Robin at the Restaurant

Robin was a watersports fancier’s dream comes true. At least she was my dream come true. Tall and willowy with blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and a sweet, very white, sort of baby face and sparkling, crystal blue eyes, Robin was of German–American ancestry.
Shortly after we began our relationship, Robin boldly stated, “My main desire sexually is to do precisely whatever pleases you.” She was kind of a sub, but far from being passive, exhibited an extremely ebullient, outgoing personality. She cajoled me to somewhat reluctantly confess to my watersports affinity; the first time I had done so in my entire life.
“Ohhh, I just know that’s going to be my thing!” she exclaimed. “I pee all the time, and really enjoy peeing!” Our first experimentation with water play was throughout a weekend at a jewel–box house with a lush garden and circular pool in back. I will always remember it as my perfect Eden. I could write a short novel just describing that weekend.
Robin and I were together for about two years. The funniest, most adrenalin–pumping incident we shared was just after a meal at an elegant French restaurant in Tijuana, Mexico.
We had already established that one way Robin could please me enormously was by wetting herself in public. She had done so several times, though not terribly conspicuously. The night in Tijuana, we had chosen a perfect French restaurant with impeccable service. I ordered a delicious ostrich steak. We shared a wonderful bottle of Merlot.
After we had eaten, Robin started to excuse herself to visit the ladies’ room. “Can you put that off for a little while?” I suggested. I looked at her and smiled. Robin returned my smile, with a glint of clear recognition in her eye. “For you, I certainly can,” she replied.
We left the restaurant and strolled through the parking lot onto the sidewalk of a fairly busy street. Suddenly, Robin froze. “Oh, no! I can’t hold it! I can’t hold it!” she gasped. “It’s running down my legs into my socks!” I suggested we return to the parking lot.
When we got back to the parking lot, Robin lifted her long, black dress and immediately unleashed a three–part stream from her vagina. One part was spraying in a strong stream way out in front of her. Another, the strongest, cascaded straight down in a thick, gushing flow. A third, weaker stream sort of dribbled down behind her.
As this was going on, we noticed someone exiting the restaurant into the previously unoccupied parking lot. As he got closer, we realized it was the maitre d’! This gentleman who had served us so beautifully proceeded to his car and, horror of horrors (or delight of delights, depending on your perspective) caught the cascading Robin square in his headlights, illuminated the scene for the world to see!
Robin, ever the superb sport, laughed uproariously. I grabbed her hand and we ran, Robin hiking her skirt, back onto the dark, unpopulated sidewalk. From there Robin ran in a wild waddle, urine still streaming down raucously, with her skirt hiked about halfway up, still laughing her head off. “Put your skirt down! Put your skirt down!” I yelled, having no idea who we might encounter in this upscale but still very public Tijuana Street.
We ran about a block up to another parking lot, and Robin stood between two cars and let the rest of the recycled wine wash down from between her legs.
After the flood had subsided, we laughed and laughed about the look on the maitre d’s face and the outrageous scenario of Robin standing there spraying three streams framed by the bright headlights. We laughed so hard we could hardly catch our breath. We took a taxi to the precious little hot springs resort where we were staying, and what followed was a night of wet eroticism never to be forgotten!
Sunchile