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brucejedi

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  1. I wonder if in fact many, perhaps most, women will not master the art of peeing standing up, even with training. While there are plenty of videos illustrating success, perhaps they represent a skewed sample? People might be more apt to post their successful attempts over their unsuccessful ones, and folks that try and repeatedly fail might never post. Even some women quite devoted to this--Nerdy_Faery, for instance--seem to wet their clothes, their legs, or the floor more often than not (although in her case, doing so might be part of the fun, leading to less-than-whole-hearted attempts). Elsewhere I've read that variation in women's natural stream affects the difficulty level quite a bit, with a naturally forward-facing stream being easier to direct into a receptacle than a naturally downward-facing one (and the latter being much more common). It also seems that nearly all women who do master it indicate they first need to shed all their clothes from the waist down, I assume because of stray drips. You can see such drips in the vast majority of clips posted (when the camera zooms in close enough to see). And in every clip I've seen where the woman attempts it in pulled-down jeans or through the fly of men's underwear, her clothes end up splattered, often soaked. All this leads me to wonder if the norm of women sitting down (or squatting) is not a cultural artifact, but derives rather from the extreme difficulty most women would experience in attempting to pee neatly while standing. In other words, I wonder if ukpeegirl86's situation is more the norm, even after training: a successful attempt only now and again. Consider an analogy: I cannot currently dunk a basketball--I'm too short. If I trained really hard, I might possibly manage to get the ball over the rim, sometimes, but I doubt I could do this consistently or gracefully. This is not to discourage anyone from trying to master the art (or to imply any inherent inferiority). Perhaps Eliminature's advice is right on target: don't assume you're not cut out for peeing while standing until you've given it your all. But isn't it possible that for many, perhaps most women, it's not in the cards?
  2. Ah, but there’s a world of difference between peeing through panties versus peeing into them while pulled down.
  3. The Urinal Dare, by brucejedi A story about a woman’s adventure in a men’s bathroom, containing female peeing and wetting, with some voyeuristic elements. Inspired by this little gem: https://www.omorashi.org/files/file/2189-oh-it´s-a-girl-wetting-herself-in-men-toilet/?tab=comments#comment-6032 * * * “So how’d it go?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “You’re cute when you blush, you know that?” I cross my arms, shivering a bit. “I’m cold,” I announce. “And why’s that?” I gaze down. “I think you know why.” You just sit there on the bed, waiting for me to continue. My eyelids shut, my mind replaying the horrid scene. “Describe it to me, just as it happened.” I breath in deep, still shivering. “Well, I kind of knew we were in a bathroom, even wearing the blindfold. I could feel the tile against my sandals, but…the smell seemed different than I’m used to.” “And then?” “And then you let me see, and staring back was a foreign object I’d never witnessed face-to-face.” “You’ve never seen a urinal before?” “Why would I? I’m a girl, remember? I said, ‘Are you for real?’ and you just smirked. ‘But I can’t…I can’t use it,’ I stammered. ‘I don’t see why not,’ you had the gall to say. ‘Please,’ I said, ‘I really have to go!’” You chuckle. “Was it all that lemonade?” “That, and you hadn’t let me near a toilet all morning! Now I knew why.” You touch my arm gently. “And then what happened?” “And then you left me there, alone in that place I’d never been, feeling like a trespasser, wishing I could run after you, but knowing I couldn’t. All you said was, ‘Remember to film it.’” “I have it queued up,” you say smiling. “We’ll watch it together later.” You watch me grimace. “Well, go on.” “I flicked on the tiny camera you strapped to my wrist. Then I stared down at the receptacle, wondering how I could possibly do this.” “Wait, have you ever tried it standing before, like in a regular toilet?” “Umm…only once that I can remember, when I was a little girl. I was trying to copy my older brother.” “What happened?” “I haven’t thought about it in forever. I’m pretty sure I peed all over my legs and the floor. I remember getting in so much trouble.” “Did you ever try it again?” I shook my head. “Never.” “So, getting back to today…” You squeeze my hand, and I feel my confidence build. “Well, I was standing there, fumbling nervously with the button of my jeans. And then I heard a noise and my heart froze.” “Why?” “I think you know well enough. Weren’t you waiting outside in the lobby?” “I saw him walk in on you, yes.” “You’re a real bastard, you know that?” “And you love me for it. Need I remind you this little adventure was your idea, not mine?” “I said make me a dare! I didn’t think your mind was quite so twisted.” You grin again. “So what happened then?” “He scanned me from head to toe, like he was making sure of my gender. Then he smirked and asked, ‘Get lost, ma’am?’ I was trembling at this point. I cleared my throat, ‘No, I…I…’ He shrugged, then sauntered up to the urinal right next to mine and started unzipping his fly. He said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, miss, but I’ve gotta go.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pull it out effortlessly and aim it towards his target. Then I gazed back down at my own, much more complicated dilemma.” You smile at me, bringing your hand to my slender waist and pulling me close. “Go on.” “My hands were shaking, but I managed to unbutton my jeans and slide the zipper down till it stopped. I yanked at it again, but that’s as far as it would budge, still way, way too high.” “Girl’s jeans aren’t designed for this, huh?” “No, honey, they are not. I glanced back at the man, who had paused his own project to stare directly at me. ‘Do you mind?’ I said to him. Can I pause to ask you why they don’t just put up dividers?” “Always wondered that myself,” you laugh. “Well I’m sure my face turned crimson as I inched my jeans down. You know how self-conscious I can be.” You squeeze my butt. “Ahh, you shouldn’t be. Why?” “Shut up, you know I’ve put on some weight recently, and that’s the first place it goes… Needless to say, he had quite the view of rounded cheeks escaping from pink panties. I wish I’d worn a looser, longer shirt. Meanwhile, he remained perfectly covered, save for the dangling thing in front. So unfair.” “And then?” “I tried to ignore his lustful gaze as my hand surveyed the region between my legs. My line of sight was poor. All I could see looking down was cleavage poking out from my bra, and a bit of the front of my panties—his view was much better I’m sure. I felt around with my fingers. The critical area seemed finally free of my jeans, but only just. I dared not pull them down any lower, lest they slide right off my hips.” “But what about your underwear?” “Yeah, that. Those aren’t designed for this either, you know. All I could do is push them to the side and hope that would do.” “So then?” “I just stood there, trembling, wondering how in the heck I would even attempt to aim, never having needed to before. Being several inches shorter than the usual clientele, the angle would need to be quite high, 45 degrees or more. I spread my legs a bit and tried to push my groin as far forward as I could. This required bending back awkwardly at the knee, and I placed a hand on my back to steady myself. ‘Need some help?’ the man asked. ‘No…no thank you,’ I stammered.” You stare at me with an eager grin on your face, so I continue. “And then the man finally looked away and started peeing a perfectly neat stream right into his urinal. He made it look so easy that for an absurd moment I thought I could do that too. Not to mention, the sound of his tinkle brought back my sense of urgency. If I didn’t pee in this urinal, I might soon wet my pants. And so I released, and…” My voice trails off as a huge knot fills my throat. “So, did you succeed?” “Um…um…I’m sorry, it’s…it’s embarrassing.” I’m almost ready to utter our safe word and end this ordeal, but you clutch me tight and whisper in my ear, “I know you’re embarrassed. That’s why I dared you to do it. It gets you hot. Your nipples are hard already, I can feel them digging into my chest.” You slide your tongue against my neck, causing my heart to race even faster. I breathe in deeply, resolving to continue. “At first…at first the pee just dribbled out down my leg. Then a hard spurt shot right into my jeans, building momentum until it fanned out in all directions, spraying against my panties, the floor, the wall, everything except the basin of the urinal, itself. I clenched my thighs together and managed to cut off the stream before too much damage was done. I knew then what I’d need to do to have any chance at success, but the man was staring right at me again as he peed. For him it was so easy that he could hit his target without even looking at it.” “Not so much for you, though, huh?” “Stop teasing me. Finally I relented, bringing my left hand—the one with the camera—way out in front of me for balance. That freed up my other hand to snake around between my legs. I could feel drops of pee everywhere. The man was still staring, but I spread my lips anyway, giving him an even better view. And then I reopened the floodgates.” “Did it go any better?” “I peed right into my jeans, which had crept back up slightly. So I tried pushing them back down, and peed right into my hand. ‘Maybe you should try sitting down next time,’ the man said, mocking me.” “And then? “Then some sort of miracle happened. My jeans now sitting lower (exposing most of my ass), I tried spreading my lips once again, and my wild spray suddenly coalesced into a thin stream that, at first, fell well short of its target and splashed on the floor. But I leaned back even more (almost losing my balance) and slowly pulled my fingers upward, which served to aim the stream higher. I mean, I actually aimed! I had no idea that was even possible. I stared in amazement as my pee hit the exact center of the urinal drain.” “Oh my gosh, you did it!” “Well…not exactly.” “What do you mean?” “I peed like that for only a few seconds before a new problem made itself known. I still couldn’t see much down there, but I could feel it well enough, warm wetness spreading down my thighs. Apparently, only some of my pee was shooting into the urinal, while the rest—a good portion I might add—was slowly flooding my jeans.” “Oh my. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” “Well, things were flowing too fast now to abort. So I panicked. I repositioned my fingers, trying to spread myself wider. But that made things way worse, the stream erupting back into a wild spray. I adjusted my fingers frantically, trying in vain to rediscover that one position from before, but now everything was so wet that they kept slipping around, causing pee to shoot every which way. The man just kept staring as the puddle grew around me, soaking my sandals. And then the flow began to diminish.” “Ohh. Did that make it easier?” “In a way, yes. The spray coalesced again, and I thought I might manage to get a bit more in the basin before it ended. But my short stature and female plumbing made that next to impossible. I tilted my pelvis as far up as I could without falling over backward, but it still wasn’t enough to clear the front edge of the urinal, and I splattered on the floor instead. I glanced over to see the man’s stream also slowing, but he just aimed his thing higher, sending every last drop into the basin. Mine lingered on, straying farther and farther from its target until I felt it spatter against my toes. As if to mock me, the final bit clung to my leg, wetting a portion of my jeans and underwear that till then had managed to stay dry.” “Wow. Can I see the result?” “No.” “Come on, show me what’s under that towel wrapped around you.” I just stand there shivering, my arms crossed below my bust. So you bring your hands to said towel… A part of me wants to resist, but another part would rather submit—and that part has long gained the upper hand. Slowly, methodically, you unwrap me, revealing the total mess I made of my clothes. On the left leg, dark streaks run past the knee. On the right, they reach far below that. You spin me around. I already know what you’ll see back there (I checked)—way worse than in front. The backs of both legs and most of the rear are completely soaked in the typical feminine pattern—like when you make me wet with clothes fully on. You spin me back around and slide down my zipper, revealing panties so wet they’re still dripping. “Not bad for a first attempt,” you say. “Will you try again for me sometime?” “No.” “Do you think you could ever master it?” “No.” “Maybe I could give you some tips?” “Right, like you know anything about it. Thank you, but I think I’ll sit like the rest of the female population.” You smile. I finally do too. “So, did I pass the dare, even though I made a giant mess?” “You did, sweetheart. Now why don’t we get you out of those wet clothes…” And like a perfect gentleman, you help clean off all the sticky pee and towel me dry. But a part of me stays very, very wet. I can only imagine what you’ll dream up the next time we play…

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