Learning To Pee Like A Woman

Learning To Pee Like A Woman

There have been occasions when I think that my penis might make an excellent anti-aircraft gun, the way it tends to shoot randomly, veering sharply right and left after my futile initial aim at the centre of the toilet. Apparently, my wife is not interested in reviving WWII, and she would prefer that this erratic gunner now sit placidly on the toilet where I can do no harm to the petite yet valuable surroundings, rather than maintaining my now threatened homo erectus stature. She would prefer me to join the ranks of ladies and thereby inhibit my wayward spray.

I tried this posture once or twice, and it certainly takes away from the sense of adventure that was omnipresent before, even though it did save me from the annoying task of mopping up.

In winter, when I have been exposed to prolonged extreme cold, I can often magically urinate at right angles, the yellow stream incredibly shooting sideways, much to my disbelief and dismay. My geometry teacher might be intrigued by this incredible feat despite my low marks in his class. Perhaps I might join a circus with this amazing act, but we would have to abstain ourselves from warmer climates.

And whenever we went camping, after gazing at the stars above while sitting around a fire at night, the men I was with always doused the flickering coals with our collective piss. Like volunteer firemen, it seemed like the natural thing for men to do, and I suppose that it even created some fuzzy, indistinct urinary bond between us all.

I do recollect that we were also quite proud of our amazing projectile distance when we were young, not realizing that our once powerful pneumatic pumps would gradually addle and become lethargic in old age, along with the inevitable dripping that accompanies a faulty washer.

When we were young, we could sail our mighty blasts straight down the middle of the fairway, but alas, I now have a tendency to slice or hook, and I often end up in a sand trap or the rough.

When men get into their 30s and 40s, they are keen to get into intellectual "pissing contests" as my wife crassly describes the phenomenon, each proud male specimen bragging longer and harder that the last one, the women secretly laughing inside at our scholarly buffoonery. Unfortunately, despite our conceit, we could not include silly penile accomplishments in either a curriculum vitae or a resume. "Mike Keenan, BA, Western University; able to dowse a campfire at a 12' distance" just doesn't work when applying for a teaching position.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces when I was 16 and chumming with a bunch of fellow hockey players my age, and they had invited a groupie named Sharon to join us. She was rather plump, and I remember that the teenage group encircled her, and one of the more aggressive guys asked her if she would like us to collectively pee on her, which I thought crude and distasteful, and I suggested that this was gross. But apparently they had enacted this ritual before - when everyone had had far too much to drink, and she was nude and went along with it, and so the others egged her on with shrill chants suggesting diverse indecencies. However, it was apparent that this time she wanted no part in their urinary rite, and when she nervously, in tears, begged off, I intervened. I extracted her, rescued her from the group, and she slumped away into the night.

What I recall most of all was not the perverted actions of my peers but rather the collective, intense and unthinking power of the group, seemingly unencumbered by either morality or disgust. This must be how a lynching happened in the south and how rape occurs during war.

The penis does not think or feel shame.

Reviews

[Gary]

It is amazing how that little thing can be so unpredictable when we age and the power it has over us when we are young.

[Mike Keenan]

Gary - A good question to ask a man is - are you thinking with your big head or your little head. In Putin's case, the answer is obvious.

[Gary]

So very true.