Date: Thu, 16 Feb 2012 14:45:24 +0000
From: Edmond Giles <edmond.giles@hotmail.com>
Subject: Pete the Piss

In the late 80s, I was at university in a seaside town, living in an
off-campus hall of residence about four miles by road away from the town
centre and the uni. I was sharing a room with someone I didn't fancy,
although he was a nice enough chap, and I didn't want to even acknowledge
to him that he, or I, had need for `private time'. During the first term
and a half, I would only give myself pleasure in the shower or while
sitting on the toilet. It was OK, but I wanted a bit more freedom than
that.

As spring began to warm things up out of doors, I started to frequent the
two public toilets that were on the way from the hall to the uni. Neither
of them was very busy though, and I usually ended up spurting my seed while
standing alone at the urinal, or while reading the graffiti in the
cubicles. After the spring break, I started to explore the countryside
further out of town, and especially the coastline. There was a coastal walk
from town to the hall of residence which ran for a couple of miles along a
beach and then up to some cliffs, but it ended where a farm ran right to
the cliff edge. The farmer had signs up warning people not to go through
his fields, because there were sheep expecting late lambs in it. So I would
walk out there, drop down into a dip between some gorse bushes and drop
trousers in the semi-seclusion of the windy cliff top and let my fingers
sort out my glands. Nice, but I wanted to be somewhere that I felt
comfortable being totally naked.

One day, when I had gone out along that path again, there was a lad in his
20s on a quad bike working along the edge of the field, checking that there
were no breaks in the wire. He was hot. Almost black hair, worked into
dreadlocks hanging almost down to his arse, which were pulled back in a
kerchief; a nice billy-goat beard, and one inch tunnel piercings in each
ear lobe. The body? He was about six foot tall, was long and lean, clad in
baggy army surplus trousers and a thick jumper, with heavy work boots on
his large feet. He looked to be longer in the body than in the leg, typical
of the Welsh hill farming stock. Although the sun was out, the wind off the
sea made it cold unless you were in a sheltered spot. And I couldn't get to
my spot while he was working so close to the cliff edge.

He shouted a greeting to me, and I pretended I couldn't hear to get him to
come closer. I wanted a closer look at him to fuel a wank fantasy later
on. He drove his bike over, and grinned: "Hi. I've seen you walking up here
before, haven't I?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's good to get out in the fresh air and walk," I responded. "It's
just a shame that it's not possible to walk any further on, but there isn't
any walk way along the cliffs."

"Well," he said. "You don't have to worry too much about the notices,
now. My Dad is very eager not to have people tromping through the
fields. But he's not very active these days, waiting for heart surgery, and
he doesn't get up here on the hills. Provided you're not giving guided
tours up here, and you avoid actually going over the fence when there are
other people to see you, I won't mind."

With that he thrust out his hand for me to shake, and told me his name is
Gary. "So, can I walk on through now?" I asked, with a shit-eating grin on
my face.

"Help yourself, mate. There are three wide fields before you cross a
lane. On the other side of the lane is the land of a bloke who makes my old
man look welcoming, so don't go into his fields". With that warning, Gary
held one strand of wire up so that I could wriggle through between it and
the next one down.  As I bent down to clamber through, I took the
opportunity to catch a glimpse at his crotch: despite the bagginess of his
trousers, there was a bit of a bulge. And I was close enough to smell that
he was a natural man -- no rank smell of male deodorant, just honest
sweat. I could really go for Gary, if he were interested.

"Thanks, Gary," I said. "I really appreciate your consideration, and I'll
respect the beasts, so you don't have to worry about me being on your
land. Oh yeah, and my name is Pete."

"No probs, Pete. Enjoy your walk." With that, he winked and turned away
from me to climb back on the quad bike, hitching his combats up his fork as
he did so. Large hands, with hard calluses from his farming work, with
thick dark hair straggling down over the backs and onto his fingers.

I started up the incline of the cliff field with a semi-erection forming in
my own jeans, partly through seeing Gary, and partly because I was sure I'd
be able to find somewhere quiet to attend to my needs, if not at the cliff
edge of this field, then in the next one.

I walked along, close to the fence that stopped the sheep jumping into the
sea. There was about a foot of land the other side of the wire, and then a
sheer drop to the waves pummelling the rocks down below. No scrub or bushes
to hide amongst, worse luck. Out of breath, I went up over the rise, over a
stile into the next field. No sheep in this field. Just a copse of trees
down at the bottom of the field, behind which was the farmhouse, so no
cover there either. I lit a ciggie, and turned to look out to sea. I looked
back the way I had come. There in the distance was Gary facing towards me
with both his hands at his groin. . . . surely not! No. He was just having
a piss, the sunlight caught the arc of urine as it splashed out onto the
turf. The golden arc dwindled. He shook off and tucked his cock away, and
raised one hand to wave to me. I blushed, even though he wouldn't be able
to see that I now had a full on erection from the thought of those manly
hands working at his foreskin to shake off the drops of salty piss. And I
waved back, and walked on.

About half way down the slope, I could see a clump of bushes on the
boundary fence, which was about ten foot back from the cliff edge.  As I
got closer to that point, I stopped for a piss myself. Undid the button
fly, and with difficulty pulled out my hard dick from the sweaty confines
of my briefs. I made no attempt to point it downwards, just let go of my
hard on and let go with the flow. It arched up, almost to chest height, and
down over the fence to land just short of the cliff edge, just on a yard
away. Despite the sound of the wind in my ears, I heard a whistle. I turned
to my right, and there at the boundary of the two fields was Gary, monster
grin on his face and one thumb raised in admiration at what he could
see. Embarrassed again, I turned away and hurried my withering meat back
into safe custody. I heard Gary's coarse and jeering laugh. Sod it, I wish
I'd got the guts to wave my cock at him, I thought. And down my leg ran
what was left of the pee that should have splashed out on the earth,
leaving a darker blue trail on the denim, right to my knee.

Just past the clump of bushes, I stopped. If I started to jerk off here,
would Gary be able to see? Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Just
between the two large bushes the earth was scuffed as it sloped down to the
cliff edge. With my heart beating faster at the risk to life, I crawled
through the wire, snagging the side of my woollen jacket on one of the
barbs, and got back on my feet. I could still see Gary over the top of the
gorse, working with his back towards me. It would probably be safe
enough. My hand started to rub across the piss-damp denim of my crutch, my
fingers clutching at the outline of my prick, which was recovering from the
wilt of Gary's mockery.

Hey! There in front of me were a pair of large footprints in the sandy
soil. Deep corrugations from work boots. And a splash of moisture between
them, with one edge still glistening white. The hairy farmhand had either
coughed and spat out a bunch of phlegm . . . but why would he climb through
the fence to do that? -- or else he had stood on this spot to have a
wank. I squatted down, and touched the trace of white and raised my finger
to my nostrils. Yep, the distinctive, slightly ammoniac smell of cum. I
fumbled at my flies again, and dragged my slender seven inches back out
into the fresh air. I leaned forward so that my knees were either side of
Gary's stain on the earth and frantically tossed away, the wet of my piss,
mingling with the precum now flowing out over my helmet. The warmth of the
day carried up the scent of my musky crotch to my appreciative nostrils.

And then I nearly shit myself:

"Oh, you like a wank in the open air as well, then" Gary had crept up
behind me and was watching me thrashing away. That man was a hunk, but he
seemed to have the knack of giving me erectile dysfunction. "Don't stop on
my account, bach. I just came to offer you a bottle of water, that's all."

I stuffed my cock back in my pants, and stood up, leaving my fly undone. I
didn't want to wank with an audience, unless I had something (someone) to
look at. But doing up the buttons would have sent the message that I wasn't
interested at all. I took the bottle of water from Gary's hand.

"Cheers, mate," I said. "I could do with a drink."

"I bet you could," Gary responded. "After all that huge piss I saw you
have. It was really impressive firing it off through an erection" His eyes
looked reflective, and a hand dropped to fondle his own basket. "In fact,
it was a right turn-on. Do you want to go down on the beach for a repeat
performance?"

The grin on my face was matched by that on Gary's gorgeous face. I screwed
open the litre bottle and took a swig of water. I offered the bottle to
him, but he reached into the big side pocket of his camo trousers and
brought out one of his own.

He told me that he thought I ought to get some sun, a bit of a tan would
look good on me. I thought that was true, but there was no way I was going
to get any clothes off on the public beach. I was too shy to want to expose
my skinny chest and feeble legs for folks to see. So Gary said he would
show me where he sunbathed. Gary peered over the edge of the cliff.

 "Yep. There's about an hour and a half before the tide will move us off."
I looked down the rugged rock face, and there was a sort of irregular
triangle of sand exposed at the bottom. Probably about 20 foot on two sides
and 35 foot along the water line.

"But how do we get down there?" I asked.

Gary held back a couple of branches of gorse to reveal the start of a steep
and clumsy way down the cliff face. By the time we had reached the bottom,
we were both sweating. I'd been glad of his help in a couple of places
where I had needed a steadying hand. And that hand had brought him close
enough to smell the aroma of hot young man.

On the last rock before the sand, we stopped for a moment. Gary pointed out
that the sand was wet, and that it would be better to dump our clothes on
the dry rock, with a chunk of stone to anchor them against the
breeze. Gulp. Moment of truth: get your kit off, Pete, or Gary will think
you are a wuss. And, of course, there was the other problem. Just the
thought of baring my flesh in front of Gary had me rampant again. Oh fuck,
what the shit!

As matter of factly as I could, I unzipped my jacket, and unbuttoned my
shirt, and shrugged them off my shoulders. T shirt still to go. Gary pulled
his sweater up over his head, the action moving his shirt to reveal a very
slender, incredibly hairy belly. I nearly came. Hairy men press all the
right hormonal switches for me. As the stud unbuttoned his shirt, I sat
down to unlace my trainers. I pulled them off, and my socks after them. I
was making reasonable progress: bare arms from the Tshirt sleeves down, and
bare feet. Gary had his shirt off to reveal a luxuriant growth of hair from
his collar bone down to where it disappeared inside his trousers. He ran a
hand across it, fluffing it out, till I could only just see his pointed
nipples, one of which . . . . yeah! had a ring through it!

I stayed seated and pulled off my own T. No comparison. White flesh against
his gorgeous tan. All that hair on him, while I just had a few blond wisps
round my nips and a tiny patch on my sternum. Gary kicked off his shoes and
toed off his socks. Shit! the tops of his slender feet were hairy too, with
lovely tufts growing on each beautifully shaped toe. I'm sure he must have
heard me groan aloud.

Then, after what seemed like just a couple of seconds, we were standing on
the sand facing each other bullock naked, each staring at the other's cock
and balls. Gary was well worth a look: his prick was about eight inches
long, thick, and with an upward curve. Uncut, like me, but with gnarled
veins running along it. The skin of his penis was a lot darker than his
all-over tan, just like mine in that respect, though my wee willy
contrasted more strongly with my fish-belly white body. There was one major
difference though. As Gary wanked his long foreskin back and forth, there
was the glint of metal: the farm-boy had a Prince Albert ring in his
helmet.

We finished our bottled water, and walked up and down the narrow strip of
sand, slowly wanking our own cock, and casting side-long glances at each
other. He seemed to be as turned on by me -- or the situation -- as I
was by him.

"I'm about ready for another piss. Are you, Pete?"

"Yep, I reckon."

We turned to face one another again, let go of our erections, and just
stared into each other's eyes for a moment, about a yard apart. Gary
sighed, and I looked down. His flow of pee was just starting. Lemon yellow,
with a slightly acid scent that contrasted with the lovely smell of his
fresh, manly work-sweat. With the curve in his cock, his piss showered back
onto his own belly. With a visible effort, he stopped his flow, and rubbed
the wet up and across his belly and chest, stopping to pinch at the ring in
his tit.

It took me a little longer to get the flow going, I was so turned on. It
shot out of my straight length of hose and splashed against Gary. He
groaned, and fell to his knees, opening his mouth to catch some of my
offering. I, too, struggled to clamp down on the flow. I didn't want to let
it all out just yet. I held out a hand, which Gary took in his own wet
hand. I pulled him up and into a tight embrace. His piss wet lips pressed
against my mouth, and his tongue flicked out until my mouth opened.

We kissed, savouring the taste of my lovely pee. His hairy pelt, dampened
down against him felt great against my smooth body. His arms went round me,
to hold me close. Wrinkles formed beside his eyes, and I could tell he was
grinning with joy.

And then I felt it for the first time. The wondrous excitement of having a
man piss on me, the flow squirting up between us. Without loosening our
lip-lock, we ground our hips together. Gary held onto his flow again, so I
let mine start up. A couple of fluid ounces of my precious juice added to
his. I reached down between us and took both cocks into my hand, tossing
them gently together, enjoying the feel of his piercing against my foreskin
and then my knob, and the unmistakeable squelching sound of a good wet
wank.

I wanted to experience his cock in my mouth, so I kissed my way down his
firm body, swirling my tongue through his hair and getting a good mouthful
of his sweaty, pissy flesh as I did so. Once on my knees, I didn't go
straight for the cock, but nuzzled into his sack, rolling his balls across
my tongue. And back again, absorbing the funk and piss. Then a quick slide
up his curved shaft, roll down his skin, and lick round the rim of his
helmet.

The sour taste of his last bladder run-out but one flooded my senses, and I
gripped my own cock more tightly. The sweet, slightly oily texture of his
precum added to the wonder of the taste sensation. I slid forward, taking
all eight inches into the back of my throat, despite the curve going the
wrong way. I felt the collision between the back of my throat and Gary's
P.A., again and again, as the hairy stud started to skull-fuck me. One of
his hands held my head in place as he jerked his hips at me. The steel-wool
of his pubes colliding with my lips, the rapture of my hand tossing my
cock: my tide was rising. Lubricated just with piss and precum, my
forefinger eased into the tight clench of Gary's hairy arse-ring. I prodded
gently; yes, there it was the gentle swell of his prostate. I stroked
it. He groaned, and his legs started to tremble. I groaned round the gag of
his cock, which swelled even more as he reached the point of no
return. . . .

Aaaahhhhhh! With louder whimpers, we reached orgasm simultaneously. His
hot, thick load shooting across my tongue, and into my throat; my rather
thinner jizz shooting high onto his legs and running back down the copious
hair there. I took a few moments to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my back,
and his cock limping down to more manageable proportions in my mouth. And
then came the hot jet of his piss, filling my mouth, bulging my cheeks, and
for the first time I swallowed a full draught of man piss -- just like
getting a pint of lager down my neck in the uni bar.

It was Gary's turn to pull me to my feet. His lips colliding with mine in
his haste to taste the salad dressing of his cum and piss from my mouth. A
heady, lengthy tongue kiss, and Gary leaned back against the rock behind
him, and said, "Wash me.", as he reached for my cock and directed my full
flow of piss over his belly, cock and balls. "Here, Pete. You know in Wales
we like alliteration and make it work with a person's name? Dai the Death
is the Funeral Director, and so on? I reckon I'm gonna call you Pete the
Piss. And you'd better get up here again next Saturday. Have we got a
date?"

Together we walked into the sea, just as far as our waists. We embraced
again, and let the action of the waves rinse our excesses from our skin. We
ducked beneath the water once, and then scampered back to sit on the rocks
to dry off. It became a weekly ritual, the memory of which still gets me
hard as the rocks on which we sat.

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