I remember the first time I tasted piss. I was in my mid-twenties and living in Boston. I was shacked-up with my future wife and had just started growing more comfortable with my bisexuality (thanks to her not rejecting me as other women had), though I had no idea I was submissive and was in the middle of a long battle against wanting things in my ass. The web wasn’t a thing then so my exposure to porn was rediculously limited compared to a person of that age today.
I had never seen anyone drink piss. I have never heard of anyone doing it. I didn’t know it was done. All I knew was that I had started craving it one day. The idea just came into my head. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to drink it. I wanted a man’s cock in my mouth to pour it down my throat, hot and fresh from the source. It got so bad, I was tossing and turning in bed thinking about it. I was obsessed.
In retrospect, it was the first real inkling that — bisexual or not, married to a woman or not — I was a faggot.
I remember debating with myself. Telling myself it was dirty. That I could get sick. That normal people didn’t drink piss, for godssake. Why would anyone want to!? But the more I thought about it, the harder I argued against it with myself, the more I knew it was certain to happen. I slipped out of bed, went into the kitchen to get a glass, and then went into the bathroom.
My heart was pounding. I looked at myself. My eyes looked into themselves and the deal was sealed. This was going to happen. It had to happen. I placed the end of my turgid penis over the lip of the glass and loosened my bladder. A yellow stream started to fill it. I remember being surprised at how hot it felt though the glass. But of course, it would be the same 98.6º I was. The glass became more and more full. The amount of piss was starting to look formidable.
Finally, I tapped out. A few little flexes at the end dribbled the last of it. I lifted the glass. Looked at it and myself in the mirror once again. Saw the knowledge that after this was done, it was done. Nothing would be the same. That something profound about myself would be exposed. I could feel the pounding of my heart in my throat. The penis started to become legitimately hard.
I brought the glass to my lips. Smelled it. Pungent, but not rancidly “pissy” like a men’s room. It wasn’t bad. Just different. I dipped my tongue in it. Warm. Slightly bitter. I recall it was fairly clear. Not too yellow. But dipping my tongue didn’t make me die, so I took a sip. For the first time, piss coated my tongue. Went down my throat. I was breathing hard and told myself to stop fucking around.
I brought the glass back to my mouth and tipped it up. I started to gulp down my piss. Mouthfuls went down into my stomach. I thought it tasted kind of good, actually. Like a strong tea. I still think that. Even at it’s most potent, I don’t think I’ve ever disliked the flavor. I drank more and more, breathing though my nose. I wanted it gone in one go thinking if I stopped I’d never finish it. I had to finish it. I had to put it all back inside me.
Once it was gone, I put the glass down on the edge of the sink. I wiped the excess from my mouth with the back of my hand. I could taste it in my mouth. Smell it on my breath. I looked into my eyes. I saw the faggot inside me look back, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I went back to bed and finally fell asleep.
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