They say you should do one new thing every day. Something that scares you. Something that takes you outside of your comfort zone, gets your heart pumping that red stuff through your veins at double time.

So today, I did just that. Today, I pee’d on my boyfriend.

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’ve probably done it all before and are reading this thinking, she’s a bit behind the times, isn’t she? But you need to know something. The thing you have to understand is that, even though I’ve been with Fin for almost a year, I only just moved in with him a month ago, and he didn’t see me naked for the first time until my third night here.

Yeah, we’ve had sex, and lots of it, but I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of him looking at my unconcealed body. I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of anyone looking at it, but Fin’s opinion means so much to me, I couldn’t bear having him turn his nose up at me.

That third night was wonderful, though. We’d been painting the kitchen walls all day long, and both of us were sweaty and covered in tiny white and sage green emulsion spots…

“Ah man, my back is aching,” Fin complained. “Next time you want to change the colours anywhere in this house, I’m paying a painter to at least do the ceilings. I bet Michelangelo’s chiropractor was a busy guy.”

I smiled at him, but it was an awkward smile. One of those ones that felt like a smile to the wearer, but seemed more like a grimace to onlookers. There was something in me that always – and would probably continue – to feel like a nuisance in Fin’s presence. I’d felt like I was inconveniencing him when he said he’d redecorate for me after my mother let slip that I hated the spicy orange he’d painted his kitchen. But now, knowing that doing this for me had caused him pain… I felt terrible.

Naturally, Fin saw how I was feeling immediately. “Ah, Amber,” he sighed.

Water splashed up one of the cabinet doors, as well as the leg of his cargo pants when he dropped a couple of dirty paint brushes into a bucket of water. He gave the damp patches an uncaring glance, stepping over a roller tray and a bumper tub of winter white emulsion before coming to a stop a foot in front of me.

Whenever he was this close, my body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to relax or tense up, so I ended up leaning gracelessly against the breakfast table looking a little lopsided and more than a bit unsteady. I wasn’t afraid of him. It was just that his brown eyes and floppy hair made my heart skip a beat, and I knew that as soon as my nose caught the scent of his skin my poor heart would start to pound in my chest. Fin always smelled faintly of spiced orange, but it was especially strong when he’d been doing something physical.

Clambering up and down ladders was physical, and the heat coming from his lightly perspiring body was pressing against me, carrying that scent straight to my nose, and within seconds my brain was quick firing signals to my crotch, telling it to get ready for what my body had decided it wanted.

Fortunately, Fin didn’t seem like he was as fired up as I’d become. I mean, he was always borderline horny, and if he’d made a move then and there, I wouldn’t have denied him, but that edge of sexual readiness that he always carried with him was eclipsed by the concern and guilt he often displayed when he thought he’d upset me.

Taking my hand, he gave me the one cornered smile that always made me shiver. “You are not an inconvenience,” he said softly. “I love doing these things for you, babe. I want you to be happy here, and if that means I have to change a few colours, or live in perpetual danger of being burned alive because of your crazy candle obsession, I’m happy to do it.”

“You’d roast for me, would you?” I chuckled, twining my fingers with his.

“I would. But what I won’t be roasting is that chicken we were going to have for dinner. I don’t think I could stomach the smell of cooking mixed with this shitty paint stink, so I think I might just go for takeout. You wanna come for the drive?”

Did I want to go for a drive? Covered in paint and dust, and dripping with sweat? Not a chance. I felt like swamp thing already, and sitting in a car in this heat wasn’t going to improve my state, even if he did crank up the air-con again. No, I needed to shower, so that’s what I was going to do.

Shaking my head I said, “Would you mind if I cleaned myself up instead? I couldn’t eat a pick when I’m feeling this gross.”

The other corner of Fin’s mouth curved up to match the other, and he stepped closer. The concern and guilt were fading from his expression, slowly taken over by the look that always guaranteed me an orgasm or two within the hour.

“You don’t look gross.”

A split second after he’d spoken, his naughty smile faded and Fin backed off. He’d seen my body make a decision: it had tensed so much my shoulders were somewhere around my ears.

“You go get yourself cleaned up then, I’ll go get beef and noodles. I’ll be back before you know it.”

We both knew that I wasn’t stressing out about being grimy. It was almost nine thirty, but was still pretty light outside, and I only really relaxed enough to enjoy sex if it was dark enough for me to be sure he could only vaguely see me. I searched for the sacrifice in his eyes, but there wasn’t any. He really didn’t resent me for my hang-ups and weirdness.

I waited until the car had pulled out of the back yard, then quickly cleared away all of the painting paraphernalia. The drive to Sally Sing’s was twenty minutes on a good day, so Fin would be gone for over an hour, and that meant I could get my grubby clothes off and take my time getting showered and dressed.

Taking the stairs in twos, I started stripping before I reached the top. My grey long sleeved t-shirt and yoga pants hit the laundry basket outside of the spare room, followed swiftly by my bra and knickers. The air-con unit was humming away in our bedroom, making sweat I’d worked up in the kitchen cool and dry, turning my smooth, sticky skin into gooseflesh.

I only stayed in the shower for five minutes. I didn’t like having my hearing obscured by the pattering of the water, so I only ever hung around in there long enough to wash my body and my hair.

My fingers wrapped around the dial to turn it off, but for the third time that week, it came off in my hand. Rolling my eyes, I stepped out onto the bath mat and dropped the broken knob into the sink. Fin would fix it when he got back, but replacing the shower unit couldn’t be put off for much longer.

The air-con in the bedroom felt even nicer on my skin than it had before my shower. I unwound the fluffy yellow towel from around my body, winding my wet red hair in it instead. Even though I tried to avoid it, I couldn’t help but catch sight of myself in the mirror.

My grandmother used to tell me that nobody on earth could stand naked in front of the mirror and claim to be one hundred percent happy with what they saw, but I didn’t know anyone other than myself who could look in the mirror and hate everything that was reflected back.

I didn’t have an unattractive body. My thighs and belly were soft, my hips and breasts rounded… I was feminine, and a little podgier in some places than I would have liked, but that wasn’t my issue. I could have lived with a few excess wobbles, and even the two rogue hairs that grew just above my left nipple, but there was something about me that I despised, and I never wanted anyone to see it.

What was it? Freckles. I’m not just talking that cute smattering of pinky brown dots that decorated the half-moons beneath my eyes, the apples of my cheeks, and the bridge of my nose, or the pale orange ones that run down my neck and fan out over my shoulders. I’m talking the massive rashes of carrot orange ones that cover my arms, chest, belly, legs, butt, and back. The ones that my first boyfriend, Sam – the only one I’d ever had until I met Fin, and the only one who had ever seen me naked – had said make me look like an oompa loompa.

They were on my boobs, under my boobs, in my armpits… I even had them between my legs, making my vulva look like – according to Sam – two slices of cantaloupe melon. Or in his words, two slices of furry pre-packed cantaloupe melon. He’d been very amused that my collar and cuffs matched.

Fin knew I had freckles and that I hated them, but he’d never seen any of them that I could cover with clothing. He’d told me that I would be beautiful to him even if it became apparent that I was an oompa loompa, but he’d never asked to see them after I’d broken down and explained everything the first time he’d tried to take off my sweater.

Ignorance was best all ‘round, in my opinion, for me as well as everyone else. I turned my back on the mirror, raising my arms in the air, letting the air-con dry my nooks and crannies while I stood there with my eyes closed, hating myself.

A noise startled me and my eyes snapped open. They grew wider and wider, as did Fin’s. He was at the bedroom door, keys in one hand while the other was buried to the roots in his dirty blonde, paint speckled hair.

“Hi,” he said, in a voice so deep and scratchy I could have mistaken it for someone else’s if I hadn’t seen him standing there. He pointed his car key fob to his right, and I followed the direction to see that, there on the dressing table, sat his wallet.

“I forgot it, and the shower is still running so I thought you were in there and that’s why I didn’t knock.”

Once I my brain caught up with what was happening, lowering my arms took about two seconds, but it felt like hours. I tried to cover my chest with both arms first, then remembered my melony vulva, so moved one hand down. I must have looked a sight! I could have cocked my head to check myself out in the mirror, but I didn’t want to be naked and sick.

Fin shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. I was staring at him like he was a snake about to strike, wondering if he was engrossed or grossed out, so I saw when his eyes took on that look. The one that said, I’m coming for you.

He took a few steps to the right, dropping his keys on the dresser with a clatter, then walked slowly toward me. One of his Nike’s hit the wardrobe just before the second skidded across the floor and vanished under the bed.

I took a step back and he slowed to a stop, but when I didn’t run for the safety of the bathroom, he resumed his advance. When he reached me, he didn’t speak. He just stood quietly, eyes on mine, considering his next move carefully.

The only thought in my head at that moment was, what should I do? Running would have been silly, I mean, he’d seen every inch of me and he hadn’t laughed or sneered like Sam had. In fact, the longer we stood there, the more serious – and turned on – he was getting. I could see he wanted to cast his gaze down, but he didn’t. He was waiting for me to tell him it was okay for him to continue.

It took me almost two whole minutes of standing there in silence, watching how patient he was with me, to decide that it was okay. I wanted him to continue. So sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I gave him a shy nod. He didn’t need any more encouragement than that.

Placing his thumb in the centre of my bottom lip, he pulled down until it popped out of my mouth, then traced a line down the bump of my chin, pushing up softly to make me tilt my head back. I moistened my lips – and so did he – as he moved that thumb down my neck, pressing firmly into the hollow at the base of my throat. We stared at each other through narrowed eyes, and I saw a hint of a smile tilt the corner of his mouth in the few seconds it took him to make up his mind to kiss me.

I was so preoccupied with the way his tongue was curling around mine, I was only half aware that his finger was drifting back and forth along my collar bone, before skimming slowly down my chest until he reached my left breast.

With a squeak, I became fully aware of what he was doing when his index finger joined his thumb, trapping my nipple and pinching. It was a soft pinch, but it was enough to shock me into pulling away.

“Where are you going?” Fin asked.

I wanted his eyes to stay fixed on my face, but they didn’t. They flicked from my boobs to my eyes, my hips to my eyes, and they lingered far too long at the junction between my thighs before he looked up again and smiled at me.

“You had me half convinced that you were a wildebeest beneath all your layers of cotton and wool, you know,” he added when I offered no reply.

I wanted to run now, and he knew it. He was talking to me as if I were a crazy person, but I knew it was a distraction. He was trying to placate me, trying to get me to relax and accept that he didn’t find my body as grotesque as I did.

Fin made a soft sound in the back of his throat, and my stomach crunched. “But what I’m seeing right now is…”

He shook his head, pulling his t-shirt off and dropping it on the floor. All that tattooed skin made me salivate. Most of the work he’d had done was shades of black, but parts of him were as colourful as I was.

“It’s wild, I’ll give you that,” he continued, knowing I was checking him out. “But you’re no beast, Amber. I’ve never seen such an artfully decorated body before, and I tattoo people for a living. Nature’s done a perfect job with you, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You just want sex.”

The words were out before I could stop them, and they hadn’t come out sounding cool, or calm, or even accusing. I sounded trapped and hysterical, which is exactly how I felt.

Fin laughed quietly. “Of course I want sex. You’re fucking gorgeous, Amber, and you’re buck naked, right here in front of me. You’re beautiful, and I want you, but the ball is in your court.”

It was my turn to laugh, and I did so derisively, but at the same time I lowered my arms, letting Fin see me. And boy, did he drink me in. His grey eyes were everywhere, and he became breathless almost instantly.

That was a reaction to my splotchy body that I never thought I’d see, and I loved it, but still, self-loathing made me have a go at myself. “You think my cantaloupe flaps are gorgeous?” I sniggered.

Nodding eagerly, Fin took two long strides toward me and picked me up. “Didn’t you know?” he whispered, laying me on the bed. “I absolutely love melon.”

** ** ** **

Ever since that day, I’ve been happier with Fin seeing me naked, but only in certain circumstances. You can’t cure years’ worth of body issues with a single, amazing fuck, but you can slowly cure them one by one with a series of them.

But there were definite no-go’s with where I’d let him see me so exposed. The bedroom was fine, as was the bathroom, but the only other room in the house I’d strip off was the kitchen. Our back yard was very private, and I’d even let him coax me into going topless and sucking his cock while he sat on a sun lounger just a few days ago during our two guest barbecue.

But since the day I came out from under the covers, I’ve been discovering things about Fin that I’d never known. Things I would never have guessed he was into in a million years. Some of them I’d agreed to try out, like letting him spank me with one of his work boots for example, but some were so weird to me I wouldn’t entertain them. I mean, let’s face it, my skin was fucked up enough without letting him tattoo kinky images of us together on me, even if they were inkless.

But discovering he wanted to be pee’d on threw me for a loop, and this is how it happened…

The car pulled into the back yard and I threw myself out, key scratching away at the keyhole in the back door as I tried to gain entry. “Up yours!” I snapped at Fin, slamming the door on his loud laughter.

I wasn’t angry with him, though, just impatient to be inside. We’d been at the tattoo convention all day. I’d stood around and watched people – including Fin – show off their bodies, and I’d stood beside him feeling queasy as he’d demonstrated his skills with the tattoo gun on his friend, Davey’s left butt cheek.

I’d followed him from stand to stand, display to display, and I hadn’t been near a toilet once. My bladder had been fit to burst since my second pint of lemonade, but I could not and would not use a public toilet. I got performance anxiety every time I tried, so I’d given up long ago, but now I was truly desperate.

I bounced up the stairs with my legs together, and after yelling at the button of my jeans to a backdrop of more of Fin’s laughter, my butt hit the cold white seat. I hadn’t even summoned a trickle with the bathroom door burst open and Fin strode in. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

I squeezed my muscles, stopping the flow a second before it started, and thanked God for kegel exercises. “For God’s sake, Fin, I’m on the toilet!”

“I can see that,” he replied with a broad grin.

“You shouldn’t be in here while I’m –”

I didn’t get to say much more than that, because he’d crouched, resting his hands on my knees, and was already kissing me. His tongue tasted floral, and I couldn’t help but moan. He’d been eating a Parma Violet, which just happened to be my favourite sweet.

The fingers of his right hand were trailing up my thigh and he muttered, “You know, this really turns me on.”

God, I needed to pee! But even more than that, I needed to know what game he was playing. “Listening to me pee turns you on?”

“No, it’s not that. Thinking about how warm and wet it makes your pussy turns me on.” His fingers were right between my legs now, resting not an inch from my clitoris. “Is it okay if I…”

Was it? This was weird, and a bit mucky in my opinion, but I wanted to know where he would take it. If I’d been naked and heading for a shower I’d have kicked him straight out, but I wasn’t, so I just shrugged and offered him a little nod. One of his tattooed fingers started to rub slow circles just to the right of my clit, making me moan softly.

“I’ve seen over a hundred bodies today,” he whispered, parting my thighs a bit wider. “But the one I really wanted to see stayed covered up. Promise me you’ll sleep naked tonight, Amber, please.”

“I promise.” The words were barely audible through my gasps.

Fin rubbed and stroked, lifting his fingers to his mouth a few times. I wasn’t sure whether he was wetting them or tasting them, but I told myself it was the former. All of me was grungy with sweat, so I couldn’t bring myself to believe he was enjoying how I tasted, even though he kept doing it long after my pussy was dripping with wetness of its own.

“Oh fuck, Fin,” I panted. Two of his fingers were inside me now, moving in time with the thumb he had on my clit, and I desperately wanted to come.

A tiny jet tinkled on the surface of the water beneath me, and Fin groaned. Before I could say I’m gonna pee, he’d lifted me off the toilet and sat down himself, pulling me on to his waiting cock. He rocked me for a few seconds before holding me still, lifting me until I hovered over him.

“Do it again,” he whispered.

What did he mean, what had I done? “Do what?” I asked.

“Pee. On me, I mean. Please.”

Was he fucking kidding me? He wanted me to pee on him? He’d never been one to worry about when I’d last washed when he was going down on me, but asking me to actually… did I want to do that? Could I even do that?

Looking up at him, I caught sight of the expectant look in his eyes. “Please,” he whispered again.

A little splash hit his thighs and he moaned. Loudly. Partially against my will, I’d tensed my muscles again. There was no way I could do this. But then he reached out with one finger, stroking the hood of my clit so softly. “Do it, Amber. Please.”

God, I loved him. I took a breath and tried to let go. Erratic squirts splashed over his hand and his cock, and to my surprise, his cock squirted back. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he groaned, rubbing the tip of his cock around the entrance of my vagina. “Oh god, piss on me, baby.”

The full flow began, and he cried out so loud I was certain the neighbours must have heard him. The strong scent of urine reached my nostrils and my shame was intense. I could hardly believe what I’d done. I’d urinated on my lover.

But Fin didn’t give me a chance to dwell on it. My jeans were off my legs, and my shirt buttons were bouncing all over the tiled floor. The wall was cold against my back, but I didn’t complain.

I felt my chest expand when he yanked my arms over my head, slamming them against the wall. His tongue was wet and firm, licking one of his favourite places: my armpits. He licked wide circles there, inhaling deeply, biting his way over my breasts until my nipples were hard and red.

“Cassiopeia,” he whispered, making me laugh. He was playing his favourite game, dragging the pointed tip of his tongue over my skin in definite patterns and joining the dots of my freckles in constellation patterns. “Perseus… Lyra… Cygnus…”

Just before he buried his face in the soft red fuzz at the top of my thighs he ground out, “Scorpius…” and I let go of another jet of urine.

I didn’t watch, but I know where it went. I hadn’t hit the floor so it couldn’t have gone anywhere else. Fin sucked and licked my pussy until I was a shuddering mess on the bathmat. After a few minutes of panting in silence, I opened my eyes. Fin looked up from between my thighs, his smile beaming so bright I squinted.

“Wanna talk about what just happened?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Do you think it’s anything that will ever happen again?”

Three hours have passed since he asked me that question, and I still haven’t answered him. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and to get over my shock and, dare I say it, disgust. Will I ever pee on him again? The answer to his question is yes, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet, does he.

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