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That's Not How You Pee, This Is How You Pee

This story is more about childhood than sex, since we were only four. Boy and girl, born around the same time in the neighbourhood, enrolled to the same kindergarten. We must have been a few month past our 4th birthdays. Our mums knew each other well, and they told us to take care of each other. But we were both independent, healthy kids, happy to be past nappies and prams. I could eat at the table, and she could eat at the table. I could take off and put on my clothes, she could do that too. We were managing well, always encouraging one another, as very small kids do.

"Let's pee" said one of us, and we run towards the secret place at the end of the garden. The bush was dense and grew high above our heads. It was like a tunnel between the trees and the wall, where only we, little ones could get in. We've both been there before for a pee, but now we arrived at the same time. There was space for the two of us, just next to one another.

I knew what I had to do, and I was proud of it. Dropped my undies, turned towards the wall, pushed my hips forward and let it go. I used my right hand to provide some direction, to avoid sprinkling around like a garden hose.

But my friend refused to follow. With my left hand, I waved at her, showing up, up, and then forward, forward. I knew she was stubborn, but what followed was beyond my 4-year old imagination. With perfectly coordinated moves, like a transformer toy, she folded into a crouching position, pushing down her undies at the same time. She executed this with great speed and confidence. She made a short break to find her balance. Then, in another set of well-rehearsed, coordinated moves, she pushed her hips backwards and lifted her head up towards me.

She was squatting with her back curled like a cat, looking at me with a defiant expression. As if saying: "this is the proper way to pee". I remember I was getting worried, since in my mind there was no way she could have done this without peeing into her undies. Her mum will be angry, even my own mum will chastise me for allowing this to happen.

By now my flow was over, so I quickly turned towards her, to examine the damage. Surprisingly, there was no yellow spot on her undies. She had no willy, and she was peeing straight down, in an angle I could never have imagined. We were both dumbstruck by surprise. If I would have done what she did, my undies would be all pee by now. She must have thought the same - if she had done what I did, her undies would be full of pee. I clearly remember her baby-blue eyes becoming round-shaped, as she stared at something close to her face.

We both pulled up our undies, but this required me to lean down, and she to stand up. As we were moving in opposite directions, we nearly knocked our heads. Finally, we run out of the bush and rejoined the group. A minute earlier, as we run into the bushes, our steps were in perfect synchronism, but now we were just an awkward pair of boy and girl.

Later, we became colleagues at school. At different times, we had crushes on each other. We never even held hands, but there was some kind of bond between us. She grew up to be a smart cookie and that confident, defiant look never left her face. As adolescence was coming to an end, we both decided to study in the same town some distance away. Our mothers took advantage of the common destination, and they were sending common packages to us by post. About once a month, I was going to the girls' dorm, to pick up or drop off a half-package.

Her dorm was in an older building, with a very steep spiral stair-case. Boys were not allowed up, but the receptionist would call the girls by name, and they would come down the stairs. As a shy boy, I wasn't good at memorizing faces, but I could recognize her legs from a thousand other pairs. A terrible thing was happening to her in this period. Her honey-blond hair was turning dark, and she was devastated. 

On one occasion, she briefly appeared in her night-gown at the top of the staircase, for just enough time to recognise me. Then she ran back to her room, and returned a minute later. I was well groomed enough not to stare too long, but I instinctively looked up to recognise the familiar pair of legs. Only this time she wasn't wearing her undies. This was in 1970, when girls did not shave and there were no blond jokes.

When she arrived down to my level, she asked with a trembling lip: "is it true that I'm still a blond?". "Yes, you are a blond", I managed to say, even more shaken. "Oh, thank you, thank you" she muttered, and then quickly run up the stairs, happy with her true colors.

 

AgeingThinker AgeingThinker 61-65, M 4 Responses Nov 11, 2009

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yes, i ant to talk pleaseeeeeee

Nice story.

One would think the common childhood experience has had some influence on our sexual preferences. This was no so. Before she became sexually active, my childhood friend was all arts and sophistication. Later, she developed a strong preference for big, dark, hairy men with thick necks. She dated at least three such characters in her student years. About the same time, I became aware that I must perpetuate the human race with brunettes, or at least try to do so, four times a week. It's a deep voice, and I'll never know whether it's really my preference, or I'm the one who is the preference of brunettes. After all, we men are duty-bound to satisfy women all around. Now I must avoid showing disdain towards the blond daughters of Eve, just in case one of them needs me.

Thanks guys, and I just remembered she still has that book of French poetry she borrowed from me in 1975. She studied the history of arts, I went into computers, but I found that rare volume on a bookstall

Very well recollected and written.