Chapter 1

I have a confession. My sister and I used to pee on each other.

We grew up sharing a bathroom. Our bedrooms were at right angles to each other, and the bathroom was at the corner between, with a door opening into each room. There was nothing weird about that; when one of us was in there, we would just pull both doors closed, do what we had to do, then open the other one’s door a crack when we were done so they’d know the bathroom was free. Of course we could also tell when the other was in there because of the sounds and the light under the door, so we basically never intruded on each other by accident.

One day, though, my sister went into the bathroom and my door happened to be wide open. She didn’t close it, which was completely unexpected; we always shut the doors, even if the other bedroom was empty -- it was ingrained habit. And my bedroom was NOT empty -- in fact I was sitting on my bed, facing the bathroom, basically staring right at her as she pulled down her tights and plopped down onto the toilet. It’s not like she didn’t know; I was ten feet away from her. It was obviously an intentional act. I didn’t know what to make of it; it was completely out of character. Our family was, maybe not prudish exactly, but not really inclined to exhibitionism. I don’t think Emily and I had seen each other naked since we were preschoolers. Of course, she wasn’t naked now, either, and I couldn’t see all that much from ten feet away, but still -- what the hell?! I thought. You go to the bathroom in private! Everyone knows that! My sister was violating an utterly inviolable rule. I was shocked -- and of course I was intrigued.

At first I didn’t say anything at all. Partly because I couldn’t think of anything to say in the face of this absurdity, but also maybe because I was afraid of breaking whatever incomprehensible spell had come over her. I wanted to see what would happen next. I heard her stream of urine start (this, at least, wasn’t unfamiliar; the doors didn’t block sound very well) and finally blurted out, ridiculously, “Peeing, Em?” Our eyes met. She said, “mmm-hmm!” The whole exchange was so ridiculous that I couldn’t even laugh. I replied, “Oh, OK.” There was a pause, then she said, “wanna see?” I could already see, of course, but I took this as an invitation to get a closer look, got up off the bed, and quickly went over to catch what I could before the spell broke.

Emily was sitting on the toilet with her legs slightly spread. The stream was just petering out as I got there and I stood in front of her, looking down at the last few drops dribbling from her slightly spread labia. She wasn’t making any move to get up, so I knelt down on the bathmat to get a better look. Emily obligingly spread her legs even further apart. I’d never seen female anatomy up close, and stared intently. Her labia were glistening. There was an interesting odor, not at all unpleasant. It wasn’t really the smell of urine; it was something else. Because she hadn’t objected to having me staring at her parts from close up, I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me and ventured: “Can I touch?” Emily said, unhesitating, “OK!”

Hardly believing my luck, I gingerly reached out and lightly touched her vulva. A few stray drops of urine transferred themselves to my finger. Her labia felt soft and pillowy. It was nice. I kept feeling around for maybe thirty seconds -- it seemed much longer, as if time had frozen -- until Emily finally stood partway up and, startled, I jerked my hand away. She tore off a few squares of toilet paper and wiped, perfunctorily, then pulled up her tights. Not knowing what to say, I again came out with something absurd: “Thanks!” Em didn’t reply -- what was there to say, really? But she didn’t look unhappy about the encounter. Which seemed to be over for now. It would have been polite, perhaps, for me to reciprocate by pulling down my pants and going in front of her, but I didn’t have to pee right then. And besides, I had a “temporary issue” down there which would have made it difficult.

(Later that evening when I did have to go, I pulled the doors shut out of habit. While I was peeing it occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I thought it would be awkward to fling Emily’s door open in the middle of the act. And the next morning she shut the door before performing her morning ablutions, to my slight disappointment.)

About a week later, on an evening that our parents were out, I was sitting in my room and Emily did it again. This time, she was more direct - she simply stood in the open doorway, wearing a pink nightgown, and called out “Wanna watch me pee?” I most assuredly did. We got into our positions, me kneeling on the bathmat, Emily lifting up her nightgown - she was wearing nothing underneath - lowering herself onto the toilet and spreading her legs. I could smell the odd, slightly pungent not-urine odor again as I placed my curious nose and eyes as close to the action as I dared. There was a short pause, almost as if she were waiting to be sure I was ready; then the flow began. When she seemed to be done, without asking, I put my hand on her vulva, and was slightly taken aback to be rewarded by a second gush of urine. Maybe she’d kept some in reserve? I believe I was pretty nonchalant; while I suspect my surprise must have shown on my face, I didn’t jerk my hand away, but left it there unflinching as the warm liquid flooded over my hand.

Now, I want to stress that I didn’t, and to this day still don’t find anything inherently sexually exciting about urine. I’ve never really wanted to engage in urine play, golden showers or whatever it’s called, with my adult sexual partners. I asked my wife to pee on me once, many years ago, and -- while she was willing to try it -- like so many things we imagine might be fun in our fantasies, it didn’t really do anything for me when we did it. It involved a lot of preparation, putting down a mattress protector and such, we had trouble not cracking up when we were doing it, and it was messy and annoying to clean up afterwards. So much for that. My wife didn’t know about my history with Emily, at the time.

I don’t really know for sure whether Emily has a urine fetish. Maybe, maybe not. I think, though, that -- at least at first -- all this wasn’t so much about the peeing per se as it was the exposure. Emily wanted to expose herself to me, wanted me to see her doing something private, and peeing is a very a private thing. And she wanted to see me, too, as it quickly transpired. When she was done she asked me if I would pee for her. I wasn’t going to say no, and -- perhaps because of the surprise of having my hand peed on -- I had lost the erection I’d sprung when she first invited me to watch, so, as she wiped and got up, I obliged by pulling down my pajamas. As Emily watched intently, I aimed squarely at the center of the bowl, but -- oh, the embarrassment! -- nothing came forth. I actually had to go, but under the circumstances, I just -- couldn’t. It felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute or so before I mumbled something about not needing to pee right now.

Emily, who had been studying my genitalia with great interest, was undeterred. She asked if she could touch me. Turnabout is fair play, so, while I felt uneasy at the prospect, I nodded assent. Her fingers felt warm and not at all unpleasant as they explored my penis and scrotum, but the strangeness of it all kept me from getting excited. However, I suddenly realized that I did, in fact, have to pee. Very much. I warned, “Em, I’m going to go,” but she didn’t take her hand away, just made an attempt to aim me at the toilet. Unfortunately, lacking my experience with the equipment, she wasn’t aiming very well. I’m not sure why I didn’t help her out, but I did do my part by letting go with a healthy stream, only some of which ended up in the water. It didn’t help that her hand was partly in the way.

When it was over, her hand, the toilet seat, the floor to the sides and even behind the toilet, and the pink nightgown were all lightly, but visibly besprinkled. Somehow my lowered pajamas had escaped, apparently unscathed, and I pulled them up. I was burning with embarrassment, but Emily didn’t seem too perturbed. We used a lot of toilet paper (we had to flush twice) to wipe up the toilet and floor. I remember, for some inexplicable reason, she had lifted her nightgown up around her waist as we got down onto our hands and knees to clean up, and I got to see her bare butt while we crawled about. Finally, when we were done and had stood up and finished flushing the dirty toilet paper, Emily, quite suddenly, shimmied out of her nightgown and dropped it into our shared laundry hamper. For a few glorious moments she stood still right in front of me and I stared at her completely naked body for the first time I could remember. Then she turned around and went into her room, and I took that as a sign that the fun was over; I retreated to my own room, closing the bathroom door behind me, completely bemused and befuddled. With the lights out, I sniffed the faint odor that remained on my fingers, pictured Emily’s body, and touched myself with my other hand. It felt unfamiliar, but it wasn’t long before I couldn’t hold back and the good feeling arrived; my legs spasmed with the intensity. Unsure of what to do next, I fell into a deep sleep.

Another week passed until our parents left us alone again for an evening. This time we were watching TV, me in my pajamas, Emily in her pink nightgown. As we often did after we discovered what was on the high cable channels at night, we’d picked a nondescript movie we probably should not have been watching, utterly forgettable, with cheesy music, no coherent plot to speak of, and plenty of nudity (but no actual visible sex; there was never actual visible sex on TV that we knew of). Despite the pointlessness of the movie, we watched avidly, but in the middle Em got up and fetched a soda, and when she returned, she made the first move in an obvious game, lifting her nightgown, seemingly accidentally, to above her knees as she sat back down on her chair. We were facing each other sort of catty-corner and if I looked away from the TV, I could see her thighs and, since they were spread, a hint of what was between. The lady on the screen, meanwhile, was boringly naked, so I snuck peeks at Em instead, as I was obviously supposed to, and she kept the game going by moving the hem of the nightgown up progressively higher while pretending not to know she was doing it. By the time the tastefully disguised sex scene began, the pink nightgown was up around Em’s bellybutton and I wasn’t even pretending to look at the screen any more.

We were at an impasse, though, because Emily wasn’t saying anything, so finally I broke the silence: “Hey Em, do you need to pee?” She nodded, and without any further discussion we got up, switched off the TV, and retreated to the bathroom. I didn’t want to clean up pee again and I also wanted to see Emily naked. An idea was starting to form in my head. “Hey, maybe we should just go in the bathtub then wash it down.” Emily looked a bit dubious. “I mean -- so we don’t have to clean up like last time, you know?” She saw the logic and clambered into the dry tub, standing in the middle. I took off my pajama pants and then, after quick reflection, my top, and got in with her. Emily hiked her nightgown back up to her waist and spread her legs apart a little, but I said, “hey, you should take that off so it doesn’t get wet” -- rather illogically as she wasn’t at any risk of peeing upwards, but in any case she did what I suggested and tossed the gown in the general direction of her room. There we stood, brother and sister, both naked, waiting to see who would pee first. Finally, Emily’s stream started, and, since we seemed to have already established that it was OK for me to put my hand there, I just stuck it right into the flow. Little drops of pee splashed everywhere; on Emily’s legs, on my legs, and of course all over my hand. Emily giggled but kept going. Finally, when she was done, she said “Now you.” I was half-hard, but this time I didn’t find it too hard to start. I tried politely to aim away from her, at the side of the tub, but she grabbed me and started playing with it, aiming at my legs and then her own; soon we were both just as wet with my urine as we already were with hers.

When we were done, we both stood there kind of uncertainly. It wasn’t really obvious what the next step was supposed to be after peeing all over each other. This wasn’t covered in any guidebooks that I knew of. We just kind of looked at each other, and I slowly got hard, and Em stared at it as I tried to take in the sight of her nude body, glistening here and there with splashes of my urine and her own. Finally, she asked, “Does it always stand up like that after you pee?” I laughed nervously at the absurdity of the question. “No, sometimes it just gets hard like that. For no reason,” I lied, then added, slyly: “but then when I touch it, it feels good.” Emily looked very interested all of a sudden. “I ... when I need to pee, it gets itchy and it feels good when I touch myself” I didn’t really understand what she was getting at -- I’d never really associated my penis’s ability to make me feel good with its urinary function. We stood there awkwardly a little longer, and then I said, “Well ... better clean up,” and turned on the shower. We stood in the warm water for a minute, then grabbed towels and retreated to our own rooms to ponder what we’d just done.

It was a couple of weeks before our parents went out again, so of course we didn’t repeat this bizarre pee-fest. But Emily was acting very weird. Every time she went to the bathroom, if I was in my room, she closed her own door, but left mine wide open. By silent assent, I would go over and kneel down, she’d spread her legs, and I’d watch closely, breathing in that curious not-pee scent of hers that intermingled with the faint odor of the urine. When she was done I would reach between her legs and touch her for a while then, I guess when she’d had enough touching, she’d stand up and wipe. She didn’t pee outright on my hand again, but of course it was always wet down there. I didn’t wash my hands because I wanted to save the odors for later.

A couple of times, she had to do number two. On the first occasion, I had my hand on her vulva when she began to strain, and when she suddenly farted in preparation for the act I jerked my hand back in shock and, I’m afraid, a little bit of disgust. Pee was one thing, but I didn’t want anything at all to do with her defecation. I got up and went back to my room without saying a word. The next time, she spoke up when she finished peeing, before I began touching her: “I have to poo, too.” She spread her legs even wider, as if encouraging me to look, and I watched with mixed apprehension and curiosity as the turd emerged. The odor was tolerable, but not by any means pleasant and by the end I had satisfied whatever curiosity I had and realized that I didn’t really want to observe that particular act any more. I guess Emily understood because, after that, she’d close my door when she had to defecate, but leave it open when she only had to pee.

Beyond this strange toilet ritual, she was behaving oddly at other times, too. In the evening, if the two of us were watching TV (it wasn’t soft porn when our parents were around, of course), she’d sit there in a nightgown and put her legs up so that I could see everything. Or, if she was wearing a bathrobe, she’d let it slip open casually. All this was done in such a way that it wasn’t too obvious if Mom or Dad happened by; if they did, she’d shift her legs, or pull her robe closed, so that everything looked completely normal. But there was no question that she was showing off for me. And I didn’t really know what to make of it. Until all this had started, I’d never really been actively curious about my sister’s body, let alone had sexual thoughts about her. When you grow up with someone, familiarity overrides that kind of thinking. It never would have occurred to me before to wonder what Emily looked like naked. But now that she had begun, almost aggressively, showing herself off to me, I could think of nothing else. Looking at her exposed genitalia, I imagined that I could sense her excitement right there in the den, but it was probably just scent-memory.

By the end of an evening of TV and voyeurism I’d be so aroused I was ready to explode. I’d stumble back to my room and sit on my bed until Emily came into the bathroom; we’d take our positions and I’d watch, taking in the intoxicating odor, then touch, getting my hands moist with a mixture of her scent and stray drops of urine. I’d learned to touch her with my left hand. When we finished and went back to our rooms, I’d turn out the light and, breathing Emily in with my left hand and thinking of what I’d just seen, I’d bring myself to a swift climax with my right, then fall asleep almost immediately. I must have smelled pretty strong the next morning, with both Emily’s wetness and my own semen dried onto my hands, but of course there was no one there to notice before I got into the shower and washed all the evidence off.

The long-awaited day arrived: our parents had an evening out again. It was obvious from the way Emily kept looking at me that she was anticipating something happening as much as I was. Almost as soon as we were alone, I suggested to her that we both get undressed and stay that way the whole evening. She was game and we both stripped, then stood about awkwardly: it was too early for the soft porn on cable; we still hadn’t even eaten. We microwaved our TV dinners and sat in front of the tube to pretend to eat them and watch some inane sitcom while we looked at each other’s nakedness. Eventually we abandoned all pretense and just stared at each other, wondering what to do next I guess. Emily asked about what it felt like when it was hard and I told her it felt nice and invited her to touch it. She did so, getting right up close, touching it gingerly at first and then with increasing vigor, until I finally had to pull her hand away as I was afraid I’d lose it all over her face. I asked to look at her close up and she got on her hands and knees and spread herself a little so I could examine her vulva and her butt from behind. This was a view I’d hadn’t yet seen up close and I looked intently, trying to commit it all to memory along with the enticing scent. To this day I can remember it all vividly.

Eventually Em said it was getting itchy down there and she had to pee. I was a bit disappointed. The whole pee thing was weird and I wasn’t really sure, now that it came down to it, that I really wanted to end up in the bathtub peeing on each other again. I was enjoying just looking at her. But nature couldn’t be denied, I guess. We headed for the bathroom. Emily got in and sat on the side of the tub, spreading her legs. She explained, “It’s itchy, I need to rub a little and then it’ll come.” I didn’t know what to make of that, but sure enough, she reached down and began to rub herself. I assumed this was the equivalent of me jerking off, but I didn’t understand the connection with urination. When I masturbated, it didn’t help me pee -- quite to the contrary. Em was rubbing and squirming about a bit and I watched with fascination as she began to breathe hard and turn a little pink. Finally, after a minute or so, she gasped and, sure enough, the pee came in a great gush, reaching as far as the opposite wall of the bathtub.

When it was over, Emily said “Now you pee!” This posed kind of a dilemma. I was hard and there was no way I’d be peeing for a while. I could show her how I masturbated, but the result wasn’t going to be urine. Finally, I decided that masturbating for her would be the fairest thing, so I stood in the tub, facing the drain, right in front of where she was sitting so she could get a good look. She watched, engrossed, from mere inches away as I pulled my erection back and forth. I didn’t last very long; within a minute I groaned and spurted all over my hands. When I was done, I felt instantly awkward and embarrassed. What the living hell was I doing standing naked in a bathtub with my naked sister, with my semen dripping from my hands and the tub wet under my feet with her urine? I sighed and turned on the shower to wash the confusion and bodily fluids away. Emily stood up and got under the warm water with me. As I softened, I realized that I actually did need to pee. Doing it in the shower seemed expedient and I figured Emily had asked me too anyway, so I aimed at the drain and let loose as Emily watched.