Call it copulation, coitus, pseudo procreating for recreational means: taxing it, waxing it, and working it around. I was merely doing what humans do best-I was having sex. And at the height of my predictable orgasm during this oh-so-natural act, I carried out an unpredictable, unnatural deed. I did the unthinkable—Yes,this woman urinated on the poor guy.
QR Code Link to This Post
No red flag warning to the brain, bladder, or the boy. No time to ponder or prevent the Hoover Dam from spillage. It just happened as if for that split second my bladder was its own entity, with no relations to the rest of my body. Now, depending on whose shoes you want to wear, you can find this obscure incident:
A) horrendously hilarious
B) a tad bit disturbing
C) appallingly traumatic.
The poor fellow bypassed A & B, and found the whole occurrence distressing. My emotions were a compilation of all of the above, in this sequence.
Honestly, how often does a girl get to say, “Oh him, yeah, I peed on him” He may have been kissed, raped, groped, spanked, stabbed, poured hot wax on by other girls, but this little woman has permanent claims to a secret spot on his body and mattress. And unless he trades it in for another, he will always have reminiscence of my urine, which by the way smells like Black velvet roses on a warm spring afternoon.
Funny this is, if it’s a one time deal. I can’t imagine having to lose bodily fluids of this magnitude every single time I engage in intercourse. Might as well equip me with warning labels, mark me with an X, wrap me up with yellow tape and label me “Caution, very very slippery when wet” Funny? Yes, because there should be a first for everything. Funny all the time? No. Not if this becomes a chronic dilemma. And in this case, sex would require an entire different wardrobe-Good-bye lingerie and hello raincoats.
With a two day delay, the trauma stews. What if in the mist of my selfish pleasures, we busted pipes that will eternally prevent me from procreating? I am a psychotic overprotective mother of my female organs. Chop off all my appendages, poke out my eyeballs, and I may forgive you. Destroy the functionality of my vagina and there will be hell to pay for three generations. The slightest bump, discoloration, pain, change in pubic hair texture will have me flying to my OB/Gyn. My only fear in life is being barren; not being able to bear my own children. The day I learn that I am infertile will be the day I shoot President Bush, and then jump off a bridge.
All my years of absolute safe sex with a non-promiscuity average of 1 sex partner per 3.5 years, thrown away in exchange for a night of mediocre ecstasy. I gloat that I have never contracted an STD, during my 14 years of activity. No, I have never even had a urinary or yeast infection, and yes, I have an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder when it comes to my vagina. I boast that a man’s penile flesh has never been granted the pleasure of tasting my inner vaginal walls without a rubber interface; all these precautions to eliminate every risk of sterility. If I did indeed do significant damage, these unnecessary measures become futile, pointless, wasted.
Fear cradled me that night as I cried myself to sleep.
(3 days later at the doctor’s office)
“What can I do for you today, Ms. XYZ?” The doctor asked, not making eye contact.
“I think I have a bladder problem. Well, I hope its urinary incontinence,” I replied.
“Do you urinate in your pants?” He asked.
“No, but I urinate a lot.” [Don’t forget to tell him that you picked up a new hobby of peeing on boys]
“Do you drink a lot of diuretics?” he robotically asked again.
“Yes, coffee and I drink a lot of water,” I replied.
“That’s why you pee a lot." He condescendingly replied, "Do you urinate when you laugh?"
“No," I replied.
“Do you urinate when you do strenuous activities?” [Hmmm, define strenuous activity for me, Doc?]
“No,” I said.
“Then you don’t have a urinary incontinence. You’re too young to have a bladder problem. Was that all you were here for?”
“No, well, I was hoping that I had a bladder problem, because I think I might have a sexual dysfunction, or worse, I might have destroyed my chances of having children.” The doctor looked confused, so I explicitly retold the scenario packing in as much details as I could, as if all the specifics would assist him in my diagnosis and treatment. I think he had a kick out of it.
“Was that your first orgasm? Females can involuntarily lose control of their bladder during the first climatic experience.” [Uh, Doc, you’re talking to a woman whose record high is 13 at one time, whose average is 3 per session. That’s 3 orgasms x 3 times a week average x 52 wks a year x 14 years = 6,552 give-or- take orgasms which = a lot of cumming! ]
“No, I’ve climaxed in the past before,” I modestly stated.
“How often?” [What the fuck, am I at a clinic or on a sex hotline with a balding perv?]
“Define often? I once had an orgasm while running on a treadmill,” I responded with humor. The doctor didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look at me, so that I can indicate that I was just joking. [No joke. This by the way did happen.] I guess they don’t educate doctors on ice breaking rapport in medical school.
“Can I theorize my problem for you?” I said abruptly, trying to change the topic.
“Go for it,” he reply quickly to forget my earlier comment.
“I know that you know that I have a posterior uterus. [My womb curves towards my back, instead of forward like most females. I guess I am special like that]. Therefore, during penetration, could it be that my bladder in squished beneath the inner curvature of my uterus with no where to go, all a while being poked by a penis not meant for my longitudinally challenged vagina and voila a wet surprise for the fellow.” I made the doctor smile.
“Nice Try. No, that’s not the case. First of all, your bladder in not underneath your uterus. It rests on top of it. Right here.” He poked at the location. [Well I felt fucken dumb, so much for that A grade in anatomy]. “Did you have intercourse with a full bladder?” he continued.
“I don’t think so.” I really don’t recall.
“Because pressure on a full bladder can induce involuntary urination. Were you fully aroused?”
This I remembered. Foreplay was inadequate. “No I wasn’t. Can this be the problem? [But I’ve had sex before not aroused and unconscious].
“Yes it can be problematic. Most males can not urinate when their penis is erect. The blood flow prevents urination. Females are no different. Females have a spongy muscular structure anterior to their vagina wall where most people believe the G-spot to be. If that area is not engorged with blood flow in order to increase rigidity, your sex partner can actually induce friction upon the bladder through the vaginal wall. Your bladder was tickled from the inside out.”
Okay, that makes sense. “Will it disrupt my ability to have children?” I asked, because that’s my main concern.
“Why should it? It has nothing to do with your reproductive system."
“But will continuous sex with this particular person have long term detrimental affects for my reproductive abilities? I was here last time for pains remember?”
“I know that and you asked the same question. Your vagina is a very elastic structure...” The doctor proceeded before I decided to cut him off.
[No shit Sherlock!] “ Yeah, but it’s not pitless! ”. I boldly replied like a smart-ass would. “What if that’s my cervix crying for help and sending signals to my bladder to pee on the intruder. What if that’s my fight-or-flight mechanism kicking in because my cervix is being bruised up…again.” He laughed this time. [Yes, I made the lame-o Doctor laugh].
“You’re fine, fertile and able. You are still young and your sex health and history is very good. I don’t think you will have problems conceiving.”
[Easy for you to say, Doc] “Sorry, I have OCD of the vagina. I am strange, when it comes to having future children”.
“Do you masturbate?” [Man, here we go again with perverse 1-900 questions. I am going to start charging a dollar a minute].
“Why?” Annoyed and baffled at such a random question.
“Because masturbation can trigger vaginal muscle weakness, if it’s frequently done.”.
“I do masturbate.” [How else do you think I can keep my numbers so low?]
“How often?” [I am not going to disclose that.]
“Often enough.” I stoically replied.
“How do you masturbate?” [Well doc, I only masturbate with my top-of-line, state-of-the-art, glow in the dark, waterproof, bulletproof, battery acid proof 2005 Hitachi magic wand that comes equipped with 20 speeds, 3 different types of motions and revolving internal beads for added pleasures.]
“A standard vibrator.” I lied.
“Because chronic masturbation with a vibrator can fatigue your vaginal walls making it weak to stimulation. The energy from it can be overwhelming. If this occurs, blood flow won’t be adequate in times of intercourse. I think this might be the chief problem for you. Did you masturbated the day of intercourse? It could be that your vagina is fatigued from the earlier stimulation.”
Holy shit! I remembered I did. “ Yes, coincidentally, I did doctor. So we found the problem?”
“Well, it could be this, and everything else I mentioned earlier: full bladder, not enough stimulation, fatigued vaginal walls, chronic masturbation, etc.
“So I shouldn’t self-pleasure myself anymore? But it’s so natural!” I whined.
“Yes, if you manually stimulate yourself, not if you use a man-made plastic stick that operates on AA batteries.” [The guy’s got a point].
“But have you seen my skinny fingers?” I held up my indices for him to see, still trying to be funny.
He paused, stopped writing in my chart, stared at me, looked at my fingers and said, “Use two.”
He is funny after all.
So there! This orgasmic woman, who will be at the heights of her sexual peaks, is throwing in the towel. Cold turkey! Yes sirree, this born-again virgin will be practicing a life of celibacy from men and man-made gadgets. And although I commend the surge of recent emails from all the brave male souls wanting to cure my sexual problem, by volunteering themselves as subjects, I will have to apologetically decline. I am sorry, kind hearts, I don’t doubt your altruistic Good Samaritan ways, just your desperate attempts to get laid.
From now on it’s just going to be me, myself and my two fingers. Maybe three.
Until I am ready to make babies, applications will not be accepted either.
Yes, this little woman is signing off, (aka Master PEE, PEE Diddy, the URINATOR, the GOLDEN SHOWER child).
To B.O.B, my (Battery Operated Boyfriend), the love of my life: May you rest in peace. You will be missed.