< A short story about ducks >

[rayheinrich]

               

                                        < A short story about ducks >
               
                I was standing at my kitchen counter preparing breakfast this morning
                when my favorite cat (Shiva) backed up, pressed her ass against my side,
                and pissed out about a pint of hot pee (females, possessing a vastly
                larger diameter urethra than males, can do this with surprising speed).
                Her pee, having thoroughly wet the right side my shirt, then proceeded
                down my pants, and finally to a fine pair of canvas sneakers.
               
                This reminded me, though in a somewhat converse manner, of my girlfriend
                whose favorite route to sexual arousal is being peed on. This act has no
                such effect on me; but seeing her naked (if somewhat yellowed) body does.
                And since peeing while fully erect is impossible, she actually prizes my
                lack of fetish because it provides me with the ability to stay flaccid long
                enough to complete our necessary foreplay. (Though my foremost ability,
                as I see it, is to enjoy having sex while writhing about in my own piss.)
               
                Now this, you could be thinking, is not what one might have expected in a
                short story about ducks. But considering that just this morning my formerly
                favorite cat backed up to my side, pressed against it, and pissed out about
                a pint of hot pee that thoroughly wet the right side my shirt, my pants, and
                a fine pair of canvas sneakers; I should be allowed some leeway.
               
                As my mother is fond of saying: "A couple willing to make sacrifices from
                within their own relationship is significantly more likely to have a prolonged
                and enduring one."