I have recently considered transitioning into rewriting classic children’s fiction for adults and think this may be a solid start to my nonexistent literary career. Some other pieces I am working on include Racuntzel, James and The Giant Testicle, Beauty and The Yeast (Infection). I think I am seriously on to something… moving on. As much as I would love to say this story was a work of fiction much to our dismay it’s not. A few nights ago I headed to drinks with an old friend I haven’t seen in eons, I resorted to my usual catch up conversation (current digestive issues, gluten free aversions and male brain analysis) when she told me she had just gone through a semi-break up.
“I’m so sorry what happened?” She nervously explained that they had only dated for a month and things ended very suddenly. Immediately intrigued, I slowly began coaxing alcohol down her throat so she would give me the dirt. I never knew her to be coy so her withholding details was a major red flag. With each sip of her vodka cranberry (amateur hour) she began to give small hints as to the desolution of their fling. Clearly, I need to get more of a social life because I had the urge to figure out what this stranger’s freak flag was whether it cost me a small fortune of a bar tab. “I just found out how kinky he was and it got weird.” HUH? Didn’t this bitch remember I am only a semi functioning neurotic? I am always one increased heartbeat away from a full on anxiety attack… it’s how I keep my figure. That shit burns mad calories.
“What do you mean kinky? Like addicted to porn kinky or shit on your face kinky?” She took a big gulp of her drink … this was going to be good. “Well one night, I slept over and when I woke up before him I went through his phone” #standard “So everything was totally non suspect which was a relief because I was really into him but then…” This is the point in the conversation when I started lusting for a sedative… my seratonin levels can’t handle this kind of suspense. I started clawing into the leather barstools and foaming at the mouth “AND? SPILL BITCH.” Oy. “Well… I looked through his pictures and I found a bunch of pics of different pornstars peeing” I spit my drink out. Um…pardon? “And you broke up with a guy who owns real estate just cause he gets a half chub for a natural bodily function? God you’re so picky.” As soon as he woke up she immediately confronted him and he got incredibly defensive. As females we need to make a pact right here and now to wait at least 48 hours before we go all Lorena Bobbit on their ass. I have always said it is better to know your players then reveal your hand. That’s a little poker reference for ya, fuck I can be so relatable. In the end Piss Lovin Piper felt incredibly violated by having her go through his personal things and asked her to leave his apartment immediately. He explained that although he found it sexy to watch girls pee he has never required anyone he was with to do so for his sexual gain. Chivalry ain’t dead ya’ll! She began apologizing profusely and insisting they just forget about the whole situation and go for breakfast. He kicked her out cold and firmly told her it was over. I suggested we go have a photo shoot in the restroom and send him some titillating toilet selfies tp patch things up but she promised there was zero chance of reconciliation.
The moral of this story is don’t look for things unless you are fully prepared to find something less than fantastic. Scanning through his personal photo’s may delight you with glee or you could find something else entirely like a fetish for pee. Because if you do… urine trouble.