Chapter 9

As soon as we got in Mum said. “Put your tennis skirts on, they’re in your room ready.”

We dumped our wet towels and bathing dresses in the kitchen and made our way upstairs.

Mum called behind us. “It might be a good time to practice your cunilingus, dinner will be forty five minutes, try a sixty nine. Do it before you start revision”

Mum had told us about sixty nine, but we had never tried it yet. I got on the bed first, awkwardly trying to work out where I needed to be to fit with Erica, and then Erica got on the bed with her feet on the pillow, and her fanny about half a metre away from my mouth!

I wriggled down the bed trying to get my fanny a bit nearer Erica’s mouth while trying to reach Erica’s fanny with my tongue.

It took a few minutes before we managed to work ourselves in to a comfortable position, our shoulders resting on one another’s thighs.

As I set my tongue to work on Erica’s clitoris I could feel her doing the same to me. It began to feel like I was licking my own fanny we were so in unison. I was shuddering, and I could feel my stomach muscles convulsing as Erica brought me to the edge as I must have been doing to her.

As I felt myself tipping over the edge I was holding Erica’s hips so firmly that I thought I would break her pelvis. I thrust my face in to her crotch and relaxed my bladder.

I felt Erica’s pee pulse in jets on my face and run down soaking my hair and dripping off my ear.

I let my bladder empty, and Erica did the same as we just lay there. We were not in a very natural position, but it just felt so comfortable that neither of us moved for what must have been ten minutes.

Eventually mum knocked on the door and came in. “I was going to get your school clothes for the washing, but I see you are still wearing them. Bring them down when you come.”

Mum made no comment on our state of dishevelment.

The spell was broken, and we disentangled ourselves.

We both squeezed in to the bathroom and tried to sort our pee soaked hair out over the one sink at the same time. We took it in turns with the showerhead to rinse one another off, then we dried our hair as best we could with our towels and went back to our room to use the hair dryer and get changed.

We made a pile of soggy school skirts, stockings, blouses, and bras. We then put on our tennis skirts and casual tops.

We could not help getting in front of our mirrors and sorting our faces out. They did need a lot of sorting.

As we were sitting at our mirrors Erica asked. “Are we good feminists, should we be allowing dad to pee on us like he does, are we yielding to the patriarchy?”

I asked a rhetorical question. “Do you like dad peeing on us?”

Erica puzzled. “Well, if you put it like that, of course I do. What is not to like about the warmth of being peed on.”

We said no more and went downstairs, not actually resolving whether we were good feminists or not.

We added the soggy school uniforms to the pile of wet clothes in the kitchen and then went in to the lounge and sat on the sofa watching ‘Pointless’ on the telly.

We had only been there a few minutes when we heard dad come in the front door.

Mum called out to dad. “Girls are in the lounge ready for you.”

Dad came in the lounge and put his lunchbox down on the coffee table, and unzipped.

Dad stood in front of us and started to pee, initially soaking the front of my tennis skirt before soaking Erica’s the same. He played the jet around on Erica’s skirt getting it soaking wet all the way down to the hem and up to the waistband and both left and right, and then concentrating his jet on Erica’s crotch area for a while.

I looked on anticipating getting the same, then as expected dad moved his focus back to me. He painted the whole of the front of my skirt with pee, and then finished off on my crotch, generating incredible warmth with his strong flow as his pee washed down between my thighs, pooling under my bottom until his flow waned.

I was very aware that I was sitting in a very wet place on the sofa, quite warm with the large amount of pee.

We both said in unison. “Thank you dad.” As dad zipped up and took his lunchbox out to the kitchen.

We remained sitting on the wet sofa and watched the last three rounds of ‘Pointless’ before mum called us to the dining room for dinner.

Dad went down the pub to watch football so we had dinner just with mum.

Our discussion of feminism earlier was still niggling me.

“Mum.” I asked. “Are we good feminists. Should we be living in a house with a man?”

Mum answered. “We can be good feminists without being perfect feminists. We can do what we can to get rid of the shackles of the patriarchy, but while we still live in a society riddled with the vestiges of patriarchal oppression we still have to fit in. Women who have come before have given us some power to shape the world to our needs, but there is still a long way to go.”

Erica asked. “But, why do we actually need dad in our house?”

Mum continued. “It is economics. Very few people, let alone women, can afford to live an independent life on their own and bring up children without support. Religion has imposed its own patriarchy and split women up so that on the whole each woman gets allocated as a prize to each man in the form of marriage. Until recently any woman having a child outside marriage, as well as being very poor, would be ostracised from society. You will hopefully in a few years have a good career and my support to bring up your children without any men around.”