New Orleans Weekend

This story contains Female Desperation, Female Peeing, Male Peeing, and Sex.
This is a memoir of real events, which took place in the early 1980’s, in the Spring, long after Mardi Gras, probably in May. My partner was “Michelle” (not her real name, of course), my girlfriend of the time, who became a long term friend and lover, over more than 10 years. This trip did a lot to make our relationship closer and more intimate. It happened early in our time together, probably about two years after we originally met. At that time, she was a petite, slender lady, with dark hair, green eyes, very smooth skin, and naturally very sparse pubic hair. She was so “pee shy”, when I met her, that she ran tap water to cover her pee sounds, whenever she peed in my presence, behind closed and locked bathroom doors. It took over a year for me to get very limited “bathroom privileges,” with her. At the time we took this trip, we had been sharing the bathroom for less than a year, although we had been sleeping together for almost 2 years. She would allow me to come in the bathroom with her while she peed, but always tried to keep her thighs pressed very tightly together, so I couldn’t see much, if anything. She did enjoy being wiped and licked, afterward, though. I had induced her to let me see her “hover” or squat over the toilet, on one or two occasions, when she was in a good mood, and more than a little drunk. I had also gotten her to open her legs, just enough so I could see her stream, on maybe a half dozen occasions. Although I gave her ample opportunity, leaving the door wide open whenever I peed, she showed absolutely no interest. In fact, she would usually act embarrassed, backing away, with an apology. So she was tolerating what we came to call “my fantasy” fairly reluctantly. All that changed on this trip. This started as a business trip. I was to give a technical presentation in Florida. Due to some weirdness in airline pricing and scheduling at the time, it was cheaper for the company if I stopped en route in New Orleans, rather than flying direct. Of course, I had to pick up my own expenses in New Orleans. No problem. Although Michelle was born and raised in the Deep South, she had never been to New Orleans, and really wanted to go. Of course I would take her. The flight went from LAX to Dallas–Ft. Worth, to New Orleans. Michelle refused to use the toilets on board the airplane. I’ve forgotten her reasons, now. But she was very uncomfortable by the time we reached DFW. We had cocktails and lunch on the plane, and I sat with my hand between her thighs (she was wearing black, long pants, over pantyhose) for most of the flight. About a half hour out of DFW, she moved my hand, which was on her upper thigh, into her crotch, pressed her legs tightly together, and whispered to me to keep it there, and rub her pussy outside her clothes, so she wouldn’t wet her pants. This desperation, and her sharing it so openly with me, was very uncharacteristic of her. I did as she requested, very happily. I loved having this very intimate connection with her, actually helping her avoid wetting her pants. When we stopped in DFW, I didn’t know if she would be able to stand up and walk off the plane to the Ladies’ room on land, without having a serious wetting accident. Luckily, there was a Ladies’ room very near the gate. She dashed for it and made it, keeping her pants completely dry. The layover in DFW was about 3 hours, so I reminded her to pee again, in the Ladies’ room on the ground, before we got on the plane to New Orleans. She did. We hit some stormy weather, and were delayed about a half hour in the air, before arriving in New Orleans. This time, no problem. She didn’t even need to pee when we got off of the plane. But by the time we got our luggage and a taxi to our hotel, she was desperate again. I had my hand between her legs, rubbing her pussy, for the entire cab ride. We got to the hotel, and checked in. She stood beside me with her thighs pressed tightly together, and her legs wrapped around each other, for the whole time while I was checking us in. As we rode up to our floor alone in the elevator, she put my hand between her upper thighs again, and clamped them tightly together, as we stood there alone. We got off the elevator and dashed to the room as quickly as we could. We ran into the room, entered the bathroom together, and I helped her quickly pull her pants and pantyhose all the way down, well below her knees. She sat on the toilet with her thighs open a couple of inches, for a change, so I could see everything, and immediately began to pee like a racehorse, hissing and spraying, abandoning her usual modesty and reticence. Her stream gushed and shot forward between her open legs, and even sprinkled the front of the toilet seat, with a few drops. After watching this spectacular show, I was delighted to wipe her wet pussy for her with t.p., and catch some dribbles on her inner thighs, too. I wiped the front of the toilet seat, which had gotten more wet than I realized, because of her powerful and uncontrolled spraying. Afterward, I helped her get all the way out of her pants and pantyhose, carried her to the bed, finished licking a few stray dribbles from her inner thighs, butt cheeks, and pussy, then continued licking her pussy until she had a huge orgasm, squeezing my face between her smooth, lovely thighs. A delicious start to our time in “The Big Easy.” We spent the next few days in a delightful setting. Our hotel was just outside the French Quarter, within easy walking distance, about ten minutes. We spent the days walking from bars to restaurants to music halls to gift shops, drinking “Hurricanes”, a potent, but thirst–quenching local concoction. Since we were both into “Blue Grass” and country music, as well as drinking, we had a blast! And any time we needed to pee, we simply walked back to our hotel and peed together. Michelle seemed to lose all her inhibitions, on this trip. She now willingly opened her legs when she peed, and let me see anything I wanted to see. She was rarely desperate, but sometimes her need to pee was a little bit urgent, after our ten minute walk to the hotel, adding to the fun of watching her spray, and hearing her sexy hiss, when she really had to “go.” One afternoon, we went back to the room for a nap. We made slow, sensuous love, then fell asleep for an hour or two. When we awoke, we both had to pee. We walked to the bathroom together, totally nude. When we got to the bathroom, she said she wanted to do something different this time. I was delighted to try anything, so I asked what she had in mind. She told me to sit down on the toilet. I did as she instructed. Then she straddled my legs and sat on my lap, facing me. She scooted forward, until our bellies and genitals touched, then hugged me, rubbing her lovely breasts against my bare chest. Suddenly, I felt her delightfully warm pee, first as a gentle sprinkle, then a hot gush, all over my cock and balls. I wanted to see it, so I tried to lean back and look. But she held me tighter, saying, “You don’t need to see, this time. Just feel how nice and warm it is!” I gave up and followed her advice. My cock apparently liked its golden shower, springing to attention at once. When she finished, she grabbed my cock, arose briefly, and impaled her pussy on it. We screwed right there on the toilet! When we were done, we stood up, and she held my cock as I peed, for the very first time! On another afternoon, we had been drinking quite a bit, so we went back to the room, just for a private pee, together. This time, she sat down on the toilet first, as usual, and then spread her legs extremely wide apart, scooting forward a bit on the seat. She told me to kneel down, get my cock out, and put it between her legs. She wanted us to pee together, simultaneously, on the same toilet. I was more than delighted. Too much so, in fact. My cock found out about the plan, and sprang to rigid attention. She was very patient. She understood my problem. She told me not to look at her. (How could I tear my eyes away?!) Then she ran some warm water in the washbowl, took my hand, and put it in the water, laughing all the time, reminding me of this technique for encouraging small kids to urinate on demand. This did the trick. My muscles finally released a nice stream between her legs. She started peeing too, moving so that our streams mingled, with her peeing on my dick, as I peed on her pussy. She laughed, warning me not to complain if she did not taste and smell as fresh as usual when I licked her pussy that night. “Just remember it’s all your fault,” she said, with a big, wicked grin. “After all, it’s your fantasy!” Needless to say, this was a whole side of her personality I had never seen before. I wondered where she had gotten these wonderfully wicked ideas. She wouldn’t say, claiming she understood my fantasies, and just didn’t want me to get bored with the same thing, all the time. I was overwhelmed, with lust, love, and gratitude, and our whole relationship took on a new dimension, from that time on. By: Dr. P