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This story takes place a few months after the US Army posted me to Paris. I was working at something called the Office of Defence Cooperation, which is basically the US military’s portion of the American embassy in France, and I had just started dating this American girl named Emily. A civilian at the embassy whom I’m friends with had set me up with her — said she was like her third cousin or stepcousin or something; I can’t remember exactly. First date was a movie and then dinner at some cheap-as-dirt Persian place. No sex and honestly I didn’t think it was going anywhere, but then I get a text from Emily a few days later. She says that she’s just finished her last exam for the semester and wants to go to this EDM concert thing in the 4th arrondissement. Adds that one of her friends from school wants to tag along. So EDM’s not exactly my thing — I’m more of an indie rock person – but she says it’ll be fun and it’s not like I have much else going on.
Emily pulls off the girl-next-door look to a tee; she’s got a bit of acne scarring and I get the impression wears pretty much whatever she happens to pull off her bedroom floor in the morning, but she’s still really fucking pretty. She’s Caucasian, twenty-one, studying political science at the American University of Paris, and abroad for as long as she can manage to afford to be. Family is from some tiny Ohio town but apparently they haven’t talked in something like two years, so I’m told that it’s scholarship money, a side job waitressing at an expat restaurant, and microwaved ramen six times a week paying for school in Paris. She’s got messy brown hair typically pulled into a commensurately messy bun; habitually bites her lip; tells me that she cycles pretty much everywhere in Paris and I am inclined to believe her because it shows.
I meet Emily at the Châtelet metro station just a few minutes after noon. It’s a beautiful early June day and Paris is just starting to swelter in the summer heat. Emily is wearing an unbuttoned sheer sky-blue blouse with the sleeves rolled up overtop a racerback tank top, khaki chino short-shorts, and a weathered pair of hiking boots. The tank top accents Emily’s smallish breasts and the short-shorts draw my eyes to her pert ass. Standing beside Emily is another woman of about the same age. Emily introduces the woman as Olivia, her friend from school; she says they share a political philosophy class together.
Anyways, it turns out that Olivia is also really pretty. She has a Mediterranean complexion and speaks English with an accent I can’t quite place; shoulder-length black hair; nice breasts; big smile; I’m confident must regularly go to a gym. She is dressed in a floriated sundress that rides just about as high up her toned legs as I figure could be pulled off in respectable company. She completes the look with a pair of gladiator-style sandals and some cheap plastic sunglasses
So anyways, two hot women, and I’m thinking cool, maybe all of a sudden I like EDM. The three of us leave the metro station and head off. Outside, the narrow streets of the 4th are packed for the event and it is something of a struggle just to move.
We make slow progress but eventually manage to get into a decent position at the periphery of a speaker-laden stage set up in front of the Hôtel de Ville. It is impossible to get much closer because of the sheer number of people. Olivia and Emily are both good company as we make our way through the crowds. Olivia is amicable. Emily is more acerbic but has a good sense of humour and I enjoy the profanity-laced critiques she directs at anyone or anything that happens to annoy her for whatever reason.
We get drinks. I’m not a huge drinker but it makes the shows a bit more fun. I have no idea who’s actually performing and Emily and Olivia are more into it than I am but it’s still enjoyable. Lots of energy. Olivia pulls a bottle of Svedka from her backpack and starts mixing that with some bottled lemonade and passes a cup over to Emily. Pretty soon both women are clearly buzzed.
Anyways, we’re just into our third set from some Austrian artist whose exact name I couldn’t quite pick out when Olivia informs Emily and me that she – and I’m quoting here – “needs to take a quick pee.” Okay, I’m thinking, no big deal. I obviously like seeing girls peeing — that’s why I’m writing this story – but I figure Olivia’s just going to go and find a portable toilet or a McDonald’s or whatever and it isn’t going to turn into anything interesting. Still, I’m turned on just knowing that Olivia needs to relieve herself.
“Just wait,” Emily says, “this’ll be a short set.”
“Emily,” Olivia persists, “I really need to go.”
Emily sighs. “Fine,” she says. “Let’s go find a toilet somewhere.”
Olivia, Emily, and I push our way out of the crowd and start searching for a toilet for Olivia to use. Despite the number of people out for the festival, none of us are immediately able to locate any toilets. It is pretty obvious that either the city or the event organizers or both fucked up on that count. I suppose çankaya escort that Olivia could try and step into a shop and ask to use the washroom, but I get the feeling that the upscale businesses of the 4th are not likely to be particularly accommodating to an inebriated noncustomer looking to take a piss. Olivia doesn’t even bother trying and I figure has probably arrived at the same conclusion.
After what I think must be nearly ten minutes searching, I eventually spot a lone portable toilet set up for a nearby construction site and point it out to Olivia. Surprisingly, the lineup isn’t too bad; just a handful of people. Olivia thanks me, hands her bottle of Svetka off to Emily, and then hurries off in the direction the toilet. Emily rolls her eyes and refills her plastic cup with more lemonade and more vodka.
“You know,” Emily remarks from beside me, “she’s barely even drunk. She had, I don’t know, maybe like three cups of coffee before we came here. She bought a Nespresso machine in a rummage sale a week ago. Can’t stop using it.”
I laugh. Ask Emily if she is also into coffee. Say I know a few good places from doing coffee runs for the embassy.
Emily smiles. “Is that you looking for another date?” she asks. “That’s pretty confident of you.”
Emily and I stand there and chat like that for a few more minutes. Over by the portable toilet, Olivia doesn’t appear to have moved up even one spot in the queue. I quickly realize that the lineup hasn’t moved at all since Olivia joined it. I see the man first in line to use the toilet knock and then knock again on the door without achieving anything. Door remains closed and the little latch indicator still shows red and locked. The queue only gets longer.
Five full minutes pass before Olivia gives up. “Guys,” she says, running back to us and pressing her legs tightly together. “I really can’t wait much longer!”
Olivia, Emily, and I go back to searching the streets for a toilet. By now, Olivia is obviously frantic to piss, and I’m starting to get the feeling that she might soon be forced to do something desperate. I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s leaking just a little into her panties or is perhaps considering squatting behind a dumpster or something.
Eventually, we find a collection of portable toilets set up in the middle of a boulevard, but I know immediately that it’s not going to be of much help to Olivia. One the toilets has been knocked onto its side and the few still standing are obviously overmatched by the enormous lineup of people waiting to use them.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Olivia seethes. “That’s a lot of people.”
“Can you hold it?” Emily asks.
Olivia shakes her head. “Fuck no,” she responds. “And I’m not standing in that line.”
“So?” Emily scoffs. “You’re going to do it in the street then?”
Olivia doesn’t answer. Instead, she rushes off in the direction of the closest side street. Emily and I follow close behind, both of us running to keep pace with Olivia and dodging pedestrians as we move. The side street Olivia proceeds down turns out to be no less busy than the street she just turned off, and she continues on past well-attended brasserie verandas, upscale boutiques attended to by window shoppers, and a guitarist hopelessly attempting to busk above the rumbling of distant EDM music. Eventually, Olivia arrives at the far end of the block. I notice her take a deliberative look at a Morris column situated nearby, and for a moment I’m wondering if she’s going to piss right there, but then she takes notice of the number of pedestrians passing by and hurries on down the next street.
Olivia only makes it halfway down the street before coming to a halt beside an insurance office. “I can’t — I can’t hold it any longer,” she says, turning to Emily and me. “I’m just gonna do it here, okay?”
Olivia doesn’t give Emily or me the opportunity to talk her out of the decision. Rather, she takes a quick glance up and down the street and then rushes to the limited privacy offered by the recessed entrance to the insurance office.
I take quick stock of Olivia’s situation. The weekend has the insurance office closed for business and through the office’s glass entrance doors the building appears dark and empty. The street is relatively quiet; a few pedestrians are milling about some distance away but I can’t see anyone who is likely to intrude upon Olivia. Still, Olivia’s spot beside the insurance office doors is overlooked by a plethora of Haussmann apartments and is hardly out of the view of any potential passersby. Should someone on the far side of the street happen to look out their window or some driver or cyclist go by, they would no doubt be provided with a clear view of Olivia relieving herself right in the street.
Unsure of what else to do, I stand a few feet away and do my awkward best to pretend like I’m paying no attention to the hot woman who is just about to begin pissing just a few feet away from me. Meanwhile, Emily pulls out her phone and leans cebeci escort back against the glass façade of the insurance office. I can’t help but note that she now has her own legs crossed tightly together.
“Matt?” Olivia says from behind me. “Sorry to ask, but would you be able to do something to give me a bit of privacy while I do this?”
A little disappointed but still trying to be courteous, I start walking further down the street and away from Olivia.
I only get a few steps before Olivia calls out to me again. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she laughs. “Could you stand in front of me?”
Fuck, I think. Of course I can.
A moment later, I am situated in front of Olivia’s nook with her located just a few feet behind me. I can’t see anything but I still try to imagine the scene taking place right behind me and try my best to listen for the sound of Olivia pissing. Despite my best efforts, all I am able to make out is the muffled pounding of dance music from the next block over and the squall of a more distant police siren. Still, in my mind, I see Olivia desperately hiking up her dress and sliding her underwear, a pair of night-black bikini panties decorated with pink polka-dots and a little bow, just to the side of her unshaved vulva just moments before piss starts spraying out from her cunt. In another fantasy variation, Olivia has opted not wear any panties and just stands in the alcove with her skirt hiked up just a bit and her legs spread wide apart as she stands and empties her overfull bladder onto the street.
But it’s all imagination. Rather than being able to see Olivia, I’m instead looking at nothing more interesting than a boarded-up jewelry store and a couple of parked mopeds. And I’m starting to figure I’m not going to be able to hear anything interesting either.
I’ve resigned myself to that disappointment when I hear a slight liquid trickle coming from right behind me. I don’t know if I had convinced myself that I wasn’t going to actually hear anything or that Olivia would suddenly find that she doesn’t really need to pee, but somehow I’m more than a little shocked to realize that Olivia is actually urinating in semi-public just a couple of feet from where I am standing.
The sound of Olivia’s urine trickling against the street only lasts for a couple of seconds before once again all I can hear is dance music and police sirens. A few more seconds pass and despite my best attempts to pick out the sound of Olivia peeing, I am unable to hear anything. Again, I’m a little disappointed. Olivia had looked like she was about to burst just a few moments earlier, but from what I just heard she ended up taking something like the smallest pee ever.
Whatever, I think. Still awesome. And then I hear Olivia release what I’m sure must be a huge spurt of piss from right behind me. There is a brief pause and then there I hear a second spurt of piss. And then another. I look down at my feet and notice that there is suddenly a small river of urine snaking down from the door behind me and through the cracks in the sidewalk. The entire area suddenly smells of what I know is Olivia’s urine.
“Matt?” Olivia calls out a moment later, voice rather casual as she speaks over the sounds of her releasing yet another spurt of piss onto the street. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tissues? That I could use?”
I answer that I think I do and, after some searching, manage to find a couple of paper napkins in my pocket lodged beside my wallet. I pull them out and hold them beside me for Olivia to grab. It occurs to me that Olivia didn’t bother to ask the same favour of Emily.
I wait expectantly for Olivia to reach out and grab the napkins from my hand, but she doesn’t. I wait a few seconds and then a few more but I still find myself standing there with a wad of napkins in my hand.
“Can you pass those over?” insists Olivia from close behind me. She punctuates the question by releasing another squirt of urine that splatters particularly loudly against the ground.
I turn around a bit, feeling a bit apprehensive, and find myself still standing there clutching the napkins. I’m sure that Olivia could grab the napkins if she wanted but I turn around a little bit further and then I’m staring right at Olivia. Olivia has the hem of her sundress hiked up to around her waist and a pair of navy blue bikini panties lowered to just above her knees as she half-squats above a sizeable pool of urine. She gives me — and I’m pretty certain at this point that she is intentionally giving me — a completely unobstructed view of her pert twenty-something-year-old cunt. I see that she has shaved away most of her raven black pubic hair but allowed a carefully trimmed bikini line to remain. Her pinkish lips are gaping open and dripping with piss.
“Merci,” smiles Olivia, making casual eye contact as she reaches out and nonchalantly picks the napkins out of my hand.
I nod and tell her that it was no problem. I’m not sure exactly what else to say.
Olivia responds çubuk escort by lowering herself into a slightly deeper squat. She is still making eye contact with me when I see her cunt quiver just slightly and see her release yet another squirt of piss. Wow, I think. I’ve known this woman for like an hour, she’s really cute, and now I’m standing in a Parisian street just a few feet away from her while she urinates. And apparently she doesn’t give a fuck if I watch.
I am still staring at Olivia when Emily looks up from her phone and sees what is going on.
“Fuck, Olivia,” Emily comments. “You’re really giving him quite the view, aren’t you?”
I spin around as fast as I can and apologize quickly to Emily. Olivia responds to her friend by putting on a confused expression and glancing around for the source of her friend’s concern. After an exaggerated scan of the area, Olivia’s eyes fall on me. “Oh, Emily,” she gasps, covering her mouth with one hand in faux shock. “I had no idea he was watching.”
Emily rolls her eyes and taps her foot against the ground impatiently. “Just hurry up and finish, okay?”
Olivia’s only response is to release another squirt of piss. I notice that Emily now has a hand pressed against her crotch in addition to her crossed legs, and when I hear Olivia’s urine splattering one more time against the pavement, I notice that Emily holds herself particularly tightly. I realize that Emily needs to pee too.
I hear a final, faltering squirt and an elastic snap and then Olivia reappears beside me. She flashes me a little grin and, when Emily isn’t looking, teasingly sticks her tongue out at me.
“Finally,” Emily says.
“What’s the hurry?” Olivia asks.
“I, um,” Emily blushes. “I gotta go too.”
I ask Emily if she can hold it a bit longer until we find a public toilet that I know isn’t available or a more sympathetic restaurant that I know isn’t nearby. I’m just trying to be polite – I can tell just looking at her that she isn’t going to be able to hold it.
Emily shakes her head. “I can’t wait,” she responds. “I need to do it now.”
From my sentry position, I watch Emily dash into the nook, hiking boots splashing through the sea of urine left by Olivia as she moves, and see her begin unfastening the skinny belt accompanying her shorts. I take in the scene for as long as I figure I can get away with before about-facing. I’m turned on as fuck at this point but I’m still trying to be at least a bit polite.
“It’s fine,” Emily says to me just as I turn away. “I don’t care if you watch. Just don’t let some pervert cop ticket me for doing this, okay?”
Unbelievable, I think. I stop turning, nod, and reassure her that no one is looking. I don’t know if that’s true or not — there’s no one on the street that I can see, but there is little I can do to account for the apartment windows overviewing Emily’s position across the street.
I watch Emily hurriedly unbutton her fly and tug her chino shorts down to around her knees. Beneath the shorts, Emily is wearing a pair of g-string panties made from a pink lavender cotton embroidered with little images of strawberries. The panties conceal about as little as possible; the contours of Emily’s cunt are clearly profiled through the g-string’s thin fabric and the only thing covering Emily’s ass is a gossamer-thin strip of elastic that only partially manages to cover her anus. I’m a little shocked by Emily’s choice of panties; for whatever reason I hadn’t expected that she would choose to wear something quite so revealing. Yeah, I think. But it’s super hot.
Emily hesitates before going further. I see her glance upwards to the overlooking windows of the apartment on the opposite side of the street and then up and down the road and sidewalk. She thumbs nervously at the string waistband of her panties.
And then, apparently unable to hold it any longer, Emily slides her g-string down to around her knees, squats opposite the glass entrance door to the insurance office, and spreads her legs wide apart. Suddenly I’m looking at Emily’s outie cunt, bare ass, and landing strip of dark brown pubic hair.
“Wow, Emily,” Olivia laughs. “And you thought I was giving him quite the view?”
“Fuck off,” Emily retorts.
“Rude,” Olivia giggles.
A moment later, Emily releases a massive jet of piss from her cunt. Her stream hits the pavement with a telltale splashing and the sound carries across the otherwise quiet Parisian street.
“Oh, fuck,” Emily gasps. “I really needed that.”
I don’t doubt her; Emily pisses and pisses and pisses. At first her stream just sprays down the ground between her feet, but a moment later it begins shooting well past her boots, and a moment after that it starts splattering up the base of glass door of the insurance office situated across from her. Emily looks to be focused entirely on maintaining her balance and keeping her clothing dry and doesn’t pay any attention to where exactly she’s pissing.
I’m watching Emily’s urine streak down the glass door when I realize it’s not just pooling up at the threshold as I had expected it to; rather, I notice that a fair bit of urine is seeping under the door and starting to spread across the insurance office’s tile floor. Emily, clearly unaware of the mess she’s creating, just goes on peeing.
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