I'm very pleased to be able to post another great story from Mykola Dementiuk. Remember, if you want to post a story, article, essay or artwork here on Frequently Felt just write me at mchristianzobop@gmail.com.
She opened the men’s room door and saw me standing before the urinals holding my dick fully exposed and poised in my hand, but entered the bathroom and shut the door behind
her.
I was drunk and had been there for awhile trying to pee, tugging the flaccidly skin of my dick back and forth, but the urine hovered somewhere between the pit of my crotch and the tip of my penis, as if stuck in the limp wrinkled shaft and refusing to leave either the dick or relax in its bladder -- a few times I even flushed the urinal tank hoping that the splashing sound could entice the urine to flow, but to no avail.
She moved away from the door and shuffled to the vacant cubicles, her heel-less slipper-like shoes sliding softly on the muck-edged gray-tiled floor. Never once did the question of what she was doing in the men’s room intrude and I just shrugged and kept standing there holding my dick and looking at her.
She wore a tight blue skirt that fell below her knees and a frumpy gray sweater -- more dirty then gray -- concealing whatever flat breasts she may have once tried to plump up and show off. Her blonde hair draped down the sides of her face and her eyes and lips were still tinged in faint smeared traces of makeup.
I frowned; she looked wasted and desolate -- probably a burnt-out whore giving blow-jobs or some confused housewife having recently discovered her insatiable need for sex and tossed out in the streets after it.
She moved across the bathroom floor and peered into a vacant cubicle; her shoulders suddenly shivering and gagging, spitting out in disgust.
-Pigs! she blurted, holding her nose and quickly moving to a cubicle farthest away from repulsive one. She wiped her eyes and nose, coughed and looked helplessly at me.
My limp dick dangled out of my zipper but I made no move to cover myself and instead tensed the bottom of my ass and felt my cock give a quick indistinct jerk up and down.
She turned to look into the farthest cubicle warily pushing open the stall door, then grimaced back at me.
-Does this one work? she asked, and moved her eyes up and down in frustration.
I stepped away from the urinals and moved towards her, my cock flapping limply from side to side as I approached the cubicle and peered in.
-Looks ok, I shrugged.
-Yeah? she meekly said, and studied my face.
I smiled and nodded and stepped into the cubicle. I lowered the black toilet seat then un-rolled a wad a toilet paper and wiped the seat clean. I tossed the wad into the bowl and gestured for her to enter and sit down.
She looked at the toilet seat, glanced at my cock, then entered the cubicle, pushing the door shut behind us and clamping the metal latch securely down.
For the first time since she entered the bathroom I felt that involuntary avid kick at the base of my groin, a tensing of possible release, but it seemed more like a fleeting confused and uncertain reminder than an actual sexual arousal and my dick stayed limp.
Still, I moved to the narrow space between the bowl and stall partition so my cock would be level with her face when she sat down on the bowl; I foresaw at least a hand-job, if not a possible blow-job, because where else could this thing be going?
I again held out my arm for her to be seated and she shyly glanced at my cock and up at my face then stooped down and clasped the bottom of her skirt and raised it over her knees. She lightly wiggled and tugged the tight skirt up her thighs but her outspread legs prevented the skirt from rising as freely as it should.
-I have to pee! she pouted, and crossed her legs and doubled over, rocking back and forth.
I moved away from the partition and reached down to her thighs and firmly grasped the bottom of her skirt, my fingers inching up the bare flesh under the skirt and I again felt that sudden snap of possible arousal as my limp dick brushed the crumpled folds of her raised skirt.
I looked at her small breasts and grimaced. She smelled; it was an odor of stale sweat, unwashed feet, foul mouth, stagnant perfume, and I noticed how dirty and grimy her sweater and white blouse actually were.
Still I clasped the hem of her tight skirt and easily hiked it up her torso, my legs and wrists vibrating from that pleasing jolt when the skirt strained behind her then jumped reluctantly over her bumpy resistant round ass cheeks.
I stepped back to the partition. Her legs were bare and spotted with tawny bruise marks on her inner thighs and she wore those sexless and thick old-lady-style cotton panties which draped loosely down her belly and covered her entire groin from the waist to the short panty legs dangling down her thighs; heavy ground-in under-washed menstrual stains flecked out of her crotch in a mimic of a pubic hair-bush.
-Thanks, she mumbled, and stuck her thumbs into the panty waist and jerked it down her torso and legs.
I thought she’d leave it wrapped around her thighs or knees but she slid the cotton drawers quickly down her legs and dropped them to her ankles.
-Ooo, I gotta pee! And real bad! she gasped, and lifted the side of her wrinkled skirt still higher up her waist.
I glanced at her hairy crotch, a thick line of dark limp hairs weaving up to her belly, and saw more tawning and fading bruises around the sides of her hips and ass.
She groaned and squatted down on the toilet seat, quickly opening and closing her shaking legs. I stood poised, listening for that strange hiss of pee leaving a female body, and watched her legs tense. Again she groaned and farted: a quick plopped burp, and bashfully looked up at me.
-Do you have to pee too? she quietly asked, and glanced at my dick.
I nodded, and stepped in between her legs. It would be an easy aim; there was enough room between her crotch and the edge of the bowl without my getting it wet, if I aimed carefully -or maybe that’s what she wanted; wasn’t there a hint of piss-smell on her sweater too?
-Sit here, she said, and moved further back on the toilet seat, raising one of her legs and expertly kicking her ankle and foot out of the panty leg.
-Come, pee, she said, and separated her legs on the toilet seat and gestured for me to sit down.
I shook my pants to my ankles and awkwardly lowered myself to her knees but stood back up and shook my head in confusion.
-Like this, she said, and grabbed my shirt bottom and raised her legs off the seat and pulled me towards her.
She wrapped her legs over my thighs and around my back and reached under my shirt and pulled my flabby bare waist towards her. I dropped onto the seat, my knees and thighs splayed on the sides of the toilet, my ankles bound by my pants at the bottom of the bowl.
I felt the taut pressure of the hard seat pounding into underused and overstretched flabby muscles and I feared getting cramped but I moved up on the hard black seat and put my arms around her waist.
She smiled, I smiled back, and we both glanced down at the tiny gap between our crotches, my pubic hairs tingling stiffly against her matted and flat curled ones, my limp cock and balls dangling into the bowl.
-Pee? she asked, and I nodded and felt her torso strain and heard that first intrusive prolonged hiss of female pee.
I slightly cringed as I felt my cock and balls sprinkled in pee but I also strained and finally felt my over-clenched bladder opening and splashing urine into the bowl.
We again looked down at the gap between our legs and I breathed in the fumes of piss rising up to my nostrils; it easily dispelled the stench of her unwashed body and clothes. But I no longer cared; I meekly smiled contently and lowered my head onto her shoulder, my face nestled against her limp dank hair. She moved her arms up my back and also lowered her head; I felt her lips on my neck.
We held each other tightly.
We peed.
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