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Published on November 18th, 2013 | by Richard Black

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A Golden Shower and Memories Thereof

The one good thing about training a toddler to use the toilet is that I now have a credible excuse for missing the toilet when I take a leak.

Other than that there’s a lot of work involved. Sure I won’t be spending a small fortune in diapers but our house only has one bathroom that’s on the second floor and despite my recent and vigorous attempt at physical health I don’t like stomping up and down the stairs two or three dozen times a day.

I’m an incredibly lazy man. There was one point, a few months ago that I tried to train my daughter to change her own diaper instead of the using the can. My wife disagreed and now I find myself trying to convince Darcy to void her bladder and bowels every fifteen minutes or so.  The process is simply exhausting.

Inevitably accidents occur. Not as many as I expected but some and when they do Darcy lets loose with a wail that would give an air horn on a train a run for its money.

Through no coincidence it was in this state I found my daughter, in our dining room, her pants soaked in urine and screaming like a newly neutered goat.

Having gone to college I’m no stranger to the myriad number of fluids that a body can produce in all of its disgusting glory.  As I carried my daughter to the toilet, urine cascading down her pants and my back, I took a moment to remember the last time I’d been used as a toilet.

The first occurred when I was fourteen and my six month old brother gave me a spray. Over the next few months Jimmy proceeded to store up urine like a camel and release it whenever anyone tried to change his diaper. I like to think that he’s outgrown the desire to piss on everything and everyone now some twenty years later but it’s not something we talk about.  Hopefully he’s matured or has found a massage parlor that caters to these sorts of things.

The second incident occurred in college in a communal shower. I was lathering, rinsing and repeating when a heavily muscled senior and soon to be Marine walked up to me in the buff and asked me how I liked the place. It took a good three minutes or so of conversation about my classes, my room and really everything else before I realized that he I was being used as a urinal. I wish I could say that I slapped his giant wang or at least requested that he stopped but I didn’t. I still have nightmares to this day.

The third and final time I was pissed upon was also, coincidently, during my college years. I’d just brought my new girlfriend home to visit for the Holidays. After a lengthy night of drinking the two of us settled down on a couch in my mother’s house and woke up the next morning feeling…a bit cold and damp.

My mother was upset. Not about the couch being soaked in urine but the fact that my girlfriend and I may have had sex on the aforementioned couch. My mother’s assessment of the situation and the fact that I’d presumably been able to excite a woman to the point in which she was able to soak an are the size of a throw rug left me with a number of questions I’m, frankly, not comfortable answering.

And so it was with this disturbing mental montage that I sat my daughter on the can with as much aplomb as I could muster. She took care of business and I briefly, briefly, wondered what she’d be thinking of thirty some odd years down the line in the same situation after she was pissed on by her own daughter of the same age.


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