A Valentine’s Day Pisser (Mandy Diary entry 1)

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Dear Diary,

It’s Valentine’s Day and a guy peed on me.

Gross, I know.

Not the kind of gift a girl expects on this day. Flowers would’ve been much more appreciated.

I should explain that I don’t mean he peed on me as in he was into sexual water sports, whipped out his cock, and showered me with icky love. Somehow, as crazy as this sounds, I think I’d prefer to be pissed on in that way.

Let me make this clear from the start though…I don’t like to be pissed on in any way.

Just saying. If it were intentional and was meant to spice up a dull night, that would make more sense.

So how did I get urinated on?

I should actually back up and set this up right.

Happy Valentine's Day! (Image courtesy of marcolm at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

Happy Valentine’s Day! (Image courtesy of marcolm at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

Here’s a better way to start. I’ve changed. Not changed as in I was once wearing shorts and a T-shirt and now I’m wearing my pajamas (I’ve made that change too), but changed as in I am different.

I’ve always considered myself a level-headed person. I wasn’t a whore. I’m not a whore now.

However, something happened one night that has altered my view on life.

Before this night I was a regular girl. I woke up each morning, did the funky shower dance as I waited for the water to warm up, dealt with my mistrust of toasters (I have to lift the bread up several times as I have some sort of daddy issues with my toaster—I don’t fully trust that it won’t burn my bread), and dashed off to Starbucks to get my iced coffee on my way to work (a redeye for rough mornings).

Is it ready yet? Is it ready yet? Is it ready yet?

Is it ready yet? Is it ready yet? Is it ready yet?

I had serious relationships that couldn’t be taken too seriously.

I mean I took them pretty seriously. Especially my relationship with Mark.

He was more into fucking the blonde tramp who served him Powerade at his gym.

Powerade.

That explains it all.

My idea of an exercise drink is Country Time lemonade—the powdered kind. Mix in a little bit of champagne and you’ve got the cheap lady’s mimosa.

Who doesn't like an early morning cocktail from time to time?

Who doesn’t like an early morning cocktail from time to time?

Sorry. I tend to go off on tangents when my mind is as jumbled as it is now. I guess that’s what diaries are for though right?

My point in telling you all this is to help you understand that my life was pretty normal.

Then I met Braden.

Braden.

My knight in no armor. My naked prince. My outdoor lover.

This guy was…how should I say it…fucking incredible.

Before Braden, sex in the missionary position was kind of the norm. Every once in a while I’d climb on top and do a little bit of riding but sex was never wild or crazy.

I never even fingered myself. When I was really horny I’d circle my clit with one finger in the same manner I’d try to get the foam in my Coca-Cola to dissipate. But I’d ever enter myself. I wasn’t a pro at self-pleasure that’s for sure.

Then, that one night, Braden had his way with me all over the fair. Our night started out in a teasing fashion and by the time I actually had his cock inside me I kind of felt like that kid in the Willy Wonka movie finally getting his hands on a golden ticket.

I still can't believe I had sex way up there.

I still can’t believe I had sex way up there.

For fuck’s sake I had to work hard enough to get it. I sucked his dick like it was an everlasting gobstopper.

Dear Diary, don’t think bad of me. If I can’t say this twisted kind of shit to you, who can I tell?

Well…I won’t talk too much about that night. Just know that it changed me. It changed me enough to write a book about it and put it on Amazon HERE.

With Braden there were no strings attached. It was one hell of a night. Then it was over. And it was nothing else.

He dropped me off and went home.

I didn’t have to worry about my breath the next morning.

I didn’t have to worry about making him breakfast.

I didn’t have to worry about how long it would take to get him the hell out of my apartment.

When he said, “We should do this again sometime.”

I thought, “Sure…maybe.”

I’d learned the power of maybe.

I was a single woman. I was a sexy, sarcastic, big boobed, genuinely average woman.

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I learned the power of MAYBE

I could make the decision to see a guy again. My life was in my hands.

Would Braden see me again? Maybe.

My best girl friends, Susie and Jill, love the new me. Susie has expressed concern about my lack of give-a-damn from time to time but Jill, who’s much wilder than I am, loves the Maybe Mandy.

Ben, my best male friend, who happens to be gay, thinks I always had this buried down deep inside. Funny how it took Braden buried deep down inside me to bring it out.

Well call it what you will but the truth is I haven’t been able to get sex off my mind since that night at the fair.

I’ve fingered myself to every steamy episode of Grey’s Anatomy and every DVD episode of True Blood. I even bought one of the little pink rabbit vibrators.

One of these will only take you so far (Image courtesy of papaija2008 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

One of these will only take you so far (Image courtesy of papaija2008 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

Sure, I’ve spoken to Braden since that night. We’ve tried the long distance flirting. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I kinda hope we will.

I think he called earlier today to wish me a happy Valentine’s Day. I heard the familiar sounds of New York City traffic in the background on the voicemail message and the sound of his breathing but he hung up without speaking a word.

Okay, that’s all nice, Mandy, but how did you get peed on? That’s how I started this diary entry, right?

Let’s see. I was super horny last night. It’s been two months…about that long…since I came like I was draining every ounce of fluid I had in me on that Ferris wheel.

And come on ladies. We can try to please ourselves but let’s face it. Our fingers and our toys can’t replace the feel of a strong, hard, pulsating cock inside of us.

Mmm…the feel of the head sliding inside, dry at first, pushing its way inside. Its desperate attempts at entry. Then the painful pleasure of the head meeting the moistness of my pussy, coating the cock enough to make it slip quickly inside…sometimes too quickly.

No dildo or pointer finger can replace that agonizing hallelujah.

So I guess you could say I was on the prowl.

I had my hopes up.

Jill was with me.

She’s crazy hot, slim, with a big ass and tits. To me she looks like a young Demi Moore. Back when she sat freezing in front of an open window and all her friends gathered outside to express their concern.

Am I crazy for thinking that was a strange climax to the movie? I mean I love me some St. Elmos Fire but I can’t help thinking she’d be okay if they left her there. Chances are she would’ve gotten up and closed the window. Suicide by moderately cold weather would’ve taken FOREVER!

Anyway…Jill wanted to go to a new bar called Burpees.

Horrible name I know. Sounds like a good friend sitting in your passenger seat sipping a Slurpee and letting one rip.

So we were at Burpees, just the two of us, and I was disappointed in the place. It wasn’t the décor as it was a pretty cool, California beach like theme, complete with a live band that reminded me of a modern mix of The Beach Boys and Weezer.

I was disappointed in the lack of good looking guys. Most were young boys who looked more girly than I did. I can appreciate a well-groomed stud but when a guy’s eyebrows look prettier than mine…unh unh.

So we ordered shots. My idea, not Jill’s. And we ordered some more.

Soon we were sitting in one of those half-circle booths with guys to either side. I wasn’t attracted to any of them at first.

Another shot later and I was eyeing one guy, we’ll call him J. because I think his name was either Jim or Joe or Jason or Jack…J. will have to do.

Never a good idea

Never a good idea (Image courtesy of Boaz Yiftach at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

Another shot later and I had my toes sliding up his leg and running along the length of his stiffening cock.

Another shot later and I was sitting next to him, making out with him in our seat.

I don’t know what Jill was doing. She’d disappeared at some point, typical Jill style, probably getting eaten out somewhere in a dark corner. I’m telling ya, the girl has skills. Where most girls find themselves on the losing end of a drunken blowjob battle, she somehow always ends up with a guy’s face between her legs.

That’s what I call winning.

So I was necking with this suddenly-stunning guy, one hand down his pants, halfway to inviting him back to my place, when I felt a sudden rush. Not a rush of energy. I got my period.

Yes, My Bloody Valentine.

Shut up, I know I just killed the mood. You have no fucking idea. My pussy was wet. I had my hand wrapped around his cock. I was willing to pretend this guy was Braden(esque).

Then I started flowing. Talk about an instant cold shower.

So I shoved him away, ordered another shot, then ran to the bathroom to plug it up and search for Jill.

Then things got blurry. The shots finally took over and I was reminded why I stopped taking shots of tequila years ago.

I think I was what Facebook posters would call “White Girl Wasted.”

Where was this sign when I needed it? (Image courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

Where was this sign when I needed it? (Image courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

I was walking. I was talking. I was dancing…and roaming.

And at some point I ended up back at Jill’s house with my pre-period suitor. No, I didn’t just fuck him anyway. I might have. I was drunk enough. But I think he was drunker than I was because he left me there on the bed while he went to the bathroom.

I remember lying on my back, my eyes shifting left to right trying to mimic a clock on the wall while I tried to remember the lyrics to Madonna’s Like a Virgin. Don’t know why that song came to mind.

And then I was thinking, “Where the fuck is this guy?”

And then I guess I passed out.

That was last night. I woke up this morning with the sun blasting me in the face. I was fully clothed.

The dude was sleeping next to me, back in his pre-shots form, looking kinda Coyote Uglyish.

And that’s when I realized I was wet.

Just my leg was wet. I checked the bed to see if a can of beer had spilled on me or something. That’s when I saw the circular stain on the sheet right at his waist.

He’d fucking pissed on me. He’d peed the damned bed…with me in it!

And that was my Valentine’s Day.

Thanks for listening, Diary.

Mandy

Want to get to know me better? Read Kinky Carnival Games (Maybe Mandy 1). Find it on Amazon by clicking HERE. You’ll even find a sneak peek at book 2 at the end.

Oh and also click on the following link to sign up for C.C. Genovese’s newsletter. Click the link, put your email address into the blank field, and you’ll receive instant notification whenever a new book or special promotion is available. No spam! Just click here: http://eroticmayberry.com/newsletter-sign-up/

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