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Justin20

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  • My pronouns are..
    he/him

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Justin20's Achievements

  1. Okay, I swear I won't change my profile picture for at least another five minutes.

  2. I feel like the tail wagging could go one of two ways. If you have a character who dances or squirms when desperate, then I feel like the tail would wag in a twitchy sort of way. If, on the other hand, you have a character who tenses up when desperate, then I feel like they'd hold their tail completely straight. Either way, I'd expect the tail to start wagging once they actually get to relieve themselves.
  3. I've always had some kind of fascination with peeing, but it really clicked during high school. My school had a week each semester where we'd go out and do camping trips and the like. During one of these I was in a small group biking across a mountain range in Colorado, and there was lots of fun peeing outside action. On the first or second night I'd been in the tent for a while with two other guys and we'd stayed up late talking. I'd peed before getting in but since I'd stayed well hydrated I decided to get back out and drain off the excess fluid that had built up over the last few hours. We were separated from the other tends by a creek and we were pretty far away, so instead of looking for cover I just peed on a bush right next to the tent. When I got back in the other guys said they'd heard me and we had an argument about whether it was okay to pee right outside the tent. At this same campsite my friend had to pee right after sundown. Instead of heading into the woods he climbed partway up a hillside and peed against a rock, facing away. Unfortunately I don't remember this too clearly as I hadn't yet realized that I was into guys at the time, but if I'd wanted to I could have had a clear view of his posture and movements from start to finish. A few nights later we made camp at the top of a mountain. I was up late playing cards with two other people, my friend from earlier and a girl I had a slight crush on. Around midnight we were about to go to bed when we heard wolves howling far off in the distance. Since I had to pee, I made a joke about "scaring off the wolves" and then my friend and I went into the woods to pee in quick succession. The girl went in a few minutes after we did; I didn't try to follow her because even back then I knew the importance of boundaries, respect, etc (thank God for rigorous sex-ed in my state) but I was definitely intrigued. On this same trip we'd have to change into specialized underwear to prevent saddle-ass on the bikes, and then we'd need to put on long thermal underwear to keep from freezing on the mountaintops. This was the only occasion I've ever been naked outside, and oh my God was it enjoyable. It wasn't even that sexual; there's just something freeing that comes from drinking snowmelt from a creek, taking off your pants in the woods, and peeing in the bushes.
  4. Sorry to bump an old thread, but if this ever gets revived Selene and/or Lua should encourage Tripp to join them in peeing outside. I'm really curious if Tripp and Lua have ever peed together.
  5. I'm shocked at the quality of the writing, setting, characters, artwork... really, everything. I desperately wish that I could write with such quality and frequency. This is fantastic!
  6. I got home from an early-afternoon lecture today and decided I wanted to have some fun, so I drank a few glasses of water... and then I was immediately sidetracked by a project I was working on for a class. I guess I've been kind of dehydrated today because I after some time had passed I still didn't feel like I needed to go, so I locked in on my homework and forgot about it. Later on in the evening I decided that I wanted to get out and go jogging, which I did. Within a few blocks I felt the water I'd drunk sloshing around in my bladder, which was around 3/4 full. I could have turned around and used the bathroom at home, but I figured that I'd keep going because I knew that once I got into the hills on the outskirts of town there would be some places I could go in the trees. As I headed out there were two routes I could take. I could go left and have two miles of moderate hill climb, at the end of which there would be a large secluded wooded area where I could relieve myself and a great view of the city. However, I didn't want to go too far, and I was also starting to really want to pee, so I opted to turn right towards a much shorter, steeper hill climb. Crucially, this route was more crowded and a large section of it was along a barren hill; to find a spot to relieve myself I'd have to turn and run parallel to a wooded section along a creek. I've peed in both the areas I've described before; it's harder to get away from people at the creek but it's also a lot closer to home so I go there more often. Sometimes when I have to pee while running my bladder calms down after a while, but this wasn't the case today. I'd be peeing in the woods not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I turned off the main trail to go towards the creek. At the creek, I usually go uphill off the trail to put plenty of trees between myself and passersby but as I got off the trail today I encountered a ton of mud. It had rained yesterday, and my chosen route was practically impassable. I'd gone up in the mud once before and nearly killed myself by sliding off a cliff, so I didn't want to repeat the process. However, because of the rugged terrain there was no other way of getting off the trail. I took short, hobbling steps as my bladder would allow and started to walk away from the creek. If I just faced a tree and pulled down the front of my shorts I'd never be able to relax enough to go, and I'd definitely be spotted by the frequent passersby. I rejoined the main trail and weighed my options. I could probably painfully sprint back home and make it in time... but then I'd have to hope my roommate wouldn't be in the shower. If he was, I'd have to piss in an alley in town, which would be much worse than watering a tree in the woods. The best option would be to take care of my problem right here. I was in a clearing on a switchback on a steep hill. There was a woman sitting off to the side talking on the phone, but other than that I was alone. I walked down the hill towards the cliff's edge a bit and put a few trees between me and the woman. The problem is that I was still incredibly exposed on all sides: The trees weren't very dense, and on one side of me there was a trail on a hill about half a mile away with a clear line of sight to my position. If I stood and peed on the tree then my posture would be a dead giveaway to the distant people, and I could be surprised by somebody coming down the trail I was on. I've heard about people peeing through the leg of their shorts before, so I thought I'd give it a try. I discreetly shifted myself around so that my penis was pointed down my leg, but I still didn't have a clear line of fire to the dirt. I have an average-sized dick... more or less... but I like to wear long running shorts, since I feel naked in the shorter, skintight kind*. I could have pulled my leg up a bit, but I didn't want to expose myself in case somebody came along. I felt like I'd probably get my shorts and my leg wet... but I went for it anyway. I sat down at the roots of the tree, held up my phone like I was taking pictures of the scenery, and tried to relax. The people on the distant trail were far enough away that they would have no idea what I was doing, and I was hidden from closer people as long as they stayed on the trail. Now, I usually have a very hard time peeing if I'm not in a bathroom. If I'm standing at a tree, then I have to force it out, which usually results in a really powerful high-pressure stream. This time, since I didn't actually have my penis out, I decided to take as long as I needed to relax for a more natural flow. After sitting for a minute, it started. I couldn't actually see my penis, just a bulge in the leg of my running shorts. With excitement I saw a small trickle run down the tree root I was sitting on. I concentrated on keeping the stream going and managed to get a bit stronger flow. The trickle running down the root split into two streams and I noticed the very edge of my running shorts getting wet. After about ten seconds I really managed to get my stream going, and larger drops started running down the bark. Some pee was coming straight out of my penis and onto the root in a stream, but most of it was being soaked up by my shorts. Still, this was by far the strongest stream I've ever managed to make outside of a bathroom. About twenty seconds in I felt the bottom of my shorts getting soaked. Panicking, I shut off my stream and examined the damage. The inside of my leg was pretty wet, but most of the dampness was far down the leg, away from my crotch, which I felt was a good sign. I hadn't finished peeing, but I'd managed to get back down to a 6/10 and could run back home comfortably. I was pretty nervous about running with wet shorts, but I quickly realized that because the wetness was away from my crotch it didn't actually look like I'd pissed myself. Also, since it was the inside of my leg that was wet, passersby would need to be staring pretty intently at my pants to tell anything was amiss, so I wasn't too worried. The trails I was on were very steep, so most people would be carefully watching their feet to make sure they didn't trip. I discreetly took my penis out of the leg of my shorts and tucked it back into position to run back home. I did stop by the creek on my way back to splash water onto my clothes in strategic places to disguise the true nature of my wetness - I figured that getting my hip and shirt wet would deflect suspicion - but I'd completely dried out by the time I got back into town. Upon getting home, I immediately went to the bathroom and peed out the rest of the water I'd drunk earlier in a thick stream. *Not to go off on a tangent, but my philosophy towards running gear is that if you end up buying shoes and clothes that are as lightweight and minimal as possible then you may as well run barefoot and naked. I'm biased because I live in the desert, with its bright sun, freezing winters, and miscellaneous pointy plant life, but I firmly believe that the purpose of shoes is to be thick and heavy enough to cushion your feet and protect you from said plant life, and the purpose of clothes is to be long and heavy enough to prevent skin cancer and/or frostbite.
  7. New profile picture, for no real reason. Nerds will recognize it as the highway interchange featured on the cover of Radiohead's 1997 album Ok Computer.

    Last year I was talking with someone about what music we liked. When I mentioned listening to Radiohead he loudly shouted "I get it, you're depressed!" I immediately collapsed in a fit of laughter.

  8. So I just got back to college for the start of spring semester and since today's the last day before classes start I went walking in the hills above campus with some friends. We were looking for a swing that was hung from a tree on the edge of a cliff, but when we found it we saw that one of the ropes was broken. However, I looked at the seat of the swing, and I noticed that there were lots of messages and doodles that had been left by other people who'd come by. Most of them were just people's initials or simple stick figures, but one message caught my eye: The one in the first picture that says "Nadia peed here." If the sketch faithfully depicts the scene that happened, then we can presume that Nadia removed her pants entirely and stood with her legs apart, peeing into the dirt somewhere in the clearing on the edge of the cliff. Or maybe it's meant to be symbolic, and Nadia actually squatted down (as I imagine most people with vulvas would in that situation). Since this is just a simple drawing, some imagination is needed to fill in the details: Were Nadia and her friends up here drinking late at night, or were they exploring the hills during a long weekend? Was Nadia desperate (either from alcohol or a water bottle) or did she simply feel the urge to go and didn't want to wait until she got back into town? Did she drip dry or find some leaves from a nearby tree? Either way, it doesn't seem like she made much of an effort to hide behind a bush. There's some pretty decent tree cover in that area, so if I have some time this semester I'll head back into the hills with a full bladder and maybe add a "Justin peed here" sketch. Anybody else ever come across graffiti like this?
  9. I was actually writing a prequel chapter set in El Paso, and I’d already planned for the title to be “Out in the West Texas Town of El Paso.” That’s not finished yet, because I got distracted by a standalone short story that also involves rockets and is also set in West Texas, just south of New Mexico, which I’ll link to. I’ve got basic details for a few more chapters of Golden State, which will focus on alternative rock, enchiladas, obscure webcomics, tedious conversations about urbanism, and rockets. And, you know, pissing. In short, all the things that make life worth living.
  10. The chime of a phone alarm woke Isabelle Wilkins painfully early one August morning. She startled awake, retreated into the covers for a minute, but perked up as soon as she remembered why she was up so early. Today was launch day. Within ten minutes she browned a bagel in the toaster and then headed into the bathroom, where she showered and used the toilet. She dressed in light clothes and then stepped out of the small apartment onto brown grass. It stretched in every direction, occasionally interrupted by dead trees and oil wells. The apartment and its surroundings weren’t amazing, but Isabelle didn’t care, because it was temporary housing for the employees of Total Orbit, one of the newest startups fighting for a slice of the commercial space pie. The company could have made her sleep in a tumbleweed patch and she wouldn’t have cared. She loved her job, and to be just four years out of college and hold the title of propulsion engineer at an aerospace company on the verge of striking it big was a major bit of good luck for her. The door of the next apartment over opened and a woman about Isabelle’s age stepped out. “Good morning, Izzy,” she said. “Morning, Gloria,” Isabelle replied. Gloria Ortiz had been hired by Total Orbit at the same time as Isabelle; she was an electrical engineer responsible for the rocket’s guidance system and avionics. They’d been fast friends since their first day on the job, and on weekends they often drove out to Roswell or El Paso together to escape the crushing boredom of the Permian Basin oil country. Now they were carpooling to the Total Orbit launch site, tucked in between oil fields near the border with New Mexico. “The social media rocket nerds are already awake,” Gloria reported. “They’re saying that this is our chance to prove ourselves as a legitimate rocket company. They’re also saying that if this launch goes wrong we’ll probably go bankrupt.” “Does that bother you?” “Only because they’re right,” Gloria admitted. “They’ve also mentioned one record we’re likely to set: We won’t be the first company to launch a rocket, land a rocket stage, or put a payload in orbit.” “Damn SpaceX,” Isabelle muttered. “But we will be the first one to launch an orbital rocket from an inland spaceport,” Gloria pointed out. That made sense: Every other commercial rocket so far had launched from either Vandenberg Space Force Base in California or Cape Canaveral in Florida, with their trajectories taking them out over ocean during the flight. However, neither the state government or the FAA apparently cared about range safety anymore, so they’d approved Total Orbit’s license to build a spaceport in the middle of the prairie. Most of the engineers were worried about whether such a decision was safe, and with good reason: Rockets launching towards the southeast would thread the needle between Corpus Christi and San Antonio, and even ignoring the larger cities there were still a hundred different oil towns and farming communities that would be devastated if a rocket fell on them, literally out of the blue. It was for good reason that rockets didn’t normally fly over populated areas. With so much at stake for this launch, Gloria and Isabelle couldn’t afford to make a single mistake. … As Isabelle stepped onto the launch tower, she took a moment to savor the experience. Beside her, Gloria was doing the same. Even at this early hour, with the first traces of sunlight barely visible on the horizon, dozens of workers wearing coveralls and work boots were already rushing back and forth with checklists and tools, tending to the rocket. Here on the first level of the tower, a few thick hoses were suspended overhead. They ran to an access arm accessible by a catwalk to supply the rocket with kerosene and liquid oxygen. Vapor leaked from the liquid oxygen line at its interface with the rocket, and the mist swirling around the five engines at the bottom of the vehicle created a tantalizing sight that stirred something deep within Isabelle’s soul that lusted after the technological marvel of the science fiction scene before her. Her stupor was interrupted by heavy footsteps behind her, followed by a hard slap on the back. “Howdy, Izzy!” a deep voice called. “You ready to light this candle?” Isabelle turned around. Ruben Connor, Total Orbit’s 30-year-old launchpad safety officer, was 6’2” of Texan swagger and bravado and a commanding force on the launch tower. He’d added his own belt buckle to his coveralls, and Isabelle imagined that he’d also wear a ten-gallon cowboy hat if he could – but Ruben took his job seriously, and if he found anybody without their protective equipment on launch day he’d kick their ass back to El Paso. “Glad you’re in a good mood, Ruben,” she replied. “How’s the rocket?” “She’s a beauty, all right! One little hitch – we’ve got an electrical issue in the second-stage avionics module. Can you mosey up there and take a look at it, Gloria?” “Roger,” Gloria said. “Take it easy, you two.” As Gloria turned towards the stairs, Isabelle and Ruben headed towards the rocket. They joined the rest of the propulsion engineers checking the fuel lines and turbopumps; their job was one of the most dangerous launch day tasks, so Reuben was there to look over their shoulder for the entire morning. As they worked, Ruben reminded the crew to take frequent water breaks. Isabelle welcomed the interruptions, and by the time the engine inspection was finished she’d worked her way through most of her water supply. I should really pace myself, she thought – as a safety measure, the launchpad water was turned off early on launch day (except for the fire suppression systems, of course), and with the mounting heat she couldn’t trust the water jugs that had been placed on each level of the tower to last very long either. There might not be any refills. The other consequences of drinking so much water didn’t even cross her mind as she started up the stairs with the rest of her team to inspect the second stage engines. … Four levels up, Gloria stared at the laptop with narrowed eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” “Problem?” a technician asked. “Sustainer inertial guidance cannot initiate ground reference frame,” she hissed, reading the error on her screen. “English, please?” “The rocket needs to know where it is during flight,” Gloria explained, exasperated. “The avionics starts off with an exact definition of its position and attitude at launch, and then it updates its position based on accelerometer data – but it can’t get the initial position lock from our ground station!” “What should I do?” “Call a maintenance crew and tell them to start examining the entire length of the DS-12 data transmission cable, which goes from here to four antenna arrays a mile away from the launchpad. A break somewhere in that line is the most likely cause of the issue I’m seeing. Go!” The technician scurried off as Ruben and the propulsion team arrived at the upper level of the tower. “How’s it going, Gloria?” Isabelle asked. “Real fucking bad. The guidance system isn’t working and we need to send a crew out to examine a remote transmission station.” “How long will it take to lick this?” Ruben asked. “I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes, maybe four hours. If it takes too long I’m worried we’ll need to scrub.” “We’re launching a dummy payload so we don’t have any kind of launch window to hit,” Ruben said. “I’ll give the FAA a holler and see if we can’t extend our no-fly-zone through this afternoon. Until then, you can get your team working on the propulsion inspection, Izzy.” “Actually,” Izzy said, “second-stage engine checks require guidance data to run, since we need to make sure the thrust vectoring will respond to changes in upper-atmosphere winds. I can’t finish that until Gloria works out the avionics issue.” Ruben thought for a minute. “In that case, I’ll tell everybody who’s finished their jobs to get off the launch tower; avionics and propulsion will need to wait until we can get that cable working. I’ll try and get the FAA on the horn in the meantime.” … With Ruben gone and no work to do, Gloria and Isabelle both had their first real moments of rest since waking up early that morning. They sat in the shade and gazed out at the plains; from their vantage point they could see thousands of oil wells and the dirt road marking the border between Texas and New Mexico. With nothing else to occupy their time, they talked idly and let their minds wander, trying not to think about the massive tanks of high-pressure kerosene and oxygen barely ten feet away from them. One thing that Isabelle realized, without any work to focus on, is that she had to pee surprisingly badly. That was no surprise; it had been over four hours since her last bathroom break, and she’d had a lot to drink since then. She’d sweated a lot of water out in the daytime heat – but since they’d been working since morning, it hadn’t been warm enough to prevent a large amount of fluid from travelling down to her bladder. Isabelle stood up. “Where are you going?” Gloria asked. “Bathroom.” “You know the launchpad water’s already been turned off, right? It’s probably not a pretty sight in there.” “Well, I have to go,” Isabelle said, and went off – and then returned a minute later, a pained expression on her face. “You’re right. It’s awful.” “I have to go, too,” Gloria said. “What are we going to do?” “Suck it up and use the bathroom?” “Do you really want to do that?” Isabelle sat back down on the floor next to Gloria and pulled her knees to her chest. “No.” “Well, then we wait.” The walkie-talkie on Gloria’s belt crackled and she answered. Isabelle listened to a few minutes of her one-sided conversation, shifting her legs into a new position every few seconds. By the time Gloria got off the radio, it was clear that waiting wasn’t going to be an option. “Who was that?” Isabelle asked. “The cable maintenance team. They’ve located the break and they should have it fixed in an hour.” “An hour? That’s too long? I mean, after they fix it, you and I still need to run our inspections.” “I know,” Gloria said, and fell silent. Two technicians walked by them then, talking in Texas drawl. Gloria identified them as local labor, hired off the oil rigs in the Permian basin to work on simple launch support activities where physical endurance was more important than engineering know-how. The two men walked over to the edge of the launch tower, stood at the railing, and unzipped the trousers of their coveralls. Isabelle gaped. “Are they-” Her question was answered when she saw two golden, shimmering streams fall between their legs and descend to the unseen ground below. “Fucking rig workers,” Gloria grumbled. “These are the kinds of workers you get when you hire cheap from the energy companies.” Over at the railing, the workers were laughing a bit. One of them turned slightly, his stream intersecting that of the man next to him. A brief swordfight resulted, along with more laughing and shouting. Isabelle watched, equal parts curious and disgusted, as the workers shook themselves off and zipped their coveralls back up before walking away. “Screw this,” Gloria said, and stood up. “Come on, Izzy, we’re finding someplace to piss.” “You mean… we’re going to pee off the tower?” “Are you kidding? That’s just asking for trouble and wet socks. I mean let’s find somewhere secluded around here where we can look out for each other and take turns.” Gloria looked at Isabelle’s shocked expression. “Oh, come on. We can’t hold it forever. Unless you want to go into that awful bathroom, this is our best bet.” “But- the launch tower- the equipment-” “Is designed to withstand rainfall,” Gloria said. “If you leave a puddle, nobody will leave the difference. Besides, the water bottle I brought has a wide neck, and I’m hoping I can just go in that.” “My bottle… doesn’t,” Isabelle said. “Well, you’ll just have to rough it, then.” … Gloria crept into the narrow gap between a storage locker and the launch tower’s elevator shaft. “I’ll go first since I don’t want to have to stand in your puddle,” she told Isabelle, who nodded reluctantly while bouncing on her toes slightly. “Hand me my water bottle.” Isabelle did as instructed and turned around, embarrassment creeping into her expression. Behind her, Gloria started unfastening her coveralls, and she heard Velcro straps being opened and zippers being lowered. After a few moments of effort, the coveralls were off, and she handed them to Isabelle, who took them with a worried look. Gloria was still fully clothed in light athletic wear, but in the context of launchpad operations, she was practically naked. “Relax,” Gloria said, seeing the look on Isabelle’s face. “Full protective gear is only necessary during fuel loading and inspections.” “Hurry up, then,” Isabelle said, and turned back around. Gloria unscrewed the top of the bottle and set it next to her. Then she gripped the waistband of her shorts and took a quick glance around, reminding herself that the launch tower was nearly abandoned, and that they hadn’t seen anybody walk by for over ten minutes. With a quick flourish, the shorts and underwear were down, and Gloria was left in the unusual position of being half-naked right next to a multimillion-dollar rocket. She spread her legs, held the bottle against herself, and waited. And waited. She had to go quite badly, but she couldn’t relax. Gloria closed her eyes and focused. Waterfalls, garden sprinklers, thunderstorms, fire hoses- A brief spurt shot into the bottle. Gloria felt herself relaxing, and felt that within a few seconds she’d be peeing full force. “Hurry up!” Isabelle whined, and Gloria tensed up again. “I can’t do it standing,” she said. “It feels too weird.” Gloria crouched down and placed her back against the wall, waddling forward a bit so that her weight was supported by her shoulder blades and there was a few inches of clearance between the wall and her ass. Then she picked up the bottle and let go. Isabelle heard a powerful stream strike the plastic bottle, as well as a loud hiss and a sigh from Gloria. “This feels way better,” she said. “Just like I’m pissing in the dirt outside.” After a few seconds, the noise changed from a stream spattering against plastic to a stream hitting liquid, which Isabelle didn’t appreciate one bit. She tried not to squirm or reveal how desperate she felt, but she wholeheartedly wished that Gloria would hurry up and let her have her turn. Instead, the better part of a minute passed before Isabelle heard the stream start to taper off. She turned around to trade places with Gloria – a bit too eagerly, since her friend still had her underwear around her knees and a bottle filled nearly to the brim pressed against a sensitive area. “Oh my God!” Isabelle gasped. Gloria scoffed. “It’s fine. Here, hold this while I get my clothes back on.” She handed the bottle to Isabelle, who was too stunned to say anything. The bottle was warm, but to Isabelle’s relief the outside wasn’t wet; apparently Gloria had good aim. “Okay, your turn.” Gloria had stepped out of the alcove and was zipping her coveralls back up. Isabelle eagerly stepped past her and started tearing at her garments, disrobing with a haste that was spurred by the pressure she felt in her bladder. The last time she’d had to go this badly was during a thermodynamics exam during her college years. She’d sustained an uninterrupted night of cramming before the exam with a steady supply of caffeine-loaded drinks, some of which still hadn’t left her system when she sat down in the lecture hall. By the time she’d answered the last question, her legs were twisted into a pretzel and she had a hand buried in her crotch. The bathroom outside the lecture hall was full, so with stiff legs she’d speed-walked into a service alley behind the building and dampened the concrete with a clear stream that lasted close to a minute. That exam was the last time Isabelle had peed outside of a bathroom, but by now the overwhelming desire for relief had quashed her qualms over popping a squat on the launch tower. Moving quickly, Isabelle her pants down and set herself into a low squat with her knees close to her chest. She set her left hand down behind her to support her weight as she leaned back slightly and pulled her clothes out of the splash zone with the right hand. Then she released. The stream shot out remarkably far, splashing against the steel floor just beyond Isabelle’s ankles. It was a pale shade of yellow, and she briefly felt proud that she’d managed to keep herself well-hydrated on such a warm day. Then she spread her legs slightly, because the puddle was growing fast. As her stream went on, the sound of urine striking metal became louder and louder, and Isabelle started to worry that she’d be discovered in her compromised position by a curious engineer. But Gloria was still there to stand guard, and the knowledge let Isabelle focus on keeping the last few drops clear of her feet as the stream diminished. Within a minute she was finished, and she pulled her pants up as she rose from the squat. Gloria turned and looked down at Isabelle’s puddle. “You really had to go, huh?” Isabelle blushed and didn’t say anything. “Bet that felt real good,” Gloria said, and then handed Isabelle her jumpsuit. Just as she finished putting it back on, she heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. “It’s Ruben!” she gasped, keeping her voice down. “Hurry!” She and Gloria darted away from the puddle, grabbed a random checklist from a workbench, and made a show of reading it intently as Ruben rounded the corner from the stairwell. “I’m tellin’ you guys,” he bellowed, “those FAA sons-of-bitches take their sweet time answering the phone! We’ve got our launch clearance extended, so let’s hope those fellers we’ve got checking out the cable can get their hogs together and get us a launch soon, because I’m dying for a piss.” Isabelle nervously eyed the corner where she’d relieved herself, but Gloria responded calmly. “We can turn around it you want to go over to the railing,” she said. Ruben grinned and started walking towards the railing. “All right – no peeking, you two!” Gloria and Isabelle turned around as he unzipped his coveralls. The way they’d been designed, it would be much easier for him to relieve himself than it had been for the two women waiting with their backs politely turned. All he had to do was lower the crotch zipper and pull out his manhood. The stream took over a second to reach the ground from Ruben’s position near the top of the launch tower. He leaned back slightly and tried going for distance; he couldn’t see exactly where his impact point was on the ground far below, but he’d definitely set a personal record. With his bladder still feeling quite full, he then tried to trace the outline of Texas in the dirt. Unfortunately, the stream split into a spray of droplets as it fell, which was no good for drawing anything. Ruben’s stream trailed off around twenty seconds later, and he shook himself off and zipped up before turning back to face the rocket. “Whoo-ee! That feels good!” he shouted to Isabelle and Gloria. “Either of you need to take a leak?” Isabelle and Gloria looked at each other and held the gaze for a moment. Isabelle raised her eyebrows, and Gloria rolled her eyes slightly. “No,” Gloria said carefully. “We don’t need to go now.” Epilogue “T-minus thirty seconds.” Fifty pairs of eyes watched the displays in the Total Orbit launch control room. Twenty engineers sat at workstations down on the floor, and thirty more stood in the observation room overlooking the control center. There were three screens at the front of the room; one showed tracking and guidance data, another had altitude and velocity readouts, and the third – the one that most of the spectators were looking at – showed a live picture of the rocket. Neither Gloria nor Isabelle had been selected for a flight controller role today, so they stood side by side in the observation room, eyes glued to the screen as the announcer began the countdown. “T-minus ten, nine, eight…” Isabelle bit her lip. There were a million ways that the engines on the first stage could malfunction and destroy the entire vehicle. The launch was the moment of truth, when she’d finally find out if her work would send the rocket to orbit or careening into the West Texas dirt. “Seven, six, five, four…” As the main engines ignited and steam started billowing from the rocket, Isabelle gasped. She grabbed onto Gloria’s arm with both hands, her nerves having got the best of her. “Three, two, one, liftoff!” The hold-down bolts released and the rocket sprang up from the launchpad, accelerating at over 3 g’s. It soared into a cloudless sky, leaving behind only the white vapor trail of the four main engines as it started rolling over and picking up downrange velocity. “Vehicle is supersonic.” Some of the engineers in the control room, the ones who’d worked on the rocket’s aerodynamic simulations, relaxed. With the rocket supersonic, it had passed the point in the flight where it was exposed to maximum aerodynamic loading, and the airframe would be able to stand up to the rest of the flight with ease. “Passing Mach 5. All systems nominal.” By now the rocket was just a faint point of light traveling south in the sky. Even the best ground-based cameras could only make out the blurry vapor trail of the main engines as it climbed out of the lower atmosphere. “Passing Mach 8. Contingency abort modes now available.” Contingency abort was a euphemism for explosion. The rocket had picked up enough velocity that, in the event of a major malfunction, the debris would keep travelling downrange and fall harmlessly into the Gulf of Mexico. Isabelle let out a sigh of relief; her greatest worry so far during the flight was that some catastrophe would happen as the rocket passed over San Antonio. “Booster cutoff in three, two, one, mark. Cutoff and separation.” The first stage, high in the upper atmosphere, separated from the rest of the vehicle and began a slow pirouette under the power of reaction-control jets. It would turn around and burn off the last of its fuel to land near Corpus Christi, using technology that SpaceX had developed and that every rocketry startup had used since. “Sustainer ignition.” The second stage engine lit up. Isabelle finally relaxed a bit; now that the engine was running, it was unlikely to fail during its five-minute orbital insertion burn. The rocket was also staying true along its planned velocity vector, so it looked like Gloria’s work held up too. The view from the onboard camera showed the Gulf Coast and a few strings of clouds slowly rolling by beneath the rocket. Looking at the video, it was hard to tell that the rocket was moving twenty times faster than the speed of sound. The only thing that was clear from the transmission was that the rocket had long ago left the atmosphere behind and was steadily accelerating towards orbital velocity. “Sustainer shutdown in three, two, one… shutdown. Residuals nominal.” The control room erupted in cheering. They’d made orbit! Gloria grinned wildly and gripped Isabelle by the shoulders as both of them started laughing joyously. Their exhalation at their accomplishment was only matched by the relief of having a successful launch behind them, with no more need to fret about engines that wouldn’t ignite or tracking systems that would send the rocket spinning out of control. “Kiss me, Izzy,” Gloria said. Isabelle thought that sounded like a good idea, so she did. She was right. It was a good idea.
  11. So we have OP rooting for the Astros and Yankees and two more people who like the Red Sox. This is some serious degeneracy. True story: I took a tour of Minute Maid Park in Houston in 2021 with somebody who was wearing a Houston Asterisks t-shirt. They made him turn it inside-out before letting him in to the stadium.
  12. Trees are gender-neutral, communal, naturally occurring urinals. Give one some nitrogen and water today.

    1. Ms. Tito

      So true. I just watered one last night! 

  13. Peeing outside in general. It's often done when desperate, and unlike using a toilet, there's a much greater variety of postures/techniques to use. And there's the different but equally appealing facets of dampening some concrete, wetting the bark of a tree, making a puddle in the dirt...
  14. I'm not trans but imo the trans community here is a highlight of this site, mainly because it's always nice to see content that breaks through the mass of cis-women wetting posts. I'm also wondering if there's a correlation between being LGBTQ+ and liking peeing outside - I feel like half the time when I see a good outdoor/public urination post it turns out to be written by a gay/bi/trans person (although that number is skewed thanks to numerous contributions from @Ms. Tito♥️). This site needs more outdoor peeing content and more queer content, so we should solve both problems at once with queer tree-watering content.
  15. Chapter 3: Traffic and Texas September 2022 Sam: hey Marco what’s up Sam: how’s California Marco: I got here a week ago and don’t really know anyone yet. Freshman orientation was kind of fun and also kind of a waste of time. Sam: Yeah same at UT also Sam: Still wish you were here in Austin Marco: I told you before that I didn’t want to stay in Texas. Sam: Yeah i know, just not sure why you changed your mind at the last minute about where to go to colleague Sam: *college Sam: I mean UT has a pretty good engineering program Marco: I just didn’t want to stay in Texas. Sam: Texas couldn’t be that bad, I mean it’s not like you’re gay or something Sam: because that would be a good reason to leave Texas and go to California Marco: Can’t talk now. I’m looking at the engineering student groups on campus. Sam: oh you mean like SIAM? Marco: What’s SIAM? Sam: society for industrial and applied mathematics Marco: We engineers like to have more fun than that. Math’s for nerds. Marco: /s Sam: pretty sure you’re also a nerd, Marco Sam: and all you engineers use math to make things so you should *grovel before me* Marco: Right now I’m looking at the Rockridge Solar Car racing team. I think this might be the one I join. Marco: It would be kind of an electrical engineering-focused thing, which might be interesting. Sam: so they build a solar car? Marco: And they race it against a bunch of other schools. Marco: Hold on. Sam: hey Marco: Oh, I never replied. Sorry. Sam: how’s the solar car Marco: I didn’t join. Marco: I found a better team. Sam: what do they do Marco: They build rockets. They’re called SOAR. That’s the Student Organization for Aerospace and Rocketry. Marco: Or maybe R is for Rockridge, I don’t know. Marco: Anyway I’m going to be working on the recovery systems. Sam: what’s recovery? Marco: Parachutes and their associated deployment systems. Also in-flight events like stage separation. Marco: I get to play with explosives Sam: don’t get blown up Marco: We’ll see. … July 2023 “Don’t get blown up,” Riley said. “Yeah, thanks,” Marco replied. “I know what I’m doing.” He and Riley stood behind a plexiglass blast wall, wearing hard hats and face shields. On the other side of the wall lay the hollow shell of a rocket, emptied of its motor and flight electronics. All that was inside was two parachutes, a pair of small explosive charges, and long wires snaking around a pressure bulkhead and outside the airframe. One end of the wires was connected to the explosives, and the other end was in Marco’s left hand. In his right hand, there was a 9-volt battery. Riley stood off to the side, pointing his phone towards the rocket. “We’re filming,” he said. “Ready when you are.” “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” Marco shouted, and touched the terminals of the battery to the wires he was holding. With a bang and a puff of smoke, the rocket split in two, and the parachutes spilled out onto the ground. Riley walked up to film a closer shot. “Looks like a successful test. We’re on track for a September launch.” “Awesome. Let’s get this packed up and get back to Rockridge.” … SOAR, along with all of the other Rockridge student engineering teams, worked out of Alameda Field. Located on an island just south of Oakland, and a few miles away from the main Rockridge campus, it had started its life as a hastily-build Navy airfield during World War II. After the war, it had been passed around between different state and local government agencies until expansion at Oakland International Airport to the south forced its runways to close. With the polluted site too costly to redevelop, the airfield had been offered to NASA, then UC Berkeley, and then Stanford, none of whom were eager to take on the responsibility of maintaining decrepit hangars built on top of toxic landfill. Finally, Rockridge University bought the field, and its engineering students had been turning the windswept landscape and the creaky, leaky buildings into their playground ever since. Alameda Field was pretty quiet in the summer. Off on the other end of the runway, Rockridge’s solar car team was slowly putting their new vehicle through its paces, but otherwise Marco and Riley were alone. The field was right on the edge of the San Francisco Bay, nestled among shipyards and railyards. In the distance, the skyscrapers of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge peaked through a layer of fog, but here in Oakland it was a sunny summer day. Riley walked back to the SOAR hanger and reached for the doorknob. “Shit,” he muttered. “What?” Riley jiggled the knob. “The door’s locked.” “I didn’t lock the door. Did you lock the door?” “No. They keys are inside on the workbench.” “These doors don’t lock themselves, do they?” Riley shook his head. “They’re not supposed to, but all the buildings around here are falling apart.” “Well, look on the bright side. If we can’t get in, then all of the black mold and asbestos in there can’t kill us.” Riley laughed. “Right! Anyway, I don’t feel like trying to fix this right now. Let’s load up the rocket in my car and we can bring it back later after maintenance fixes the door.” … Thirty minutes later, Marco was starting to wish they’d been able to get into the hangar. Partially, it was because of the inconvenience of needing to store part of the rocket at home and bring it back to Alameda Field later. Also, he was worried that SOAR would somehow be blamed for breaking a lock that hadn’t been replaced since the 1940s. However, his regrets were mostly because the hangar had a bathroom. During the test preparations, Marco had drained nearly two water bottles. He didn’t trust the water in Alameda; he’d heard that sometime before the Navy abandoned the airfield, the ground had been contaminated with lead and other heavy metals. Visiting students were encouraged to bring enough water to last them through the day, and Marco had obeyed. It was like a math problem: The passage of time (several hours) and the number of bathroom trips he’d had (zero) produced the results: The water had left the tap in Oakland. He’d carried it to Alameda in his bottle. The water had left the bottle in Alameda. He was carrying the water back to Oakland in his bladder. The water was threatening to leave his bladder at some point on the highway between Alameda and Oakland. His saving grace was that Riley had quickly grown bored of the traffic jam that stretched off into the distance and had talked for a while about an upcoming SpaceX launch, which distracted Marco from his problem. “…anyway, I think they’ll probably get it right eventually, but I still wouldn’t trust them to move past the satellite market for now,” Riley was saying. “There’s no way they’ll get their timeline to work, especially since they destroyed their launchpad in Texas during the last test.” “Oh, yeah,” Marco said. “I think they got in trouble with the FAA.” “Hey, when you’re back home do you ever go down to watch the SpaceX launches?” Marco shook his head. “Too far. Remember, I live in El Paso, and they launch in Boca Chica. It would take thirteen hours of driving just to get there.” “Jesus. Texas is fucking huge.” “Yeah. I still can’t really get used to it.” “What do you mean, get used to?” “My family moved to El Paso in middle school. I never told you?” Riley took a sip from his water bottle in the cupholder. “I don’t think so.” “Huh. I thought I had. Anyway, I was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My dad worked for the university, as an anthropologist studying Pueblo culture. Eventually he got really interested in pre-Columbian trade routes between Central America and the Colorado Plateau, so he wanted to spend some time closer to Mexico. Luckily, the University of Texas campus in El Paso was hiring, so the summer after eighth grade we packed up and moved south.” “That sounds like it would have been rough.” “I mean, kind of? I missed Albuquerque, but we still had a ton of family up there, so we got back a lot. And, you know, I’ve never been the kind of person who’s great at making friends, so it wasn’t like I was leaving behind a lot of people in Albuquerque I cared about. The real hard part was starting over with zero friends in El Paso.” Marco took a deep breath. Why am I telling him this? Riley was his friend, sure, but Marco had always been reluctant to talk with his friends about the personal details of his life. He’d always considered it better to just talk about trivial items. At a few times in his life he’d wondered if maybe his few friendships would have felt more meaningful if he’d made more of an effort to engage emotionally, but it seemed less risky to just stay the course and talk about the little things. So why was he suddenly being so talkative now? You idiot. Now Riley’s going to know you didn’t have any friends in high school. And who wants to talk to a friendless loser? But Riley just leaned over in his seat, taking his eyes off the gridlocked traffic and looking directly at Marco. “Yeah, high school was rough for me too like that, with the pandemic and everything. It must have been way worse to be uprooted like that. I’m glad all that’s behind us and we can just make the most of where we’re at now.” Marco blinked. He was expecting judgement, scorn, anything except a genuine emotional connection that had been returned with sincerity. Another thing that he wasn’t expecting was that he didn’t have to pee as badly as he did a few minutes prior – he’d uncrossed his legs. “Yeah. Well, to be honest, it was the little things in El Paso that were the hardest. It’s not too different to Albuquerque… It’s hotter, and there’s nowhere you can go to get out of the desert. Albuquerque had mountains. And obviously the main thing is that El Paso is in Texas, and I’ve told you before how I feel about that particular state government.” Riley grinned. “If I recall, in addition to your legitimate complaints you also blamed the governor for getting you rejected from Caltech.” “And I ended up at Rockridge instead, so don’t make fun of me. Anyway, the real thing is that I just felt a little out of place in El Paso. It’s weird, but… El Paso is more Mexican than New Mexico. So being Hispano, and having specific New Mexican heritage, and then coming down to Texas, it puts you in a weird in-between spot culturally.” “How so?” “Oh, it’s hard to explain. Just, you know, because of three centuries of history, and endless socioeconomic stuff since then, it just feels different. There’s a lot of culture shock when you’re going someplace where there’s a stronger dividing line between who is and isn’t Mexican. And, on a smaller note, Tex-Mex is not as good as New Mexican style cooking. Sometimes my family would drive north to Las Cruces just to get proper New Mexican food.” “And what’s the difference?” “That would also be too hard to explain to somebody who’s used to Nor-Cal slop.” “Hey!” Marco grinned mischievously. “Hey, I had a breakfast burrito last week with kale in it. I wouldn’t give that burrito to a dog.” Riley laughed again. “Oh, man, I didn’t come here for a lecture. When is this traffic going to move?” “Oh, so you’re crumbling under my vicious attacks of Cali-Mex food?” “No, I just really need to pee.” Marco’s smile vanished. “Oh.” His need had abated for now, but he was still anxious to get in front of a urinal. “Yeah, me too. Let me check my phone… looks like the traffic clears up right at the Rockridge exit.” They were nearly there, but the highway was practically at a standstill. Cars inched forward, filling every bit of empty space between their bumpers; there were subway tracks in the median of the highway, and Riley watched as a train rumbled past. He really, really wished he was on it. “I’ve never seen traffic this bad before,” Riley said. “I remember one time in senior year I was driving back to Santa Cruz and there was a bad wreck ahead of me.” He winced. “But since that was just a little mountain road I was just able to pull over and water a tree. No chance of that here.” “What were you doing in San Jose?” “I was going to a soccer game with my boyfriend.” Marco perked up at that statement. “Wait, you had a boyfriend? I didn’t realize that you, I mean...” “Yeah, we kind of just went our separate ways after graduation. He’s at Yale now.” For some reason Marco felt very excited by this information. “What about you?” Riley asked. “Any high school romance?” “The exit is closed up ahead,” Marco abruptly replied. “What?” “The Rockridge exit. Is closed.” He pushed his knees together. “Godammit, I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.” “Okay, don’t panic.” “I say panic.” Riley gripped the wheel. “Panic if you want, I’m getting us out of here.” He swerved the car into a gap and moved into the left lane. A few seconds later, they broke through the end of the jam and discovered that the backlog had been caused by a closed lane that had blocked off the Rockridge exit and choked the eastbound traffic on the highway down to two lanes. Riley slammed his foot down on the accelerator and weaved between slower cars as he moved back to the outside lane, veering towards the next exit. They were high up in the hills now, probably over a mile from Rockridge. Marco pulled out his phone and pulled up a map, trying to figure out if it would be faster to get back on the highway or take surface roads back to campus. Looking up from his phone, he was dismayed to see that Riley had turned off the main road and started following signs for Temescal Recreation Area. “What are we doing here?” “Don’t worry,” Riley said, and eased the car into a parking spot next to some picnic tables. As soon as he cut off the ignition, he put his hands in his lap and started holding himself. Then he got out of the car, leaving Marco behind as he walked away from the road. Marco anxiously looked around. He could barely sit still, the need to piss was so bad – what was Riley doing? After a moment’s hesitation, he unbuckled and set off in pursuit of his friend. He caught up to Riley a few feet off the path. “Come on, I’m practically wetting myself. We need to get back to campus.” “No, we don’t,” Riley said, and unbuttoned his pants. Marco froze and felt his heart accelerate as Riley’s hands worked their way down the zipper and pulled the fabric of his jeans aside. With his left hand he opened the fly on his boxers and with the other hand took aim at the trunk of a nearby eucalyptus tree. A pale stream splashed against the bark and ran down into the dirt, where it trickled past dead leaves and Riley’s shoes. Riley leaned back and sighed. “Aren’t you going to join me, Marco?” Marco didn’t move. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh…” He thought back to the Amtrak incident and being caught in the parking garage outside the train station. It had been hard enough to relax when he thought he was alone, but now Riley was right there. “Is that an invitation?” Marco asked, awkwardly, then blushed. You did not just say that out loud, he told himself. Riley turned towards Marco slightly, giving him a clear view of the stream arcing towards the stream in a perfect parabola. He smiled a little and raised his eyebrows. “Maybe it is.” Marco frantically looked around. There had to be a bathroom around somewhere! But he’d had so much to drink in Alameda, and he could hear Riley sighing contentedly, and he could hear Riley’s stream striking the ground- There wasn’t time to find a bathroom. There wasn’t even time to find his own tree. Frantically, fumblingly, he darted next to Riley and unzipped his own pants. Soon, there were two golden streams splattering against the bark. Marco and Riley stood about a foot apart. Each had a wide stance, and both their gazes were turned towards the point of contact between the tree and their streams. They both stood there for a moment, but then Marco redirected himself slightly and moved his stream up the tree. A second passed before Riley noticed, but then they both started laughing and trying to compete on height. Nearly twenty seconds passed and both of them were still going strong, alternately swinging their flows up to new heights on the tree and stepping back to compete on distance. In all the chaos their puddles merged and encroached on their shoes, but they didn’t mind. After spending nearly an hour cooped up in the car, dancing around like idiots in the woods felt almost as good as pissing itself. Despite starting later, Marco finished up first. He shook himself off and started to tuck himself away, but then his eyes caught Riley’s stream and for the first time his gaze went up to the source. He’d only caught brief glances of other guys’ cocks in the locker room in high school, and he hadn’t paid much attention then. Now, however, he blushed as he realized that he was reluctant to pry his eyes away from Riley’s body and his stream, which was finally starting to die down. Standing next to him, Riley noticed that Marco had froze and turned to face him, dick still in hand. Quickly, his attention was also drawn downwards. Then their gazes met, and they both realized where the other been looking just a few seconds ago. Marco awkwardly zipped up his pants as fast as he could, red with embarrassment as he realized that his underwear was feeling tight. He hastily turned away from Riley and rushed back towards the car, then waited for him to emerge from the woods. Marco dreaded the thought of Riley’s return. Marco couldn’t wait for Riley to return. Both of these feelings were true in alternating moments. Maybe Marco wasn’t sure what he wanted. … The old Toyota pulled up outside of a low-rise apartment building with a brick façade. The building had recently been renovated for seismic upgrades, but it still bore a distinct mid-century aesthetic. Marco liked its architecture, which was good, because this was where he lived. Marco and Riley hadn’t said much during the short drive back to campus, but as Marco went to retrieve his backpack from the trunk, Riley stopped him. “Hey, uh… thanks for helping out with the rocket today.” “Yeah,” Marco said. “It’s not like I had anything else going on.” Riley smiled. “I had a good time.” Marco wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Luckily, after a moment, Riley spoke up again. “I’m going to a concert in San Francisco with a friend next weekend. Maybe you’d like to tag along?” “I’ll be there.” Riley grinned and started the engine. “Have a great week, Marco.” The car drove off, leaving Marco standing alone on the sidewalk. He looked up towards the building; from the street, it was just possible to see through the window into his apartment on the third floor. Marco just stood there for a minute before fishing his key out of his pocket and staring to climb the last few flights of stairs between him and home. As he climbed, multiple thoughts rattled through his brain, but eventually one rose to the forefront of his mind: Looks like my boring summer in Rockridge just got interesting.
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