had to give in and pay a plumber to put drains in, plus hire in an army of cleaners to get rid of the smell.” “Did you have to tell people off for peeing in the wrong places?” Freya laughed. “We were supposed to, but we didn’t care, did we? We were annoyed by the lack of toilets as well. We had great fun finding places we could piss without the manager noticing. We used to take turns to say, ‘I’m just going to tidy the shelves for a bit,’ which was our code to say we needed to piss. My favourite was to get my cock out and then pretend to be straightening out a clothes rack or something while I secretly pissed underneath it. Another girl found a place where there were two display tables with a few centimetres gap between them. She’d sit up on the table over the gap -- she always wore a skirt -- and she’d act like she was folding the clothes on the display table while she pissed away down the gap.” “Your childhood was very different to mine,” said Layla. “If I’d done that sort of thing, the trouble I’d have been in … my mum wouldn’t let me get a job even, in case there were boys working there.” “She should have been more worried about the girls,” said Freya. “I lost my virginity to that girl with the skirt, in the staff break room. The manager walked in on us, and yelled at us for taking too long on our break.” “Did you know you were trans?” “I knew, but it was early days, right? I was still working out what it meant to me. Well, maybe I still am working that out, who knows. Oh, hey, let me take a look down here.” She wandered down the underwear aisle. There was one other person here: a topless woman pulling bras off the shelf one by one and holding them to her chest. Freya pulled out something lacy and held it up for Layla to see. “What do you think?” she said. “Is the bare boobs under the hoodie a good look, or would it be sexier with the bra on?” Layla blushed. “I don’t know. The bra’s nice, but … I guess I like the look you have already. It’s very casual.” “Just casual, or casual yet sexy?” said Freya. “The second one.” Layla was blushing even harder, and Freya laughed. “Casual yet sexy is the look I strive for,” she said. “All right, no bra. Come on, let’s find something for you.” A shopping attendant smiled at them as she passed, and Layla couldn’t help staring. The woman was wearing an ankle-length skirt. The skirt had a split that went all the way up to the waistband, allowing it to hang open and reveal -- well, everything that was inside. As the woman walked, the skirt opened and closed, giving them flashes of the shaved pussy beneath. Layla was taken. It gave the appearance of modesty, while hiding nothing. Freya noticed where Layla was looking. “They probably sell that here, if you’re interested?” she said. As they walked over to the skirt section of the store, it occurred to Layla that the shop had no men’s and women’s section, unlike every London store she’d been in. Bras, knickers, boxers and y-fronts were all in the same aisle; jeans of every cut were beside each other on the shelf; and none of the clothes she looked at had explicit men’s or women’s labels on them. They found the skirt, looked up a conversion table between British and Kaymalan clothes sizes, and then Freya suggested Layla try the skirt on. Layla hesitated. “Are there any fitting rooms?” she asked. “Oh yes,” said Freya. “Sorry, it didn’t occur to me.” She led Layla to the back of the store, where there were just two fitting cubicles, with curtains over the doors and a divider that went from ankle-height to just above head height. “Not many people around here bother,” said Freya, “but some people prefer the privacy.” As they approached, a middle-aged man gave them a friendly nod as he disappeared into the cubicle on the right. Layla went into the left cubicle, and to her surprise -- though not displeasure -- Freya followed her. Layla started to say something, but Freya gestured for her to be quiet and pointed at the neighbouring cubicle. For a few seconds all was quiet, then they heard the unmistakable sound of a stream of liquid hitting a hollow wall and running down to the floor. Looking down, Layla saw rivulets of the man’s pee dripping down the gap between the dividing wall and the floor. His puddle spread out slightly into their cubicle, before following the slope of the floor towards the closest drain. Layla waited for him to finish. After the stream petered out, they heard him cough once, then the zip of his flies, and then the curtain being undrawn as he went back out onto the shop floor. Layla leaned over to Freya. “Why did he do that here?” she asked. “If he wasn’t trying anything on, why not pee out there like everybody else does?” Freya shrugged. “Some people are shy about peeing in public,” she said. “And some people just like peeing in a cubicle. Like how, you know, some people prefer to pee outside in the open air, some people like to piss against a wall, some people like pissing in bed and some hate it, that sort of thing. Well, some people like to find somewhere enclosed, a changing room or an elevator or whatever. It’s hard to say why people like what they like, but here we try to cater for everybody’s tastes. Do people not pee in changing rooms in your country?” “Some people do, I suppose,” said Layla. “But it’s illegal.” Layla started to pull her jeans down, being careful not to stand in the wet patch that had spread into their cubicle. The fitting room had plenty of space for both Layla and Freya, but Layla still felt nervous getting naked in front of the other girl. It didn’t make sense -- only the day before Freya had had her tongue inside Layla, and Layla had peed in her face -- but Layla felt the butterflies regardless. Especially, as she pulled her knickers down, Layla felt conscious of how thick her bush was down there, compared to all the Kaymalans who seemed to trim or even shave completely. “If I’m going to wear this, maybe I should start shaving,” Layla said. “What, this?” Freya reached out and stroked the triangle of hair between her legs. “I love this,” she said. “Wear it with pride.” Layla stepped into the skirt and pulled it up to her waist, admiring the look in the mirror. She tried standing with her legs together, with them wide, stepping one foot forwards and then the other, seeing what she could do to make the skirt fall open and what would leave it closed. It occurred to her what her mother would say if she saw her now, and Layla giggled. “You like it?” said Freya. “It looks good. Are you going to wear it out of the store? You can just take the tag off and show it to them at the counter.” “I like it,” said Layla. It would take some courage to wear it out in public, but hey, it was no worse than what dozens of other people in the store were wearing. “Listen,” she said, as she stuffed her old clothes into a bag. “Do you mind if I take a leak here?” “Well, if you do, I will as well,” said Freya, turning to face the corner of the cubicle as she spoke. Layla sank into a squat in the middle of the cubicle, lifting her skirt up off the floor. Her eyes fell on Freya’s cock, and she watched as the other girl started to piss up the wall. The cubicle was soon full of the stereo sounds of two pee streams. “Can I tell you a secret?” Layla said. “Always,” said Freya. “I have actually peed in a fitting room before.” Freya turned to look at Layla, her piss stream arcing over the wall. “Really? In London?” Layla nodded. “A few times, actually. I knew this girl -- a housemate at uni. She was from a Muslim family, like me, only she wasn’t as strict, she didn’t wear a hijab. She had this really rebellious streak. She was the one who first got me to start drinking, and tried to get me to hook up with boys on nights out, although I was never very good at it.” Layla stood up, wiping herself on the edge of her new skirt. Freya was just finishing up. “We’d only known each other a few weeks and she asked me to go shopping with her,” Layla went on. “And we’d been looking around for a couple of hours. We wandered into this expensive shop, and she said to me, ‘Listen, I really need the loo, will you wait for me?’ She’d been there before so I assumed she meant that this store had a toilet. But no, she grabbed something off a shelf and disappeared towards the changing rooms. And a couple of minutes later came back looking relieved.” Freya shook herself off and fastened her jeans. “That would be a crime in your country, then?” Layla nodded. “I asked her about it afterwards. She just said it seemed more convenient than finding a loo. But the way she said it made me think that wasn’t really the reason. “A few weeks later we were shopping together again. We’d just tried some things on, and then she said, ‘Could you wait for me outside, I’m just gonna go to the loo while I’m here.’ And she was, like, already undoing her jeans there in the changing room, it was obvious she wasn’t talking about finding a toilet. I stepped outside, and I could hear her peeing on the carpet. I already needed to go, anyway, and the sound was too much. So when she’d finished, I asked if she’d wait for me as well, and I went back in and did my business.” “And how did that make you feel?” asked Freya, with a coy smile. “Well, I felt a bit guilty about the mess,” said Layla. “But I figured that my friend had already messed it up, so I wasn’t really making anything worse. And it did make me -- you know.” “Turned on?” Freya was grinning. “My friend didn’t say anything about it, but she smiled at me once I’d done,” said Layla. “We went shopping together quite a few times. Every time she would say something about needing the loo and go to the changing rooms. Sometimes I did the same, not every time. One time we went into that expensive shop again and we just both grabbed something off the shelves and went into neighbouring stalls without saying anything. I peed and I could hear her peeing next to me. Then we both gave the stuff we’d grabbed to the attendant and said it didn’t fit, and we left. I never dared go back to that shop after that, in case they recognised me.” Freya’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at it. “Simon and Olivia are grabbing coffee,” she said. “Why don’t we pay for this skirt of yours and go join them?” She held the curtain open for Layla to step out of the cubicle and into the store. A passing attendant smiled at them, then laughed as she saw the puddle Layla had left in the changing room floor. At the cash desks, the cashier scanned the tag that Layla had pulled off her skirt, his eyes drifting to Layla’s crotch as he did so. Layla, surprising herself, adjusted her stance so that the skirt hung open. “Nice vagina,” said the cashier as he handed her her receipt. “I love the way you have your bush. Where do you come from?” “From England,” said Layla. He eyed her pussy again through the gap in her skirt. “Well, it looks like you’ll fit in well here.” Layla smiled. She was starting to feel that she would do.
  2. I love it, great story @ifucksluts. Always happy to have more stories in this genre!
  3. I feel that. College work, politics, and coronavirus stuff, it's hard to focus on anything. Look after yourself.
  4. Hi everyone, back with the next part of this series. The first part is here, and the second part is here. It contains wetting and naughty indoor peeing, with elements of pee vandalism (though nothing overly malicious). ############################# The students stood in a line, stamping their feet against the cold. Each was wrapped up in coats, ski pants and salopettes, with bulky boots on their feet, and a pair of skis held clumsily in their arms. The queue stretched out ahead of them, winding back and forth into the building from which the chairlift would carry them up the mountain. The cold was not the only issue for the students. They had each drunk a couple of mugs of ski hostel tea and coffee to warm themselves up over breakfast, and for at least some of the students, the liquid had worked its way through them and now wanted to be released. “Why didn’t you just piss in the room before we left?” Helen asked. “That’s what we did.” The hostel that they were staying in was drastically under-equipped with bathrooms, only one per floor, which had led these students to finding some unusual alternatives. “What are you, my mother?” Kelly snapped. “I thought it would be nice to piss in a proper toilet for once this trip.” “Same here,” said Will. “There’ll be some public ones up ahead, I’m sure.” “They’ll be gross, though,” said Chloe. “Public toilets in places like this always are. Peeing on the carpet will feel civilised by comparison.” The queue inched forward, and the students rounded a corner. “There, see?” Will said, pointing at the ‘WC’ sign they could now see over the heads of the crowd. A second later his face fell, seeing the long line of people queueing for the toilets. “What is it with this place and not providing enough loos?” said Kelly. “And they’re charging a euro a head,” Steve pointed out. “Fuck that.” “We can hold your place in this queue if you want to go stand in that queue instead?” Jo offered. Kelly pulled a face. “Nah, I’m good.” “Are you gonna wait until we get to the top of the mountain?” Jo said. “I dunno if there’ll be any up there.” “I’m not gonna wait,” said Kelly, lowering her voice. “I’m just gonna go.” For a second they all looked at her, confused. Then their eyes moved down to Kelly’s crotch, which had suddenly started to glisten. Her salopettes were black, so the wet patch was difficult to notice, but once you knew to look for it it was unmistakable. “Oh, eww,” said Nicole. “You dirty cow.” “Keep your voice down,” said Kelly. “Don’t attract attention.” The wet patch spread quickly down Kelly’s legs. Seconds later there was a dripping sound, so quiet it was difficult to hear, and a puddle started to form on the concrete around her boots. She breathed a deep sigh. “Christ, it’s so good to let it out,” she said. “Well, I’m not gonna do that,” said Nicole. “I’d rather pay a euro than piss myself.” “She’s still going, look,” said Steve, who was watching the wet patch now spread upwards, soaking through Kelly’s underwear and hugging her buttocks. “Yeah, all right,” said Kelly. “Feel free to stare at something else.” She adjusted her trousers, where the wet material was clinging to her. “You all done now?” Nicole asked. “Feeling better?” “Take the mick all you like,” said Kelly. “I don’t need to piss anymore and I saved a euro.” “Well, I’m going to the bog,” said Nicole. “Who else is coming?” She, Will and Steve peeled off from the group, leaving their skis with the others, and joined the line for the toilets. The line moved slowly, and they were waiting for a good five minutes before they reached the turnstile and paid their euro each. Once inside, they each felt a sense of dismay. The line stretched even further ahead, along a sort of corridor past a line of sinks, before reaching the cubicles. From here they could see that there were only four cubicles, all unisex, and at least one seemed to be out of order. The queue of men and women ahead were all in various stages of visible desperation. Most obviously, a French girl a couple of places ahead of them in the queue was holding her crotch and whispering urgently with her friends. On top of this, as Chloe had predicted, the place was disgusting. The tiled floor was covered in half-melted snow and mud from outdoors, and a powerful smell of shit and stale urine hung around the poorly-ventilated air. Despite the steep entry price, it seemed like a long time since the place had been cleaned. “Man, fuck this,” said Steve. “What?” said Nicole. “I paid my euro, I’m not waiting any longer.” “Why, what are you going to do?” asked Will. “What do you think?” said Steve, undoing his flies. “Seriously, here?” asked Nicole. “Why not?” said Steve, turning to face the nearest wall. “If they don’t like it, they should give us better toilets.” Nicole said, “Fuck it, you’re right,” and started fighting with the clips on her salopettes. Will still looked hesitant, but he didn’t want to be outdone by Steve, who was now pissing like a racehorse against the side of the corridor. Will lowered his own flies and stepped up next to Steve, at the same time as Nicole managed to pull her trousers down and sank into a high squat in the middle of the corridor. The people immediately in front of and behind them in the queue had stepped away as soon as they realised what was happening. The entire line of people were watching, some giving them dirty looks, others looking shocked, others laughing. The French girl a few metres away, the one who was holding herself in desperation, whispered something to her friends. They said something back, and she gave an angry reply. Suddenly she started undoing her own belt, pulled her pants down, and made a low squat beside Nicole. The two girls exchanged relieved smiles as their streams splashed off the tiled floor. Further ahead in the queue, two men exchanged looks, shrugged, and stepped up to face two of the sinks. An older man lowered his trousers and started to piss against the door of the out-of-order cubicle. It seemed that all it had taken was one person to break the ice. Around Steve, Will, and Nicole, a puddle the width of the corridor had formed. They surveyed the mess as they finished up, then made their hasty way out to rejoin their friends.
  5. Hi everyone, this is a continuation of my story from earlier this year about a group of students staying in a skiing hostel. (Remember when we used to go places?). The first part of the story is here. Like the first it contains naughty indoor peeing, some sexual content, and elements of pee vandalism (though nothing overly malicious). ######################### Jo woke up early on their first morning in the ski hostel. A weak morning sun was shining in through the tattered curtain. The room was full of the snores of the other roommates and, it had to be said, a certain musky smell. The use that the seven holidaying students had put the room’s carpet to the night before had made its mark. There were muffled sounds as two of the other students stirred. Helen and Chloe had shared the bottom bunk across from Jo, both squeezing into the narrow space. Now they sat up, yawning and stretching. Helen was short, blonde, and athletic, and had slept in boxers and a tank top; Chloe was a bit taller, thin, and brunette, and wearing Lord of the Rings pyjamas. The two looked around the room, apparently checking if anybody else was awake. Jo’s eyes were half-open, and surely the two girls had seen it; but perhaps not, because they started to change. Jo didn’t realise until too late what the girls were doing, and once Chloe had pulled her shirt over her head, it seemed too late to interrupt. Besides … Jo had known Chloe for a few years at the trampolining club, and had always been curious what she looked like under that uniform … Helen had quickly stripped down to just her skin. She bent over the drawers by her bed to find something to wear -- flashing her pale rear to the sky as she did so -- then she seemed to hesitate. She straightened up again, stood with her legs a little wider than usual, and concentrated. A second later, a stream of piss came from her bare crotch, gently at first, and then with more pressure as she pushed harder. A muffled pattering filled the room. Chloe looked around, surprised, and giggled when she saw what Helen was doing. Chloe was also naked by this point, with a pert and cute pair of tits on display. She whispered something to Helen, then crouched down beside her. From this angle Jo couldn’t see her stream, but could hear it, and could see the puddle spreading across the thin carpet beneath her. The two girls finished up, both giggling, and started to get dressed. Soon they had slipped out of the room, probably looking for an early breakfast. Jo was very turned on by this point. Their hands went down inside their pyjamas to deal with the problem, rubbing back and forth surreptitiously, trying to be quiet in the shared room. The sound of the door opening and closing seemed to have disturbed some of the other roommates. A few people were stirring and groaning. A couple of minutes after the girls left, Jo was disturbed by creaks from the bunk above, and then by a splashing sound. Trickles of liquid were running down the wall beside the bed. In the bunk above, Kelly had decided the pressure in her bladder was not worth leaving the warmth and comfort of her bed to deal with, and that in a pinch the gap between the bed and wall was a good compromise. Jo quickly pulled their blankets on the lower bunk away from the wall, then watched the rivulets of Kelly’s pee run down the painted surface and disappear into the space below the bed. Somehow, this only turned Jo on more. At the other end of the room, Steve was pulling himself up in bed and yawning. “God, this place stinks,” he called to the room at large. He reached one foot out of the bed and felt the floor. “The carpet’s still wet as well, gross.” “This whole thing was your idea, dickhead,” said Nicole, leaning down from her top bunk to face him. “Don’t say you’re chickening out now.” “Course not,” said Steve. “I’m just saying, it’s gross.” He clambered to his feet and stretched. On the bunk above his, Will was also awake. He hadn’t spoken, but the bed creaked as he moved around under the covers -- from the occasional grunt, the movement was more tossing than turning. “Put some jeans on, Steve,” complained Nicole. “We don’t want to see your morning glory.” It was true that Steve’s boxers did little to cover his anatomy, which was straining at the elasticated waistband. “I always wake up like this,” said Steve. “Shows I’m healthy. I got nothing to hide.” So saying, he pulled his boxers down and let his cock loose. It bounced upright. He turned to face the bunk below Nicole, which nobody had slept in, and he pissed hands-free. It sprayed messily over the covers, the pillow, and the wall behind, re-soaking everything that had partly dried overnight. Steve was laughing. “Gross,” said Nicole, though she was watching intently. “You dunno what it’s like to piss with morning wood,” said Steve. “Trying to aim for a little toilet -- the leaning, trying to point it down -- beds are so much better, I can just stand here and let it go where it wants!” “Half the guys I’ve dated used that as an excuse to piss in the shower,” said Nicole. “Ah, well I don’t shower in the mornings,” said Steve, as his stream petered out. “If I’m rock hard I usually just piss in the sink.” He shook himself dry and kicked his boxers to one side, then went to his suitcase and started pulling out clothes to wear. “Hey, Steve, watch this,” said Nicole. She pulled her covers aside. It seemed she had slept in a T-shirt and nothing else. She shifted to the edge of her bunk and she lay back, her legs sticking out into the air, her trimmed crotch at eye level. “What, you just showing me your muff?” Steve asked. “We all saw it yesterday already.” “Give me a second,” said Nicole. She breathed in, and on the breath out her piss started coming. It sprayed forwards and down, not so much a stream as a shower. The extra height meant it fell with force, and the noise was loud as the droplets hammered on the carpeted floor. Will, Jo and Kelly all turned to look at the sound. Steve took a hasty step backwards and pulled his suitcase out of the way of the stray drops that bounced towards him. Nicole pissed for a good thirty seconds. By the time she was finished, a huge puddle had spread across the floor below. She wiped herself dry on a corner of the bed covers, then climbed down the ladder, hopping daintily over her puddle to a dryer patch of carpet. “Whoa, Nicole,” said Will, sitting up on the bunk opposite her. “Oh you’re with us, are you Will?” said Steve. “Finished jacking off up there?” “I just came in my pyjamas watching that,” said Will. Jo didn’t say it, but the same was true of them. “Ew, too much information, thanks,” said Nicole, although she looked pleased. “I hope you shower.” “I wonder if they’ll come in to check the room during the day,” said Will, as he climbed down out of bed. “Fuck, I hope not,” said Steve. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of place that’ll send someone to clean the room, does it?” said Nicole. “I think we’ll be fine if we lock up.” Will shrugged and pulled his pyjamas down. “Too late to do anything about it, either way,” he said, turning to piss against the wall. “You two going down for breakfast in a minute?” The room gradually emptied out, the students talking excitedly about the first day of their trip. Jo was the last one to leave. Before they locked up, they looked around at all the puddles that seven people had left over the course of one night. After a whole week like this, the room would be completely trashed. But Will was right, Jo though, as they pulled their own pyjamas down and emptied their morning bladder onto the floor. It was too late to do anything about it, either way.
  6. Thanks folks. I like to believe all three countries exist in the same world, and have good relations! By the way, I hope y'all are happy with the portrayal of Freya in particular, especially those who are trans (@Ms. Tito?) - I'm not a trans woman (I id as nonbinary) so I'm writing a little outside my area of knowledge, and I wouldn't want to write anything damaging. Feel free to message or reply here if there's anything that doesn't look good...
  7. Hi folks, back with another Kaymala story -- back to the hostel to meet a couple new characters. If you want to read this series from the start, you can find the first episode here, or the first introduction of Layla is in the previous chapter, here. This story contains nonchalent peeing and peeing during sex. There is also a mention of shibaru/bondage, though it doesn't happen within the story itself. ################### Simon and Layla crunched through the snow as they followed the path up to the hostel's front door. Simon keyed in the code and the door opened, letting them through into the lovely warmth of the interior. “Ooh, this is nice,” said Layla, shrugging off her coat. She looked around the small lobby area, taking in the wooden floor and the wood panelling on the walls. “Olivia should be around somewhere,” Simon said. “She'll check you in.” A voice echoed up from the kitchen. “Just making coffee.” Not long later, Olivia emerged from the kitchen holding a tray of coffee cups. She looked as though she'd only just got out of bed, with messy hair and a baggy t-shirt. The t-shirt was all she wore; her legs, vagina and ass were all uncovered. “Morning,” she said, smiling. “How was the airport run?” “Not bad,” Simon said. “Found her no problem. I did think you might have got dressed by the time I got back, though.” “Oh, you love it,” said Olivia. “And hi, you must be Layla.” She held a hand out. Layla took it, seeming unsure where to look. “I'll just check you in, and then I'll give you a tour,” said Olivia. “Help yourself to a coffee.” She bent over the computer at the desk, sticking her bare ass out as she did so. Simon couldn't help reaching out and grasping one buttock. Olivia gave him a look. “I'm working,” she said. “You can do that later. Here, take one of these coffees up to Freya, would you? We'll come join you in a bit.” Simon obediently grabbed two coffees and carried them up to the dorm room. Freya was the other guest the hostel currently had. She was a Kaymalan woman from a small coastal town some distance away, here to see the capital. Right now she was sat in bed, her red hair messy, her perky little tits poking out where the bedsheets had fallen away. “Thanks,” she said. She took the coffee with one hand. The other hand stayed conspicuously under the covers, moving slowly to and fro. “You having fun down there?” Simon asked with a grin. “What do you think?” Freya spoke English well, though she had a definite Kaymalan accent. “If you're not doing anything, why don't you give me a hand?” Simon shrugged and sat beside her in bed. He reached down under the covers as she leaned on his shoulder. Freya was a trans woman, and had chosen to keep her penis, although she could have had free surgery through the Kaymalan healthcare system if she'd wanted. She was hard already from her own work down there. Simon started to stroke her down there, moving slowly at first. She squirmed and closed her eyes. “I've said it before, but you're good at this,” she said. She took a sip of coffee, and Simon paused until she'd put the cup back down, not wanting her to spill the hot liquid on herself or him. Simon had only been tending to her for a few minutes when the door to the room opened. Olivia came in, still half-naked, followed by Layla and her suitcase. “And this is where you'll sleep,” said Olivia, clearly finishing off a tour. “Just you and Freya in here at the moment. I put some sheets on that bed there for you. If you need clean ones for any reason, there's some in the cupboard on the landing. Anything else you need, me and Simon have rooms on the floor above, so just come wake us up.” Layla was staring at the bed where Freya and Simon sat. “Sorry, are you … masturbating?” “Yes,” said Freya in a matter-of-fact voice. Olivia laughed. “You'll get used to it. Why don't you sit down, drink your coffee?” Layla stowed her suitcase in a cubby-hole and sat on her bed, which was just across the aisle from Freya's. Olivia took a seat on one of the spare beds. “I'm guessing you're not from around here,” Freya said to Layla. “Where did you come from?” As she spoke, Simon's hand continued to move back and forth along her girl dick. Layla watched the covers move in a kind of entranced way. “Er,” she said, “from London. Not far from where Simon lives.” “Another British,” said Freya. “I should have known from the accent. Myself, I come from a town called Vimari. It's a town in the east of Kaymala.” “And I came from Spain,” said Olivia. “I know this place can be a lot to get used to when you first get here.” “But once you are at home here, it's paradise,” said Freya. “By the way, if you want to have a jill, go for it. I find there's nothing like a good orgasm to unwind after a long journey.” She ended that sentence with a gasp at a particularly strong tug from Simon. “Thanks,” said Layla. “I'll, er, bear that in mind.” “So, what are you planning to do while you're here, Layla?” Olivia asked. “Er, well, I thought I'd check out the Christmas markets,” said Layla. “And maybe some museums. But apart from that I'm not sure. What do people usually do around here?” “In winter? You're looking at it,” said Freya, her breathing getting heavier. “There's -- oh -- there's a saying here. It would translate to something like, 'Winter is the time we get to know each other better.'” “Sex is what she's meaning,” said Olivia. “I got that, thanks,” Layla said. “Lots of time spent indoors, wrapped up against the cold …” Olivia went on. “People, ah, get to know their living companions quite well.” “And not just the people they live with,” Simon added. “Inviting friends round for dinner is a big tradition here, especially in winter. If you get a chance to go to one, go -- they're quite the experience. Rather different to what you'd see at a UK dinner party.” “But apart form that, there's a few touristy things to do,” said Olivia. “You mentioned the Christmas markets, which are always worth a visit, but I'd leave it a bit; they really get going in a week or so. We were actually planning a group trip to the museum of culture tomorrow, if you'd like to tag along? If you're interested in hill-walking, skiing, sledding, we can organise that for you. And there's a couple of spas, which are much better in winter -- sitting in the hot springs, watching the snow fall around you …” A moan from Freya cut through the conversation as she climaxed. She took a deep breath, looking around at the faces turned towards her. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, still breathing heavily. “I'm done.” Simon withdrew his hand, wiping some cum off onto the sheets. Freya snuggled closer to him, and he put his arm around her. Layla was watching them, open-mouthed. Olivia laughed at the look on her face. “I felt like that when I first got here,” she said. “You seem to have got used to it,” said Layla, eyeing Olivia's bare crotch. “Most people do. It's really an easier way to live. I've been here six years, and I don't think I could ever go back to the rest of the world.” “What was it like when you first got here?” “It was winter too,” said Olivia. “I honestly didn't leave the hostel for two weeks. There were two guys -- one second.” She slid forward to the edge of the bed, spread her legs wide, and pissed onto the floor. It fountained out of her, but messily. Offshoot streams splashed her legs and soaked the edge of the bed. A huge puddle spread out on the wooden floor. Layla and Simon both lifted their legs up onto their beds out of the way. “How much coffee did you have this morning?” asked Simon with a laugh. “Three cups,” said Olivia, as her stream petered out. “Danger of a lazy winter's day, I drink a lot of coffee. What was I saying?” “Two guys,” said Simon. Olivia grabbed a corner of the bedsheet and used it to wipe down her legs and crotch. “Yeah, two guys who ran the hostel when I arrived,” she said. “And I was the only guest. We did some experimenting. They were into shibari, you know, Japanese rope play. I spent a lot of time hanging from that light fitting.” She gestured at the ceiling above them. “I never knew you were into that kind of thing,” said Simon. “I'm into lots of things,” said Olivia, with a wink. “It wasn't something I'd tried before I got here, and it was sort of a crash course on living in Kaymala. I once spent a whole afternoon hanging up there, getting fucked when I wanted and pissing on the floor when I needed.” “You, um, seem to have liked it,” said Layla. Olivia laughed. “You could say that. My original trip was only supposed to be two weeks, but I extended it to a month, and then two. And then one of those guys had to leave, and the owner offered me a job running the hostel, and I've been here ever since.” “You probably won't meet the owner,” said Simon. “He's an old hippy who lives on the other side of the island, he doesn't visit very often.” Freya stretched, saying, “I'm gonna have to get up for a second.” She got to her feet, letting the sheets fall so that she stood buck naked in front of them -- perky boobs, a fine ass, and her cock now hanging soft. She walked across the room, avoiding stepping in Olivia's puddle, and stood facing the wall. She pissed against the wall, watching it run down and pool on the floor. “That ass looking good from this angle, Freya,” said Simon. “Hey,” said Freya, turning slightly to face him and spraying a nearby cubby hole as she did so. “My ass looks good from every angle.” “So Layla,” said Olivia, while the sound of Freya's piss still echoed around the room. “What made you want to come to Kaymala?” “A few things, I guess,” said Layla, her eyes on Freya. “I kind of wanted something different, you know?” “Different from what?” asked Freya, finishing up and shaking herself dry. “Well, my parents are -- quite conservative,” said Layla. “When I was young I always thought I'd grow up to be like them, you know, happily married and having children. And then I moved out and went to university, and I discovered -- drink, boys, breaking the rules -- this whole other world. But now … I don't know. We finished uni, and all my friends seemed to be getting jobs, getting married, settling down. I don't want to end up there, you know? Or at least, if there's other stuff in the world besides the traditional family life, I want to experience it first.” Freya, done pissing, came back to join them. “You mind if I sit here?” she asked, indicating Layla's bed. “Sure,” said Layla. “Kaymala's certainly the place to experience more of life,” said Olivia. “At least, in a couple of specific areas,” said Simon. “I looked at a few places,” said Layla. “Pisuaria, Lavatria … I decided on here, at least to start with.” “Did you tell your family you were coming here?” Simon asked. “Course not,” said Layla. “My mum thinks I'm on a nice, innocent holiday in Stockholm right now. She'd have a fit if she knew about --” She gestured at the puddles that Olivia and Freya had left on the floor. “You know,” said Freya. “If you want to start your Kaymalan experience off properly, there's only one way to do it.” She made a gesture with two fingers and her tongue. “What -- you mean, here?” said Layla. “Now?” “I'm up for it if you are,” said Freya, her eyes tracing Layla's curves under her jeans and t-shirt. “I don't mean to brag, but I've been told I'm very good at it.” Layla hesitated only for a second or two. “Well, it's what I came here for,” she said. “Screw what my mum would say, right?” She started to unbutton her jeans, glancing at Simon and Olivia. “What, are you two gonna sit there and watch?” “We can leave if you want,” said Simon. “Simon can do what he wants, but I'm staying,” said Olivia. “Put on a good show for us.” Layla rolled her eyes as she pulled her jeans down, showing the triangle of hair between her legs. She lifted her legs up onto the bed and turned to face Freya. “I've never done this with a girl before,” she said. “Nor with an audience.” “Nothing to it,” said Freya. “Just sit back and relax.” Layla lay back on her pillow, while Freya bent over her. She gasped as the girl's tongue went inside her. “All right?” said Freya. “Keep going,” said Layla. “Oh God, keep going.” Soon Layla was writhing and moaning on the bed while Freya administered to her. Watching from the next bed, Simon slipped his hands into his trousers, feeling himself going hard. Olivia came to sit next to him, and whispered in his ear. “I love it when the new guests make themselves at home, don't you?” Then Olivia's hands were undoing Simon's trousers for him, and she bent over his waist as he laid back. He looked back across the aisle at Layla, who was still gasping under Freya's help. Layla met his eyes and gave an awkward laugh. “We're a long way from home, aren't we?” she said. “You're fitting in well here, though,” said Simon. “Oh God, hang on,” said Layla. “I think I need to piss.” “Too much coffee,” said Simon with a laugh. Freya paused what she was doing and looked up at Layla. “Just go,” she said. “What, right now?” said Layla. “But -- I'll get you.” “Sure,” said Freya with a wink. “I'm into it.” Layla gasped again as Freya's tongue went back inside her. “Oh -- oh -- oh God, I think I'm gonna piss --” And then she did. It fountained up over Freya, pouring down the girl's face and chest. Freya carried on, paying no attention to the urine that was spraying all over her. Layla moaned at the combination of relief and arousal. “Oh God, why does it feel so good? Oh -- oh!” Words seemed to fail her as she climaxed. She shook, panted and moaned. Then, once it had passed, she lay back, gasping. Freya sat up, pulling her wet hair back out of her face. “Is that your first time doing pee play?” she asked Layla. “I guess you found out something new about yourself already.” “I --” Layla was still panting for breath. “I guess so. Oh, the sheets -- they're all wet --” “Don't worry about that,” said Olivia, taking her mouth off of Simon's cock so that she could talk. “There's clean sheets in the cupboard, and if the bed's wet you can switch to one of the empty ones.” “How did you find it?” asked Simon. “Your first time getting off in front of strangers?” “It's -- it's liberating, isn't it?” said Layla. “Nice to just -- not have to worry about anything.” “Oh yes,” said Simon, laying back as Olivia got to work again on his cock. “It's nice.”
  8. Great story @paatujo, I love how detailed it is.
  9. Hope you're all well, and holding up under the situation at the moment. This story is kinda meant to introduce a new 'arc' of Kaymala stories. Since I'm staying with my parents at the moment I don't always get much time to write, but I have a few places I'd like this arc to go. I'm interested to talk some more about what this kind of culture might look like when it's really cold out, and I've got some ideas for other bits of the island to see. Hope to write for you all again soon!
  10. A return to Kaymala. I thought I would do a time-skip to see more of what the country looks like in winter, and introduce some new characters. If you're new to this series, there's no reason you can't start reading here, or you could go back and read Simon's introduction here. Contains public peeing, nonchalant peeing, and wetting. #### In winter, Kaymala became a different place. When Simon had first arrived, he had seen the country in summer. Summer Kaymalans were eager to take clothes off at any opportunity, and to bask like lizards in the warmth, exposing as much skin to the sunlight as possible. In winter, when the temperature was sub-zero and a permanent layer of snow covered the ground, the place was unrecognisable. Gone were the naked pedestrians, the topless sunbathers in cafés, the dresses so short they covered nothing at all. Now, Kaymalans spent as much time as possible indoors, and if they had to go outside they did so in scarves, hats and thick coats. However cold it might be outdoors, indoor spaces were heated to the same high temperatures they always had been. As winter had rolled around, Simon had come to realise why Kaymalans loved visiting the shopping malls, gyms and cinemas of the city. These places were where Kaymalans could be themselves despite the weather. Simon had lived in Kaymala for six months so far. The hostel had offered him free accommodation and food if he took on some work. It was a deal that worked well for him, and allowed him to immerse himself in the Scandinavian island's unusual culture more fully. The hostel stayed open all year round. They had fewer visitors in winter, but enough to keep the bills paid. In fact, soon the Christmas markets would start, and the hostel would fill up with tourists again. This morning, his task was to meet a guest at the airport. Like other indoor spaces, the airport was heated to a furnace-like temperature, and he pulled off his coat and scarf as soon as he was indoors. The airport in Kaymala was not large -- there were only a small number of flights to and from the island, mostly to neighbouring countries. Just like everywhere else, though, flying from here mostly meant queueing and waiting. Simon had flown home a few times to visit family. The airport here had a decided advantage over London Stansted -- you never needed to lug your bags over to the bathroom with you, or find someone to watch them while you went for a piss. You just found a floor drain. Indeed, there were drains strategically placed along each queue, so that nobody needed to worry about losing their place. Today he had arrived early, and the board said that the flight would be delayed. He bought a coffee from a stand and sat down at a nearby table. The barista working at the stand was someone he'd seen here before -- about his own age, red-haired and freckled. She was naked from the waist up. This was common among people who worked in the airport -- the agents checking in bags and running the security checks also were, as were the cabin crew on planes. He'd once asked about it, and been told that many Kaymalans who travelled abroad found the restrictions of other countries a challenge. When they returned home, it was considered only fair to give them a proper Kaymalan welcome, which, apparently, meant lots of boobs. Simon took out his phone and smiled. Olivia had promised to send him some pictures to keep him entertained, and sure enough she had. He undid his flies and started to stroke himself, thumbing through Olivia's pictures and sipping his coffee. The handful of other customers paid him no mind. Occasionally he glanced at the topless barista for more inspiration, watching the way her tits swayed as she wiped the countertop down. She caught his eye once or twice and smiled. He wondered about asking if she wanted to take a break and join him, but she seemed busy, so he contented himself with looking. He grunted as he came, using the paper napkin to catch the spunk. He couldn't see a bin nearby, so he finished his coffee in a gulp and dropped the napkin into the empty cup. Not long later, he saw Layla, the guest he'd come to meet. Layla had messaged the hostel asking for more details about how to find them, as she hadn't travelled much before and was a bit nervous. Olivia had suggested Simon could go to meet her and show her the way, which had seemed like a relief to her. He raised his hand in a wave, she recognised him and made her way over. She had dark skin, deep brown eyes, and curly black hair. She wore a pink headscarf, white tshirt and jeans, and she pulled a pink suitcase behind her. She was from London, not too far away from where Simon himself lived, and when she said hi he recognised her accent -- it was always nice to hear a familiar accent when you live abroad. “How was the flight?” Simon asked. “Oh, it was … a lot, to be honest,” she said. “I knew what to expect, I guess, but still …” Simon laughed. “I remember my own first flight out here,” he said. “Kind of a baptism by fire.” “Yeah, tell me about it,” Layla said, her eyes wide. “There were two girls next to me just -- just eating each other out on the plane. And everyone was peeing. Even the air hostess! And then, I was waiting at passport control, and some guy just whacked it out and pissed on the floor, right behind me. I could feel the spray!” “It can be a lot to get used to,” Simon said. “You feeling good?” “Yeah, not bad. It's why we're here, I guess, it's just -- we're not in Croydon any more, I guess. Shall we go?” “Just give me a minute to finish up here.” Simon had finished his coffee, but he needed a piss before they left. He stood and turned away from Layla, undid his flies once again, and pissed under the table. The coffee had had its effect on him, and he was peeing for a good thirty seconds. By the time he was done, the metal table leg was soaked, and a large puddle was spreading across the wooden floor. “It's just so strange,” said Layla, who had watched him with bemusement. “Do they not mind?” “The café? Nah,” said Simon, picking up his coat. “I'm not the first one, look.” He indicated a nearby table, now empty, where a similar puddle was left over from a previous customer. “Someone'll be round to clean it in a few minutes,” he added. “Cleaners are well paid here. And people usually tip extra if they leave a mess.” He left some kroner on the table as a tip. Sure enough, as he and Layla left the café, the barista was already picking up a bucket and mop. She smiled at them as they passed. “But what if someone had already sat at that table?” Layla asked, as they made their way towards the exit. “I dunno really. If it bothered them they wouldn't sit there until it was cleaned, or you could go find a cleaner and ask them to do it for you. You'd probably have to tip them for that, of course. But lots of people around here just aren't so bothered by it. It's only your shoes that touch the floor, after all, and you've probably stood in worse outside.” They stepped out of the airport, pulling on coats as they did so. After the hot airport, the outside air was bitterly cold. The footpaths around the airport were cleared and gritted each morning, so there was no snow underfoot, but piles of snow stood on either side of the path. They made their way to the bus stop just as the bus was pulling in. Layla lifted her suitcase into the area reserved for luggage, and they took seats next to each other. The bus quickly filled up, to the point that passengers were standing all down the aisle. The heating was on full blast, making the air hot and damp. The windows were completely steamed up. With so many people who had just left planes, the air took on a definite smell of traveller. A few minutes into the journey, Simon tapped Layla on the shoulder. He pointed at the woman stood beside them in the aisle. She was wearing a thick coat over a dress and leggings. With one hand she held a phone to her ear and was talking rapidly in Kaymalan -- Simon understood just enough to know she was telling somebody about the flight she'd been on. Her other hand had pulled the front of her dress and coat up. Simon recognised the signs, and sure enough, he saw a wet patch form at the crotch of her leggings. It blossomed for a second, before spreading quickly downwards. As the woman pushed harder, the flow became faster. A stream started to fall straight down from her crotch, and smaller streams flowed off her knees. Most of it splattered on the floor at her feet, sending droplets scattering over her boots. Some of those rivulets flowing down her leggings must have gone into her boots, but she didn't seem to mind that. The whole time the woman was still gabbling away on the phone, paying no attention at all to what was happening below her. If you could only see her from the waist up, you would have no idea what she was doing. “I don't get it,” Layla said to Simon. “Doesn't she mind having wet leggings? Won't she be cold?” Simon shrugged. The woman didn't seem to mind. She finished up and dropped her skirt back into place, still laughing at whatever conversation she was having over the phone. Over the course of the bus ride, they heard a few more times that tell-tale trickling sound. Simon was used to the Kaymalan way by now, but he always enjoyed seeing somebody new to the experience. Every time, Layla's head swivelled to try to find the source of the pissing sound. They saw a couple of people piss where they were seated. One half-stood pulled his cock out and pointed it at the back of the seat in front, washing over it like a waterfall. Another wriggled in place, managing to pull her trousers down in the tight space, and sat back in her seat and let go. Her piss ran smoothly over the plastic-covered cushion and poured through the gap at the back of the seat. They saw one elderly man step off the bus during a stop and pee into the gutter, getting back on the bus just before it left -- Simon assumed this was a gesture of politeness to the other bus passengers. Another man, less considerate, just turned to face the luggage area and pissed over somebody's suitcase. “I'm glad that's not my suitcase,” Layla said at that. “Would somebody not mind that?” “They probably will mind, when they see it,” Simon said. “Peeing on other people's stuff is certainly frowned on. But, you know, some people are assholes.” “Maybe it's not so different to London, after all,” said Layla. They got off the bus at the next stop. Here there was a small interchange outside a shopping mall, where they would catch the tram that would take them the rest of the way to the hostel. A dozen or so other passengers also alighted, and several took the opportunity for a slightly more convenient piss now that they were away from the crowded confines of the bus -- unwrapping their layers of coats so they could piss over drains, or against the back wall of the bus shelter, which was already lined with similar puddles. Layla looked around, taking all of this in. She looked slightly uncomfortable. “I don't suppose there is a toilet around here, is there?” she asked. “There'll be one in the shopping mall,” Simon said. “There usually is, for number two, or for people who are shy.” “How long until our tram comes?” “A couple minutes, but I'm happy to wait for the next if you want to go.” Layla looked undecided for a moment, then she shrugged. “Fuck it. I'll just go here. When in Rome, and all … What do I have to do?” “To piss?” Simon asked. “You can just do it anywhere. As long as you're comfortable.” “No-one will think it's rude?” “As long as you don't hit someone else's leg, you're fine.” Layla saw a woman nearby, squatting to face the road and pissing into the gutter, and apparently decided to copy her. She pulled her jeans down, looking around guiltily as she did so, as though expecting somebody to tell her off. When nobody did, she pulled her panties down as well and squatted, mimicking the other woman. “It feels so weird,” she said. “I've never done this kind of thing sober before.” “Have you done it drunk?” Simon asked. “Well, not really,” said Layla. “But I have friends who do.” She seemed to have some trouble getting started, but after a minute or so the stream came. And once she had started, the floodgates opened. Piss gushed out of her and onto the road, steaming, melting through the slush that had gathered in the gutter. When the flood finally ended, she pulled her trousers back up with a look of relief. “I've been holding it since I got on the plane,” she said. “It felt really weird to use the toilet when nobody else was, but -- it felt even weirder to not use the toilet, if you see what I mean.” She looked around. “I still feel like I'm going to get in trouble,” she said. “I know it's silly.” “You'll get used to it,” said Simon. “Everyone takes a while. There's some tourists who never get up the courage to do it, all the time they're here. You're already ahead of the game. You'll fit in well.”
  11. I love these stories @Ms. Tito, I like to imagine all of these countries exist in the same world... And seeing stories with trans characters is really awesome of course!
  12. I'd forgotten about this classic. Where I came from I always heard it as Zip, Willy and Wee. Even as a boy I found it "interesting" more than perhaps the other kids did. Is this a UK specific phenomenon then, or did those in other countries have similar childhood jokes?
  13. The halls that i lived in for my first year at university had sinks in every room, and only a couple of toilets per floor. It was common knowledge that a lot of people used the sinks rather than walk to the bathrooms, not only at night but during the day as well. People often talked about it as a joke, but you would regularly hear a tap running next door or in the room above which at least sometimes I was sure was while peeing. A quite open friend of mine would sometimes just pee in the sink while we were hanging out in his room. I remember another guy describing being in the room of a female friend that he was quite flirty with, and she performed some fairly gymnastic climbing manoeuvres to piss in the sink - as he said he had to give her a round of applause afterwards. I also have quite a few memories of flatmates pissing on campus before/after nights out, sometimes quite openly. I often thought I might not be the only person from our flat who was into it. The week after exams particularly, I remember a couple of people pissing in the kitchen sink and out of the window while predrinking. Sadly I didn't stay living with those people, it was an interesting year.

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