Francis Levy - Erotomania - A Romance

Monica was looking at me with love in her eyes-the lashes of which were also caked together with ejaculate. And if it hadn't been for the extraordinary events that had gone on in the bathroom of The Golden Cock and later under the table, the pungent odors they produced, and the singular effect they had on both of our appearances, we would have looked like your typically smitten couple.

Obstacles have presented themselves to lovers from the beginning of time. The difficulty can result in tragedy or joy. Romeo and Juliet were separated by the enmity between their warring families, but 1 had never read of a pair of lovers separated by the kind of transcendent and ecstatic sex that obliterated their identities, leaving them in a state of temporary amnesia after each consummated act. Most lovers overcome obstacles to achieve consummation. We had consummated our love. That wasn't the problem; the obstacles came after. But now we had arrived at a turning point. After much difficulty in even getting each other's telephone numbers, we were starting to form a bond. As I stared across the table at Monica, I realized how much I loved her, and I was wondering if she was feeling the same way about me until she opened her mouth and blurted out, "I want you to urinate on me." I explained that I had never been turned on by golden showers-despite the fact that I'd once offered to urinate on her (later I would understand her change in attitude from the initial distaste she expressed at the mention of golden showers as resulting from her years of experience being peed on by pre-schoolers). I'd seen guys lying in urinals in the bathroom of The Golden Cock, looking as if they were taking the sacraments as streams of urine splattered over their faces, and I was nonplussed. I can understand wanting to get fucked in the ass; being someone who enjoys Greeking, I have empathy for the recipient of the pleasure. But I'd never wanted to piss on someone, and I couldn't understand why anyone would want to be bathed in foul-smelling uric acid.

"Golden showers are the blowjobs of tomorrow" Monica's jesuitical side always came out in these discussions. As far as I can tell, her attitude about sex was Hegelian. She believed in a dialectic, a chain of historical necessity that defined human behavior. But this intellectual side to her made me uncomfortable in the end. Everything was an argument. She fucked with the greatest abandon, but when she tried to talk about our relationship she sounded like a whining academician writing a feminist revisionist polemic that managed to be masochistic in content and sadistic in tone. In short, she lacked heart.

Ever one to take an argument to its logical conclusion, 1 prosecuted the meaning of the metaphor.

"You're saying people are going to relinquish fellatio?"

"No, no more than they've relinquished the missionary position. In our current day and age you suck someone off and it's all over. The person who's been sucked either falls asleep watching television or looks for excitement elsewhere. Ditto intercourse. Most men are not going to be able to have a second orgasm within the next ten or fifteen minutes. It's alienating and disappointing for women who want to keep making love. The golden shower is a way of prolonging the sexual experience. Some novelist is going to come around and do for golden showers what Complaint did for blowjobs."

She looked up at me with an expression that said what do you think?

"That's very interesting."

"I'd love nothing better than to fill my mouth with your hot sis. C'mon, this place is too uptight. Let's go in the men's room. I'll let you piss all over my face and tits. You can even take a leak on top of my head."

Now I suddenly felt at home. When she was being overly abstract, Monica's words were sterile. She was detached. She was no longer the person I thought I was beginning to know, but now what was coming out of her mouth was the real Monica, the woman who writhed both under and on top of me, whose cunt could make any room smell like a Chinatown fish market.

The minute we walked into the men's room she threw all modesty to the wind. Jacking up her skirt, pulling down her thong, she lay on her back in the first urinal. The Golden Cock's nightly slave auction must have started since the bathroom was empty. I'd plainly been holding it in because the first golden shower I ever gave kept going on and on and on. Monica might have been sitting under a waterfall; my stream literally bounced off her face. I peed so long that I accidentally flushed-out of obedience to my inner clock-when my bladder was only halfway emptied. I apologized, but Monica didn't seem to mind. When I hesitated, holding my stream in for a moment after pulling the flusher, she cried out, "More, more, you fucking bastard. I wanna be really humiliated." I didn't take it personally. She always employed the kind of language used to describe torture techniques of the Inquisition when she was out of control with excitement. I wasn't surprised to hear her screaming that she wanted to be humiliated any more than I would have if she demanded that she be flagellated.

After I was done, I walked over to the next urinal. There are always a few drops left at the end, and I shook them off as I always do after taking a whiz. It's something my mother taught me as a little boy that has come in handy in social situations. I'm not one of these guys who walks around with a spot in his crotch when he is wearing light-colored trousers. This display of my caringness for the feelings of others has not gone unappreciated. When friends look at my crotch or the tips of my shoes-other places where men typically splatter-they often thank me for my courtesy.

When I was done, I held my hand out to Monica and lifted her out of the urinal. I was so turned on by the pissing, I stopped her when she started to pull her panties up. 1 turned her around so she was facing the urinal, pushed her forward so that she had to brace herself against the wall in order to avoid falling in, and shoved my finger right up her ass. She let out a scream that would have awakened the dead, and as a busboy and waiter ran in to see what was wrong, I thrust my rocket-hard dick straight up her ass.

"Kill me with your dick." In spite of the piss all over Monica's face, we couldn't keep our hands off each other. We started to make out wildly until Monica said, "Okay, it's your turn, big guy."

I lay down on the floor of the bathroom right there and then. She squatted over me and took what could only be called a passionate piss, in which she used her stream to make figure eights all over my face and chest. Heaven is the only word to describe the experience. If she never said a word to me again, that moment-when I was staring up into her parted labia and asshole, and a strong yellow stream was coming at me with the vibrancy of the life force itself-would have epitomized everything that made our love as singular and powerful as it was. I've always said that love is like a river, and in that moment-on the dirty tiled floor of The Golden Cock, with the swish of urine emanating from her and its steady stream flowing with the pressure of a spigot in a luxury apartment building-I knew what they meant when they said you're in for the long haul. if this was what commitment entailed, if this was what it took to be in a relationship, then I wanted it. We'd had some rough times and some misunderstandings, especially when it came to verbal communication. I had mistakenly thought that the lack of rapport we had when it came to words, ideas, and feelings was an indication that we weren't right for each other. There was a lesson to be learned in this, not only for myself, but for others: Never judge a book by its cover. What is said rarely has anything to do with reality. Words are a mask. I only have to think back to my first experiences of sex in high school. I'd be on top of a girl and I'd ask, "Do you want to fuck?" She'd naturally say no or, "No, don't do that," when I first tried to remove her skirt or blouse, but two minutes later her panties and bra would be off and her mouth would be dancing up and down my shaft in that frantic way that women have when they both want to be fucked and want to hold off and tease to increase the intensity of the final moment when the prick, reddened with excitement, is shoved up their wet, hot cunt holes.