What Katie did with her Older Lover

After what had seemed like an interminable Friday of classes at the NYU Downtown Campus, Katie McDonald, a 21–year–old graduate student in political economics, neatly arranged her books and materials in her tote pack and strode confidently out toward Washington Square. During the walk, she exchanged pleasantries with her classmates Rita Kudner and Boyd Hamilton, though declined an invitation to a student sleepover at someone’s parents’ house on the Upper East Side. Katie had other things in mind.
Nearing the park, Katie managed to disengage from Rita and Boyd, who were heading for the subway. She strode over to a bench on the west side of the park, straightened her medium–length navy blue skirt and India print blouse, and settled in to wait for her older lover, Galen Morgan. Katie liked the way the yellow flowers on her blouse accented her long, pale blond hair.
The eldest daughter of a senior defense analyst, a retired Colonel in Bethesda, Maryland, Katie had grown up in the heart of a secure, loving Irish–American family. She enjoyed the company of her student companions only in brief doses. For her weekends, Katie preferred more mature company who could emulate the steady confidence she had enjoyed at home with her adoring father. Slender, blonde, almost angular in physique, Katie had been well aware since her early teens that she could have anyone she wanted.
Galen appeared across the park almost within a minute of their appointed time. This being the City, Katie and Galen didn’t bother with particular efforts to keep their relationship secret, but neither did they want to flaunt it. By this hour, most of Katie’s student acquaintances would be well on their way to uptown, Brooklyn, or Queens apartments. Katie enjoyed watching Galen approach her in his rough–cut sailing gear and jacket.
Galen arrived at the bench, and Katie stood to embrace him in a long, tender, full–bodied hug. Her nagging need to void her bladder, developed during the last hour of class, did nothing to diminish the fervor of her embrace. Rather, it seemed to add to her excitement. After disengaging, Galen told her, “I picked up a little something for you this morning when I happened to be wandering up by the Diamond District on Fifth Avenue. I hope you like it.”
Katie knew there would be no question but that she would like it. Galen’s taste in gifts could only be matched by his generosity. She accepted the six–inch package wrapped in silver paper and bearing a tag “Pastor Geneve, Antwerp,” gingerly and appreciatively. What could it be? Opening the package, careful to preserve the integrity of the paper, Katie discovered it contained a small jewel box. Opening the box revealed a brilliant, sparkling yellow diamond set in a finely crafted cloisonn’ pendant setting. She gasped at the discovery, and then smiled appreciatively up at Galen.
“It’s our color,” said Galen.
Katie knew exactly what Galen implied. During the excitement of her gift, she had somewhat lost control of her bladder function. Small but warm rivulets were moistening her inner thighs.
Galen, ever the pleaser, reached into a package he was carrying, and withdrew a pint–sized bottle of Moet and Chandon champagne. “Oh, you do think of everything,” Katie purred.
“Let’s toast to the evening ahead,” offered Galen. He pulled the plastic cork and they shared a drink from a paper cup.
Galen was the older lover Katie had long hoped for. At 21, she really wasn’t interested in a committed or confining relationship. There was too much life to be lived. After receiving her masters, she had planned a year in Europe, then a stint working for an NGO in whatever capacity her degree would permit.
Galen, at 43, was legally separated from his wife, though devotedly committed to her well being and that of their two children. The founder of a highly successful real–estate company, he had achieved a level of affluence that afforded him the ability to maintain the Florida family home as well as one on the Connecticut coast. Katie loved it when he invited her up there for a weekend of sailing on his skiff.
Katie had been attracted to Galen from the moment they met, at a house party of one of her professors. His hard, fit sailor’s frame and tousled sandy–colored hair were not small factors in the attraction. What really drove her wild, as they had become better acquainted, was his exceptional expertise in the art of making love.
Since childhood, Katie had always experienced a slight problem in maintaining continence. Emotional and Irish in temperament, she would frequently feel a sudden urge to urinate when excited or frightened. The natural intensity of her character also engendered a tendency to ignore her need to urinate almost to the point where arriving at a facility was impossible.
Not long after they had began dating, Katie and Galen had found themselves engaged in some light but intense necking while watching a cable movie in his hotel room. Katie had lost track of the effect that successful toasts of champagne had on her anatomy, and had experienced a pretty serious accident, wetting her clothes profusely. Galen had scarcely missed a beat, but had picked her up and made fierce, passionate love to her in the adjoining bedroom of the suite, not even bothering to remove her soaked panties but simply sliding the crotch aside.
That night, Katie experienced a sort of epiphany, indeed, a fundamental change in her sexual response pattern that would hold fast throughout her subsequent sexual activity. A deluge of hot liquid accompanied the massively intense orgasm she enjoyed with Galen from her vagina that Katie knew not to be urine. From that night on, whenever Katie would cum, she would gush. This engendered some embarrassment and confusion with the few college boys Katie infrequently enjoyed between engagements with Galen. They tended to respond with choking and stammering. Some felt outright disgusted.
But Katie rightly recognized her tendency to gush during orgasm as the realization of her full sexual potential. No longer would she feel the need to desperately struggle against the urge to urinate when she felt excited, though she remained fully capable of maintaining continence when the situation required. She could use that excitement to augment and intensify a tremendous orgasmic release.
This factor had not been lost on Galen as he had plied her with champagne that night in the hotel. He had been mentored in the delights of wet sex by an older French woman while vacationing with his parents in Nice.
Night was falling on Washington Square Park, providing a blanket of some privacy as Galen poured another cupful of champagne, sat down next to Katie, and reached into her loosely fitting blouse to sample her small, pert, supple breasts. Katie took a small swallow and hugged Galen’s neck with her free arm, thanking him for a lovely afternoon. It was dark, and they were secluded enough so that Galen could reach down and lightly rest two fingers on the gusset of Katie’s moist panties. A brief but noticeable stream of warm urine, further thanking him for the pleasure and significantly increasing his passion, met his fingers. Galen removed his fingers from beneath Katie’s skirt and sucked them sensually between his lips. He loved the taste of Katie’s warm, recycled champagne.
“Shall we adjourn to the parlor?” suggested Galen, meaning Katie’s small apartment in a somewhat distant cooperative in the East Village.
“I find that a marvelous suggestion,” answered Katie, standing up and checking to make sure that her urinary indiscretion did not show on her skirt.
“Taxi or ankle power?” queried Galen.
“I think tonight we walk,” answered Katie. She was clearly aware that before they reached her apartment, she would be feeling a state of desperation that would vastly intensify the experience to come.
Galen and Katie strode off arm–in–arm. By the time they neared her apartment, she was shooting occasional waves of hot urine down her legs, but by no means had totally lost control. That would be reserved for later.
Arriving at her apartment door, Katie turned to Galen and pleaded, “Would you please help me with the locks? I don’t quite think I could manage them ‘in my condition.’”
“My pleasure, mademoiselle,” Galen replied, as he removed the keys from her pack, fiddled with the locks, and led the “distressed maiden” across the living room straight into the bedroom. They both knew recognized the necessity of some haste in order to take full advantage of the situation.
At bedside, Katie exclaimed, “You know, I really am bursting. Unhhhhhhhhh! She bent her legs slightly to briefly expel a long, thick stream of urine from beneath her skirt. This added markedly to Galen’s excitement. He hastily removed both of their clothes and pulled Katie onto the bed with him, helping her to straddle him in the female dominant position.
In a flash, Galen entered Katie’s hot, tight woman sheath, which was soaked not only from her incontinence, but was also slick with feminine lubrication. Given the latitude to move about freely, Katie thrashed wildly above Galen. Their cries and moans could easily be heard 2–3 stories above.
At a given moment, Katie thrust the heels of her hands hard against Galen’s chest, as the grasping pulsations of a cataclysmic orgasm alternately gripped and released his hot, throbbing member. This was followed by a liquid wave of practically tsunami proportions as a mixture of urine and female ejaculate pour from between Katie’s legs to soak Galen from toes to chest, the bed, and even puddled on the floor. Fortunately, a plastic mattress cover protected the bed.
As her contractions subsided, Katie and Galen collapsed into a mass of giggling and guffawing people flesh, before she jumped up and ran to the refrigerator for some champagne to start the whole process going again.
Sunchile