Doll Fetish Pissing Son

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“Your turn, Mom.” He said and smiled from ear to ear.
How in the world did I get myself into this? It started off as a playful dare. I mean, after all, we were both outside in our bathing suits. It was warm out, and we were in the privacy of our own backyard. Still, how did all that come to this somewhat perverted entanglement?
My son had just completed his part of the dare. He had peed in his swimming trunks right in front of me. I really did not think he would do it. Perhaps he didn’t think he would do it either. Still, he did, and he was now looking at me to complete the same act in front of him.
“Wow, honey,” I said with a nervous giggle looking at the pool of pee now at my son’s feet. “That was a lot.” I was trying to do anything to avoid the fact that is was now my turn.
“Your turn, mom,” he said with a grin.
I sat up straighter. I was either going to try to do this or get up to flee. I was not sure which, but the smart money was on the latter. My son, on the other hand, took this as my getting into position too, well, you know. He was now grinning more than ever. Shit. He was really getting into this. Ewwww! This was getting more than just a little creepy with him seeming being so into this.
“This is going to be awesome!” my son said, fully expecting to see me pee.
Great I thought. He really wants this. And shit. He is really going to hate me if I decide to not do this for him. Crushed, in fact. Especially now since he accepted and performed my dare. What kind of a lesson would I be setting if I backed out now? Shit, think, think! What should I do? I was also really, really trying to not look at his shorts that was not doing a very good job of hiding this erection that he claimed as from having to pee.
And then it came to me. Stage fright. That’s it! I can fake stage fright. Just like I teased him of having when he seemed to be struggling to pee. Okay, okay, I tell myself. That should work. I mean, it’s not like I’m refusing to perform my end of the dare. It will be more like, hey kid, I tried but I could not.
Good. I started to feel more confident. I didn’t like telling lies. But then again, I think I would not like having to tell the counselor someday that I peed in front of my son on a dare.
“Okay, honey,” I said with a smile with my new found confidence. At least I will fail in a playful way in front of him. I sat up on the foot of the lawn chair in as dignified pose as I could. And for that matter, I mean really. How does one strike a dignified peeing pose? Hell if I know. But I gave my best effect and sat with my back straight and my knees together.
“Hey, no fair,” my son said in protest.
“What, honey?” I said, adding a giggle to my playful voice.
“I can’t see anything with your legs closed like that. That’s no fair.”
“Oh, honey,” I said in my best prim and proper voice. “Ladies always sit and pee with their knees together.”
“Oh, mom,” he said with some genuine disappointment. “Can you open them just a little? Please?”
“Honey no,” I said with a stern mommy knows best voice. “Mommies does not spread their legs.”
“But I want to see. Please,” he said again, not backing off this one.
“Hey mister,” I said, trying to move this show along. “Do you want to see mommy pee or not?”
“Yes,” he said, somewhat discouraged. “But you better pee a lot since you’re hiding like this.”
“Well okay then,” I said with a proper smile. For effect, I wiggled my hips as if I were really going to pee. As I did, I felt just how badly I needed to pee. Shit. I’m not one hundred percent sure my pee got the message that my stage fright act was going to rule the day.
I assumed my best trying to pee face all at the same time trying not to pee. Okay, one thing was for sure. I was not going to be able to fake stage fright for long as I now had to flex every muscle I had to keep the torrent at bay.
“Ah, honey,” I said hesitantly. “I think I might have some stage fright also.” I pressed my knees even tighter together now to help add to my fight to keep the flood gates closed.
“Oh, that’s okay,” he said with the grin on his face back in place. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Shit, I thought, as waiting was something that was not in the cards for my pee.
“Okay, honey,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I bore down and closed my eyes, concentrating on keeping all my pee inside of me. Trying to position myself on the chair to aid in my flexing. If this was Star Wars then I would be barking out the order, all power to lower deflector screens. Repeat, all power to lower deflector screens.
I then hear my son walk towards me. I open my eyes as a wet pair of swimsuit with a very real erection neared me. “Honey?” I said nervously.
“Here,” my son said with an innocent voice. “I bet tickling you will help.”
“What!” I said, startled. “No, honey, it’s okay!” But he had already begun reaching under my armpits, and yes, I’m very ticklish. In fact, the tickling sensation hit me even before he touched me.
I tried to angle my body away from his hands, but it was no good as he already had one of his hands in the ticklish part of my armpit.
“Honey!” I said, giggling from his tickling. “You are so bad!”
I tried to move my body in the opposite diction to fend off his attack. As I did, the flood gates open. I felt it and heard it pretty much at the same time.
“Cool!” my son said as he stopped tickling me to concentrate on the show that I was now putting on.
Shit, shit shit! What should I do? The pee was pouring out of me. No way I could close the flow now and fake stage fright. So what the hell? Whatever damage I was doing was already done. I mean, the counselor was not going to ask me if I peed for five seconds for thirty. Plus, I needed to go so bad.
“Happy honey?” I said with the pee coming out of me as if there was no limit.
“Wow!” my son said with pure amazement. Damn, I thought. This going past curiosity zone and entering the very creepy zone. Plus he was so close. He could probably smell my pee. I knew I could now. All of a sudden, I felt like he was too close to me.
“Honey,” I said, giggling over the sound of my pee hitting the deck. “Move away honey, you’re going to get it on you.”
“Honey, move,” I said more forcefully this time.
This time he moved. But not away. He instead squatted down. Shit! What was he doing? I looked over at him to see one of his hands reaching under the lawn chair. Then to my horror, I realized what he was doing as the sound of my pee hitting the concert was replaced with the sound of my pee hitting his hand.
“Mom,” he said, giggling. “It’s so warm.”
“Honey, pee is gross!” I said as he made no movement to move.
“Not yours,” he said with that evil smile. “Yours is sexy.”
Sexy! Shit! Did my son just describe my pee as sexy? Shit! Counseling for sure now.
“Honey!” I said but did not really have a reply. I was speechless. I just sat there, peeing, looking at him with his hand under me, catching my flow of pee. The moment was surreal. At this point, I just let my bladder empty the rest of the way into his hand.
As my pee finally came to a stop, I studied his face. He was still wearing his smile and looking at the pool of pee under the lawn chair.
“There,” I finally said to break the silence. “Happy?”
“Wow,” he said. “Mom, that was the best thing ever.”
The look on his face was pure joy. Damn. This was so wrong, but it made him so happy. Still, what the hell?
“Honey,” I said, trying to be playful again. Also trying to convince myself that nothing crazy happened. Just a boy’s natural curiosity. That’s all.
“You’re so silly,” I said. “Go wash your hand off in the pool.”
He pulled his hand up. It was indeed about as wet as a hand could be. He looked at it. I looked at it. It still had some of my pee pooled in the center of his palm.
“Dare me to taste it?” he said with a growing smile.
…Thanks for reading the 2nd draft of Chapter 2. The story continues with Chapter 3. Comments and suggestions welcome.
Sharing the naughty fantasy world that lives inside my mind.

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I will never forget the taste. When it hit my mouth, I instantly knew what it was. Toddler urine. In all it’s slapstick, comical glory, I had finally felt what it was like to have entered the territory of, “will do anything for my kids,” which now includes accidentally drinking one of their streams of piss. I also didn’t have a choice, it just kind of happened. The worst part about the whole thing was I was caught off guard. No warning to be able to brace myself from the incoming assault of my son’s pee. Potty training was a whole new game I could not learn to play by reading books or watching YouTube videos. I had to learn the hard (wet) way.
Previously, I had basic knowledge of the ins and outs of being a new dad and was prepared for anything my son would throw at me, figuratively and literally speaking. For diaper changes, I knew a baby wipe needed to cover his mini-p to block the cherub-like fountain stream of baby urine. During bath time, I had prior knowledge that babies and toddlers have zero regard for dry people outside of the bathtub and it was a huge mistake wearing anything but a poncho. Finally, during feeding times (yes, I refer to my sons as caged zoo animals sometimes), I had the insight and the Polaroids of my own high-chaired dinners from the early eighties to confirm that most of the food lands on the floor for the dogs or in mommy’s hair.
However, I was NOT prepared for potty-training. Before embarking on this magical journey of sticky floors and overused laundry machines, my wife and I scoured every website, read every book, and bent the ears of as many past potty trainers as we could. We had all the information one could gather on the subject. We were walking encyclopedias of pee. With all this data, we were sure to succeed, right? Well, it will be almost eight months and we have gone through more wee wee pads than a puppy with an overactive bladder. I have scrubbed enough bathroom flooring to equate to the square footage of all the floors of the Empire State Building, and I have gagged more than…oh, never mind. What is most shocking is the fact that my wife and I haven’t contracted Pink Eye yet…or any other life-threatening disease spread through urine and poop for that matter…knock on wood for us, please. There is a little bit of light at the end of this potty-training tunnel. My little man is pretty much accident-free at this point and only needs protection at night…it’s like he dreams of putting out fires with his penis being used as a fire hose.
So, how did I get pee in my mouth? Well, there is absolutely nothing that stops a little boy from grabbing his little eggroll and changing the trajectory of his pee to the complete opposite direction of where you would like it to go. The moment stands out like a surprise birthday or when I was mugged by thugs one night. On this day in toddler history, we were using the solo cup method, or what I like to call the “Much Rather Be Playing Beer Pong” method. To encourage him to stand while peeing, I would take a little red solo cup you normally see at picnics and just let him pee into it. Clean up is easy and it’s also great for when we are out so I don’t have to sanitize the hell out of any public bathroom we find ourselves in. On this particular day, rather, my coffee hadn’t quite kicked in yet and my half-assing left me with a bad taste in my mouth…CANNOT get any more literal than that. I didn’t quite have a full “cupping” over his little dicky and mid-pee he pulled up like he was trying to water plants on the ceiling. Only thing in it’s way was my face and my open mouth perfectly shaped like a round target from shrieking, “Nooooo,” to stop it, or in this case, catch it. To add insult to injury, as I ran out of the bathroom with a puzzled screech (which sounds like ugh and ahhh! at the same time) trying to find the number for poison control in our area, my wife immediately started to follow me around and lecture me on how I should have held the cup. The only thing worse than a mouthful of warm pee is a mouthful from your not-so-warm wife. It’s a safe bet saying it wasn’t the best of mornings in the Bellavia household, but it’s one I’ll never forget.
What I’ve learned most from this wild adventure is that my 2nd son will be wearing diapers until he’s twelve.
Writer. Father. Husband. Salesman. Beat-boxer. Poet.
Writer. Father. Husband. Salesman. Beat-boxer. Poet.

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Doll Fetish Pissing Son