So this one time. I was supposed to be living alone, at least that’s what my parents were paying for. I had somehow hooked up with this dude who I have talked about before, his name was Foley. So Foley was into some things that I really wasn’t. He liked to be burned and he liked to be placed in cages. His favorite, however, was being peed on.
I can’t pee by myself in the bathroom at my house without the faucet running if I know my husband is home.
He proposes it one day, like, super casual. “Hey, so Steph, you know, have you ever peed on anyone? It could be cool…”
I’m 21, sure, anything could be cool. What the fuck do I know?
So the blessed Saturday arrives. Like..look. I thought I could do it. I had peed in the fields of South Dakota, I peed behind the seating area at the Nebraska observatory with like people around, I’ve peed on dirt roads before. I got this shit. Let’s roll.
We stood in that bathroom that was covered in hair dye, by the way, because I had purple (ish) hair and I had no idea what kind of damage hair dye could do to drywall. We stood for like 30 minutes, both of us in our underwear. I had to pee. We stood and stared at each other.
I couldn’t do it. I peed in a glass and seductively poured it over his torso in my bathtub in which I cleaned promptly after.
He seemed to enjoy it as much as someone could getting sort of warm pee poured over them from a Beta Theta Pi plastic cup.
I didn’t see much of Foley after that. Which is probably good. However, any time I am in a public bathroom and it is dead silent, I think of my boy Foley and I’m like, “yeah dude, wasn’t gonna happen.”