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There were three of us sitting in the bar that night. I was thinking of getting up and going home, even though it was still pretty early, but before I could speak to make my excuses, Romeo, who had been brooding all evening, abruptly spoke up.

"I dunno what's getting into me, guys" he looked at Bob, then at me. I observed for the first time that he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. "The other night, I woke up from a dream... one of those dreams that wakes you up with an incredible hard on and an unbearable desire to get right back to sleep and right back into the dream."

This was gonna be good. I forgot all about going home, and settled comfortably in my chair.

"I was laying there, fingering my stiff cock, considering consummating what the dream had started, when I suddenly heard someone peeing. Most of the time, I wouldn't have noticed, but in the middle of the night, when everything's so quiet, all noises seem loud.

"In the dark, I visualized the girl in the apartment next door, squatting over her toilet. In my mind's eye, I imagined her pussy, hairless and glistening, with a stream of golden piss flowing out and down to splash in the bowl. The sound kept going and going and going. I took a firm grip on my prick and started to pump. By the time she stopped peeing, I was well on my way to cumming. I noticed that she had stopped, and was sorry for a moment that I hadn't cum right at that moment. Then I came one of those really good cums where the heat keeps pumping through your prick. I caught the jism in my hand and wiped it on the t shirt I had left on the floor before I went back to sleep. If it hadn't been for finding the shirt in the morning, I would have probably figured the whole thing had been a dream.

"Now, what I want to know is, does it make me a pervert if I liked hearing that girl pee?"

Bob laughed. "It was probably her boyfriend, you goon. That makes you a faggot!" We hit him at the same time, one fist in each shoulder. He frowned and rubbed. "Hey, it's true, ain't it? If he was jacking off to some guy pissing, he's gotta be gay!"

I decided to ignore him. "Sure it makes you strange, Romeo," I provided, "but strange is all right as long as you ain't like Bob." Bob glared at me. "I mean, who cares if you get off on peeing, or poodles, or inflatable pandas in polyester pants? Does it hurt anybody?"

"Well, that all depends on what you're doing to the poodle, Doc," Bob supplied.

I was pretending it was an academic question, but under the table I had an enormous stiff. Imagining some girl's glistening gash gushing gleaming gold was getting to me, too. Hell, I was even making up bad verse about it in my head!

The conversation drifted on to other matters, and I forgot about it until about a half hour later when I went to the can to siphon off some excess beer. As I watched the arc of piss splashing against the back of the urinal, I pictured, once again, that gleaming pussy, spouting a similar nectar.

In fact, that image came back to me every time I peed over the following week, not to mention occurring to me when I was at work or talking to my mother on the phone. It became an obsession with me. I went to the porno shop looking for a magazine or tape featuring golden showers, but the place only had fairly standard stuff like ass fucking, S