I thought our souls were connecting – he only cared about my fluids

He was on the floor in front of me in his apartment, asking me to pee all over his chest (Picture: Getty Images)

‘Will you, my dear Sydney, urinate on my chest?’

As he said this, Trevor* began to lie down on the floor in front of me, in his living room, on top of his expensive persian rug. With a big smile plastered on his face, he enthusiastically pointed at his abs and nodded, as if for reassurance.

And I most definitely needed some reassurance, because my face was plastered with confusion.

‘I, um…you want me to just…?’

I could barely get the words out.

‘Princess, I’m merely asking this of you. Then tonight we’ll feast’, he said, referring to the four course meal he promised to cook me later.

I’d always loved it when he called me ‘Princess’. He spoke like a medieval king and it was a huge turn on – as an avid romantic novel reader, he was the mysterious character I’d always wanted.

But I didn’t expect this.

This wasn’t how I’d imagined my third date with Trevor (Picture: Getty Images)

I looked at his rug and wondered how much it cost. I also worried about how much urine was stained on it, but the pattern meant no one could tell.

I looked back at his smiling face and smiled back, before moving over his body to squat.

This wasn’t how I’d imagined my third date with Trevor. But I was falling for him; and I couldn’t say no to his request.

It was 2014. We had met at a house party one month prior to this drizzly moment; Trevor was the magnetic man who captivated every conversation with his deep voice and distinctly good looks.

Without realising, I was pulled into his orbit and in no time, we had begun talking. Mostly about books – he agreed with me that the misogyny of writers like Jack Kerouac was conveniently ignored and listened to my rant.

When I stopped, huffing and puffing, red from my frustration at men, he was looking down at me with a large grin on his face. I smiled back and fell into a deep kiss.

We exchanged numbers and I said I wasn’t looking for anything other than regular hook-ups – I hadn’t been in a relationship for a while and was enjoying single life – which he readily agreed to.

Little did I know how much I would start to fall for him.

Our first date was at my local, and he couldn’t stay long – he had to deal with ‘some correspondence’. It was vague and mysterious, which part of me liked and another part of me despised.

As I pissed on his chest, he laughed; my urine bounced off him and around the room, making an absolute mess

But I let his ambiguity continue – because, over the couple of drinks we had, I had felt like our souls were connecting.

I was confused at first; the thought of being in a relationship had previously felt suffocating.

But being with Trevor didn’t feel suffocating – it felt freeing.

The next date, two days later, was another fleeting visit. I’d fallen ill, and he surprised me with flowers and a home-cooked meal. He planted himself in my kitchen, with my apron wrapped around him, and made me a stunning chicken roast dinner.

Kissing me on the head, he left; but his magnetic charm lingered, and I fell harder for him.

Then the third date came, and he was on the floor in front of me in his apartment, asking me to pee all over his chest.

And I did. For him, and only him.

It’s a kink that I had never been part of, but didn’t want to shy away from participating in any consensual sex act that would please my partner.

As I pissed on his chest, he laughed; my urine bounced off him and around the room, making an absolute mess. 

When I had finished, he licked around his face and smiled back at me.

‘That was utterly fabulous’, he exclaimed. ‘And don’t worry, I’m getting a new rug next week.’

By the sixth date, we were performing piss play in the shower (Picture: Getty Images)

He went to shower and told me to help myself to some drinks while he was cleaning up. 

I felt somewhat excited by it all – it was new and strange, but not as awful as it may have seemed at first. So I kept doing it. By the sixth date, we were performing piss play in the shower, so the mess could be easily cleaned.

Or he sat with me and watched me pee.

‘Women’s bodies are magnificent’, he would explain to me when I asked why he liked it.

But I wanted more than just to tinkle on my beau. I wanted to be in a relationship with him. When I wasn’t relieving myself on him, we had intimate and exciting conversations – and even better sex.

For him, I was merely an accessible fountain of yellow hydration (Picture: Getty Images)

Pee was just one part of it.

But it also happened to be the only thing keeping us together.

Because it turned out he wanted nothing more from me than the ease of asking me for my fluids.

For him, I was merely an accessible fountain of yellow hydration.

I hinted one day that I would be interested in being his girlfriend and not seeing other people – his face said it all, and then he did; explaining how much he liked our setup and wouldn’t want anything more.

‘Sure sure, of course’, I said, hurriedly, before later bringing it up again – with the same result.

Two months of this passed, until I finally understood we would go no further. I had to make a decision: either move on, or use him as a toilet forever.

So I moved on. He told me he was disappointed and that he thought I was ‘different’, which I didn’t quite understand but didn’t pursue for answers.

Ultimately, I knew he was simply not interested in anything other than my wee.

Getting over him was not easy – I kept comparing other men’s understanding of literature and misogyny against his, and none of them compared. But, I eventually moved on.

I still think of him, and wonder who is squatting over him now – but it could never be me.

Not without something more.

*Name has been changed

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