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I like to pee alone without the distractions of other people. I hate it when I go into a public restroom, and there is another lone pisser waiting for me to urinate first. I'm sitting on the pot this very minute, thinking about this, while I wait for the woman in the stall next to mine, spring a leak and leave.
Nothing. We wait in silence for the other to release her natural bodily fluids. I have to piss so bad, but I can't, because like I stated before, I like to pee in privacy.
Maybe a little tinkle. I try to push and squeeze out a shy squirt, but to no avail. Nope, it's just not going to happen. I wish that damn bitch would leave! I shift on my toilet seat, the thin paper separating me from the rest of the world crinkles underneath my bottom. I stare at a crude drawing of a blue penis etched on the door with an inscription beneath it. For a good time call- Peter Piper's Pickled Pecker. 1-800-PRICK. It made me think of the good old days when I used to get stoned. In the past, I would have thought that that was so funny; I probably would have pissed my pants before I ever made it to the toilet. Back in the beer soaked party days of my youth, peeing was never an issue for me. I used to go wherever and whenever I pleased. No bathroom, no problem! Just squat, and piss. I used to piss on peoples lawns, in front of ex boyfriends doorsteps; I even pissed on someone's shoes once. I didn't care; I was young, drunk, foot-loose and panty-free! Of course there comes a time in every young woman's life, when she realizes she needs to grow up and is expected to reform to society's rules and use a toilet like the rest of the normal, adult women. Although it was hard, I knew I had to change in order to become a productive member of lavatory society. And at eighteen I quit drinking and pissing on other people's belongings.
I hear the woman pull out a newspaper, she fiddles with the toilet paper dispenser, she even flushes the latrine, no doubt in an attempt to try to distract herself, in hopes of relieving herself. She desperately sighs, and feeling her physical and mental aguish, I sigh back. I notice her feet move apart from underneath the stall, her black stiletto slides its way over to my side, revealing a naked, slender calf. She stretches her long leg stiff; I watch her delicious calf muscle clench and unclench with spastic, electrical intensity. She pants to keep up with the pulse, moaning between each breath.
I spread apart my dehydrated leaves to massage my swollen cherry seed, my preserved fruit tickles and grows ripe, quickly transforming into a healthy oily red. Tepid juice drips between my legs; accelerating into an uninhibited flow of golden release.
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