Tag Archives: piss

The Coalminer

12 Sep

For a couple of weeks, my brother and I had hatched a plan to pull an extraordinary prank on our mutual friend, James. It came on the back of him getting one over on us with a joke of his own. In private, he had farted into a Pringles tube and quickly sealed it with the lid. Then he found each of us individually and asked if we thought the inside of the tube smelt funny, cue hilarity when we were hit with the fresh pong of his arse hole. We knew we wanted to get him back, but we were undecided about the best way to do it. James often stayed over in the summer holidays for days on end and early suggestions as to how we were going to get him back were quite feeble, including things such as farting in his face whilst he was asleep and putting his hand in water so he pissed himself. What we needed was something that would make James think twice about ever pulling a stunt like his Pringle tube fart ever again, something that would go down in legend amongst our friends. After a lengthy discussion one evening, we came up with an elaborate plan that, if executed well, would get James back twice over. We were going to scare the shit out of him.

James was due to stay the following night and we knew that despite his bravado, he was scared of one thing in particular; ghosts. If we started telling ghost stories, James would put his fingers in his ears and bury his head under his duvet so he could drown out all ghost talk. Like Gary Glitter and small boys, any mention of ghosts put the willies up him. We wrote down our plan of action and then went through a couple of practice runs, ensuring that we could carry out the necessary actions in the time we guessed we’d have available. Once sure that we could, we sat back smugly, looking forward to the events the following evening.

We spent the next day playing football in the local park with James and a couple of other friends. There was no mention to anyone of the plan we had put in place as we didn’t want to put it into jeopardy. The day passed and the evening came and as it was the school holidays we were allowed out late, so we hung around in the local park, doing nothing in particular. Eventually, we decided to call it a night and my brother and I gave each other a knowing look as we made our way home; we were finally going to get our revenge.

The three of us sat in my brother’s room playing his Super Nintendo. All my brother and I had to do was wait for James to give us the prompt we needed to start the prank. We didn’t have to wait long.

“Pause it lads, I need a piss”, said James. This was what I had been waiting for.

“Go on then, be quick” I replied. James stood up and headed for the bedroom door. As he opened it, I put the prank into motion.

“Oh, mate, just to warn you; don’t look out of the small bathroom window that you can see in front of you when you’re having a piss.”

“Err, why?” asked James.

“Because of the coalminer”

“The coalminer?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him, my brothers seen him. Even my mum has mentioned seeing him”

“Who’s the coalminer?” James looked scared already.

“I’m not sure why he’s started coming here”, I began, “but the last few times I’ve been for a piss late at night and I’ve looked out of the window, I’ve seen the face of a small boy looking back at me. The face is covered in soot and is wearing a coalminer’s helmet. It’s really weird and scary”

“Yeah, whatever”, said James. I could tell he was shaken, that was the main thing, and we’d also planted the seed of doubt in his mind. He made his was slowly out of the bedroom.

No sooner had James left us to cross the landing and go to the bathroom, had my brother sprinted downstairs and to the front door. Here he picked up a torch which we had hidden the previous day and then made his way to the front of the house. Once outside, he climbed on top of the wheelie bin, also positioned strategically the day before. This gave him easy access to the flat garage roof to which the small bathroom window looked out over. The practice runs had been worth it as he was up on the roof in no time at all. I meanwhile, had snuck across the landing and was listening at the bathroom door. I could still here the urine trickling out of James and into the toilet and I braced myself ready for the prank’s finale.

My brother was crouching below the bathroom window. He turned the torch on and held it against the top of his head with one hand. Then he leapt up and pressed his face to the window.

“WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH” he bellowed as he jumped to his feet. As I heard this I burst through the door.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK”, screamed James and he collapsed to the floor, covering his head with his hands.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he shouted, still not entirely sure as to what was going on.

My brother and I erupted into fits of laughter. I opened the bathroom window and my brother poked his head through.

“Woooo, I’m the scary coalminer boy!” he teased. James looked up from the floor.

“You are fucking bastards! Fuck you!” He was still shaking with fear.

“We got you! We fucking got you!” I replied. My brother had tears rolling down his cheeks.

After a while James got to his feet. What we saw delighted us. Not only had we scared him something silly, but we had forced James to piss all over the front of his trousers. My brother and I were deliriously happy with our achievements.

“I think that makes us about even”, I said to James, once the commotion had died down and we were back in the bedroom playing the computer.

“All I did was a fart…one fart…that was it. A fart” was all that James could muster

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Where are the toilets?

17 Jul

My old primary school used to open up its outdoor swimming pool for pupils to use during the school holidays. It was simply a case of registering and then you were put on a rota which showed the days and times you were allowed to use the pool. Although the pool was always freezing cold and contained approximately 50 dead flies per square metre, I normally put my name down to use the pool as it was free. Not only this, you were allowed to bring a friend with you and the person supervising (normally parents of children at the school) didn’t give a toss what you got up to. It was not unusual to see a number of kids attempting to run the length of the pool over its cover, and inevitably nearly drowning when their legs got caught amongst the polythene as it began to sink below the surface of the water.

 When I was in year 7, I was on the pool rota during the Summer holidays. One particular day, my brother and I decided to make use of the free facilities as it was particularly warm, and we thought it would be an ideal way to cool down. Our cousin Jake was also with us, and he is the star of this story, for reasons that you will soon find out. We arrived at the pool early in the afternoon to find it pretty much empty; from memory I think that there were only a couple of other children in the pool.  We quickly got changed in the run down changing rooms; for once it wasn’t worth trying to peer through the cracks in the wall which looked directly in the girl’s changing room, as it was vacant.

 The time we spent in the pool was brief. It was rather boring to be honest and after half an hour or so we were already cold and fed up and talking about what else we could be getting up to. A decision was made to get out of the pool, get changed, and go and play some football in the park. In the changing rooms, we all wrapped our towels round our shivering bodies. The sunny weather did nothing to heat up the chilly water and so all three of us were very cold, goose-pimpled from head to toe. One thing I miss about being young was the fact that a towel would easily cover my body like a huge duvet, and I could get snug and warmed up I no time. I was enclosed in my towel and wriggling free of my swim shorts; even though we were family, there was no way that we wanted to see each other’s knobs.  I noticed Jake struggling somewhat in his corner of the changing room, with a concerned look on his face.

 “Are you alright, Jake?” I asked, “Get dressed and you’ll be warm in no time”.

 Jake just looked back at me with a blank expression on his face. He was completely naked, holding his towel out in front of him to protect his modesty. He reminded me of a matador holding up a red rag to a bull, and I smirked at the thought of my brother charging at him, sending them both crashing through the wall of the changing rooms.

 “Erm, lads…where are the…” Jake stopped momentarily and I speculated at what the next word would be. I didn’t have to wait long.

 “TOOOIIIIIIILLLLETTTTTTTSSSSSSSS?!”

 As Jake said the word ‘toilets’, the pitch of his voice went up a few octaves.  He began pissing instantly, his frantic hands clambering to control his penis which was snaking in the air in a frenzied manner; such was the force of his release. The power and ferocity with which he was urinating meant that he couldn’t get a proper grip of his member and so instead he picked up his towel and held it in front of him, soaking up his salty spray. Still he pissed, a torrent of liquid soaking the towel that Jake held in his outstretched arms. My brother and I were pissing ourselves too, only with laughter as we watched in amazement at the amount of piss that Jake was spraying around the place; his chipolata flapping around like a fireman’s hose with no one holding the end. I swear I saw his stomach shrink inwards as his bladder emptied, and I saw all life and energy drain from Jake’s body

 Eventually he stopped and his tired, naked body stumbled backwards against the wall of the changing room before sliding down it so that he was sitting on a bench that ran all the way around the inside wall. I was struggling to breathe as I was laughing so much, and my brother was on the floor holding his sides which were aching.  Jake’s sodden towel, which he had dropped as he staggered backwards, was in a pile on the floor, and the urine that had missed the towel had formed a large damp patch on the carpet. We all looked at each other and then at the mess on the floor and exploded into laughter in synchronisation.  My brother was the first to start speaking,

 “Ha-ha-ha! You’ve pissed everywhere! HAAAAA!”

 Yes, he’d stated the obvious, but what else was there to possibly say in this situation? Jake was grinning,

 “I just couldn’t hold it in”

 “You’d need a cork to keep that in”, I retorted.

 After a good hearty laugh, we eventually managed to get ourselves dressed, being careful not to tread in the spillage. Jake had to pack his smelly towel in to a plastic bag before putting it in his rucksack. We laughed about the incident all the way home that afternoon. Never before, nor since, have a seen a piss like it.

Rosewater Cocktail

8 Feb

The location was the Falcon pub in High Wycombe on a Saturday night. It was early in the evening and a group of 6 of us were having a few cheap drinks before moving onto somewhere different (and more expensive). I noticed that the table we were sat on had a small vase in the centre of it containing a solitary rose and what I can only describe as dirt and water. I say vase, it was more like a half pint glass; in fact it probably was.

Mike had been on the scrounge all evening. He hadn’t been paid yet and was short on cash, so he was taking drinks from whomever he could get one from. To be fair, he was doing all right, he was getting fairly intoxicated without spending a single penny of his own money. The intake of alcohol soon meant that he needed to nip to the toilet, and I had been waiting for this opportunity since I’d spotted the rose. No sooner had Mike left the table to go and empty his bladder, had I removed the rose from its vase, placed it under the table and put the vase and its contents in front of me. All I had to do was wait for Mike to return. The rest of the group sensed I was up to something and asked me what I was planning, but I said nothing.

I saw Mike ambling back towards us a few minutes later and I put my plan into action. As he got closer to us, I put the vase up against my mouth and tipped my neck back slightly, being careful not to get any of the vile water on my mouth. When Mike was stood right in front of me, I moved the vase away from my mouth quickly and scrunched up my face, as if I’d taken a sip from it.

“Fuck me, that’s strong stuff” I said, putting the vase back down on the table in front of me.
“What is it?” asked Mike, eyes widening as he spoke.
“Some spirit, mate. I just got it from the bar”. The others sat on the table saw what I was up to and began playing along.
“Yeah, I had a sip and I feel pissed already”, added Andy.

Mike had been fooled, I was sure of it and so I offered him the vase.
“DOWN IT, DOWN IT, DOWN IT”, I started to chant and the others joined in, banging on the table for extra effect. Mike took the vase from me and knocked the contents back in one.
As quick as the murky fluid had gone down, it appeared again, as Mike hurled it from his open mouth, covering the table in bile.

“What the fuck was that? It is really strong stuff”, he said, standing dumbfounded with a look of confusion on his face.
“Strong?” I asked.
“Yes, I wasn’t expecting that. It tastes bloody horrible, and it’s got little floaty bits in it like Goldschlager. I’ll stick to what I’m drinking, thanks”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him what he had actually drunk. I know it isn’t the worst thing in the world that he could have had in his mouth (he could have had Bill Oddie’s member, for example), but it is still pretty awful. The next morning I asked Mike what it had tasted like. He described it as ‘slimy vinegar with lumps and bits in it’. Gutted.

Pint of Piss

12 Jan

Andy turned to look at me, his face going slowly crimson. He leant in and whispered in my ear, “Mate, I need a piss so badly. I don’t think I’ll make it to the toilets.”
I let out a laugh and then looked around me. The pub was very busy; it was a Saturday night after all, and the toilets were up a flight of stairs on the other side of the bar.

“Here you go, fill this” I said, handing him an empty pint glass. I could see the doubt run through Andy’s head, but he merely shrugged, took the glass from me and moved it under the table.

“Ahhhhhhhh, that feels so good” he exclaimed as the buildup of urine was suddenly released from his body. Anyone watching would have wondered what the fuck he was doing. He was sat hunched over at the table with both hands hidden from view, with orgasmic expressions etched over his face. I wondered if he’d get kicked out for having a supposed social wank. Twenty or so seconds later, his job was done.

“What shall I do with it?” Andy asked me.

“Drink it, it’s probably all alcohol anyway” I joked.

Unfortunately Andy wasn’t that stupid. Instead he just placed the glass back on the table, where it stood proudly, just looking back at us. Despite my protests, Andy wouldn’t take it elsewhere and so it was up to me to move it.
As there were quite a few of us out on this particular night, we were split over two tables. I decided that the pint of piss should sit on the other table – it was putting me off my drink.
I picked it up and it was still warm. This made me feel a bit sick, it was almost as if I was touching Andy’s piss. Luckily, I only had a short distance to travel, and I placed the glass down on the other table. Everyone sat there turned to look at me as I did so and all I said was ‘No-one bother drinking that’. Then I returned to my seat, and watched.

“Thanks mate” said Andy, “I didn’t want that there either, it fucking stinks”.

“I still can’t believe you actually did that” I replied.

As we chatted we kept glancing over at the pint of piss, and it remained in the same spot, untouched. The rest of the group were quite oblivious to it, and if was getting surrounded by empty bottles and other pint glasses as they knocked back their drinks. About 45 minutes after I’d put the glass on their table, the inevitable happened.

Warren was quite drunk and looking for something to whet his whistle. The bar was crowded so he scanned the table for anything he could chuck down his throat. Being almost full to the brim, the pint of piss instantly caught his eye.

“Who does this drink belong to?” he asked the rest of the table.

“No one, he just left it here” Mike replied, pointing over at me.

Warren clamped his hand around the glass a took a huge gulp from it, just as I was in the midst of shouting ‘NOOOOOOO!!!!’

I was too late. I watched in horror as Warren swallowed.

Amusingly, he then slammed the glass back down on the table, shouting “Fuck me! That tastes like piss!” It was too much for Andy, who was now bent double from laughing so hard. Warren saw that he was in hysterics and marched over, with the pint of piss in his hand,
“Is this yours?” he muttered, quite calmly for someone that had just swallowed his mate’s urine.
“Yes, sorry Warren” Andy replied sheepishly.

What came next still makes me smile. Without warning, Warren tipped the rest of the piss straight over Andy’s head, before gently placing the empty glass back on the table, spinning on his feet and meandering back to whence he’d came. Andy sat where he was, silent with a shocked expression. At first he was open mouthed, but he quickly closed it as his own urine cascaded down his face. Eventually, he got up and without saying a word, headed to the toilets so he could dry off under the hand dryer.

To his credit, he did stay out for the rest of the night, despite smelling like a stale tramp. Every so often the unmistakable tang of piss would catch my nose and I’d turn around to see Andy approaching and I’d laugh as people we didn’t know fought with each other in an effort to get out of his path. Andy was undeterred by it all.

“I only smell off piss, at least I didn’t drink it”, he’d say.
And I suppose he was right, really.

Train Piss

23 Dec

Going for a piss on a train is never easy. The gentle sway of the carriage makes aiming difficult and it can be hard to choose between using a hand to steady yourself or to hold your nose to alleviate the stench of the often rancid surroundings. Attempting to urinate on a train whilst drunk, into an empty can of beer however, is even more of a challenge, and it is a position I found myself in not too long ago after a night out.

Rowley and I had a carriage to ourselves. It was 1 o’clock in the morning and so there weren’t too many passengers, especially as we were travelling from High Wycombe to Princes Risborough. We were both drunk, but in good spirits, laughing about the nights events and looking forward to getting off the train for a well deserved cigarette. The journey itself is only about 15 minutes long, but halfway through, I felt my bladder expanding rapidly, pushing against my trousers.

Everyone knows what it’s like once you’ve broken the seal after a few alcoholic drinks; you need to go to the toilet all the time. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been for a while and I felt as if I could actually wet myself for the first time in years.

“Fuck me, I’m desperate for a piss, where are the toilets?” I asked Rowley, too lazy to look for them myself. Rowley looked up from his phone and along the carriage.

“Just down there, look” he said, pointing.

 I walked out of the carriage in which we were sat, and into the next one, which was only occupied by one old man. Fit to burst, I began to think about the warm tingly feeling I’d get after releasing such a buildup of urine. As always, things were not that simple.

Before I had even reached the toilet door, the reek of a freshly deposited turd hit me, making me gag instantly. The air was a foggy haze, and the thought of inhaling somebody else’s airborne poo particles made me retch again. I daren’t even open the toilet door. If the smell was this bad outside, what monstrosity would I face inside? Images of skid-marked porcelain flashed before my eyes and I only just managed to keep down a small amount of vomit which had crept up my throat. How the old bloke sat in this carriage could put up with the smell, I wasn’t sure, unless it was him that had committed this heinous crime.

Turning around quickly, I made my way back to where Rowley was sat; now jiggling around on my feet like a toddler, desperately trying not to wet myself.

“I’m not going it there, it’s fucking disgusting” I said to a now rather amused Rowley.

Scanning the carriage, I spotted equipment that I felt I could use in such an emergency. By one set of seats there sat two empty beer cans, and a large coffee cup. I picked up the coffee cup and pulled off the plastic lid, grateful that the items I had spotted were not some sort of mirage brought on by the fact I needed to urinate immediately.  The relief I felt as I finally let all pent up fluid out was sensational, and I let out a sigh to signify such a feeling.

The cup was soon almost full, so I tensed and held my bladder whilst I quickly put the cup down and picked up one of the beer cans. This time, aiming was not as easy as I didn’t have much of a hole to aim at. Instead I had to let my piss trickle out slowly but at least it was coming out. I had another disadvantage whereby I couldn’t see how much of the can I had filled, but this was solved when I felt the metal go warm around my fingers. It was time to swap cans.

By now I had built up a bit more confidence and was peeing at a more normal speed into my last available receptacle. Rowley was sat a few seats back, chuckling to himself, all the while calling me a dirty bastard. I had to tell him to stop laughing because in turn it was making me laugh, thus adding to the difficulty of my challenge.

“Are there any more cans up by you”, I asked Rowley, mid-piss.

“Nope”

“Oh, shit. This one is nearly full as well”. I was starting to worry. Rowley just laughed once more.

 I was holding the final can at the top waiting for the metal to go warm, but it was now heavy and I knew that I’d almost reached its capacity. For a second time, I held my bladder and placed the can down by the other full one. We were still a couple of minutes from our stop and there was no way that I could keep the last of this piss inside me, especially not now I was over half way through. It wanted out.

There was only one thing for it. Not wanting to go all over the floor, I waddled over to a bin near one of the carriage doors. It was only about 2 foot off the ground, so I had to squat whilst I finished off my business. Once done, I zipped up and returned to my seat, exhausted but content. I felt ashamed and also had a pang of guilt because I knew some poor soul would have to clear the bin out the following day. Then I remembered why I had to piss in the bin in the first place and thought that cleaning the bin would be nothing compared to what lay in store in the actual toilet.

“Are you ok now?” asked Rowley

“I really needed that” I replied.

High Wycombe

7 Jul

High Wycombe holds mixed emotions for me. I detest the town with a passion, but it’s where I had my first sexual experience of sorts, so all the old feelings and memories come flooding back whenever I pass through the town. The town itself is dirty, smelly and full of Jeremy Kyle guest types, and not even the recent introduction of a brand new shopping centre has done much to enhance the reputation of the town. Underage mothers, illegal immigrants and rowdy teenage boys mix in harmony and it truly is a horrible, depressing place to go and shop on a Saturday afternoon.

However, I still get that ‘butterflies-in-the-stomach’ feeling of nervousness and excitement thanks to seeing a naked girl in the bus station toilets. She was the first girl I ever got to see naked in the flesh, and was named Ebony; funnily enough, she was black (not that I have a problem with that – otherwise I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep with her). I’d been to a Wycombe Wanderers game with my mates, and afterwards we walked to the dingy bus station so we could all get our designated rides home. I however, (unbeknown to me) was going to get rather a different ride that evening. Ebony was stood inside the bus station with 3 of her friends, sheltering from the rain and probably spitting on the floor. As my mates got onto their buses and disappeared to their homes, I was left alone waiting for my bus, feeling quite intimated at being surrounded by a group of girls. I sat patiently, head down, trying to keep myself to myself, but it was hard not to stare at Ebony. Whilst her friends were quite loud and brash, Ebony carried herself in a much more feminine manner. Not only that, she was stunning; like a young Naomi Campbell, minus the punching and violent outbursts. She had beautiful, big brown eyes, which provided the finishing touch to her perfect, pretty face. Although she was quite slender, I could tell she had an ample pair of love pillows, and looking at her got my teenage body quite excited.

After 10 minutes of being sat by myself, Ebony and her friends came over and made small talk. They weren’t the bitchy adolescent girls I’d imagined them to be, they were all very kind and asked what I’d been up to, where I lived etc. I mumbled my answers and felt myself getting red in the face, but I noticed Ebony smiling at me, which reassured me I wasn’t making a complete fool of myself. We chatted for a while when I realised my bus was due in 5 minutes. Needing a piss, I made my excuses and ventured to the toilets. Unsurprisingly, they were filthy; as I urinated into the metal trough, fag-ends floated down stream to the clogged up drain. I was shaking off, when I heard the door open behind me. Being young, I quickly put my cock away, expecting an older gentleman to come and stand next to me, and embarrass me with his bigger penis. I turned, felt a damp patch form on my cotton boxer shirts from where I hadn’t shaken enough, and there was Ebony.

Ebony smiled and pushed me into a cubical, switching the lock to ‘occupied’ behind her. I almost fell over, much was the haste that she led me into it, and I kept asking what she was up to. My rigid shaft stood to attention, but I was absolutely shitting myself. I hadn’t done anything like this before but Ebony seemed to know exactly what she was doing. She stripped naked, her labia was so smooth and delicate and reminded me of a Labrador’s mouth; dark and shiny but with a thin pink trim. As she released my rod from its lair, the pungent smell of urine filled the air, and a couple of droplets dribbled out of my foreskin.

“I…I didn’t shake properly”, I stammered.

With that, Ebony punched me square on the nose, and followed it up with a slap to the back of my head. It stung me, and I was in complete shock. Then, she bent over, (I noticed her arsehole widen slightly as she did so), took my wallet from my jeans, picked up her clothes and left me. I sat in tears for a good quarter of an hour, on the toilet, head in hands. I finally plucked up the courage to put my clothes on, and examined the damage in the mirror. It was nothing too bad, a slightly bleeding nose – it was my mascualinity and pride that had been hurt the most. To make matters worse, I had to scrounge 20p off an old woman so that I could ring my mum so she could come and collect me.

High Wycombe – do not go there

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