Pickle Juice and Piss

Golden showers - piss used in BDSM. People with aesthetics much unlike mine call a top’s urine golden nectar. Were piss akin to an ambrosial drink of the gods and goddesses we wouldn’t be using it for power exchange. Like Gandhi we’d be drinking out own.

The time I drank a tall glass of piss I just chugalugged it. A mile beverage really. If you ever drank any of the early diet sodas sweetened with saccharine like the original Tab you’ve tasted much worse.

Nor did it humiliate me. I’d long known gay men pee on each other in cheerful ignorance of BDSM. And comments on an old entry taught me that heterosexual couples off do likewise as a form of happy unclean fun. I even used it as a mixer with vodka.

I made reference recently to nasty fantasies. Whatever that means. Among gay men I know there’s filth play. As a generic idea it leaves me neutral. For being pissed on to have emotional power it has to be pushed a bit.

A very long time ago I read in a gay tabloid of the sort that doesn’t exist anymore of a man pissing on the bathroom floor and making another lick it up. That worked for me. I guess I’m a very oral kinkster (a noun I don’t greatly favor but Mistress Matisse likes it).

In a backissue of Meatmen (now in Bitchy Jones’ possession) there was a drawing of a top pissing on the food in pet food bowl he was about to make his slave eat. You ever see something that seemed so erotically arousing it is as if giant planes are pressing against your brain?

My primary nasty piss fantasy has me supine in a shallow pit in the ground. A large sheet of plywood covers me. The only opening is a grill just above my face. The dominant drinks a six-pack of beer, pot of coffee: anything that will create lots of piss. Which, naturally, is directed against my face. For hours I lie there in piss-drenched mud.

In the alternate version I’m in a pit in the basement. On a floor above is a toilet with a pipe that empties above my pit. And I’m drenched again and again.

And few sex toys seemed more exciting than the throne of humiliation where your head becomes a part of a toilet. (No, no scat.)

Damn, I just don’t have a knack for getting to the point. Where’s the pickle juice?

Sardax, master of wicked artistry, has a drawing of a young man. I think he’s bound to a pole. A young miss is pressing something to his lips I think (all errors of recollection are my fault). Just enough moisture to a leave him hungry for more.

In another drawing the women, at least as I made it out, are feeding a blindfolded man pickles.

So I imagined a thirst scenario where I’m given pickle juice to drink. The fluid replenishes my tissues: keeps the scenario (sort of) healthy. But is so sour that my mouth feels even more desperately thirsty.