Anthropology 251: Erotic Appreciation of Urine (piss, obviously)

The cold has me shivering as I rush to make my first class of spring semester. I barely woke up in time and my body hasn't warmed up yet even though the air is completely still. This would be ten times worse with wind chill, I console myself. The long walk across campus warms me eventually, and I'm eventually able to hold my head up and appreciate the pure white blanket of snow covering everything.

I'm excited despite the hour: Anthro 251 is my first elective course of college. My school's major in history allows a large degree of freedom for students to choose social science courses that they're interested in. Like most people of my generation, I grew up knowing a world where piss play was common - on TV, between my parents, even a few friends had tried it. But for whatever weird cultural reason, I, like many young people, hadn't really experimented with it until I came to college and this gave it an edge of mystique that made this course stand out from the approved list. It also didn't hurt that my roommate was into it and we were becoming pretty good friends.

As I pass Darling Hall and head into the quad, I see a quartet of girls taking a group selfie with the elegant and moderately famous façade of the library as a background. They're all wearing hats, scarves, plush snow boots and nothing else, eight hard nipples standing firm in the freezing morning. The fresh snow does make for a really perfect photo op, actually, and the girls look really cute with their four different colored but still matching outfits. They seem to be having a lot of fun trying poses out; none of them seem to be in any rush to pick up their coat from the pile laying on the ground near the group. Crazy people are crazy, I think to myself. At least that one girl has a giant bush - I wonder if it helps? I can feel the cold air against my own hairless slit as my strides stir the end of my long wool coat. I should try growing some winter fur, I think.

As I round the quad and reach my closest approach to the group, the photo shoot seems to be on pause. Three girls are checking the shots on the shooting phone, while one girl is facing away from them in an awkward stance, hips forward and looking down, facing diagonally away from my viewing angle. Suddenly a high golden arc shoots from her at pelvic height to land in the snow several feet away, staining it yellow. The stream wobbles as the girl twists her hips back and forth.

"See, I told you I can write my name!" the pissing girl says triumphantly to the group.

I stop and watch as the other three girls turn and observe the first's artistry.

"I want to try!" a petite, honey-toned group member with Indian features exclaims.

All three girls are suddenly lined up with the first and peeing into the snow. None of them matches the first's talent, but two do manage to form a reasonable stream they can maneuver. But the Indian girl's body or fingers just don't seem to have the knack and she ends up pissing down both her legs in small bursts, making the lovely brown skin of her inner thighs shiny before she gives up and squats down to finish emptying her bladder, to the teasing of her more successful friends. I continue on my way.

As soon as I'm inside Nakamoto Hall I drop my coat off in the public closet area next to the entrance, leaving me totally nude except for my backpack and boots. The building's heat is delightfully warm on my now overcompensating skin, bringing out a faint sweat that sparkles on my skin when I look down to check the time on my fitness tracker. One minute until class, perfectly timed. As planned, I have to pee something fierce; the course syllabus mailed out over winter break was very clear on the matter:

"Come to every class, including the first, with at least a quarter-full bladder. For those in a.m. classes, do not bring overnight urine unless instructed - relieve yourself after you wake and drink plenty of fluids one to two hours before class."

And I'm nothing if not a **** to teacher authority, so I followed the instructions exactly. With the cold shock of my walk having had it's usual effect of causing my body to crush all the circulation from my extremities and into my kidneys I am ready to burst. I repeat "not much longer" over and over in my head as I find a directional plaque on the wall ahead and head to my classroom.

At the designated number, I open the door to see that it's just a large, regular flat classroom and not a lecture hall with stadium seating. The arrangement is unusual too: there are about three rows of desks arranged in a ring around the border of the room, leaving a large open space in the middle around two large tables. There are about thirty other students I can spot in a quick scan of the room from my entrance point in the back left corner.

The professor is sitting on the edge of her desk at the open side of the ring of desks, leaning on one arm. She's a very attractive blonde in her mid-forties. Not hiding her age at all but wearing it very well. She's got her hair in a loose bun held with a wooden spike and is wearing a loose knee-length skirt over brown knee-high boots with a fluffy sweater on top. It's a little eclectic. She meets my eye as I walk in and points to the board over her shoulder with a flick of her free hand.

"Every Day: Take a pitcher and cup to your desk on your way in. Fill it if you need to, hold it until called for if you can."

I look to my right and see a couple of utility carts completely full of empty clear plastic pitchers and cups so I grab one of each and turn to find a seat. There are the typical pre-class pastimes going on: I count two pairs having sex and four singles masturbating, plus two fit guys with matching greek hats are jerking off together in the front row. These are being watched rather closely by the professor, but they're looking at each other as much as her. A girl with short blue hair in the middle of the seats in front of me has one bare foot up on her seat and is running a pocket vibe on herself while watching tentacle hentai on her phone. The seat next to her is empty. Perfect.

The professor starts speaking as my butt hits the seat next to the hentai fangirl. She pauses her video and gives me a shy smile from the corner of her thickly-lined eyes. Her vibe does not stop.

"Welcome to Anthropology 251. For those of you that managed to ignore the course description, syllabus, and every other available hint - you're going to put a lot of urine into your mouth this semester. Your tasting reports will form part of your grade. If you thought this was going to be a theory-only class or allow top-only participation, I'd get down to the registrar's office and transfer to a different course ASAP."

She pauses as one girl gets up from the front row, followed shortly by a guy sitting somewhere behind me. They strike up a conversation as they pass out the door. I can faintly hear a girlish whisper of "...st wanted to understand my boyfr..." from the hallway.

"Is that everyone? Be aware that you have until the 21st of the month to change classes if you have a bad reaction to the coursework here."

The sound of several pencils writing and circling the date can be heard. I'm nervous, fearing I might not end up liking it, but I don't want to entertain the idea of quitting before I've even started.

"Alright then. In this class, we're going to be studying the development of piss play from fringe fetish to widely accepted everyday activity. We'll dive deep into the history and context of that cultural transition. You're also going to experience at least a bit of everything that can be done to incorporate urine into one's sex life. That includes wetting yourselves, pissing on each other, pissing in each other, and, especially, tasting and drinking piss."

The hentai fan shivers hard against her vibe as the professor lists out these activities. I watch her hips buck and notice yellowish liquid dripping from her chair. I bet her bladder's as full as mine is.

"Producing pleasing urine for your partners is a core aspect of all of these activities. We'll cover all the different effects food and drink can have on taste and scent. You'll be keeping a journal of your diet all semester. It doesn't have to be perfect, but please don't guess or make entries up. Your partners' reports will make it obvious to me if you're doing so."

She stops, looks around the room at our fidgeting bodies, and smiles mischievously as she takes a pitcher from her desk and hikes her skirt up.

"Good job holding out this long. If you haven't already, go ahead and fill your pitchers now," she instructs as golden yellow piss shoots from between her hairless lips into the pitcher.

Most of the class jumps to our feet, urgently needing to relieve ourselves. I squat over my pitcher and start to flood it with my relatively clear piss. The relief is immense. As I look up in bliss, I find myself facing hentai girl doing likewise. She's watching my parted, pissing vulva with an intense, rapt expression. Her own urine is a pleasant mild yellow. When my stream finally ends, pitcher half-filled, she looks up to see me watching her watch me. She reddens instantly and looks away. It's incredibly cute to me.

I reach out and swipe two fingers over her urethra and bring them to my mouth. She turns back, wide-eyed. I lick her juices off my fingertips; the flavor is mildly salty, of course, but there's something else, something vaguely reminiscent of dessert. I can't quite put my finger on it from the small sample.

"I, um, ah... I had a lot of cinnamon applesauce at the dining hall this morning on purpose." She stammers out, after a few seconds of seeing my thoughtful expression, eyes darting away nervously.

She's super adorable, I think to myself, standing to rest my pitcher on my desk. She follows suit.

"It was really lovely" I tell her.

"Um, thanks, I've really been looking forward to this class. I would have taken it sooner, but they only offer it in spring though..." she rambles, trailing off.

The professor claps loudly to get our attention. She's moved to the table in the center of the ring, skirt still around her waist showing off a classic triangle of blonde bush. Her pitcher, sitting on the table there, is surprisingly full, at least two-thirds filled with rich yellow liquid. "Everyone finished? Please bring your pitchers and cups to the table here and use the markers and sticky notes to label them with your first and last name. We're going to have our first tasting session!"

As hentai girl and I carry our pitchers forward with the rest of the class, I ask her "Um, would you taste mine first, and tell me what you think?"

Her response is immediate and excited, "Yes, definitely, I'd love to!" She answers with a sudden open smile totally at odds with her shyness of moments before. She seems almost in a hurry to get to work on my request, scribbling out her name nearly illegibly on the paper and slapping it onto her offering. I'm just capping my pen when she lifts my pitcher and pours a generous amount into her cup. At least a few ounces. Far more than needed for a taste.

"Leave some for the rest of the class," I giggle at her, making her blush again. It doesn't phase her eagerness to take a drink though. She tips half her pour into her mouth and swishes it around with her eyes closed.

I realize the professor is instructing again, "...try at least three samples today. You don't have to swallow... yet. You can spit into one of the buckets under the table if you prefer for today."

Hentai girl opens her eyes, looks directly into mine, and swallows with nearly cartoonish exaggeration. Her facial expression reads loudly in my mind as a gluttonous, resonant "Ahhhh", though no such noise escapes her throat.

"Are you vegan?" she asks me with total confidence.

"Um, not exclusively, but I don't eat much meat and I don't think I've had any for a few days..." I manage to get out, thrown by the sudden change in her.

"At least three, I'm pretty sure." she states thoughtfully. "You taste wonderful. Veggie diets tend to work really well." A short pause, I can see her thinking about the flavor lingering on her tongue, then "Lets be partners in this class!"

"Uh, okay, yeah, absolutely." I agree quickly, realizing that with her passion for the subject she's probably going to be the top grade in this class. What a stroke of luck to partner up with her.

"Yay!" She grabs my hand and squeezes it while gulping the rest of my pee from her cup as casually as a glass of water.

"Okay, time to do the rest of our samples! Let's try the same ones and compare notes!" The look in her eyes is bright, she seems very excited to have a friend to share this with.

We start working our way around the table. When the professor makes her next announcement I notice she's back at her desk, sitting on it and jerking off one of the greek guys from earlier while the other is kneeling to eat her still piss-wet pussy. Neither of the bros is getting in any tastings at the moment, but she seems to be enjoying herself. I idly wonder if the activity is improving or harming their grade for the day.

"Make sure to note your thoughts on each sample before moving on to the next!" the professor forces out as kneeling bro sucks hard on one of her elegant pink labia. She reaches down and mashes his face into her, getting the residue of her urine all over his cheeks. "When you're done, return to your seats we'll talk about how to turn in your logs for credit."

After I fill my glass from our next pitcher, a pale yellow labeled "Jon", I suddenly realize I don't know my partner's name yet and I introduce myself.

"Oh, nice to meet you! I'm Brooke," she says, as I take my taste. "Like, a stream, you know?" she says with a self-aware smirk.

I **** on Jon's piss trying not to laugh.