A Cautionary Tale

This actually happened to me. It's a funny tale, not particularly sexy, but it is indicative of the bisexual, closeted world that we live in.

The following happened to me. It’s funny so don’t expect sexy. But not every meet is. Is it ? I pass it on as warning to those who think that everything goes swingingly at meets. Those of you that are of an age will know what I am talking about when you read my story below. Those lucky younger ones of you be warned !

Being retired is a wonderful thing. When I’m not tied up with gardening, DIY, family or just sleeping, I like a bit of cock. I’m 61 now and look a bit younger and my local cruising site is a bit of a safe haven for me.

 

Anyway, after many years of sucking cock and having it sucked, I decided that I needed something to spice up my closeted sex life. Just having my mouthful wasn’t enough.

 

About a year ago, I was looking at the forums and saw one on golden showers. The members that commented on the story were extolling the virtues of being showered with the amber nectar. On seeing these glowing references, I thought that I may give it a go and see if I too would be titillated by this act.

So, never one to waste time, I set about looking on the forums to see who a)lived in my area and b) liked the idea of the act of peeing on another human being.

 

As fortune would have it, there was another member, similarly enamoured of the act and we soon agreed to meet at my local cruising site.

 

I never meet at home. God knows what the neighbours would think through the party wall, all the huffing and puffing and trumpeting going on. And the gagging noises. They would probably think that I was suffering some form of attack and call the ambulance. And I couldn’t have cum on the communal bed. She who must be obeyed would go mad and accuse me of bashing the bishop and not using tissues.

Plus the fact, what would I do if my preferred sexual partner is leaving and someone sees him. Who would I say he was ? “This Tom the plumber, come to fix my U bend”

 

That’s alright, apart from a poor attempt at a euphemism there, but what if the neighbours stop my wife and ask her how her U bend is now ?

 

So no, home is out. As it is I suspect for a lot you for similar reasons.

 

So we agree to meet at a local cruisy site. It’s quite good there – there is a civilised car park, not many dog walkers and over the road, a whole lot of common. It’s mostly gorse, woodland and ferns, but it’s private and you don’t get disturbed.

 

And so I set off. At least I got as far as the front door and thought about it. Was I dressed correctly ? I had shorts and T shirt on, so they could come off. No problem. I had the sandals that I had bought in Turkey several years ago – plastic so they would wash off with the garden hose after. Ah I thought, I need a towel. After all, I’d need to wipe myself down after, because I’m not putting my clothes back on until I was dry. 

 

Then I thought, it would probably be sensible to wash afterwards. But I couldn’t take a flannel and a bowl of warm water with me, so I compromised and took some wet wipes that probably weren’t so wet now having been in the cupboard for the last three years. But beggars can’t and all that and I had no time to go to the local Boots and buy more.

 

So they went into a rucksack with some lube (he may want to poke his finger up me) and a condom (providing he wasn’t a Jolly Green Giant like a bloke I had met before, but that’s another story)

Thus equipped, I manage to make it into my car and thence to the scene of my latest adventure.

When I arrived, sure enough there he was in his green Mazda. I quite liked the look of him. My age, perhaps a bit older and well built. About six feet two. I like a tall man. Not too tall mind, otherwise when I’m on my knees, I find it hard to reach his member. Then I have to struggle and that just makes my knees ache and I suffer for days after.

 

But anyway, I digress, he wasn’t too tall and holy smoke, he talked too !

 

We had a chat and he seemed like a really nice man. We talked about football and politics, both a bit nervous and trying to get round to the business in hand.

 

“So” I said “You like the golden shower then ?” He allowed that maybe he did like some party time with another man and some pee and we agreed to adjourn to the other side of the road.

 

I must admit the conversation dried up a bit as we got closer to a spot that we both knew was off the beaten track and would therefore allow us the freedom to indulge.

 

I did ask however, what experience he had in this area and he admitted that although he was not regular, he had some experience with it. He asked me and I admitted that I had no experience at all and would be led by him.

 

At the appointed spot, I stripped naked and kneeled down in front of him. I thought that I may be lucky and get some oral in as well as gaining a new experience.

 

I was in luck. He dropped his shorts and showed me a well-endowed semi that he started to stroke.

I was getting excited and interested now as his cock looked like not only a nice suck, but looked to be lined up as a super soaker sized weapon that I could be assured would christen me into this new encounter.

 

His balls were large and I took this as a good sign. However, this thought was superseded by the thought that I should be more worried about the size of his bladder than his balls as that was primarily what we were there for.

 

And then I was thinking of nothing because his cock was in my mouth. I have always been one to ensure that my customer service is first class, so I forgot about his bladder and concentrated on his manhood.

Five minutes later and he pulls it out of my mouth (rather reluctantly I thought)

“Is it time ?” I ask him

“It is indeed” he answers and puts out his hand which I take in mine. 

 

And then he pulls me up and sinks to his knees, taking his T shirt off as he did.

 

“Don’t worry about where it goes, just piss all over me” he says

 

Well. Here’s the thing. I came here to be pissed on, the pissee if you will not the pissor. So I’m a bit stumped and a bit uneasy now and for several good reasons.

 

Problem number one

Before leaving home, I deemed it a good idea to have a wee as I definitely wouldn’t need to when my new friend was pouring his bodily waste over me. (My mistake)

So I was running on empty as it were. Not that I couldn’t summon anything (I can always summon up a widdle), just that it wasn’t necessarily going to give him the experience of a lifetime.

 

Problem number two

My prostate. It’s in reasonable nick, but like most blokes of my age is showing signs of wear. Were I a BMW, it would be my turbo with the dodgy intercooler – you know sometimes it works perfectly and sometimes you can’t accelerate no matter how hard you put the pedal to the metal.

So there he was looking up at me, expecting a veritable monsoon of water and all he was going to get was a typical English shower.

So I tried for him. I really did. I strained and pushed and I could feel that at some point there would be a result. But not before…

 

Problem number three

The fart. We all know it, when we press to urinate, we pass wind. And I could feel, along with the urine, a corker winding up and begging to pop out.

This would not be conducive to the sexual tension that is needed in these circumstances. I felt that there could be several outcomes. a) he would get up and walk off. b) he would get outraged and clout me one (to this end I looked around for my clothes and bag so I could make my escape – I can run really fast if I want to) or c) we would both end up with a fit of the giggles.

 

At least I didn’t have to worry about a common effect – trying to piss with a hard on. If I had I would have splattered him and most of the surrounding foliage. As it was I was now fully flaccid, mostly through the worry of performing for him.

 

Ok so now I can feel a flow and I am reasonably optimistic that I can at least wet his head, if not the rest of him. He was quite a hirsute man and his chest was like a fair isle jumper. What little bladder supplies I had would have been soaked up and lost in that jungle. So I aimed for his face. Which brought us to…

 

Problem number four

The power of the flow. Not to be mixed up with the power of the force. (I bet obi one Kenobi never had the problem. “ You cannot pee Luke ? Use the force…)

 

When I was a young man my mates and I would have pissing contests – literally – who could pee the highest up the wall. All of us would regularly piss higher than our height.

Now I could only piss as high as my crutch. And as I have intimated this bloke was quite tall so his head came up above my navel. A problem in the making.

 

So as he was looking up at me, I pushed his head down. Now all I could see was his hair and I really didn’t want to piss in that. What would he think ?

 

So I kind of squashed him down and made him look up. He was kind of scrunched up then and did not look comfortable at all.

 

This was not going as planned. Not at all. I could feel a ripper building up in my colon and had the terrible urge to laugh. But I didn’t want to let him down, so I squashed all the urges and concentrated on peeing on him.

 

And then it came out, in a kind of fast dribble. Speeding up a little and then immediately slowing down. It sprayed on his face, but not by much. I was just glad that it was clear and not that horrible yellow urine that you get when you haven’t drunk for a long time.

 

Did he look disappointed ? It was difficult to tell with him scrunched up like a garden gnome with indigestion, but anyway, I was finished now which brought us to the final problem….

 

Problem number five

The post pee dribble.

Those of you that suffer the prostate problem will be aware of this. Not only does it take an age for your old man to get going, it dribbles for what seems like about ten minutes after as well.

So there we were, me just dribbling over his face, several drops and then nothing. Several drops and then nothing and so on for what seemed like a century.

 

He was very polite (thank goodness) and because of this, I tried a little harder to please him and give him a last spray. Which brought me neatly back to..

Problem number three

The pressure of trying to please was too much for my colon and I broke wind. I was expecting a right trumper, but it turned out to be a right squeaker, sounding like one that Hyacinth Bouquet might let go in one of her dark moments.

 

This was too much for both of us and we both burst into fits of helpless giggles.

 

We had a chat about it after and he admitted this was only his second time having a golden shower. We decided that it was probably better that we did not try again after the disaster this time. I lent him some of my wet wipes, which were, to my surprise, wet and that was that.

 

So all of you out there, beware ! The meets are not all the plain sailing that I thought they would be.