Work Text:
Let me tell you about my first kiss.
I was just shy of 18 and school had just ended. Finals and graduation were still in the future but it was my last regular day of high school. There were a lot of people I would never see again. It was a bittersweet day with many goodbyes and yearbook signings.
I didn't linger as long as I would have wanted. I'd had a lot of pop at the senior celebration and my body wasn't used to all that sugary caffeinated liquid input. That combined with my longstanding refusal to use school restrooms put me in a serious hurry to get home. I was running swiftly and stiffly while trying not to think about the fact that my bladder was swollen up larger than it had probably ever been in my life.
It was a hot June day. Every lawn seemed to have a sprinkler running. The heat, my nervous feelings, and my urgent pace worked together to give me lots of sweat. My overly long blond hair kept getting in my eyes like a bunch of wet tentacles. My polo shirt and jean shorts were sticking to my body. All this liquid around me made me think about all the liquid that was sitting inside me waiting eagerly to pour out.
It happened when I was 2½ blocks into my walk home. A certain 11th grader had been patiently waiting for me to come this way along my usual path. She was someone I enjoyed chatting with but had never thought much about. At the moment she looked cool and collected in utter contrast to how I must have looked. Without a word or even a gesture of greeting she walked right up and kissed me.
I was immediately filled with surprise, pleasure, confusion, even a little fear. This was something completely new to me both physically and emotionally. I'd never received a confession of love before and never had a sensuous experience remotely like the sensation of a girl's moist lips pressed against and sliding over mine. So soft. So delicate. So warm. So full of life.
When we were pressed together it seemed like I could feel her emotions. I could feel all the girlish energy and zeal behind those lips. I could feel the nervous tension finally being let go. I could feel the months of longing, the desires she had to rein in for so long.
It was all too much for me to handle. My bladder just let loose. We were still locked in the kiss when I felt my cotton underpants getting warm in the front. Then I heard liquid dripping on the sidewalk. Then I felt my denim getting warmer. Then I felt the two fabrics sticking together. Then I heard liquid flowing, splattering, absolutely pouring onto the sidewalk. But I couldn't or wouldn't break off the kiss.
Eventually she did. She got off her tiptoes and took a few dainty steps backwards. I drew back and looked at what was happening down below.
The whole front and inside of my shorts had turned a deep shade of blue and was shining in the bright afternoon sunlight. Liquid was issuing out of the lump between my legs as if it were a drinking fountain. Countless rivers were running down my legs, changing courses when they ran into hairs or knees, finally falling off my skin onto the sidewalk or else flowing straight down to dye my socks yellow and gush over or fill up my shoes. A yellow pool was growing on the rough hot cement. The edge of the puddle carried bits of dirt and twigs with it and a dozen tiny ants were trying to escape the encroaching flood.
I tried to cut off the flow. I think I started trying as soon as I noticed but once the kiss was over I put every conscious effort into pinching my urethra shut. My body wouldn't comply. I put my hand in my pocket and used my fingers to manually pinch the channel shut. All that accomplished was getting my hand and more of the denim wet.
I had to give up. Instead I started to consciously push the process along. I could at least get this disaster over quickly and have the relief of a totally empty bladder. The golden stream from my soaking wet bulge changed in angle and grew in intensity. The honey-colored liquid circle around my feet became more of an oval. The girl took a couple more steps back.
It seemed like hours we stood there like statues as the urine flowed and flowed. She looked down a couple times to the puddle and my shorts then back up to my eyes. I couldn't read her expression. She probably couldn't read mine. I couldn't even keep track of my own emotions. I was a confused mess of conflicting feelings. Even once the leakage was complete we still stood there looking at one another without communicating a single thing in words or body language.
I finally broke the silence by saying the only think I could think of: "You're a good kisser."
That wonderful smile she smiled told me that my accident hadn't dampened her love.