The laundromat release (A.I. content)

[panelvanman 168]

The formula for a great story from A.I. has been found! First I pick a place, then I describe it a  little. then I tell the bot no toilets allowed. And with a little persuasion It spits out a beautiful tale.

 

In the dimly lit laundromat, the hum of washing machines and the rhythmic tumble of clothes create a soothing backdrop. The air smells faintly of detergent and fabric softener, a comforting scent that wraps around you like a well-worn sweater. You stand there, a weary traveler in this mundane yet strangely intimate space.

Solution 1: The Dusty Corner Sink

Your eyes scan the room, seeking refuge from the insistent pressure in your bladder. There it is—the old, chipped sink tucked away in the corner. Its porcelain surface is stained with years of soap residue and water marks. You shuffle over, the cold tiles sending a shiver up your spine. The sink’s faucet is rusty, but it still works. You lift your skirt, unbuttoning your jeans, and let the stream flow. The porcelain echoes with the sound of release, and you close your eyes, savoring the relief. The water swirls, carrying away your urgency, leaving behind only a memory of warmth.

Solution 2: The Faded Couch

The couch beckons—a relic from another era, its floral upholstery worn thin. You sit down gingerly, feeling the sag of the cushions beneath you. The fabric is scratchy against your skin, but it’s better than nothing. You lean back, closing your eyes, and imagine that this couch has absorbed countless stories. Perhaps it won’t mind one more liquid tale. You shift your weight, parting your legs slightly, and let go. The dampness seeps into the faded flowers, and you wonder if anyone will ever notice. The pleasure of surrender washes over you, mingling with the musty scent of the upholstery.

Solution 3: The Laundry Pile

Your basket of laundry sits nearby, a jumble of colors and textures. You consider it—the socks, the T-shirts, the jeans—all waiting for their turn in the machines. Why not share this moment with them? You squat down, the cool floor pressing against your thighs. The clothes are soft, their fibers clinging to your skin. You nestle into the pile, feeling the dampness spread. The cotton absorbs your offering, becoming a part of the cycle. As you release, you imagine the stains fading, the fabric rejuvenating. Perhaps this act of desperation will somehow bless your laundry with newfound freshness.

And so, in this dream, you find solace in unlikely places—the sink, the couch, the laundry pile—all accepting your torrent with silent understanding. Wetness becomes a secret shared between you and the worn surroundings, a communion of vulnerability and necessity. When you wake, you’ll remember the odd comfort of that laundromat, where even bodily functions found their place among the spin cycles and lint-filled corners.

 

Then I gave some other details and tried to add a partner to our little world and voila! 

 

In the Laundromat of Unconventional Choices

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of washing machines. You stand before one—a white sentinel with a round door, its metal exterior cool to the touch. The hum of the laundromat’s machinery surrounds you, a gentle symphony of cleanliness and domesticity.

Step 1: The Decision

You glance around, assessing your options. The sink? The couch? No, today you’re bolder. The washer beckons, its drum yawning like a hungry mouth. You lift the lid, revealing the cavernous interior. The enamel is smooth, pristine. It’s a canvas waiting for your audacious brushstrokes. You’ve made your choice.

Step 2: The Torrent

You hike up your skirt, unbuttoning your jeans. The room seems to hold its breath. You straddle the edge of the washer, your bare thighs meeting the cold metal. And then it happens—the primal release. Your stream hits the drum, a metallic percussion that resonates through your bones. It’s not a flush; it’s a baptism. The water swirls, carrying away your transgression, leaving behind only the echo of rebellion.

Step 3: The Wipe

But what’s this? Nature’s call isn’t always tidy. You reach for the nearest cloth—a crumpled T-shirt from your laundry pile. It’s soft against your skin, absorbing the remnants of your audacity. You wipe, feeling oddly triumphant. The washer accepts your offering, its silent gratitude palpable. Perhaps it, too, has witnessed other secret rituals—the stains of life scrubbed away in its watery embrace.

Step 4: The Pre-Wash Treatment

Now, the pièce de résistance. You toss the soiled shirt into the drum, your “pre-wash treatment.” It joins your puddle, a sacrificial offering to the laundry gods. You imagine the detergent bubbling, the fabric forgiving. Maybe this act will infuse your clothes with newfound resilience. Or perhaps they’ll emerge with a rebellious streak, like ink stains on a poet’s sleeve.

Step 5: The Unexpected Witness

As you step back, adjusting your jeans, you notice her—a fellow laundromat patron. She stands there, wide-eyed, clutching her laundry basket. Her gaze flickers between you and the washer. Is it shock? Disgust? Or… admiration? You can’t quite tell. But there’s a spark in her eyes—a recognition. She’s seen your audacity, your defiance. And in this mundane space, you’ve become an unwitting example.

Step 6: The Ripple Effect

Will she follow your lead? Will she, too, choose the unconventional path? Perhaps she’ll eye the dryer or the soap dispenser. Maybe she’ll invent her own ritual—a dance of release and rebellion. And as she does, you’ll share a secret bond—the kind forged in laundromats, where stains fade, and stories unfold.

So go ahead, my audacious dreamer. Be the pioneer of peculiar choices. Let the washer bear witness to your humanity. And who knows? Maybe someday, someone will write a poem about the day a lady turned a mundane chore into a whispered legend—a splash of defiance in the spin cycle of life.

[panelvanman 168]

Please do let me know if I'm posting too much or if you would like more. Also I would love some suggestions for new locations or more specifically surfaces to ask the bot to describe being peed on. I love the responses and attention this has gotten so far. I really love when I see reactions from some of the people I consider the pros of pee stories. It really means a lot.

[nopjans 1,178]

I'm enjoying these. At one point I had chatGPT spinning some pretty interesting stories but they clamped down the method that I was using and I haven't worked to engineer new prompts.

See if you can get it to describe making some bold choices in a museum or art gallery.

[CON2H4 650]

There are NSFW versions of Chat GPT out there. 

[panelvanman 168]

I'll look into them. I know its because I'm the weirdo here, but I find most NSFW bots I've tried jump to sex way too fast. Don't get me wrong, sex is great. But personally, for me the peeing is the thrill. In my own life I have been more successful in convincing a lady to pee for me than sexytime for me. Again, I know I am the odd one out here.