Winter in Kaymala

[BeneathMyWillow 840]

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.

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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.”

Edited May 1, 2020 by BeneathMyWillow

[BeneathMyWillow 840]

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!

[Ms. Tito 2,398]

16 hours ago, BeneathMyWillow said:

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!

I love this country of Kaymala! You and Vassal have been such an inspiration for me. Maybe I could open up a Kaymalan embassy in Pisuaria ;> 

[oliver2 4,422]

Kaymalan Embassy, Virginia Beach.

There is a sudden commotion, and a woman comes rushing though the rotating doors. Behind her run four policemen, who stop on the outside of the glass and look perplexed. The woman rushes to the reception desk, and is trailing her panties from round one leg under her long skirt. “I claim”, she pants, out of breath from sprinting, “political asylum!!”

The desk clerk gives her a knowing look. “Caught peeing?”
She nods, still breathing heavily.

”Come with me, please”. The clerk hands her a fresh towel from somewhere under the desk, and escorts her down a corridor out of sight

[new2this 128]

Ah, one of my favorites is back with a new installment.

[wetwulf 3,324]

More, more, more! 😲