Recently I made friends with a veteran stripper/prostitute/analogue photographer/incredible writer. She goes by the name @sita.uncensored. This being my first relationship with a girl of such talents I had to ask… “Have you ever had a customer with a fetish itch that he wanted you to scratch?”… Here is what she came back with…
[Saturday night around 1:30 a.m]
A girl I know from my home club (whom I’ve become friends with while I’ve been working at The Body Shop) got a call from a customer while we were taking a cocktail break next door at the Trocadero Bar on Sunset Boulevard. After a truncated conversation with him, she leans in and asks me if I’d like to make a little easy money. “How easy?” I asked. Apparently this guy likes to get peed on and he lives just across the street from the club.
“It’s a quick in and out.”
“Three hundred each. We’ll be back in the club within twenty five minutes.”
I had already made a decent amount that night, but I’m always looking to add to my paycheck. “I’ve never peed on anyone, but fuck it, I‘m down”. We finished our drinks and walked over to his condo. Nice enough guy. White dude in his early fifties if I had to guess. He handed her the money, and then opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Not my booze of choice (and especially after all the whiskey I had been drinking), but who am I to say no to free (and decent-ish) champagne? Not to mention that I had stupidly gone to the bathroom before we left the bar, and was now bone dry in that department…which is what we were there to do. Champagne usually runs through me, I was betting on this fact as I guzzled.
We hung out, shot the shit, he pulled out some blow (of course), I did a teeny tiny line, cocaine isn’t my mood-alter of choice. He told me that he loved my voice. I was itching to get the show over with, so my friend and I went to the bathroom and got undressed. I was nervous. Which is rare, but this was a first for me, and I don’t have many of those left. He knocked on the door and joined us. He had shed his shirt before entering, now he took off his pants and got in the bathtub, where he laid down on his back and looked to my friend. Piss Pants (that’s what the girls call him) had the lost puppy face down pat. What the fuck am I doing? I thought as I watched my friend. The quandary slipping to the back of my sloshy brain. She walked to the tub and put her feet on the top of both sides of the linoleum, standing above him and started to pee. It mostly hit his chest, but some was bouncing into his face. People are so weird. He was clearly happy, but only had half-wood. I noticed he wasn’t touching himself, which I found odd, but also good, not sure I wanted to wait for him to come—coming wasn’t part of the deal.
After she finished, she jumped down and went to the sink to wash. My turn. I mimicked her footing, but it took me a second to start peeing. It’s a daunting task: peeing standing up, and doing it while hovering over a naked stranger. Once I did, a ton came out, causing my overactive and nutty mind to stress that I was doing it wrong. It gushed out in two streams. He noted this with much enthusiasm. I guess it’s a thing. Who knew? Three seconds later, I too jumped down and did a sink wash. I slugged the rest of my bubbly, and we left him in his horizontal loo to put our clothes on in his bedroom. I was beyond ready to get the fuck outta dodge. I went to the living room to collect my things. She said her goodbyes and we left. I’m guessing he stayed in his piss haven to jack off. Or perhaps he got a swizzle straw.
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