The Crystal Carafe
She was holding a bottle of wine when she opened the door. A smile
brightened her face. I was excited about seeing her, this being our third date,
all I could think about for the past three days. For a moment I just stared. It
was more than her natural beauty, or her short blonde hair, or her feminine
body, or the smile that had rested in my mind since the moment I met her—I
was fascinated by her mind.
She was wearing a gauzy white cotton dress that came to just above her
knees, the kind that slips down over the head and is held up by narrow straps
draped over the shoulders. It highlighted her hips, which were firm and well-
developed for a girl this thin. Her hair had been recently washed and
appeared to have dried naturally. She was barefoot. I felt relaxed and
comfortable right away.
We met the day she visited my office as a sales rep for a corrugated
container company. Taken right away, I sat behind my desk pretending to
listen to her sales pitch. A date was what I was actually thinking about—how
to go about asking her for one. We had dinner that night. We went to a play
a couple of nights later. After the play, over a glass of wine in the theater
lounge, she invited me to her sixth floor apartment that overlooks the river
come Friday night. Said she’d enjoy a quiet evening with me, promised to
make it memorable. I’ve thought of nothing else since.
Looking into her eyes as I stood just outside of her door, it dawned on me
that I was to end up in bed with her, not that I hadn’t thought of that during
the last three days; but by seeing her, I could almost feel her in my arms. It
felt like our chemistry was in sync and had already begun to work its magic.
She took my hand and I followed her through the living room and we
stepped out on the balcony. Not a word had been said. It seemed we were
communicating with our silence, that the evening was to be enjoyed without
pretense or games, enjoyed just because we were together. She invited me to
sit down and then went about uncorking the wine, handing me a glass as she
joined me. During the next hour, we finished the bottle and got a good start
on the second, talking about the city and the different things we liked. I had
never felt this comfortable with anyone.
Eventually the wine made me aware of my bladder and I asked directions
to the bathroom. “Can you wait?” she asked. “There’s something I want to
show you.”
Odd, I thought, that she wouldn’t simply wait until I got back from the
bathroom to show me whatever it was; but curious, I nodded.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then stood and I watched her go back into the
apartment. The gauze dress was sheer. The light from inside the apartment
showed through and I could see the apex of her legs and wondered if she had
on panties. The dress defined the crack of her ass, which caused a reaction
behind my fly.
She returned with a small wooden box, inside which were rolling papers a
bag of pot. “Do you smoke?” she asked.
I looked into her eyes and said yes, which I would have said even if I didn’
t. Then she rolled a masterful joint, and after a few hits, I was thinking about
being in bed with her and not much else, except my bladder. When we
finished the joint I inquired again about the bathroom.
“I’ll go with you,” she said and came to her feet.
I wondered what she meant. Did she intend to show me where it was, or
were we to use the toilet at the same time? I followed a bit nervously.
She walked in with me. I felt disoriented. Evidently we were about to get to
know each other a lot better, except her presence affected my urge to pee.
She lit a few candles on the counter and then looked at me and smiled; and
just like that, off came her dress. No panties. Nothing. Mesmerized, my
eyes could not resist her body. Her breast were small, not much more than
significant rises in her chest, the most feminine chest I had ever seen. Her
nipples were large and puffy, and erect, most likely because I was staring at
them. She looked natural and at ease with her nudity, her waist narrow, her
belly flat, her pussy almost completely shaven, all of which contributed to my
labored breathing.
From the counter she took a crystal carafe and sat down with it on the side
of the oversize tub. Her legs parted and she held the carafe between them,
just under and tilted toward her pussy. What had been a closed slit had been
spread open by two feminine fingers, revealing the glistening pink inner lips.
By the time I collected my wits, her yellow flow was spraying into the carafe.
My jaw dropped. I stood watching the carafe fill to about one third of its
capacity, then noticed she was looking at me.
“Your turn,” she said, offering the carafe.
At a loss, I stared at it for a moment, not at all certain I could do this. I
had never imagined a girl could be this forward, though my rapidly beating
heart told me it was thrilling.
“Like me to help?” she asked, which plunged me further into my
expanding state of stupidity. “Come a little closer.”
More than ever I was fascinated with her, and determined not to seem
naïve. I wanted to be with her, to keep up with her, to be the man she would
want to spend time with. I stepped closer and she sat the carafe on the floor
and immediately reached for my fly. Her aggression was in no way
threatening, but sensual and compelling. I watched her unbuckle my belt and
unzip my jeans, then felt a rush when she pulled them down my legs. My
cock sprang outward toward her face. She studied it for a moment before
taking it and aiming it into the mouth of the carafe.
I’ve never had anyone watch me pee. Certainly not a beautiful young
woman. She was not only watching, she was holding it for me. I felt self-
conscious. It seemed like my pee-hole had been plugged.
A few seconds passed. “Uh, not sure I can do this,” I confessed dismally. “I
really had to go before we came in here, but it seems to have gone away.”
“You haven’t done anything like this before, have you?” she asked.
“Guess I haven’t.”
“Do you like it?”
I swallowed again. My cock was throbbing between her fingers. “Yeah
… I mean, I like being with you. I’m trying.”
“Just give it a minute. It’ll come.”
I was catching up with her. This kind of intimacy with a girl I barely knew
left me breathless. I was enthralled by the way she had taken charge, by her
total lack of inhibition, by her patience in aiming my cock into the carafe. It
occurred to me, if the object was peeing together, why didn’t she sit on the
toilet and have me pee between her legs?
Finally a squirt. I heard the splash. It almost felt like an ejaculation. A
fever of desire warmed my entire body. Never had I felt such an urge, a need
actually, to get my arms around a woman, to get my cock inside her. The
squirt led to an erratic trickle, then finally my bladder let go—a full blown
stream. It sounded like water running into a half-full pail. Seemingly
She was holding a bottle of wine when she opened the door. A smile
brightened her face. I was excited about seeing her, this being our third date,
all I could think about for the past three days. For a moment I just stared. It
was more than her natural beauty, or her short blonde hair, or her feminine
body, or the smile that had rested in my mind since the moment I met her—I
was fascinated by her mind.
She was wearing a gauzy white cotton dress that came to just above her
knees, the kind that slips down over the head and is held up by narrow straps
draped over the shoulders. It highlighted her hips, which were firm and well-
developed for a girl this thin. Her hair had been recently washed and
appeared to have dried naturally. She was barefoot. I felt relaxed and
comfortable right away.
We met the day she visited my office as a sales rep for a corrugated
container company. Taken right away, I sat behind my desk pretending to
listen to her sales pitch. A date was what I was actually thinking about—how
to go about asking her for one. We had dinner that night. We went to a play
a couple of nights later. After the play, over a glass of wine in the theater
lounge, she invited me to her sixth floor apartment that overlooks the river
come Friday night. Said she’d enjoy a quiet evening with me, promised to
make it memorable. I’ve thought of nothing else since.
Looking into her eyes as I stood just outside of her door, it dawned on me
that I was to end up in bed with her, not that I hadn’t thought of that during
the last three days; but by seeing her, I could almost feel her in my arms. It
felt like our chemistry was in sync and had already begun to work its magic.
She took my hand and I followed her through the living room and we
stepped out on the balcony. Not a word had been said. It seemed we were
communicating with our silence, that the evening was to be enjoyed without
pretense or games, enjoyed just because we were together. She invited me to
sit down and then went about uncorking the wine, handing me a glass as she
joined me. During the next hour, we finished the bottle and got a good start
on the second, talking about the city and the different things we liked. I had
never felt this comfortable with anyone.
Eventually the wine made me aware of my bladder and I asked directions
to the bathroom. “Can you wait?” she asked. “There’s something I want to
show you.”
Odd, I thought, that she wouldn’t simply wait until I got back from the
bathroom to show me whatever it was; but curious, I nodded.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then stood and I watched her go back into the
apartment. The gauze dress was sheer. The light from inside the apartment
showed through and I could see the apex of her legs and wondered if she had
on panties. The dress defined the crack of her ass, which caused a reaction
behind my fly.
She returned with a small wooden box, inside which were rolling papers a
bag of pot. “Do you smoke?” she asked.
I looked into her eyes and said yes, which I would have said even if I didn’
t. Then she rolled a masterful joint, and after a few hits, I was thinking about
being in bed with her and not much else, except my bladder. When we
finished the joint I inquired again about the bathroom.
“I’ll go with you,” she said and came to her feet.
I wondered what she meant. Did she intend to show me where it was, or
were we to use the toilet at the same time? I followed a bit nervously.
She walked in with me. I felt disoriented. Evidently we were about to get to
know each other a lot better, except her presence affected my urge to pee.
She lit a few candles on the counter and then looked at me and smiled; and
just like that, off came her dress. No panties. Nothing. Mesmerized, my
eyes could not resist her body. Her breast were small, not much more than
significant rises in her chest, the most feminine chest I had ever seen. Her
nipples were large and puffy, and erect, most likely because I was staring at
them. She looked natural and at ease with her nudity, her waist narrow, her
belly flat, her pussy almost completely shaven, all of which contributed to my
labored breathing.
From the counter she took a crystal carafe and sat down with it on the side
of the oversize tub. Her legs parted and she held the carafe between them,
just under and tilted toward her pussy. What had been a closed slit had been
spread open by two feminine fingers, revealing the glistening pink inner lips.
By the time I collected my wits, her yellow flow was spraying into the carafe.
My jaw dropped. I stood watching the carafe fill to about one third of its
capacity, then noticed she was looking at me.
“Your turn,” she said, offering the carafe.
At a loss, I stared at it for a moment, not at all certain I could do this. I
had never imagined a girl could be this forward, though my rapidly beating
heart told me it was thrilling.
“Like me to help?” she asked, which plunged me further into my
expanding state of stupidity. “Come a little closer.”
More than ever I was fascinated with her, and determined not to seem
naïve. I wanted to be with her, to keep up with her, to be the man she would
want to spend time with. I stepped closer and she sat the carafe on the floor
and immediately reached for my fly. Her aggression was in no way
threatening, but sensual and compelling. I watched her unbuckle my belt and
unzip my jeans, then felt a rush when she pulled them down my legs. My
cock sprang outward toward her face. She studied it for a moment before
taking it and aiming it into the mouth of the carafe.
I’ve never had anyone watch me pee. Certainly not a beautiful young
woman. She was not only watching, she was holding it for me. I felt self-
conscious. It seemed like my pee-hole had been plugged.
A few seconds passed. “Uh, not sure I can do this,” I confessed dismally. “I
really had to go before we came in here, but it seems to have gone away.”
“You haven’t done anything like this before, have you?” she asked.
“Guess I haven’t.”
“Do you like it?”
I swallowed again. My cock was throbbing between her fingers. “Yeah
… I mean, I like being with you. I’m trying.”
“Just give it a minute. It’ll come.”
I was catching up with her. This kind of intimacy with a girl I barely knew
left me breathless. I was enthralled by the way she had taken charge, by her
total lack of inhibition, by her patience in aiming my cock into the carafe. It
occurred to me, if the object was peeing together, why didn’t she sit on the
toilet and have me pee between her legs?
Finally a squirt. I heard the splash. It almost felt like an ejaculation. A
fever of desire warmed my entire body. Never had I felt such an urge, a need
actually, to get my arms around a woman, to get my cock inside her. The
squirt led to an erratic trickle, then finally my bladder let go—a full blown
stream. It sounded like water running into a half-full pail. Seemingly
